flies the coop

by Hole Dweller

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    Features an original tale which follows the misadventures of the Hobbit Jamwine Hamfiddle. Each short chapter accompanies a song.

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about

View the lyrics to read the accompanying story!

SUPPORT THE ARTIST: holedweller.bandcamp.com

Rolant redefines the genre yet again with his latest masterpiece "flies the coop".

Mild and idyllic - a departure from his debut album as Bellkeeper, "flies the coop" quickly became an instant classic with it's warm production, and nostalgic songwriting.

Contender for one of 2019's best dungeon synth albums.

credits

released October 25, 2019

All music written and recorded by Rolant the Recluse

Logo and written story by Lord Tetrarch

Artwork by Paul Noble

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Dungeons Deep Records

Dungeons Deep Records formed in 2006.

Procuring Dungeon Synth, Medieval Ambient & Black Metal

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Track Name: With Dreams of Adventure, I Smoke from My Longpipe Beneath the Stars
In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit.
No, not that Hobbit.
Jamwine Hamfiddle enjoyed smoking his pipe, drinking tea and eating cakes. All by the foot of a soupy frog pond he called home.
It was a spot that often became lively under moonlight. Fireflies blinked awake, and frogs warbled a slimy opera.
A ripe dull old lad who lazed about; Jamwine was not much to venture outside Frogmorton - Even more so than most halflings.
This evening was like no other. In fact, Jamwine planned it that very way. Day in, day out, Jamwine sought schedules much like those prior. Plenty of breakfasts, before a late morning smoke. A nice long lunch followed by a short nap, and finally, off to the Floating Log Inn for banquet and libations.
Track Name: An Empty Tankard of Ale at The Floating Log Inn
This evening was like any other. A faint candlelight flicker pierced through the dusty windows onto the street. A cool mist whispered out front of the Floating Log Inn.
Jamwine peered through rings of longbottom leafsmoke that bellowed in the pub’s dirty air. Peering across the misty room and through the small distant window, the reflective moonlit frog pond beckoned from a horizon hobbits dare not explore.
The olde ale was mighty stronger than most nights. A silly buzz in the air and Jamwine found himself waltzing about the room. An attempt surely to reach the bar for another pint.
Due to the unsteady nature of the pub floor that particular evening, Jamwine rather stumbled out the door, and into the brisk night air. An amble bump, and a graceful topple later, Jamwine found himself tumbling down the townsend mound, and into a thicket field… unknown to Jamwine.
Track Name: Along the Great East Road Cows Graze on Emerald Fields
Bumped and bruised, Jamwine startles awake to a bright morning light, dew soaked trousers and a sense as if his head had been smacked with a dwarven hammer.
Without as much as a morning stretch, Jamwine was suddenly jerked up from his groggy slumber by a passing herd of cattle. As he stepped back only to sink his foot into a pile of manure, he realized this day was not going well for him.
It was at this moment that Jamwine realized he was not at all about his bearings, and discovered he was quite lost. A winding path that wrapped around the overgrown fields set out in front of him. Walking left would lead uphill, while the right path dropped down into a shaded grove. Hamfiddles are well known for their more than usual laziness, so naturally the downhill path was chosen. Down the path he strolled. The shade becoming thicker, the air falling cooler, and the day growing darker.
Track Name: An Apple Tart Between Seed Cake and Buttered Scone
As the day dragged on, Jamwine found himself quite fatigued. A Hamfiddle without their breakfast is about as cranky of a Hobbit as you’ll see, and now it was pushing well past lunchtime. A swarm of dun flies began buzzing about his head, and as he trudged on, the swarm seemed to thicken in the air. Flies usually meant a frog pond was nearby.
“Maybe I am nearing Frogmorton”, Jamwine huffed.
While busily swatting flies, our adventurer failed to notice a gnarled root that jut from the dirt, causing him to plummet hard to the ground. From his untied satchel a wax paper parcel rolled out and away, down the path.
“Scone!” Jamwine shouted, only now remembering he had packed away a bit of tart and a leftover scone whilst leaving the pub. Quickly, he slid down the path, rolling into the edge of a wildflower meadow. Out of the high brush, it was now obvious that the day was coming to a close. Jamwine sat on a stump, savoring his small morsel of a meal. It was time to set up camp.
Jamwine stuffed a bit of leafy powder into his empty pipe. A large plume of grey smoke erupted in a crackle. As his eyes wandered on across the wildflowers, he began to call to mind the field near his home as a child.
Track Name: Memories in Wildflower and the Setting Sun
"Jamwine!" his mother called. "Jamwine it is time for supper".
Down past the pond, a river cracked through the earth and dipped into a wooded hollow. A small plump lad sat at the edge of the bank, sobbing.
From around the bend appeared a woman. Short and ample, her hair a hedge of wild brown curls - beneath them a young round freckled face with walnut eyes.
Standing cross armed, she held back a half smirk and addressed her pouting son. "Jammy I been calling ya now, it's your din gettin cold, up you go!".
"I don't wanna". He scorned.
It was then she noticed a tear in her child's eye.
Kneeling down to the young boys level she spoke softly. "You have to" she said as she lifted him up; "I know it's not easy little Jammy, but you have to push on. We have to push on together".
They left the riverside, walking home hand and hand. Jamwine and his mother departed the glade and entered into the wide yellow field. The evening sky blazed a lustrous cerise as the early evening sun began to swell. The insects buzzed about and the smell of cottage pie began to fill the air as they neared their home.
Jamwine stopped for a moment and looked back over his shoulder as he heard a flock of birds burst out from the brush, silhouetting and spreading into the quiet sky. He thought about how small he felt in the world.

He thought about his Pa, and how much he missed him.

They cleared the top of the mound surrounding their Frogmorton residence revealing a small bump in the dirt that they called home.
Jamwine skipped along the path, swatting flies and mosquitoes from the air.
As they came closer, the swarm thickened. A dreadful droning buzz filled the air.
"Mammy!" Jamwine called through the suffocating black hissing cloud. "Mam where are you?"
Track Name: Have My Eyes Seen a Phantasm in the Shadow of Camp?
Jamwine breathed a deep gasp as he lurched up from his slumber. A dark shadowy form wove through a line of pines that edged the meadow, emitting a loud buzz.
"I'm not afraid of you!" Jamwine cried as he reached for his stick lying across the fire, holding it out in front of him as a torch.
The flames flickered, projecting the shadows of the night across the wall of pines. The dark cloud seemed to grow to an immense size as it hovered across the light of the torch. It was at this moment Jamwine feared for his life, and with a sudden act of courage, he charged toward the swirling specter, shouting. “Be gone you old ghoul!”
A swing of the torch, and suddenly the ghost was gone. A surge of pride filled the old Hobbit, and as the sun peeked over the horizon, camp began to feel a bit less frightening.
He had faced his fears that evening, and while we won’t tell him the phantasm was but merely a swarm of flies hovering over a lost plop of strawberry jam, something had changed inside Jamwine forever that night.
Track Name: Morning Rain by the Overhill Yards, a Harvest of Wet Lumber
After a morning smoke, and a snuffing of the smoldering fire, Jamwine began on his way. Proudly marching the path forward, crossing into the mouth of an evergreen forest. A light rain began to trickle irregularly from the holes in the pines above. In the distance a light billowing of white smoke appeared, and around him piles of wood showed proof of the nearby axemen. The coniferous wood became denser, the path began to disappear in parts, and the thick brush tangled around him.
Track Name: Through the Bindbole Wood
After days of hiking, Jamwine soon began to realize this forest was much unlike the Woody End near Frogmorton. And suddenly all at once, his spirit dissolved. Small weaving streams and bristly growth made the forest difficult to traverse.
He slumped down against the side of a wall, knocking a stone loose, which tumbled down onto our hero’s foot. “Oh that does it” Jamwine cried out, rising to his feet as if to give the rocky slope a scolding. However, he stopped short as he noticed something peeking out from within the hole in which the stone rolled out from. A small piece of parchment rolled up and stuffed inside, as if done hastily.
Jamwine’s chubby fingers made it somewhat difficult to remove the note from its crevice and he eventually managed to extract it. Unrolling the note, he read to himself the first words scratched onto the page;
“Stinging nettles,
Stinking fog.”
Abruptly, he was interrupted by a low gurgling snarl. Jamwine turned his head slowly, his body frozen in place. From within a dark hole in the rockface, two glistening eyes, and below them a steamy breath.
“Bear!” Jamwine shouted, and without hesitation darted through the brush. Hopping over thorns and dodging tree limbs, he could hear the creature behind him keeping pace. Jamwine continued racing blindly through the thick forest so fast that he did not notice the sound of rushing water. Bursting through the edge of the woods, Jamwine tripped and rolled into a rushing river - the bear giving up the chase (we won't tell Jamwine it was but a playful cub) .
Downstream he was tossed among the river rocks until finally the force of the stream began to cease, and the exhausted Hobbit drifted slowly to the riverbank. Jamwine collapsed into the sandy shore.
Track Name: The Dwarven Caravan of Rushock Bog
A creaking wagon making its way along the river path came to a halt as the driver noticed the soaking hobbit unconscious at the shore. Off hopped a sturdy dwarf. “Up you go then,'' he spoke in a grisly voice lifting Jamwine into the cart.
It was around noon when Jamwine began to awaken due to the stinging of mosquitos and bumping of the cart along the road.
“Where am I?” he groaned.
“Nearing Rushock it seems”, one dwarf grumbled. “We’ll drop you past the nettle fields, near Needlehole”
“Nettles?” Jamwine thought to himself, recalling only now that he was still clutching the mysterious note.
He quietly read the words aloud to himself:
Stinging nettles,
Stinking fog.
You’ll find the treasure
North of the bog.
“Treasure!?” One dwarf perked up.
Jamwine was just beginning to notice his surroundings and his newfound companions. 4 dwarves in total.
"Well I just found this note, and -" Jamwine was quickly interrupted.
"North we ride!" the driver shouted.
With a jerk, the wagon sped towards the sunset.
Track Name: Needlehole, Traveler's Rest
Night was falling as they rolled past the splintered sign that read “Needlehole”.
Throughout days of forests and fields it was certainly a relief for Jamwine to see evidence of village life. Although he had never traveled to such far reaches of the Shire, it did feel a bit like home.
Jamwine’s first order of business would be to find the nearest inn. The dwarves, being dwarves, had other intentions.
“Let us see that map” the lead dwarf shouted back to Jamwine from the driver’s seat.
“We shall make a pact” said Jamwine hesitantly, “You helped me from the bank of the river, I am in your service. Should we find this treasure, you must agree to help me back to Frogmorton."
“Deal!” the dwarves shouted in unison.
The head dwarf muttered the clues to himself.
“Stinking fog?” he thought with puzzlement. “That could only mean one thing… Tonight, we rest in Needlehole. Tomorrow we seek the gold!”
It was a fair enough plan for Jamwine. It had been a long journey.
“Ok fellas, onward to the Inn. Oh and, I don’t believe I caught your names…”

To be continued...

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