Your pals and mine, The Smurfs

[Quetzlsacatanango]

I am not really a writer and this is not the kind of art that I normally do, but I can't access any of the graphical stuff from work, so here's a story. I just realized there were non-modding forums so I'll post some of that stuff another time. I'm all for feedback but like I said, I'm not a writer so don't expect your carefully crafted critique to have any effect whatsoever.

 

One Smurfy Day

 

The smurfs lived in almost sickening harmony with every creature they ever came into contact with. This one carried baskets of berries from the woods to storage, while this one carried out minor repairs on his neighbor's toadstool house, as another one moved furniture for a pretty blonde Smurfette. Somehow, in this community of nearly one hundred, every individual stayed busy and every stomach stayed full.

From a bird's eye view, one smurf stood out. He could be seen walking among the village, making sure this task was done and that foolishness wasn't. He was older, wiser, more experienced than the rest. He wore his crimson hat and pants proudly, as a badge of honor and symbol of his authority and position within the community. He was at the top, of course, and this kind, benevolent leader was affectionately referred to as "Papa Smurf". He was so old that none of the smurfs now living (all nearly half his age) had never known him by any other name. Old, yet somehow more full of youth and life than any of them. Many smurfs closest to him knew that he had been through much. Terrible sufferings, of which they could not imagine, and he would not speak. Each was happiest this way. In fact, the only thing that ever caused any smurf not to be happy was the occasional attack by a large* orange monster. It had many teeth, long claws, and mercilessly chased the smurfs through fields, up trees, wherever he would run across them. Thank Smurf that no smurf had ever led him back to the village

 

 

*in this story, words indicating great size, 'large' in this case, may be misleading. To the smurfs, who are only three apples high, a great many things may seem large.

 

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At some time near that same time, across the great Big Water that no smurf had ever crossed, an old man sat alone in front of his fireplace ,which burned the sickliest of twigs and shrubs, for that was all that lived around his house, and even if the dried up sandy soil had been able to support what he would consider a 'tree' (for Gargamel would consider anything thicker than his wrist a 'tree'), he would have been too frail to gather it.

He was a bitter old fellow, with no family, friends, or even acquaintances to speak of. The closest thing he had to a 'friend' was an orange cat that came around every night or so. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say this cat shared his home. Gargamel did not feed the cat, it found its own meals who knows where. It simply used the beaten down hut to keep out of the weather and possibly for the protection this human provided, if any. And Gargamel was content to let it stay, as, although there are probably some who would disagree, its companionship was better than none.

He was flipping through an old book, thick, dusty, with pages yellowed with age and some missing. Half reading and half looking at the pictures as he noticed his flame begin to die. This was a constant annoyance to the beggar as the twigs burned hotly, but quickly, and needed constant refueling in order to heat his gruel to the desired degree of lukewarmness. He grumpily got up from his seat, holding his back, which buckled more and more with each passing year as his hunch grew ever larger.

He set the book open on his table, and went over to the small woodpile he had thrown in the corner earlier in the week. A draught blew in through a high open window. He felt the warm summer breeze glide over his smooth scalp, and immediately began to grumble to himself. He looked over at his book, and saw what he had feared. It had taken him an untold amount of time to get to that spot, and now he watched helplessly as the pages flapped back and forth in the wind. He hobbled over, as quickly as he could, and slammed his hand down on the flapping pages. Moving his hand down he uncovered what looked like part of a recipe. "Childrens' books.." he mumbled to himself as he saw on the opposite page a pencil sketch of a cute little fantastic creature. It looked like a human...only...not. It had large eyes, ears, and feet. A pot belly...and a little nub of a tail. "What nonsense", the old man told himself. He didn't give the children's cook book another thought before he dozed off in his chair, dreaming of missed opportunities....

 

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Around the Smurf Village were posted what were meant to be lookout smurfs. They sat in trees, in hollow logs, and kept in touch with the local fuzzy cuddly creatures of the forest, just in case of trouble. At least this was their purpose. As often as not, they would take a nap, or maybe even pay a visit to Smurfette's toadstool. On this day, however, Smurfette was not at home and one lookout smurf actually did what he was supposed to do. He climbed up a tree near the boundaries of the village and looked for possible predators. From this vantage point he spied Tipsy Smurf stumbling through the woods, probably on another trip to the....ripened ...berry bush. Unfortunately for Tipsy, his excursions to the boundaries of the village were all too common, and did not prompt the sentry to get his attention until it was too late. Before Lookout Smurf could cry out, the fangs of the Scourge of the Village were emedded deep within the inebriated smurf's throat. As suddenly as it had come, it had gone, taking Tipsy with it, leaving Lookout to wonder if it had happened at all.

Not to take chances on a hallucination (he hadn't been the one drinking the 'ripe' berry juice), he raced back to the village as quickly as his squat legs could carry him. He burst into Papa Smurf's house and could have sworn he saw a bit of gold slip under the covers of the bed just as Papa Smurf popped his head out from under them. He paused for a moment. "Well, Lookout, what is it? There must be something important for you to interrupt my...meeting," said Papa Smurf, nervously glancing and the smurf sized lump under his bed spread. "I...I....I was up in a t-t-tree...on the eastern edge of the village..." said Lookout, trying to catch his breath in between syllables. "I-I-I....I saw Tipsy....g-g-get eaten...by the monster...!" "This is most unfortunate...not only for Tipsy, but for all of us. Quickly, Lookout! Assemble the smurfs around the old stump. I will meet you all there shortly. There is important....business....I must attend to here first." He shifted as the strange lump moved closer. "Go, now!"

 

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Gargamel walked into his shack with another pile of 'wood'. He looked into a corner and saw the cat munching on something.

"What is it you've got there, Azrael?", said Gargamel. He had began calling the cat 'Azrael' for some time now. He did not know exactly when he had started this practice nor exactly why. Of course he had named the cat in order to make himself feel less lonely, but why Azrael? Perhaps...just perhaps...he had wanted a son named Azrael...But alas, Gargamel never married, never had a son, and never became anything more than he had been when he ran away from his father's carnival as a child.

He walked over to the cat, trying to get a good look at its Treasure. Azrael hissed as Gargamel gently pushed him away from his prize, and there, bloody and broken on his dusty floor, was the same creature he had dismissed as fantasy just days before. Quickly, almost quaking with anxiety, he fumbled through the weathered old book he had previously seen the picture of this little man in. Soon, but not near soon enough for Gargamel, he found what he had been looking for. There on the page was a drawing of this creature... and a recipe.

 

3 "smurfs"

Boil in water not fit to drink, over fuel not fit to burn

Say the magic word, "übermullet"

Presto! One gold doubloon!

 

 

Gargamel assumed, correctly, that this blue creature was a "smurf". He also could not help but feel that these doubloons were meant for him. Who else was more qualified to carry out the procedures listed on this page? The muddy trickle of a stream that ran outside his shack; why, he'd been using that as a toilet for years, and while it would have been a nice environment for flies and roaches, even they wouldn't go near it. The pathetic excuse for kindling he used to make his fire; The Earth insisted that it burn, against its natural affinity, so that Gargamel wouldn't be tempted to burn something more beautiful and less deserving. "How many smurfs could there be?", he wondered. He decided it didn't matter, as one gold doubloon was more than he had got at present.

"Azrael!" he cried. "Where did you find him? Show me!"

The cat looked at him, puzzled, then slinked off slowly out the door. Of course he didn't know english, and didn't know what Gargamel actually wanted, but having had one taste of such easy prey, he was going back for more. If Gargamel thought he understood, at least he wouldn't be throwing things.

Gargamel grabbed his net, normally used for catching fish and frogs in the river across the meadow, and followed him. They crossed the ugly little stream, through the meadow, to a wide river. There was a small bridge of stone and wood. Gargamel could tell that it had been quite nice once, but had long since fallen into disrepair. Azrael crossed it without concern, and Gargamel hoped it would hold him as easily. It did. When they came to a wood, Gargamel followed Azrael closely, so as not to lose him, but not too closely, so as not to give him away, should he actually find the smurf... hole ... burrow ... house? Whatever it is they live in.

Azrael froze in his tracks. Gargamel followed suit. He followed the cat's gaze, he was staring at something. Up in an old oak, there was a knot-hole a few feet up, and in it, staring back at them, was one of the little blue creatures. He could see that he wore no shirt, had a large nose and ears, was wearing a large, white hat, and his skin was about as close to plain old "blue" as you could get. Lookout Smurf saw both the cat, and the man, and both made him nervous. He was frozen stiff. At least he was, until he noticed that cat had subtlely worked his way near the foot of the tree. As soon as the cat noticed that he had noticed this, he sprang up the tree towards the knot-hole. The tree was hollow (luckily for Lookout, who had barely evaded the feline's jaws), and he was down and out the bottom, on his way back to the village. When Azrael realized what had happened, he could no longer see the little fellow, nor hear him. Smurfs are born, raised, and die in the forest, and can move through it in silence. Gargamel tried telling him where he had gone in his man-language, but Azrael needed no instruction to follow this scent. Smurfs are used to dodging predators, but nothing that lives in their forest has the hunting and tracking skills of the common housecat.

Lookout reached the village first, indeed; by about 20 seconds. Just enough time for nearly all the Smurfs to gather in the village square to find out what Lookout was so worked up about. Azrael pounced out of the undergrowth on to one of the stragglers. All the others looked toward the source of the noise just in time for Gargamel to break through. He easily stepped on three smurfs. Inwardly, he laughed, as he heard (and felt) their tiny bones crunch like so much peanut brittle. Outwardly, he also laughed, at seeing these little folk scurrying off in complete disarray. He picked up the three unfortunate fellows and tossed them in his net. He watched as one of them ran into a toadstool. He didn't run in to a toadstool, he ran into it. It had a little wooden door, and on closer inspection, windows. Gargamel got a running start at it, gave it a good swift kick, and watched it fly. If there were uprights, he would have split them.

For those of you concerned about the fellow in the flying toadstool (or The Flying Toadstool, as it later came to be known), his name was Decency Smurf, and he was a week away from retirement. Aren't you glad you asked?

When Gargamel reached the center of the village, he saw something new that caught his eye. A golden sculpture of an old smurf, bearded and robed. He reached to pick it up, as something about it tickled his memory, though he couldn't be sure what. He decided he had enough for his purposes (on this trip anyway) and decided to head back to his hut. If indeed the recipe worked, he would be back later.

The surviving members of the village (who hadn't made it to some hiding place or other) watched as Gargamel stomped off noisily through the woods, as quickly as he had come. This puzzled them, but they did not complain.

They did not complain, that is, until Papa Smurf had made a count of their losses. He counted only 90 smurfs. He could account for at least 4 of the missing ones, but did not know of the other 6. Perhaps they were still in hiding, or had gotten lost in the forest and become prey for some other predator? He could not worry about it now, as they had also lost something equally precious. The Great Ever-lasting Know-it-all Smurf! The ancient relic that had kept their village safe for as long as anyone could remember had finally failed, in that failure it was lost to them, and held the key to the extinction of their species. Yes, Papa Smurf knew of the Smurf-Bane, and that the stolen statue had the power to activate it.

 

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All was anger, pain, and fear in the Smurf Village in the aftermath of the attack. They all knew they had been lucky to escape with so few casualties, but Papa Smurf knew, though he kept it to himself for now, that possibly none would survive long if they didn't act quickly. Papa Smurf gathered them together to explain his plan. He had decided that this villainous act of aggression was sufficient to fuel their unbridled anger, and they were going to get revenge. Many wanted to run, hide, avoid confrontation at any cost. Smurfs are peaceful by nature, but at Papa Smurf's behest, they eventually all came around and acted as one mind.

He assigned a select few smurfs who were especially good at this type of planning to work through the night to get battle plans ready for action. Others who were skilled in crafts he assigned to build the weapons they would need to destroy Gargamel, as well as protect themselves on the journey between the village and Gargamel's shack. It was mostly bow and arrow, and spears. The smurfs did not have the metal-working knowledge that was needed to fashion swords or anything more advanced. All they had to do now was wait for sunrise. It was a bright smurfy morning to ambush their arch-enemy Gargamel. They were now past the point of no return, the time for revenge is at hand. They made their way through the woods as a group, unconcerned at leaving the village deserted. It was now unimportant. They were not attacked by enemy, animal or man, and any predator that might have seen them marching along would not dare get in their way. They made their way across the run-down bridge in triple-file. Some wondered what enemy would devour them if the bridge couldn't hold them. It was not phased by their weight. They made their way across the open meadow. Some peered uneasily at a circling kestrel or hawk, fearing an attack which did not come. With some labor they pulled up some shrubs from the meadow and laid them over the putrid stream than oozed past Gargamel's hut.

They easily infiltrated his poor excuse for shelter in the early morning. Papa Smurf sent Sneaky Smurf and Klepto Smurf in through a crack in the wall first, as they would be least likely to be detected. The hole had been stuffed with a greasy old rag to keep out the draft, but it was easily removed. Upon entrance, the two stealthy smurfs saw no sign of Gargamel or Azrael. Upon a high table they could make out what (they thought) might be the remains of their fallen comrades, along the Golden Statue of the Great Ever-lasting Know-it-all Smurf. The "wood" in the fireplace looked recently burned, but there was no flame now. They turned back to the crack and alerted Papa Smurf of the apparent desertion of the dwelling. He was suspicious, but there did not appear to be anywhere inside the tiny house to hide. He led the rest of the smurfs in and around the table that held the statue and the remains of their fellow smurfs. Suddenly, from out of the chimney, the evil wizard jumped out with an orange cat under his arm, kicking half-burnt kindling and soot across the floor. They truly believed they were taking him by surprise, but they were wrong. Gargamel exclaimed, as he released Azrael in to the fray, "I’ve been waiting for you, my little gold doubloons! Prepare to die a horribly torturous death! Ha, ha, ha!!!"

With a gesture he activated the Smurf-Bane spell, which he had concocted using the stolen smurf artifact. Within seconds many blood covered smurfs melted and their lifeless bodies spasmed violently as a thick spray of crimson entrails and digestive juices was spumed from the mouths of the dead. He was hellish spawn killing without remorse or regret, willing to wipe out an entire species for the promise of material belongings. The smurfs could not allow such a foul creature to go on living. For an instant, however, they froze in horror at the brutal spectacle.

In that instant, his eyes fell on Papa Smurf. Gargamel looked him in the eye, and whether it was because of the spell, or because he had suffered so much in life himself, he knew he was looking into the eyes of a kindred spirit, although one who had dealt with his pain in a much different way. It hit him like a punch in the stomach, and a vile grin spread across his face.

"You have seen the Smurf-Bane before, haven't you?!"

Papa Smurf made no reply, but his expressions remained stern.

"The Great-Everlasting-Know-It-All told me! He told me how it was you who discovered the Smurf-Bane! How you used it against your brother out of jealousy!" He turned and addressed the smurfs on his floor with their little mouths agape. "Didn't you ever wonder what happened to Mama Smurf?!" He returned his gaze to Papa. "He told me how you lost control of its power, how the flames of hatred jumped from house to house, killing all of the others of your generation. He told me how they died, rescuing their children from the fires, and how even the children would have been killed, had the last remaining Elder not sacrificed himself, absorbing the power of the spell, knowing it would make him an inanimate object for eternity! Yes, he's alive in that prison, and HE HATES YOU!"

At this statement, Papa Smurf's hard face softened for a moment, as the memories of the one who saved them all flashed through his mind. He looked around at his fellow smurfs, most were fighting back tears, some were openly weeping. His face hardened once more, and he gripped his bow tightly.

"It happened," he bellowed. "It was in the past, and I can't take it back, nor do I deny it, as much as I regret it," he followed. "It is a mistake I have had to live with all these long years. You, I'm afraid, will not have the fortune to live with any of your mistakes." He could see the anger in Gargamel's eyes, and the fire in his palms grew brighter. With that, Papa Smurf raised his bow, and loosed his arrow directly and the giant's great eye. Gargamel screamed in pain, and reached up to cover his wounded eye. The fires that he had conjoured up were not discriminating in what they burned. The flesh of his face became to bubble, then char, before he realized what had happened. The moment he took his hands away from his face, the peace loving smurfs raised their primitive weapons and followed Papa Smurf's lead. They discharged their weapons at his head, all of them. Gargamel flailed wildly in his blindness, bright fire still streaming from his fingertips, and his face bathed in a crimson mask. Several more smurfs, not to mention the cat, were singed or worse during the confusion. By now many parts of the cottage were on fire. The cat had fled as soon as there was resistance. The Smurfs made their way out the way they had come, and set up a camp safe distance away from the house. Papa Smurf posted sentries all around the dwelling, while those that were able tended to the wounded. They stayed there through the night, and watched the cabin burn. If he escaped the firestorm, none of the sentries saw it.

As the sun rose the next morning, the stench of rotting, maggot infested bodies was enough to make woodland creatures blow chunks. The casualties were many but victory was smurfy and the demolished smurf village was reconstructed and restored to its former peace and tranquillity. And they all lived smurfily ever after.

 

THE END.

[dezdimona]

lol, this was great!

[Quetzlsacatanango]

Lol?

But it was a documentary...

 

 

;)