Hobbit Graphic Novels & Stories

“Inspect the tableware, Chika.” Confused by his focus on the porcelain, I stepped to the mahogany edge and picked up a heavy, custom-fired ceramic bowl. To my absolute disbelief, an elite graphic artist had printed a stylized, sharp-chinned cartoon image of my wolf form—complete with my distinct silver-tinted fur and arrogant scowl—directly onto the glaze of every plate and vessel. Thinking my vision was playing tricks due to the concussion, I picked up a platter, inspecting the border work three times.

Ink walks over to me asking if I was okay, I smile thanking him where he shakes his head. "I should be the one thanking you, you helped me get out of a situation where I'd probably be in to the day I died" he smiles, I mean I didn't do much I just knew what was best for him "oh I got you this, back when we had our first conversation you mentioned something about mice drinking milk, so I thought I'd buy you a book" he smiles, handing me a little book with a mouse on the front, I can't believe he remembered that was so long ago. He picks Amelia up telling me he wanted to show her a cool fish tank, while I flip through the book, once I find the answer I turn to look at Blake.

Tobi offered a small, mysterious tilt of his head. "He’s like a priest," the customer remarked, leaning in to inspect the wet paint. "You ask him a question, and he gives you a vision instead of a lie. Tobi, tell me if you were to paint my husband’s snoring, what color would it be? Because in my ears, it is the color of a rusty engine." The surrounding crowd erupted in laughter. Tobi smiled, his hand moving fluidly across the wood. He grabbed a stick of charcoal and drew a heavy, vibrating spiral of "Smog Grey" that seemed to weigh down the corner of the kiosk.

I rifled through my sketchbook, praying he left me alone like everyone else had. "I know you can draw. It's so beautiful. What's that? " he asked pointing at my newest sketch. I shut the book, sliding it out of his reach. I glared at him, not quite used to anyone disturbing me. He met my gaze coolly. " Ah! Where are my manners? " he said. I mumbled, "probably in your half eaten sandwich". He smiled. "Who knew you had a sense of humour? My name is Matthew. L. Henderson." I rolled my eyes, not caring I was sitting next to the mayor's son. He cocked his head, clearly waiting for me to introduce myself like the lady I wasn't.

“The Baron wants the hobgoblin’s barbed club. I don’t know if he understands the meaning of diplomacy, but it is what it is.” Laughing without mirth, Zen accepted the new quest and sighed. He’d just confirmed the status of the hobgoblin with the scout. Although the hobgoblin was injured from the cursed tree expedition, he was still strong enough to defend his camp. “I’ll try to figure out something,” he thanked the merchant and left with Venedict in tow.

Mike asked. "Tink find dirty book," the goblin whispered. Picking it up, she opened the pages and turned it around. In stunning detail was an image of a werewolf, his monstrous member dangling between his legs as he jerked his load into the hungry mouth of a pair of women on the ground beneath him.

The first pages contained ordinary drawings. Faith. The house. The old fig tree. Then... His expression changed. Bethwel leaned closer. "What is it?" Alex turned the book around. Glen had drawn the northern woods. A square hatch. Six stick figures. One had a hat. Another had unusually large boots. Each figure carried a different symbol instead of a face. Joel smiled. "Children draw differently." Alex nodded. "No." "He wasn't drawing faces." "He was classifying them." He pointed at the figure with the hat.

It would be cruel to me. I'm surprised the wolf listened to me. From behind, I watched it as it looked at the two men escape as if it regretted its action of listening to me. The creature then slowly turned around and walked past me, heading further into the woods. I followed him. Pausing under a tree, I watched as he made his way towards a cliff and halted near the edge of it. The moon shone brightly down on its body, allowing me to see its dark and light grey fur with tints of black and brown clearly.

Not even a single try. “What does it say?” I asked, brows furrowing as I rubbed both of my palms to create warmth. The cold had been much cruel today ever since we arrived at the healer’s cabin. I encouraged myself to look at the drawings instead; the art style is pretty much gothic, if not ancient. It wasn’t inked. Hues of black and white were embedded on the golden brown pages of the material. I saw the graphics of a human and a werewolf. They were doing something strange… some sort of a ritual. Elliot did not flip the pages further so I ended up guessing that that was it.

“Dude, do you want me to give you a mirror? You got disgusting holes on your oily face. You’re a motherfucking kraken.” Gollum passively snickered at her comment. “But one of you is clearly out of place,” added Gray. “I mean, look at him.” She gestured her hand toward Gollum with a jeering expression. “One of you is clearly one of the irreplaceable cast of The Hobbit.” Fakey, Ursula and the tentacled-faced man who looked half the old man’s age couldn’t help but chortle at her remark. Gollum, on the other hand, was obviously displeased.