The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Poster.jpg

For days it had been there, on a little signpost just outside the Lonely Mountain. Many Dwarves had pondered it long and wondered what it could be, for the terror of Mount Zoom had lain heavy on their hearts for many years now. What with other places joining in the 'fun' and all, who knew which monument or building would end up driving away next?
As the end of the week approached, the Dwarves looked out at the morning sun and breathed the early air, before work. But something was different... Something was not quite right... There were seven great mounds all covered with some sort of curtain. Six were in a semi-circle around the seventh and all had a different coloured curtain.
The first on the left was yellow and covered a thing that almost looked like a house shape. The next was grey and covered a huge circular thing with a great point at the top. The third was dark green and covered something equally big, yet more spiky and irregular. Forth, there was a dark red curtain covering an immeasurably tall thing that seemed to be glowing at the top. The fifth was much smaller, about the size of a bungalow, yet it was circular and covered by a light green curtain. And the sixth was dark grey and seemed to be another tall thing, not as tall as the other, but still pretty tall.
In the centre was a very strange shape, almost like a mountain, but the top was too flat to be one. Its curtain was red.

Before all these things, on a raised platform, was a young Dwarf http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg . He had a short brown beard and a silver helm. He wore a red tunic with black trousers and huge grey boots. Across his body was a dark green belt and holding his trousers up were two yellow braces.
Then the Dwarves noticed that they were not alone. For hundreds upon thousands of people were gathered around. Elves, men, Orcs and other creatures, all waving flags and eating popcorn.

"Greetings good people!" cried the dwarf, "I am Dwarfy the Dwarf, and I warmly welcome you to the first Mount Zoom Challenge!" the crowd went wild with applause and cheering. Dwarfy raised his arms in a gesture of silence, and the crowd soon died down. "I'm afraid that my associate is not able to join us at this present time, but he will be here soon enough. Now, on with the show!"
There was an aghast silence as Dwarfy pointed towards the large yellow lump.
"I give to you, Medul-zoom!" the curtain was raised off and all beheld the Golden halls, raised upon wheels with a great exhaust pipe at the back. At the doors stood Théoden and Eowyn. Dwarfy then looked towards the grey lump, and the curtain was moved off that also.
"Minas Taxi!" The white City of Gondor stood shimmering in the morning light, the tower pointing straight up, and leaning out of the window of the highest window were Denethor and Faramir. Next the dark green curtain was removed.
"Minas Mor-go!" The city of the Ring wraiths in all its horror was reviled! The unexplained green glow was rampant, and stood upon the top of the gate was the Witch King himself, along with Nazgûl #4.
"Barrad-Dash!" the dark red curtain was removed and there stood the dark tower itself! Tower upon tower, battlement upon battlement! Yet it, like the others, was raised upon a platform and had mighty wheels! Stood by the fake Eye of Sauron at the top, was Gothmog and his faithful servant, Orc #429187943. Yet, this Orc fell from the great height and his ruin was scattered on the floor. So he was replaced swiftly by Orc #429187943b.
"Bag Endless-fuel!" the small green curtain fluttered away to reveal the grand old Hobbit hole, mounted upon wheels of wood and gold! Just outside the door, smoking pipes, were Frodo and Bilbo Baggins.
"Oth-Tank!" the dark grey curtain was taken away and burned, so that Saruman's tower could be seen. Like, and yet unlike to Barad-dash, it was merely an attempt at its majesty and terror. At the foot, checking the wheels were Saruman and Wormtong.
"And finally, ladies and gentlemen," said Dwarfy, "The original-" there was much cheering, "The greatest-" the cheering rose, "You love it! It the one and only...
MOUNT ZOOM!" there was a clamour of fireworks and loud music as the final curtain was stripped away and the great Mount was reviled! Blackened by years of eruptions, its top was a crown and its sides were traitorous. At the Crack of Doom stood Sauron in a black cape, with his huge helm, towering high. He couldn't decide weather to be necromancer or Dark Lord, so he went half and half. Next to him, stood a small man with a serious dental problem. It was the Mouth of Sauron.
"There are cakes over there, by the way." said Dwarfy. Many people dashed over to the buffet tables and scoffed as many as they could. While they did this, the vehicles lined up ready for the beginning.

At about the seventh hour, everyone was gathered together at a great height, observing all the vehicles. Dwarfy the Dwarf stood nigh, holding a great chequered flag. The anticipation was growing and the crowd was about to explode with merriment. So finally, Dwarfy waved the flag and with a loud call, shouted,

"GO!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Okay, here are the things:

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg MOUNT ZOOM
= Maeggaladiel (Sauron) + Glirdan (Mouth of Sauron)

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Bag-Endless-fule
= The Saucepan Man (Bilbo) + Caranlondien (Frodo)

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg Orth-Tank
= Sleepy Ranger (Saruman) + Meneltarmacil (Wormtong)

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Barrad-dash.jpg Barad-Dash
= Morsul the Dark (Gothmog) + Gil-Gallad (Orc # 429187943b)

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg Medel-zoom
= Valier (Eowyn) + Farael ... Replaced by Boromir88 after Spider Challenge (Théoden)

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Minas Mor-go

= Alcarillo (Witch King) + Gurthang (Ring Wraith#4)

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Minas Taxi
= Formendacil (Denethor) + Spawn (Faramir)

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Minas Tirith cruised smoothly to the starting line. Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord High Steward of Gondor, peered out of the tower, down to the crowd, where a huge section of the crowd, clad in black and gold, had turned out to support the Gondorian team.

"Father," he heard his son and copilot say, "Aragorn's on the palantír. It's something about being a good steward of his city, and making sure to return it with a full tank."

Denethor scowled. Minas Tirith had been his ride! His!

"Yes, yes," he grumbled to Faramir. "While I head over to the podium to speak to the crowd, you go find Húrin, Keeper of the Keys, and get the spare set. I don't want to be stranded somewhere in the middle of Rhovannion just because we misplaced the one set.

"I've never misplaced anything in my life," said Faramir.

"What about that Ring?"

"I didn't misplace it! I sent it on it's way!"

"Whatever. You go get the keys, while I go talk to the crowd. Got to drum up some more fans, you know. I think the Arnorian crowd could be persuaded to root for us instead of that silly Bag-End, if we appeal to their Númenorean side."

Faramir rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He and Denethor descended the long stairwell down to the citadel, then followed the road down the seven circles, weaving back and forth until they reached at last the great, re-wrought gates of the city. It was a quick jump to the ground, and then Faramir was off to find the support team for Minas Tirith, while Denethor headed off to the podium, where Dwarfy the Dwarf was welcoming the Drivers.

"And now," announced the Dwarf grandly, "to introduce to each of you our charming and heroic drivers, who will represent us in this daring race!"

Denethor glared at Saruman (Palantír thief!), at Sauron (eyelidless git!), Gothmog (the waffle-faced!) and the Witchking (imitation city-driver). He spared a glance for Éowyn, barely acknowledging that she was his son (and copilot, he thought with a grimace)'s girlfriend. He looked right over Bilbo (old fuddy-duddy).

When his turn came to be introduced, Denethor stepped up to the mike, raised his arms in greeting to the crowd.

"FOR GONDOR!!" he cried, clicking on a lighter in his right hand. The lighter caught flame, and in the crowd, the Gondorian fans waved their own lighters, torches, and other flaming objects in solidarity with their driver. Except one.

"Uh oh..." muttered Boromir. "Dad + Fire = Not Good!"

Sure enough, a wind arose out of nowhere, and the flame caught on Denethor's cloak, spreading.

"Oops..." said Denethor. "Quick! Something to douse the flames." He caught sight of a barrel just behind the podium, and hurried to extinguish himself.

"No, no, Dad!" cried Faramir. "That's fuel for the engines!"

Denethor paused long enough for the para-healers to catch up to him with a bucket of water. Pretty soon he was soaking, steaming, and scowling.

"I look like a fool," he muttered to Faramir, as Dwarfy continued to introduce the drivers.

"At least the crowd loved it," whispered Faramir.

"Did they now?" grumbled Denethor. "Well, that's one good thing. Was it the Arnorians, do you think?"

"No, I think it was the Balrogs who enjoyed it the most."

"Silly pyromaniacs."

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Ring Wraith #4:

*hiss-hiss* *unearthly screech* *hissy-hiss-hiss*


Translation:

"Wait a minute, Witch-King! We have a problem with Minas Mor-go! I think the Orc-powered engine is revolting! Give me a minute to knock 'em back in line.. If they don't cooperate we can always just resort to using them as fuel for our furnace. Either way, we'll be up and running a double time!"

[Farael]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg The words of the King.

The moment for the grand unveiling was near at hand. After much positioning and bargaining, he had managed to convince the other racers that his very own Medul-zoom should be the first one to be shown to the expecting crowds.

The beautiful Eowyn was standing next to him, as the sunlight glittered on the golden structures, banners proudly flying and waving on the soft morning breeze…. Now the beautiful Eowyn was glancing at Minas-Taxi that had just been unveiled. Faramir again.

“Better keep an eye out for those two… Faramir might be a good man but I do not trust that Denethor. I’ve never forgiven him for trying to steal my thunder. It was MY tragic death that everyone should weep for, not some crazy pyromaniac’s” Grumbled Theoden.

The unveiling ceremony was done, and Theoden walked proudly out of his racing-structure to give his speech. Sadly, trade-offs had to be made and his turn to talk was right after Denethor. The old man just couldn’t, he couldn’t give a normal speech and be over with it, right? No, he had to do his “oh, look at me, I’m in fire, literally” routine. Well fine, He’d show him. He’d show all of them! Theoden King stepped into the slightly scorched podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Hobbits, Dwarves and Elves and some re-adjusted to society orcs”

“And Balrogs!!” roared the left wing of the stands.

“And Balrogs,” continued Theoden. “I am here to claim yet another victory for the proud people of Rohan. Who else but us has the knowledge and experience necessary to travel great distances at fast speeds? We, the care-takers of the Mearas, fathers of all horses, we the Rohirrim shall once again ride to victory!” Mild cheers arose from most of the crowd, while the Rohan fans blew their horns and tried to explain to some dull witted trolls the concept of “the wave”

Theoden went on,
“Arise!!! Arise!!! Riders of Theoden!!!
Harsh quests await: Rivers and Mountains!
Bridges shall be built, shortcuts shall be found,
An insane-day, a racing day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!... erm I mean To the Grey Heavens!!”

With that last scream, the whole centre of the audience that was mostly occupied by Rohirrim and some Rohan-persuaded men from Dunland rose to their feet on a standing ovation. Signs of “Theoden you are my hero” and “Eowyn we love you… sorry Faramir” were common among them, as were cloaks that said “I went to the unveiling ceremony, cheered for my lord Theoden and all I got was this silly cloak”

It seemed Marketing, and lame marketing at that, has its roots on the ancient days of Middle Earth.

Bowing out of the podium and leaving some space for the Witch King of Angmar, Theoden walked again into Medul-zoom and ordered Hama to warm up the horsengine

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The Witch-king of Angmar

Frodo Baggins had eluded him at every turn . . .

Saruman and Gothmog had usurped his place in Sauron's heart . . .

Eowyn had stabbed him straight through the head, in front of everybody at Pelennor . . .

Those measly Gondorians had defeated his armies battle after battle . . .

And now the Witch-king of Angmar wanted vengeance!

And his time had come! A great race would prove that he, the Witch-king, was superior to all of those fools! When he had caught wind that all of his former rivals were entering the Great Mount Doom Challenge, he could not resist entering his own city into the contest. He attached wheels to Minas Morgul, installed airbags in every wall, and voila! Minas Mor-go was born! He and his sidekick, the fourth Nazgul, had driven their vehicle north to Erebor, where the great race was to begin.

And now, as the dark green curtain was pulled aside, the Witch-king finally felt that he was certain to beat those idiots! The dark green curtain parted, and Minas Mor-go, the city of the Ringwraiths, long ago called Minas Ithil, was revealed! Every sharp and pointy tower and rampart was lit by the eerie green glow of the city. The Witch-king stood at the gate, and as the crowd applauded madly, he raised his hands towards the sky and laughed a deep, frightening, maniacal laugh:

"Mwahahahahahahaha! Mwaha! Ha! Ha! Mwahahahaha! I shall win this race, and all of those pathetic mortal fools will be crushed beneath the wheels of Minas Mor-go! Mwahahahahahaha!"

Ringwraith #4, standing beside the Witch-king, tugged on his sleeve. "What is it? Can't you see that I'm busy?"

Ringwraith #4 backed away a good couple of feet, trying not to anger the Witch-king. "Yes, sir, but the other drivers are going to make their speeches right now." The Witch-king, disappointed to be interrupted, crossed his arms and pouted.

The first driver to make his speech was Denethor, the driver of Minas Taxi. He came up to the podium, and lit himself on fire. "Typical," said the Witch-king to Ringwraith #4. "He's always showing off to the crowds like that. Fool." But the Witch-king could not help but be amused by Denethor's third-degree burns.

Then it was King Theoden's turn. "Ha! Remember how I killed that mortal fool?" said the Witch-king, "He was, and still is, a weak old man." And after Theoden's speech was done, the Witch-king said "That cheap old coot. He took that speech straight from Pelennor, I swear it!"

Soon it was the Witch-king's turn to make a speech. He whistled once, and his great flying steed swooped down from where he was perched on a black, spiky tower. It landed on the gates and howled for the crowds, who went wild with applause.

"Wait a minute, Witch-King! We have a problem with Minas Mor-go!" said Ringwraith #4, receiving a message from an orc slave, "I think the Orc-powered engine is revolting! Give me a minute to knock 'em back in line. If they don't cooperate we can always just resort to using them as fuel for our furnace. Either way, we'll be up and running a double time."

"Just threaten to throw them under the wheels if they don't cooperate," snarled the Witch-king. Stupid orcs. They can never just do as you tell them.

As Ringwraith #4 hurried to the dungeons and basements where over a thousand orcs turned Minas Mor-go's axles day and night, the Witch-king mounted his steed, and glided to the podium with an inhuman shriek. He leapt off of his steed, and unsheathed his Morgul blade with a brilliant shhhinnng! He searched the crowd for the wraiths and wights, waving deep green banners, and waved his sword around his head and gave one last shriek. His fell beast bellowed, too, raising its head toward the sky, which seemed to darken though there was not a cloud anywhere near the sun. The crowd applauded and the green banners waved more madly than before. The Witch-king, satisfied, leapt back upon his steed and swooped back up to the gate of Minas Mor-go.

"Ha! They loved me! But now I should go see if Ringwraith #4 has gotten those stupid orcs to work right."

Note: All speech between Ringwraiths is in the screechy, shrieky language of Minas Mor-go, but has been translated into Westron for the ease of the reader.

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

The introductions may have been going on yet (Denethor wasn't sure), but already those who had been introduced were beginning to confer with their copilots regarding the direction they should take.

"East would be utter and complete lhunacy, as it takes us away from the end goal," said Denethor.

"Well, it would probably keep the others from following us," said Faramir. "We could double back to southern Rhovannion, jump the Anduin at the Undeeps, cruise through Rohan to the Gap, and then shoot north-west to the Haves."

"Are you saying you want to go East!" said Denethor. "What kind of a hobbit-loving fool are you? It's all very well to pass up the One Ring of Power, saving grace of all hope of defeating Sauron, but it's quite another thing to give them an unfair advantage in this race!"

"Calm down, father!" said Faramir, painfully aware that the last time he had disagreed with Denethor, he had been sent (ironically enough) East to Osgiliath- a rather nasty episode that had resulted in Black Breath illness, being saved by Gandalf (possibly Uncloaked... Faramir was grateful he had be unconscious) and, apparently, a near-death episode by fire, from which Gandalf had saved him- again.

"I was just saying," he continued, "that it may not be the worst tactic ever to head East. Maybe South-South-East or North-North-East or something wouldn't be such a bad idea. There's merit to it, you know."

"The Valar started out the sun and moon going East," muttered Denethor, "and they all agreed it was a foolish idea..."

"It doesn't have to be east at all!" said Faramir. "We can go straight west if you want- smack into the Mountains of Mirkwood!"

"Are you saying that going west- towards the finish line- is foolish?"

"Not at all!"

"Then why all this insistence on going east?" Denethor demanded to know.

Faramir gave a long-suffering sigh.

"I don't WANT to go East. I'm just keeping our options open."

"Then which way DO you want to go?"

Okay, Spawn, here's your cue to come in. If you don't get on (I'm fairly sure you're abed right now, assuming I read my timezones aright), then I'll pick us a direction if I have time before the Cut-Off.

Hookbill: If neither Spawn or myself have time to post before you make the Cutoff, Minas Taxi will be going NORTH-WEST.

[Sleepy Ranger]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg Orth-Tank Not quite the Mach 5

It was a rather annoyed Saruman that was behind the wheel of the Orth-Tank. He could indistinctly be heard mumbling something about Grima not installing the turbo as he was supposed. "That good for nothing free loader. When I was merrily on my way to get my turbo powered engines that fool of a Wormtongue said he'd get it for me but did he? No he very well didn't. Why that no good Grima." though Saruman to himself. "Oh, seems they're about to start soon!" exclaimed the wizard. "Better find that good for nothing Grima and go over the maps for a final time before we set off." with that the wise one retreated to the interior of his vehicle to seek his assistant.

After a few minutes of searching Saruman found Grima asleep on the navigation table. Not seated on a chair with his head between folded arms on the table but asleep on the table, why that good for nothing man. Saruman roused him with a quick bonk on the head from his staff. "Keep awake, we've much work to do." Saruman bonked his assistant on the head again before the fool dozed off again. "Have you built the profiles on our foes and their potential risk yet?" The man nodded and hit the play button on the projector. Two midget orcs pulled themselves out of the rather large machine along with a few large screens. They placed the first one on the wall.

Vehicle: Mount Zoom; A wonderful vehicle.
Driver: Sauron; Dark Lord, owe him tribute.
Passenger: Mouth of Sauron; Arrogant and talks too much.
Potential Risk: Yes.

Saruman grunted angrily, what sort of profiles were this? They told him nothing of his enemies. Owing to Grima this may actually end up being a hard race to win but they would cheat anyway. Saruman walked over to Grima and smiled at him. "Well, lad, have you at least hidden the Uruk-Hai in the crates as I asked you to?" He asked to which Grima nodded, "Yes, sire!" Saruman's smile widened, seemed the fool had done something right, "Excellent! Maybe you aren't as big an idiot as you look. Do you know what we are to do with them?" To this Grima shook his head, "No, sire." Saruman let out a cackle and said, "We shall deploy them along our course so that they hinder our opponents!" Grima was shocked at what he had heard, "But sire, wouldn't that be cheating?"

Saruman gave him a blank look, what sort of idiot had he picked as an assistant? "...Yes..." "But sir, isn't that what the villains would do?" Saruman sighed and shook his head causing his beard to move from side to side rather violently, "We are the villains you idiot." Grima smiled, "Well at least now our motto makes sense, 'Win or lose always cheat.' Only one problem." Saruman frowned, "What is it now Grima?" "I forgot to pack the crates." Jolly good Grima, you've done the deed but forgotten to carry it along for the results. Saruman sighed and shook his head but what had been done had been done, it seemed the Mach 5 had been left tool-less. But enough of that, it was now time to check the maps.

"Grima, what way do you think we should go?" Saruman asked his assistant, studying the maps. "How about we go East sir?" "East? Yes, I've been east before but we shall eventually run into the sea." "Nonsense sir, by moving east we shall move off the edge and end up on the other side." Grima said, beaming proudly. "No more 2-D side scrollers for you, you're enough of an idiot as it is. Now hush, let me think." So Grima let his master be and went back to his little nap.

Saruman though for a while, he thought as he stroked his long white beard.

Those wretched hobbits were in this race. They had beaten him in the Finest Pipe-Weed Battle. Damn them.
And that Sauron and his Mouth? Hmph, they had won the Villain's Baking Contest, Saruman's cookies weren't pretty enough. Damn them.
And oh look, if it wasn't dear Eowyn and Theoden. They had beaten him at Helms' Deep somehow. Damn them.
Denethor and Faramir. They had been beating him in the Garden Variety Show for three years now. Damn them.
And the Witch-King and that other guy with him. They had been on the cover page of 'Evil Glorified' over him. Damn them.
And then there was Gothmog and his orc. They were probably filler. Damn them.

And that about summed up what Saruman thought about his foes. Now, back to thinking about where to go. He continued to stroke his great white beard, where should they go? Which way would lead to victory? Perhaps the ought to move South-West till they arrived at the Gap of Rohan or they could always cut West and head for Rivendell. Choices, choices... it was time to awaken Grima once more. Saruman hobbled over to Grima and the staff did the rest. "Listen Grima, we must decide which way to head. It seems the time to set off has arrived. Come I shall speak to you as we drive."

Saruman walked to the large balcony of the Orth-Tank and on the mark, he set off. "Now Grima we could head South-West and make for the Gap of Rohan but I hear we're not liked there, I wonder why... or we could cut West for Rivendell. What say you?"

---
Menel, I'm not sure if you're still here or not (kinda forgot when you're going and too lazy to check) but if you are then reply to this if you can. I'll check back every now and then and post again with the final direction before the deadline.

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpgAn Unexpected Corporate Event

Bilbo Baggins peered nervously out from the curtains of Bag-Endless-Fuel and then fell back into a chair and put his head in his hands.

"Goodness gracious," he thought to himself. "All those people! And if I know these Middle-earth types, they'll all be wanting to come in for tea. I really do not know if there is enough in the pantry for all of them. I was rather hoping to save that large seed-cake, the pork pies and cheese, the carrot cakes and a few bottles of that porter that we picked up from Eryn Lasgalen on the way for the celebration of our victory."

He peeked out again, but the crowds were still there.

"Confusticate and bebother those Dwarves," he said aloud, his thoughts drifting back to the occasion which had prompted his participation in this race ...


One quiet, sunny morning some months previously, just after second breakfast, as Bilbo had been sitting outside his front door smoking his pipe, Gandalf had come by.

"Good morning, Gandalf!" Bilbo had said innocently.

And Gandalf had peered at him from underneath his great bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. It was a look that Bilbo knew only too well.

"No!" he had said immediately. "No, Gandalf. I'm not interested in any more of your adventures. And, before you ask, I wish you good morning and mean that it is a good morning whether you want it or not and that I feel good this morning and that it is a morning to be good on. All of them at one and the same time."

"Calm down, Bilbo," Gandalf had replied. "It's not breaking and entering this time. Or dealing with Dragons. Or even extended Ring Quests. It's just ... er ..." And at this Gandalf had cast his eyes to the ground in a rather embarassed manner. "It's just that I met this Dwarf and we got talking. And he told me about a little race that he was organising. And, well we had a few ales together, and one thing led to another as it does, and ... well ..."

"And ...?" Bilbo had enquired impatiently, and not a little fearfully.

"And ... er ... well, I ended up entering you in the race."

"Well, you can just go back and un-enter me."

"It's not quite as simple as that, Bilbo," Gandalf had continued rather uncomfortably. "I .. er ... well ... I placed rather a large wager on you."

"Sorry! I don't want any races, thank you. Not today. Good morning! But please come to tea any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow! Good-bye!"

And with that, Bilbo had turned and scuttled inside his round green door, shutting it as quickly as he dared, not to seem rude. Gandalf in the meantime was still standing outside the door, feeling rather abashed. After a while he had stepped up, and with the spike of his staff scratched a queer sign on the hobbit's beautiful green front-door.

The next day, Bilbo had almost forgotten their conversation, when a knock had come at his door.

"Bah! That pesky Wizard!" He had thought to himself. "Wager or no wager, he can count me out of this silly old race. I'm too old to be driving helter-skelter all round Middle-earth."

But it was not Gandalf. It was a Dwarf all nicely doled up in a corporate suit. And it was not long before another arrived, and then another, and then yet another. Before long, there were thirteen Dwarves and one arm-chancing Wizard sitting in his living room eating him out of burrow and home. The most important of the Dwarves seemed to be a grand old fellow with a long, grey beard, called (rather appropriately) Dwarfy Dwarf. It seemed that they represented a company called Mount Zoom Challenge Enterprises and that they were keen on Bilbo entering the race. Before long, they had brought in a whole range of instruments. Dwarfy Dwarf himself played a great, green and black kazzoo marked Barrow-Downs™. And, as their voices struck up in song, Bilbo was transported to pit-lanes lined with gold, running with rivers of axle-grease and high octane fuel.

The Dwarves of yore made mighty races
With drivers skilled like flying aces
In circuits wide, where crowds went wild
And testing tracks put them through their paces

Then Dragons came with blazing fires
And turned the tracks to burning pyres
No more did drivers come from Arda-wide
No more did crowds thrill to spinning tyres

The time has come to race once more
To fill the stadia with crowds that roar
With punters willing to pay in gold
For tickets priced at twenty score

Far over the misty mountains cold
To hospitality corporate and circuits old
We must away, ere break of day
To claim our audience ratings gold.

And, as the night drew in, Dwarfy Dwarf had unfurled a great map of the race course and begun to explain the rules. And, of course, it had not been long before Bilbo's Tookish side had kicked in, with some rather self-interested encouragement from Gandalf it must be said, and he had started asking all kinds of questions.

"But what shall I drive?" he had eventually asked.

And Gandalf had raised his hands to indicate the burrow in which they sat.

"Behold Bag-Endless-fuel," the Wizard had solemnly intoned.

"Confusticate and bebother those Dwarves," Bilbo repeated, surveying the various cogs, wheels, pipes and gears that now ran throughout his beloved Hobbit hole. He was rather regretting having employed Ted Sandyman as Chief Mechanic. Not to mention Gandalf's wizadry in the engine room. Bilbo wondered how long a vehicle could run on fireworks alone. Of course, he was now rather regretting the entire enterprise and his mind was racing for a way out. And before long, a sly smile crossed his face, just as his nephew and co-pilot entered the room.

"Uncle Bilbo," Frodo said. "They're waiting for you to make your driver's speech."

"Are they indeed, my boy. Well, I shall not keep them waiting."

And so Bilbo Baggins was soon standing on the podium, his tiny figure dwarfed by the huge crowd.

"My dear Gondorians and Rohirrim,", he began. "And my dear Rivendellians and Galadhrim, and Hobbits, and Dwarves, and Arnorians, and Isengarders, and Orcs, Trolls, Ringwraiths, Easterlings and Southrons. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am."

Deafening cheers. Cries of Yes (and No). Bilbo was thankful that the ale tent had been open for some hours already and that the hordes before him would therefore have cheered anything that walked and talked, and some things that do neither, by this stage.

"Well, I don't know half of you as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. But I must say that I am most honoured to have been invited to participate in this race. Bag-Endless-Fuel is a wonderous machine, crafted and honed to perfection by the greatest craftsmen of the Shire. And not a little wizadry to boot. I have no doubt whatsoever that it shall be taking the chequered flag first, when eventually it arrives at the Grey Havens."

More cheering. Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes and flutes, and other musical instruments.

"But I must, alas, tell you, that I shall not be accompanying the vehicle myself. It is high time that my nephew and heir cut his teeth, and I shall be handing the enterpise over to him. Elrond of Rivendell has offered me a nice cushy little number transcribing old tales in the Last Homely House. It was an offer that I could not refuse. And so this, my friends is goodbye. I give you the driver of Bag-Endless-Fuel, Frodo Baggins."

And with that, Bilbo, who had been fingering a rather familiar band of gold in his pocket during the speech, vanished!

The crowd went suddenly quiet and all eyes turned to a rather shell-shocked Frodo.

*******************

Edit: Caranlondien, Bilbo will be preparing for his journey to Rivendell in Bag-Endless-Fuel if you want to discuss tactics and direction before he sets off.

He shall of course be kicked out of Rivendell by Elrond before long and return to resume his role in about a week's time.

Sorry to lump you with the first few legs ... :rolleyes:

[Meneltarmacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpgVROOOOOOM!

"I say we head through Moria, my lord," Grima replied.

"WHAT?!" Saruman practically exploded. "You want to get us tossed into Khazad-Dum by that Balrog? You must be crazy!"

"Let me explain," said Grima. "If I install some of these rocket-hovercraft things on the tower, we can float over the depths and not have to worry about anything happening. As for that Balrog, if he tries to fly after us, you can easily trick him into thinking he doesn't actually have wings so he crashes."

Saruman just stared at his underling.

"Ummm, but the final decision's yours," Wormtongue hastily added, then dashed off to one of the other levels of the wheeled tower.

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The Problem with the Orcs

The Witch-king of Angmar, having swooped back to the gates of Minas Mor-go, withdrew a hunk of fetid meat from his tattered robes and fed it to his steed as a reward for its good work. It gobbled down the meat and swooped back to its perch on the spiky towers of the city. "Let's see what Ringwraith #4 has been doing down in the dungeons, and if he's got those orcs in line yet," he said to himself. He descended from the gate by steep, winding staircases lit by the eerie green glow that permeated the entire city. Down and down he walked, through windowless towers and down onto the desolate city streets. He now walked through the empty streets, where the buildings lay abandoned for thousands of years. He soon came to the great tower, which he entered, and descended more steps straight down into the gloomy innards of Minas Mor-go. The groans and shouts of a thousand orcs reached soon reached his ears, and in no time at all, the Witch-king of Angmar had arrived in the dungeons of Minas Mor-go, where over a thousand orcs toiled day and night to spin the huge axles of the city, propelling Minas Mor-go across the land.

He now entered the main dungeon, one gigantic hall, with a great beam of ent-wood crossing the entire space, a beam as wide as a man is tall, and suspended three feet off the ground. This was the great front axle, extending all the way from one shadowy end of the hall to the other, the entire length on Minas Mor-go, and along with the back axle supporting the entire city. All along one side were hundreds of orcs, chained in place to the floor, and all howling like madmen. Right at the middle of the axle was a horrible stain of blood, and dead orcs were piled all around it. Ringwraith #4 stood nearby, flogging an orc to death.

"Did you kill that orc, the one whose arm is missing?! Did you!? I swear, if you did, I'll feed you to the furnaces! Bad orc, bad orc!" He continued flogging the orc mercilessly. The orcs continued to howl.

"SILENCE!" shouted the Witch-king. "What happened here? Why are some of the orcs dead? Why aren't they rolling the axles?"

Ringwraith #4 stopped flogging for a moment. "Well, sir, it seems that those orcs on the left end of the axle were taunting those on the right end of the axle. One of them spat at another, and pretty soon a fight started. Some of the ones in the middle got killed. I think we need to shorten their chains."

"I see that," the Witch-king said. He now addressed the orcs in his best orc-speech, "Any one of you seen fighting will be thrown under the wheels and crushed like a worm! That means you get killed! Do you understand me!? Killed, and your guts will splurt out!" The orcs fell silent. Now he addressed Ringwraith #4, "Start chaining the left-axlers to the axle. Let's show them what happens to disobedient orcs. Make sure to space out the right-axlers to even out the spacing. Bring some back-axlers up here to the front axle if you have to."

"Yes, sir!" said Ringwraith #4, and began his duty diligently. "So, sir, where will we be headed to once we've got the orcs started pushing again?"

"I've been thinking that we should head due west, into Mirkwood. We've lost precious time with this orc problem and I think the quickest route possible will be best. What do you think?"

"I think that's a fine idea sir," said Ringwraith #4, "But don’t you think heading south could be better? Mirkwood won’t be in the way, after all."

"And let Gothmog and Saruman get ahead!? No way. We've lost precious time and we need a direct route straight to those Havens. My old realm of Angmar also is in the west. I've still got some buddies there. West it is."

"West it is then."

"I'll be up at the steering wheel on the gates. Join me when you've finished chaining those orcs and we can get started."

"Yes, sir."

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg

The Dark Lord stood atop the mighty Mount Zoom, surveiling all that would soon be his. This race was just the beginning. Today, the Mount Zoom Challenge. Tomorrow, THE WORLD!

Sauron sipped at his peppermint tea as Dwarfy the Dwarf unveiled his glorious Racing Machine of Doom. (Sauron never started the day without his peppermint tea; it helped settle his stomach. Being evil could wreak havoc on one's digestive system.) Fireworks exploded in the background as his servants violently persuaded the onlookers to cheer for him.

His all-seeing eyes swiveled downwards, to cast a dirty glance at the other racers. Those pathetic RIP-OFFS! No vehicle could come close to the awesome power that was Mount Zoom!

"YOU ARE ALL FOOLING YOURSELVES!" Sauron boomed down at the other racers, the Good Guys in particular. "YOU MUST KNOW BY NOW THAT NO-ONE CAN DEFEAT ME! UNLESS OF COURSE YOU PLAN ON SLICING OFF A FINGER. OR, YOU KNOW, LIKE, SENDING A HOBBIT TO MOUNT DOOM OR SOMETHING." Deciding to abandon this train of thought, the Dark Lord pointed an incriminating finger at Saruman.

"YOU!" he yelled. "ONE WHO SECRETLY SERVES ME! ARE YOU READY TO SUFFER ANOTHER HORRIBLE DEFEAT? MUST I BRING UP LAST YEAR'S VILLAIN'S BAKING CONTEST??" He held a gigantic gold trophy over his head; a great cup with a golden cookie on top. The words: "Sauron, First Place!" was engraved on the front. "HOPE YOU CAN DRIVE BETTER THAN YOU CAN DECORATE SUGAR COOKIES, OLD MAN!"

As the mighty Dark Lord touched his thumb to his nose and wiggled his fingers in mockery of Orth-Tank and Minas More-Go, a figure appeared behind him. Sauron stopped, hearing the Mouth approach.

"My Lord, you're supposed to make a speech to the Audience," the Mouth reminded him. Sauron stopped his chant of "NYA NYA NYA NYAAA-NYAAA!!" and regarded him with as much confusion as an expressionless mask could muster.

"ISN'T THAT YOUR JOB?" he asked. "I THOUGHT THAT WAS OUR AGREEMENT, MOUTH. I HANDLE WORLD DOMINATION, YOU HANDLE PUBLIC RELATIONS." He scratched his helmet, making a horrible nails-on-chalkboard sound. "WELL... I SUPPOSE I COULD GIVE IT A TRY, JUST THIS ONCE..."

He strode to the edge of Mount Zoom. With a snap of his fingers, the spotlights hit him and his theme music began. The Dark Lord cleared his throat politely.

"PEOPLE OF MIDDLE EARTH!" he boomed. "PREPARE TO BE CONQUERED! I, SAURON, WITH MY MIGHTY MOUNT ZOOM (WITH ITS LEATHER SEATS, EXTRA-LARGE CUPHOLDERS, AND TOTALLY SWEET STEREO SYSTEM), SHALL WIN THIS RACE IN THE NAME OF EVIL! YOU WILL CHEER FOR ME, OR BE DESTROYED BY MY MINIONS, WHOM I HAVE SECRETLY HIDDEN AMONGST YOU." A wraith in a hobbit costume giggled happily and waved to his master. "I WISH MY FELLOW RACERS THE BEST OF LUCK *COUGHCOUGHLOSERSCOUGHCOUGH* AND MAY THE BEST EVIL OVERLORD WIN!"

Those audience members seated closest to the Wraiths started cheering wildly, fearing for their lives. Sauron, pleased, turned around and walked back to the Mouth.

"HOW WAS THAT, MOUTH?" Sauron asked. Without wating for a reply, the Dark Lord pulled out a map. "I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT OUR ROUTE FOR THIS RACE. I SAY WE JUST FOLLOW BAG ENDLESS-FULE, SO WE CAN RUN 'EM OVER AND TAKE THE RING WHEN NOBODY'S LOOKING. WHADDAYA THINK?"

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Frodo:

Inside Bag-Endless-Fuel, Samwise Gamgee was sitting across the kitchen table from a glum Frodo.

"I know Mr. Bilbo's running off leaves you in a spot, Mr. Frodo, but you've still got us as wants to help you." He motioned to indicate the other hobbits standing about the kitchen. Merry gave a sympathetic nod as he consulted one of Bilbo's old maps, and Pippin looked up from his plate, atop which rested one of Bilbo's seed-cakes, to grin widely at his host.

"I don't see what all this fuss is about," said the Took. "Without Bilbo about we can all eat a proper meal in peace!" His companions looked at him incredulously.

"Pippin, you started eating that cake before Bilbo left," said Sam. "In fact, didn't he offer it to you?"

"Yes, but this is hardly a full meal!" Pippin responded indignantly. "I mean to say, we were all so busy earlier, following all Bilbo's instructions, we full well missed second breakfast."

"I'm just glad he hasn't set off any fireworks yet," Merry whispered to Sam.

Sam shook his head disapprovingly and turned back to Frodo. "So, Mr. Frodo, which direction do you think we ought to start off in?"

Frodo looked at Merry, who took his cue and laid a map out on the table. Pippin picked up his plate and joined the others in peering at a dot marked "Lonely Mountain".

"If we go due West, we'll pass near the Elvenking's Halls," Merry explained. Sam glanced at Frodo nervously.

"Isn't that where Mr. Bilbo was taken prisoner by the elves?"

"Yes," said Frodo. "But he was held captive by Thranduil, father of our old friend Legolas. He will surely help us in this task. I think that a western path is our safest bet."

"Speaking of safety," said Sam, "what do you think of Mount Zoom?"

"What about it?" asked Pippin as he opened one of Bilbo's cupboards.

"Well, we all heard the Dark Lord say he planned to follow us."

"Yes, he does talk in quite a, er, booming voice," said Pippin. "Do you suppose he really thinks we couldn't hear him?"

"I don't know," replied Frodo. "But if they do try to run us over, they'll just go over us. I mean, we're a hill."

[Valier]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg Eowyn:
Eowyn blushed at all the attention from the crowds,she was well aware of the signs regarding a certain captain being held aloft. She gazed for a moment with a dreamy look towards the Taxi unable to pry her eyes.

Theoden gave her a nudge"....ummm dear...the race remember...."

"Oh yes, Ummmm We shall go South-West, that way looks the nicest" She pointed out gracefully. "Uncle you go make one of your rousing speeches, while I go look for something to wear! I cannot possible be seen beating the heck out of Minas Taxi wearing this old rag!"

And with a whistle she was off towards the Medel Zoom.

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpgA Shadow of the Fast (Lane)

Frodo was studying the race map when there was a sudden commotion next door. Cautiously, he crept into the hallway, only to find it empty. Suddenly, a tall, cloaked figure jumped out at him. Frodo leapt halfway out of his skin.

“Is it secret? Is it safe?” the figure hissed.

“Gandalf! What on earth are you doing frightening me like that. It’s totally out of character,” admonished Frodo, once he had recovered his composure. “And what are you talking about?”

“The Ring …!”

“Bilbo’s Ring? I assume that he took it with him.”

“No. he didn’t. With a little … er … encouragement, I was able to persuade him to leave it behind.”

“Gandalf! You threatened to uncloak, didn’t you.”

At this, the old Wizard cast his eyes to the floor, somewhat abashed. Then he looked up and over to the mantlepiece. Frodo’s eyes followed his gaze and there, behind the carriage clock, he spotted an envelope addressed to him. Quickly, he grabbed it and tore it open.

“Bilbo’s Ring! But why has he left it for me?”

“It is a Ring of great power, Frodo. Indeed, if my suspicions are correct, it is the One Ring itself.”

And with this, Gandalf took the Ring and threw it into the fire blazing in the hearth. Recovering it with a pair of tongs, he dropped it into Frodo’s hands.

“It’s cold!”

“Look at the inscription, Frodo.”

“There’s nothing there … wait a minute. Some writing is appearing. But I cannot read it.”

“The inscription is in the Black Speech. In the Common Tongue it reads as follows:

One Ring to fuel them all
One Ring to prime them
One Ring to spin them all
And in the chamber fire them.

It is as I feared, Frodo. This is the One Ring of Zoom, forged by Sauron in the fiery engine room of Mount Zoom. Through it, one may harness the power of the other great Rings of Power. The three Elven Rings of Power-Assisted Steering. The Seven Rings of Fuel Injection. And the Nine Rings of Traction Control. It also comes with complimentary Sat Nav, a handy Cloaking Device system and a one year limited warranty.”

“So this is the Ring that Sauron spoke of in his speech?”

“Indeed it is, Frodo. He wants it. With it, he would have limitless engine power and none could prevent his ultimate victory in this race. He must not have it.”

“But Sauron already knows that we have the Ring. He plans on following us in Mount Zoom. What shall we do?”

“You must stay ahead of him at all costs. And you must harness its power to win the race yourself. Otherwise, I shall be undone. Those Dwarven debt collectors are not known for their pleasantries.”

“Well, we should leave immediately. But Mount Zoom is going to be hot on our tail.”

“Hmm, perhaps I could create a slight diversion to give you a head start. A mild uncloaking episode may suffice …”

Meanwhile, unseen by all, a small, wizened figure sporting great racing-goggles over his goggle-eyes and ill-fitting mechanics’ overalls surreptitiously slipped over the fence of Bag-Endless-Fuel and silently concealed himself in its bushy bodywork.

[Morsul the Dark]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Barrad-dash.jpgThe Gore Begins

Gothmog looked at the scattered remains of his loyal servant and grunted "oh well free meat." He quickly ate a leg and arm and looked back to Barad-Dash everything looked to be in order except he was short a co-pilot...

Gothmog searched the Halls looking for a suitable replacement and found
orc #429187943b his loyal friend, Goblash's, little brother although Gothmog had dealt more with Goblash than this orc there had been some serious run-ins. But Gothmog knew in his now filled gut that he would be an excellent co-pilot.

Gothmog looked about at his opponents Sauron was making some ridiculous speech. Always his way, long-winded. Gothmog looked about and had just one thing to say to these future losers.

"Greetings to you fellow participants pay close attention for this is the only civility I pay you, you shall all perish ere the night is out and I will destroy you all and feast upon upon your flesh!"

Gothmog turned to his copilot "Now you grunt what is your name and which way do you think we should go, personally I think West-Southwest"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The Eyrie copter

With the vehicles nearly out of sight, Dwarfy the Dwarf turned to the crowd and pointed towards the giant Palantir that he had had shipped over from Valinor via his 'underground' connections. He had given each of the drivers a small palantir, not powerful enough to transmit images, but good for a chat.
"Here we can watch the race," he said, "follow your favourite, and keep buying pop-corn!" the crowd laughed as Dwarfy bowed and left the podium. He made his way over towards five Eagles who were guarding a large construction. It seemed to be a giant nest, yet with a great pole sticking out of the top, and a thing that seemed to be a tale. Out of the top of the pole, were four great strips of iron that pointed in different directions.
Dwarfy bowed to the Eagles and said, "Thank you most kindly sirs, for bringing me this at such short notice." he placed ten silver coins in the largest Eagle's coin bag which hung about his neck.
"Not at all," replied the Eagle, "The pleasure was all ours. Please take care of our Eyrie copter!" Dwarfy bowed again and leaped into the nest. He went to the front and took hold of a large staff that was sticking out of the nest floor; he then pulled a smaller staff back and forth. As he did this, the pole on which the four iron strips were on, began to rotate, they got faster and faster until the four strips looked like a transparent circle above the eyrie. All of a sudden, the contraption took off into the air and soared above the clouds.

Dwarfy smiled and hummed a little dwarven tune to himself as he sailed above Mirkwood. He took out a small palantir and spoke to it;

"Attention all drivers!" and they all listened, "Looking out over the land and at your locations, I see you are all pretty much neck and neck. But there appears to be a challenge coming your way!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The First challenge: Troll Toll

There is a Troll in the road. He demands that all Vehicles pay the toll.
You do not have any money, by the way. I just gave it to the Lord of Eagles. Sorry.

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg

"TOLL?!?" Roared the Dark Lord, little flames burning in the eye sockets of his great black helmet. "YOU DARE DEMAND A TOLL, YOU WORTHLESS EXCUSE FOR A TROLL??" Sauron stopped; the flames extinguished and his gloved hand went to his mouth.

"Hee hee." he sniggered. "DID YOU HEAR THAT, MOUTH? I MADE A RHYME. DAMN, I AM CLEVER."

"Must you always speak so loudly, my Lord? I'm right here." the Mouth said crossly, covering his ears. "And anyway, everyone within a five-mile radius will be able to hear your evil plots if you yell like that all the time."

"THIS IS MY EVIL VOICE," Sauron explained. "IT MAKES ME MORE INTIMIDATING. LOOK, IT'S A DARK LORD THING. YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND."

"Whatever you say, my Lord."

Sauron turned his attention back to the troll, who was still waiting with an opened palm in front of Mount Zoom.

"I DO NOT HAVE ANY POCKET CHANGE, MOUTH," Sauron said. "I SPENT IT ON CHEETOS AND MOUNTAIN DEW FOR THE TRIP. I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU'D HAVE ANY...?"

The Mouth gave him a hard glare.

"VERY WELL. IT APPEARS WE SHALL HAVE TO USE MORE EVIL MEANS TO BYPASS THIS BEAST. I BELIEVE AN EVIL THINK-TANK IS IN ORDER, MOUTH. COME, LET US PLOT!!"

(OK Glirdan, come on in!)

[Sleepy Ranger]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg Orth-Tank Tired of being second best

After a while of steady movement Saruman had left the Orth-Tank under control of Grima and had headed indoors to re-check his maps. Yes, they would travel through Moria. It would be a dangerous way but what did that matter, were they not notorious villains with the exclusion of Grima? Saruman chuckled lightly and headed towards a peadestel, yes, he had something that none else (with the possible exception of Mount Zoom and Dwarfy) possessed. He swept the sheet off the pedestal revealing a fine palantir. Sauman let out an evil laugh as the scene darkened to acknowledge the evil foreshadowing. All of a sudden, much to Saruman's surprise Grima stuck his head inside. "Sir!" He exclaimed. "How many times must I tell you not to interrupt during foreshadowing?" Snarled Saruman angrily, covering the palantir again.

"Sir is that a palantir?" asked the underling prodingly. "No... well everyone has one." replied Saruman sulkily. "Sir, I'm not sure a thing of such power is allowed." "Oh hush now! What did I tell you earlier? We're villains, we cheat. C-H-E-A-T; cheat!" Saruman shot at Grima angrily. "But hang on, if you're here who is driving? Are we even moving?" He added, strokig his great white beard. Grima hesitated and then began to speak, "Well sir thats why I'm here, you see theres a great big troll blocking the road and hes asking us to pay the toll." "Well, pay him and give him something extra... tell him we don't want anyone else moving forward." Saruman said sneering at Grima. "Perfect sir, just one worry." "What is it Grima?" Saruman asked watching his nails lazily. "Dwarfy the Dwarf took all our money." Grima said shuffling his feet. "What?!?" Shouted Saruman. "Dwarfy the Dwarf took all..." Grima was interrupted by Saruman, "Not that kind of what you fool. Now come, we must think of something to do."

So Saruman and Grima sat and they thought and thought and munched on some of Saruman's not-so-pretty cookies. "I know!" Shout up Grima all of a sudden. "What is it lad?" inquired Saruman, voice bursting with excitement. "Perhaps we could offer it some cookies!" Said Grima. "No, thats no good. That stupid Sauron will probably offer him his pretty cookies and then we'll be in trouble." Saruman shook his head. Grima asked him worriedly, "What do you propose my lord?" "Hush, let me think." Saruman sits there, thinking and stroking his beard. "I know!" Grima sprang up again. "Now what?" asked Saruman dryly. "Your voice, sire!" He said bubblily. "Somehow I don't think my singing will put the beast to sleep." Said Saruman impatiently. "No sir! Your voice, you could talk it into letting us past!" Said Grima suggestively.

"Oh now don't be an idiot you know that would never work but I've just had a brilliant plan. I shall talk our way past that no good troll! Lets see it resist the will turning power of my voice! I am a genius!" Saruman said raising up at full height and doing a few Boromir the Disco-King imitations. "But I had that idea first." Grima began to complain but a quick bonk on the head from Saruman's staff was enough to shut him up. "Are you saying you have a better idea Grima?" Saruman asked him raising an eyebrow as Grima squealed. "Well out with it."

---
Alright Menel, your thoughts and suggestions now.

[Glirdan]

OCC - Sorry, I've been at school all day...

The Mouth was feeling quite defeaned. His Master had quite a booming voice when he was talking normally, but add to the fact that he was being totally evil as well as talking over the Moutain's engine, it was quite deafening...

"VERY WELL. IT APPEARS WE SHALL HAVE TO USE MORE EVIL MEANS TO BYPASS THIS BEAST. I BELIEVE AN EVIL THINK-TANK IS IN ORDER, MOUTH. COME, LET US PLOT!!"

"Yes my lord... but please, try and keep your voice down. It's making me go deaf in my..."

"NEVER MIND YOUR HEARING MOUTH!! WE NEED TO PLOT!! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND!?"

"Of course my liege, it's just that... Ah never mind. Let us plot indeed. I was thinking..."

[Meneltarmacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg

"What I'd suggest, my lord, is we use one of our little surprises on it," Grima said.

He opened a door. Inside were numerous cages in which about a thousand little rodents were frothing at the mouth and gnawing at the bars.

"WHAT?! THAT's where all that incessant squealing was coming from? Who put those hamsters in here? I'll kill him!" the White Wizard bellowed at a needlessly loud volume.

"Um, well, uh, I... kind of brought them along," Grima admitted.

He suddenly found himself being thrown to the ceiling and back.

"What I was going to suggest was that you could release these rabid killer hamsters against the troll. I mean, no offense, Master, but that voice of yours, well, it's, um, kind of horri-"

"YES?" Saruman glared at Womtongue, staff pointed at his face.

"Never mind," Wormtongue whimpered. "Though we could just run over the troll or feed him to the Wargs. Perhaps you could use that staff of yours to perform some kind of mind trick on him so he does something ridiculous, too."

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The Witch-king and the Troll

Minas Mor-go rolled happily through the woods of Mirkwood, snapping apart any trees unlucky enough to get in its way. They had already rolled past the elves, who shrieked and shot arrows at Minas Mor-go's impenetrable walls. The Witch-king, to amuse himself, dropped a few orcs onto them, and was very pleased to hear the elves scream. He watched with fascination, and called Ringwraith #4 over to the wall to watch.

"I don't think we should be doing that, sir," Ringwraith #4 said. "We don't want to lose many more orcs. Already we've lost ten from the riot, and now you've dropped seven more onto the elves!"

"Aw, come on, just listen to the screams. We can always grab more orcs when we reach the Misty Mountains. I'm headed back to the steering wheel."

"You mean no one's steering!?"

"Relax, I used duct tape to keep it straight."

And so the Witch-king of Angmar and Ringwraith #4 returned to the steering wheel. The Witch-king untaped it and began steering through the forest. Trees and branches snapped and Minas Mor-go dipped up and down through the little valleys. They followed a little path for a bit through the forest, though it was too narrow for even one wheel to rest upon, and Minas Mor-go straddled it. The good thing was that Mount Zoom and Bag Endless-fuel were nowhere in sight, and they did not come upon their tracks through the forests. We could be ahead, thought the Witch-king. But it was not long before the Witch-king slammed the brakes, sending Ringwraith #4 stumbling across the top of the gate.

"What? Why have we stopped?"

"There's a troll in our way," said the Witch-king, "And he's just sitting there, in the middle of the path."

"Why don't we just run over him?"

The Witch-king glared at him. "Are you always so simple-minded? We can't just run over him. Let's hear what he has to say."

So the Witch-king and Ringwraith #4 leaned over the ramparts and saw the troll sitting in the middle of the path. He was a fat troll, and pretty ugly, too, with tiny squinty eyes and a gigantic nose. The Witch-king said in his best Troll-speech, "You there! You, the ugly troll! Get out of the road!"

The troll shouted up at them, "Pay toll!"

"We don't have any cash! Let us through!"

"Pay toll!"

"Let us through!"

"Pay toll!"

The Witch-king retreated from the wall's edge and wandered back to the steering wheel. "Stupid troll. Too stupid to do anything. Can't even move out of the way. Dammit. We need to get past this troll! Ringwraith #4, what do you say we do?"

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Possibly to get the idea that he wanted to go East totally and completely out of his father's mind, Faramir had advocated going North-West.

"We can skirt the edges of the Grey Mountains, avoid Mirkwood altogether, and hopefully avoid the other racers, who will probably opt for a more direct course- right over the Elvenking's halls."

"Skirt the mountains, eh?" mused Denethor. "You seem to have a powerful attraction to anything in skirts."

"It's a natural term of the Westron language," retorted Faramir. "It's your dirty mind that's hearing what it wants to hear."

"I can hear things perfectly well," said Denethor. "And you said 'skirt'."

Faramir rolled his eyes.

So North-West it was, Denethor clicking Minas Taxi into overdrive, and away they went, passing over the Desolation of Smaug, and ever nearer to Mirkwood and the to-be-skirted Grey Mountains. Occasionally, Faramir descended down, down, from the Tower of Ecthelion to confer with Húrin of the Keys and the rest of the support staff of the city about a minor detail regarding the city's performance, but by and large the nuclear-powered city ran like a charm.

"Ha! I told you all those millions of castar spent on developing a nuclear bomb wouldn't be wasted! Pity the War of the Ring ended so soon," Denethor chuckled to himself.

"I'm half of the opinion that the ancient Númenoreans must have had nuclear technology, and that we just rediscovered it. The radiation could account for the decline of the Númenorean lifespan. Since the lifespan began to decline about the time of Tar-Atanamir, then I think we can possibly assume that nuclear technology was first developed in the aftermath of the War of Eregion, nearly employed by Ar-Pharazôn in his invasion (the real reason Sauron surrendered), and then lost in the aftermath of Númenor."

"Did you get that crackpot theory from Mithrandir?" scowled Denethor. "That sounds like the sort weed-induced nonsense he'd come up with."

"Actually, it's my own theory," said Faramir.

The control room fell silent.

"Well, at least she has a reliable fuel source," said Denethor. "That's the important part. Besides, if Saruman didn't spend all those millions of castar on developing us nuclear technology, then what DID he spend it on."

"Scuba gear and genetic research," replied Faramir.

"Scuba gear?" said Denethor. "What kind of a nonsensical theory is that?"

"Well, to find Morgoth's notes on the creation of the orks, he'd have needed scuba gear," replied Faramir.

"Only a weed-deluded old reprobate like Mithrandir would try a plan as foolish as that. It's almost as bad as the "let's send the One Ring to Mt. Zoom" theory."

"Well, Saruman is a smoker, and he's rather old, and reprobate does fit," said Faramir.

"Thorongil fits all of those qualities too," mused Denethor. "Any chance we could have him impeached on those grounds?"

"Arwen would kill you."

"What would she do?" demanded Denethor. "She's a seamstress, not a swordsman! She's admitted herself that the whole Ford of Bruinen sword-thingy business never happened."

"Of course not," agreed Faramir. "That was actually her size 88 embroidery needle."

"Why'd she only make Aragorn a flag!" said Denethor. "She could have knitted him a whole sail for those *CENSORED* black ships of his! That would have saved me a lot of anguish!"

"I'm sure she did it for the sole purpose of antagonizing you, father," said Faramir sarcastically.

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest," muttered Denethor.

To himself, Faramir muttered. "It's a good thing the Númenorean lifespan declined. I'm not sure I could take another 300 years of this."

Minas Taxi cruised on...

To the Reader: Yes, that's right, we haven't even made it to the Troll yet. What's your hurry? We've got in the neighbourhood of 40 hours left...

[Farael]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg A shameless ripoff
The race had barely begun when Medul-zoom began to slow down. Concerned, Theoden made his way to the horsengine room, where Hama had a big STOP sign up for the horses.

“Hama, you fool, what is this? We need to make it to the Gray Heavens faster than the other towers!! I guaranteed a win, it’s my word what’s on stake…. And quite a few gold coins”

“My liege! It is not allowed for those who are involved to bet on themselves, you cou…”

“Oh, faithful Hama, do you think that I am still the old, weak man who was poisoned by the words of Wormtounge? Have you forgotten that Gandalf has restored not only my striking good looks but also my sharp mind? Of course I did not bet on ourselves, it was Eomer. Now pray tell, why are we stopping?”

“There is a troll on the way, My Lord”

“A troll on our way?”

“Yes, Sir. A troll on our way”

“Why is there a troll on our way?”

“I know not”

“Then go and ask him!”

And so, the brave Hama escorted by a chosen group of riders approached the Orc. After what seemed like a short deliberation, Hama came back into Medul-zoom.

“He is asking for a toll, my King”

“But we have no money!”

“I know, I offered him a horse, but he said he was not hungry. Not hungry. These trolls are as uncivilized as they get. What are your orders now, my Lord?”

“Muster the Rohirrim, we will charge against it. He will run away or perish under our lances.”

[Start= Sound of a horn of Rohan] Time=5*Seconds Pitch= Rather High and whiny [/End= Sound of a horn of Rohan]

“Riders of Rohan” *cheers* “I call on you once more to defend all that is beautiful in this middle earth. A troll, spawn of the Dark Lord whom we defeated yet somehow appeared again (not that I’m complaining because I died in the battle and yet I’m here as well so it’s kind of a good deal… besides he does make some good cookies) is blocking our way, but we need to get through” *A few isolated claps, many confused looks*

“oh, ahem well… what I mean is…. [Start= Sound of horn] Forth Eorlingas!!!! [continue horn sounding dramatically as Theoden King quickly gets ahead of his column] “What the…” [/End=Sound of horn in a rather abrupt fashion]

“Hama, what is this? Why are you all just standing in place, making bubbles with your mouth? What kind of dark treachery is this?”

“My liege, we follow your orders”

It was only then that Theoden realized what had happened. “I should have never abolished the law of compulsory bathing, things are getting out of hand here” he grumbled

“Riders of Rohan!” he began, “I must ask that you listen to me, and listen well. My order was FORTH Eorlingas, not FROTH. See? Forth, as in forward, attack.”

Riding back into Medul-zoom, Theoden ordered all his riders to go take a bath while he plotted another way to get around this rather large Troll.

“I know!! we could catapult ourselves over the troll.”

“Theoden, have you been hanging out with Boromir again?” Interrupted Eowyn, who had just walked into the room.

“Well, daughter of my sister, I might have been. He is a very nice fellow. I know he would have helped me find a better way rather than criticize my ideas”

“Now, who do you think yo…”

“I do not meant to interrupt, my m’lady…” interrupted Erkenbrand “There is one way… but it is very dangerous”

“Well, speak up good man”

“Before we left, I trapped this beast… it used to terrorize the folk of the Westfold. I thought it might be useful in a situation like this. I could… I could bring it here if that is what you wish”

With Theoden’s approval, Erkenbrand stalked off the room and came back shortly with a small cage covered by a blanket. He placed it on top of a table and waiting a few seconds for the proper dramatic effect, he removed the blanket.

“Here it is, my Lord, the great beast of Westemnet.”

“Where, behind the rabbit?”

“It is the rabbit”

“But it is only a cute little rabbit!.... cruelly trapped on a cage” said Eowyn

“No, m’lady, he is a ruthless murderer, we lost ten men trying to trap it”

“You should have used the Holly Grenade” said Theoden, which drew many an odd look.

“Uncle, copyright….”

“Oh, yes Eowyn, you are right. I meant the…. Eh…. Well, nevermind that, tell us Erkenbrand what can we do with this…. Rabbit?”

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg A Tall Toll Troll

The Witch-king retreated from the wall's edge and wandered back to the steering wheel. "Stupid troll. Too stupid to do anything. Can't even move out of the way. Dammit. We need to get past this troll! Ringwraith #4, what do you say we do?"

Still slightly hurt from being called simple-minded, Ring Wraith #4 looked down at the Tall Toll Troll in disgust. The nerve of such a creature! To stand in the middle of a mirky wood and demand that a toll be paid. Why would he pick such a place for his Trolling and Tolling? Surely somewhere far away from the race (or closer to the other racers at least) would have been a much better place.

Looking at the troll bought him shorter time then he had hoped, for before long the Witch King demanded: "Well! What say you!"

Making a face at the Witch King (which he couldn't see, fortunately :D *), he searched his mind for an answer. He was startled to realize how simple his mind actually was to search through, and quickly came back with the first thought he could find.

"Well, all we have to do is wait 'til morning and he'll turn to stone!"

The Witch-King sighed deeply. In his most exasperated tone he said, "First off, it's so dark here in Mirkwood that the sun will never touch him. We'll wait here forever and he'll never turn to stone, and we'll have surely lost the race then! Seriously, think of something worthwhile!"

"Maybe we could use mirrors to reflect the light on him!"

"No, indirect lighting never works right, you Dolt! You better think of something quick or I'll chain you to the axle!"

Horrified at the thought, Ring Wraith #4 wracked his simple-mind for anything. But all he could think of was that horrible possibility of being chained down in the dungeon. He was not horrified of being chained to the axle... pain was something he enjoyed, actually. He was more horiffied of being stuck down there with all those dirty, writhing orcs! Ooohh, disgusting. Wait! That was it!

"Sir, Witch-King, maybe we can do something with the orcs? I'm not sure what we'd do, but I think we can spare just a few more for something."



*I know this is technically wrong because, although the Ringwraiths were invisible to mortals, they all lived together in the Shadow Realm, and so plausibly could have seen each other there. Still, I liked it so much that I put it in. :rolleyes:

[Glirdan]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg A WONDERFULLY AWFUL IDEA

Mouth of Sauron sat in his seat, wracking his brain for an idea. "Wait! What if...no, that's no good. How about...no, that won't work either...." he thought to himself.

"MOUTH!! WOULD YOU STOP SAYING YOUR THOUGHTS OUT LOUD!? IT'S QUITE ANNOYING!!!" Mouth flinched at the sound of his masters voice piercing through his thoughts.

"Yes my lord. Sorry my lord." he said distractedly, still wracking his brain. "I wish he would stop yelling!! Man, I'm going to be deaf and I won't be able to do any more public relations for him. Then I'd be fired!! Oh no!! I can't be fired!! I haven't even gotten my benefits yet and boy do I need to see a dentist!!" he thought to himself. As the Mount Zoom approached the troll, an idea hit. It was a wonderful idea. It was an awfull idea. It was a wonderfully awfull idea. "Sir! I think I have come up with a plan!!"

"YOU HAVE!? TELL ME QUICK!!"

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpgQueer Customs

As the crowds (and other drivers) gazed in horror at Gandalf's little diversion, Frodo ignited the rocket boosters and Bag-Endless-Fuel was away, gaining a much needed head start. Batteries of rockets shot out of its multiple exhaust outlets and swung skywards to burst over the Lonely Mountain in bright flashes of red, blue and green, drawing the eyes of the thankful onlookers away from the distasteful sight of the old Wizard uncloaking.

Once underway, Frodo switched to the Roman Candle jet propulsion. Colourful balls of fire popped out from the exhausts in rapid succession, as the motorised Hobbit hole sped south to the Long Lake. Then, turning west where the Forest River met the lake, it swiftly headed off towards Mirkwood.

And so it was not long before the mobile hill-and-burrow combo was picking its way through the mirky, woody blackness of the great forest of Rhovanion. Feeling rather pleased with himself for stealing a march on his rivals, Frodo was just beginning to relax when a cry rang out from above. It was Samwise Gamgee, who was perched in the bird's nest which some passing Thrushes (old friends of Bilbo) had kindly built on the chimney-top to serve as a look-out post. Frodo quickly cut the engine and doused the fire in the hearth so that Sam could make his way down the chimney-stack.

"Begging your pardon, Mister Frodo, sir," said Sam as he gingerly extricated himself from the fireplace. "But there's a mighty great Troll blocking our path. And he's demanding a toll to let us pass."

"A Troll-gate, eh?" mused Frodo. "Well they certainly have strange customs in these parts. He's only doing his duty, I suppose, but it's a taxing problem at any rate. What's your assessment?"

"Simple," said Merry appearing in the living room with Pippin and a crowd of mechanics. "Let's just give him some of Bilbo's dragon gold and we'll be on our way."

"Unfortunately, it's not quite as simple as that," said Frodo glumly. "All of Bilbo's gold was spent souping up Bag End for this race. We're out of funds."

"If we may makes a sssugesstion," hissed one of the mechanics, a queer looking fellow with large racing goggles and ill-fitting overalls. "Throw out one of the Hobbitses. Trollss like Hobbitses to eat. Yesss they do. And while the nasssty Troll is eating the little Hobbitses, we can ssslip passst him."

"No! I could never do such a thing," cried Frodo aghast. "Unless ... Pippin?"

"Me?" exclaimed Pippin in some distress. "But ...!"

"I was thinking that we could perhaps tempt the Troll with that mutton that you have been hiding away. Trolls like mutton too, I hear."

"But I was saving that for elevenses! With a nice mushroom pie and onion gravy. And a side dish of game pie with cranberry jelly. Oh, and some corn relish. And ..."

"Well, if you'd prefer to take its place ..."

And so, in no time at all, Frodo had disembarked and was offering the great haunch of meat to the Troll.

"Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don't look like mutton again!" bellowed the Troll angrily. "Besides, I ain't hungry. I just ate. It's twenty pieces of gold or you ain't passing."

"Any more bright ideas?" enquired Frodo as he climbed back into Bag-Endless-Fuel. "The Troll ain't - ahem - isn't hungry."

"Well, didn't Bilbo once escape from some Trolls when they turned to stone?" piped up Pippin. "We could keep him talking until the sun rises."

"Isn't that rather obvious, Master Pippin, if you get my meaning?" said Sam. "Old Mister Troll won't be falling for a trick like that, I'll wager."

"And it only works when you have more than one Troll," observed Frodo. "You need to get them arguing. Otherwise it doesn't work."

"Besides, the sun is high in the sky," pointed out Merry. "We just can't see it for all these confounded trees. There's a clue in the name. Mirkwood, get it?"

"Oh!" said Pippin, unwrapping the game pie to help him think.

"What about the Ring of Zoom, Master Frodo?" suggested Sam.

"No. We cannot risk it, Sam," replied Frodo. "Mount Zoom is too close, most likely. We would be laid open to its Wheels of Fire. If only Gandalf were here. He would know what to do."

But that comforting thought was quickly dispelled by the distressing image of Gandalf uncloaking before a Troll.

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Hint, hint

"QUICKLY, MOUTH OF ME!" Sauron bellowed. "I DESIRE TO KNOW THIS IDEA OF YOURS! AS I DESIRE TO KNOW WHY YOU HAVE BROUGHT OUT ALL OF OUR CRAYONS AND LINED THEM UP ON THE CARPET! BE CAREFUL WITH THOSE! THEY MELT, YOU KNOW, AND RUG DOCTORS DON'T COME CHEAP!!"

Thus saying, the Dark Lord took a quick peek out the window, hoping that the troll had gotten bored and left. It hadn't. It had seated itself on a nearby uprooted tree and was staring balefully up at Mount Zoom.

"HEY YOU! TROLL!" Sauron yelled. "YOU STILL HERE?!" The troll looked down at himself, then up at the tower, then down at the tree, then at the tower again.

"Me think so," he yelled back. "But me need dees moneys now!"

It smacked its giant club against its open palm menacingly. Sauron withdrew back into the mountain.

"WE NEED MONEYS, MY MOUTH," Sauron said. "I DON'T THINK WE CAN RUN THE TROLL OVER; IT'LL SCRATCH THE PAINT JOB. WHAT IS YOUR PLAN?"

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The Witch-king has an Idea

"Sir, Witch-King, maybe we can do something with the orcs? I'm not sure what we'd do, but I think we can spare just a few more for something," said Ringwraith #4.

"You think we should send orcs at him? You, who was just an hour ago telling me to stop dropping orcs onto the elves?" the Witch-king said. This was why he hated working with others. Everybody was too stupid and forgetful to get anything done. "Typical hypocrisy, I swear. Go get me an Ád'vîl while I think about this. You're giving me a headache"

Ringwraith #4 rushed off to the Witch-king's medicine cabinet and the Witch-king rested in his comfortable, black leather armchair which he drove in, head in hand. He better come back soon, the Witch-king thought, he gives me the most horrible migraines. And that troll, how on earth can I kill that troll? Can I swoop down with my brilliant sword and thwack off his head with one great swing? No, their necks are too thick. Can we smash him under the wheels? No, I don't want any more stains on them. The Witch-king's rest was soon disturbed by the howling of orcs in the distance, and the twang of bows. Don't tell me those orcs I dropped have followed us!

The Witch-king rose from his seat and wandered over to the rear walls, where down the forest path he could see his seven orcs bellowing and scampering through the bushes, pursued by a hunting party of elven bowmen.

"Ringwraith #4! Get out here!"

Ringwraith #4 ran out of the great central tower with a glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other. "Here is your Ád'vîl, sir," he said. The Witch-king took the pill and swallowed it with a swig of water, then pointed at the orcs and elves. "See those orcs? Those are the orcs I dropped on the elves back at the halls of the elven-king. They've followed us and are being chased by elf hunters. I think we may have found our solution to our little troll problem. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That we can convince the elves to give us their pocket change to pay the toll?"

"Now, you idiot!" said the Witch-king, and slapped Ringwraith #4 across the forehead, "As the elves hunt the orcs, we can drop more orcs and give them instructions to lead the elves straight to the troll. The elves will kill the troll, and we can be on our way!"

"Sounds like a plan, boss. I'll get on it right away."

(Take it away, Ringwraith #4, I might not get a post in tomorrow)

[Valier]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg The Troll and the Hare

Erkenbrand: "Well my lord this is the plan I have devised. You M'Lady take this cage outside and place it in front of the Troll."

Eowyn: *Blanches*

Erkenbrand: "Don't worry you will be safe....I think...I mean yeah..Then you place the cage in front of him and run like Mordor."

Eowyn: *hands on hips* "I still don't see how this cute little bunny is supposed to get us by that very large Troll."

Erkenbrand: "That is no ordinary Bunny I tell you! It is the foulest, cruelest and bad temperedest rodent you will ever lay eyes on! It has huge sharp... It can leap about....Oh you must just take my word Miss Eowyn, this rabbit will make short work of that there Troll!

After a bit more convincing from Erenbrand and a good many pouts from Eowyn, she agreed to the plan as long as someone promised to brush her hair for her(at least a hundred strokes) later when she was ready for bed.
The door of Medul-Zoom creaked open, and Eowyn stepped out into the sun with the caged rabbit in tow. She walks fearlessly forward and placed the cage down in front of the Troll.

Eowyn: "I heed you one warning and one warning only! Step aside and let us pass for free!"

Troll: "Gimme money!" The Troll replied as he held out his hand.

Eowyn: "I heeded you fair warning! *Whips the towel off the cage*

Troll: "Wadda ya got there you mouthy little twirp?"

Eowyn: "A beast so fierce you will soil yourself!"

Troll: *With a gargled roar he lets out a laugh*

The Troll looks at the "Beast" in the cage and buckles over in a howling laugh.

Troll: "Aaaawwww what a cute little bunny wabbit,I will hug him,and squeeze him,and call him......

Eowyn: *Whips cage door open and backs up*

The seemingly harmless Bunny came suddenly flying out of it's confined like an arrow, before the Troll could finish with his statement. The rabbit visiously shears the Trolls leg off below the knee.

Troll: *Looks down* "Ha! meerly a flesh wound! Now give me my money!"

Eowyn: *Stares at Troll in amazement* "Meerly a flesh wound? It took your leg right off!"

Troll: "No it didn't."

Eowyn: "What? Your bleeding profusely and your stump of a leg is lying on the ground!"

Troll: " Like I said, meerly a flesh....."

Before the Troll again could finish his statement, the rabbit rebounded off a nearby tree and impaled itself into the Troll's chest.
With a shocked expression the Troll teeters and falls to the ground, stone dead with a mighty earth shaking thwomp.

Eorlingas: *Cheer* "Horray!"

The chest of the Troll begins to move as the blood soaked rabbit begins to emerge from within.

Eowyn: *Looks back at the Eorlingas* "With the Troll dead we may continue on our quest...errm...race..thing..." *Turns back to the Troll*

The rabbit now sat crimson in colour, nose twitching in the air, staring at them with an intenful glare.

Eowyn: *screams* "Run away!

Eorlingas: *echoing Eowyn's command frightfully* "Run away! Run away!"

They all run for the safety of the great Medul-Zoom. They rush inside and slam the door.

Eowyn: *out of breath* "Well dear uncle, I have done it when no other Man could! And I dare say I have the answer to that age old riddle....Yes when a Troll falls in the woods...it does make a sound, even if no one is around to hear it!"

With a flip of her golden locks she was off to change into something more fashionable at the moment....Varda knows you can only wear one dress for so long...

we shall continue on to the Southwest

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Faramir:

The day had passed smoothly. The unique aerodynamic features of Minas Taxi, including a magnificent rocky wall that cut the air like a knife through butter (although with 70% less fat), made the vehicle roll gracefully over the lands, and not long after Denethor and Faramir had finally agreed on the course they should take, the two saw the Grey Mountains rising tall in front of them.


HERE THER BE TOLLS!


A huge sign with eccentric handwriting had been thrust on the edge of the road. Denethor hit the brakes, but forgot to switch the gear, and with a loud bang the city leaped forward and turned off its engine belching so thick a volume of smoke that even Mt. Zoom would have been proud of it.

"Tolls! What do they mean tolls!" Denethor wheezed behind a cloud of radiating exhaust fumes.

"I think they want money, father", Faramir said.

"Well then, son. Hand me your wallet so we can continue our journey."


But it turned out that neither Faramir or Denethor had any money. They would have to try to speed past the tollkeeper although they were in the wild now, and rumours told about fierce tollkeepers who had done most imaginative things to people who had tried to avoid paying the fee.

"There will be hard battering and squealing tyres nigh at hand ere the day is full. Then death, or a swift flight to a pit stop", Faramir predicted glumly while gazing down from their birthday cake-esque vehicle. Its seven white layers glimmered and a tall spike projected pompously towards the skies like a candle.


"Unless... we give him something else that is as valuable as money", Denethor said sneakily.

"I'm not giving up my stamp collection!" Faramir cried clutching a thick book in his hands.

Denethor sighed exasperated. "Switch on the autopilot. We have business on other levels."

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

"Confounded Dwarf!" growled Denethor, as they descended down to citadel to confer with Húrin and his mechanics. "Not a tharni between us. What else have we got of value- other than your precious stamp collection?"

"Well, the treasury's been sacked as well," said Faramir, "in addition to the private purses of us and the crew."

"This is a city of proud Númenorean heritage!" stated Denethor. "We must have many treasures!"

"Quite frankly, I doubt that this tollmaster- whoever he is- really cares for art," said Faramir. "That sign of his didn't look very cultured."

"Sirs," Beregond called down to them. "Another sign ahead. It reads: 'WARNIN: SLO 2 50 Kill-o-meeters Per Hour four toll-boothe'."

"Ignore it!" said Denethor. "I've made up my mind. If Thorongil gets to be Overlord of the West, then his city is exempt from paying tolls."

"There's another sign," Beregond called again. "It reads: 'STOP OR DYE, STOOPIDS!"

"Only someone who could actually back up their claim would make a claim like that," said Faramir, looking a bit apprehensive.

"Er... better slow down to 50," Denethor told Beregond, before turning to Faramir. "Dwarfy didn't rob the tombs, did he?"

"No..." said Fararmir, hesitantly, "why?"

"Because I'm about to do a little grave-robbing," said Denethor. "The Crown of Atanatar Alcarin is still in Eärnil II's tomb, right?"

"But, Father!" protested Faramir. "That's Aragorn's crown!"

"Wrong," replied Denethor. "It's the tollmaster's now!"

"But... but... you could be sacked!"

"The Stewardship is a heriditary office!" replied Denethor grandly. "Besides, I've got too much popular support. Thorongil would face civil war."

"You have popular support?" said Faramir. "Wow... when did this happen?"

"Another sign!" called Beregond. " 'Proseed to Gully Five 2 pay Trol the tol."

"A troll!" said Denethor. "So that is the fiendish tollmaster. Scratch the crown idea... what food have we got in the city?"

"Some dried apples, a bunch of Fritos, and several sacks of yam cubes in Targon's cellar," replied Faramir. "Nothing fit for trollish consumption."

"What DO trolls eat?"

"Sheep, cattle, goats, and other creatures of the same sort such as Dwarves or Hobbits," replied Faramir.

"Pity we didn't have Dwarfy handy," muttered Denethor. "What else do trolls like?"

"I've heard they have an affinity for talking accessories," said Faramir. "But I gave our last talking purse to Eowyn."

"And I'm too cheap..." said Denethor. "Well, if worst comes to worst, we can always huck you overboard. You must be worth one city's toll, I'd think."

"Father! You can't be serious!"

"You're right," agreed Denethor. "I always do these sorts of things to Boromir first. Where is that boy, anyway..."

"He took a boating cruise down the Anduin from Rauros," explained Faramir.

"Hmm... pity. Maybe I will have to toss you out."

Meanwhile, they were rounding the last foothill of the Grey Mountains, and tall, dark, shadowy figure stood stark against the setting western sun.

"The troll!" cried Faramir.

"Stop the city!" cried Denethor. Beregond hit the brakes abruptly, and Minas Tirith ground to a halt.

"OH GREAT TROLL!" Denethor called out from the city walls. "WE WISH TO PAY THE TOLL! TELL US WHAT THE FEE IS, THAT WE MAY SEE IF WE HAVE IT!"

There was no answer. The toll-troll did not move.

"OH GREAT TOLLMASTER!" Denethor tried again. "WHAT MUST WE PAY TO PASS YOU?"

Still, there was silence.

"Maybe he doesn't want the toll!" moaned Faramir. "Maybe he just wants to kill us!"

"Why on earth would he want that?" asked Denethor. "We've never met him before in our lives."

"Actually, I think I saw him once in a bar in Anorien..." said Faramir. "He looks like a guy I bummed twenty tharni off of."

"What was a troll doing in Anorien?" asked Denethor. "And what were YOU doing in a bar?"

"Sirs," interjected Beregond, "the troll still isn't replying."

Timidly, Denethor and Faramir descended out the city gates to speak to the troll face to face. They walked right up to the troll, and Denethor again began to speak.

"Hail, Lord of the Olog-hai! We are but poor travellers in a country far from home. This pitiful city is all we have to our names. Please give us safe passage through your realm, that we may find ourselves in better fortune!"

The troll said nothing.

"Father..." said Faramir. "I'm beginning to wonder if maybe the troll can't hear us."

"Of course he can hear us," said Denethor feverishly. "We just haven't said the right thing. Maybe if we swore an Oath, calling on Eru, with Manwë and Varda as our witnesses..."

"No, Father, I think there's something wrong with this troll," persisted Faramir. "It's not moving."

"It's biding its time," said Denethor, squinting his eyes in the late evening sun. "Just watch! As soon as the sun goes down, he'll pounce on us like kittens on a ball of yarn!"

"But wait!" cried Faramir. "Trolls turn to stone in the sunlight! This is a stone troll!"

"Of course it's a stone troll," said Denethor. "All trolls are stone trolls. Did you think it was an Ent?"

"No, I meant that it's turned to stone! It's harmless! Apparently, going North-West did us some good. There's no thick Mirkwood to shield him from the daylight!"

"Spare me the denouement!" said Denethor. "Tell Húrin to get the engine going. And send Beregond and a team down here to haul the troll back into the city. Looks like we've got ourselves a new hood ornament."

And so, Minas Taxi cruised on past its terrible, horrifying, but completely stone-frozen toll troll.

It continued on a course Due West of its current position.

[Sleepy Ranger]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg Orth-Tank Sweet, sweet hamstermania!

Hamsters, unusual, nobody would expect anyone to pull such a trick. Yes, it would be perfect but perhaps they could be saved for later. Yes, maybe Saruman's voice would be all they required. After some thought, and beard stroking, Saruman called for Grima. "Come!" he said, "It is time to bring the troll to justice!" "But sir, we're the villains." Squealed Grima. "Yes... of course... we shall bring him to a justice of evil proportions. Follow me Grimey." "Thats Grima, sir." Grima cut in snivelling. "Right, same difference now shut your trap and come."

So Saruman walked out to the balcony of Orth-Tank with Grima behind him, holding a crate of rabid Troll eating hamsters. The troll that stood before them was huge and stupid of course. Saruman raised his staff and spoke, "Hello you fine troll!" The troll grunted and looked up at him, it grunted again and spoke. "Well ah'll be siah, would yah happen tah have any monah? I couldn't let you go thrah heah without any monah. Ah wahnah have yoh monah!" "What the hell did he say your sire?" Grima asked, peeping at it. "I believe he wants a waffle, get the man... troll... cow... troll... yes, troll a waffle Grima." Saruman instructed. Grima nodded and headed inside to get the troll a waffle.

"Now Mr. Troll we have no money. You do not care, you will happily accept the waffles and let us pass on our way." Saruman told the troll coaxingly. The troll however just looked at him stupidly. "Onlah Gondahriahn credits ahsepted yer lahdship." Said the Troll. "Yes, yes, as I said your waffles are on the way." Saruman smiled at the troll re-assuringly as Grima ran out with some waffles. "Here you are, sire." "Excellent!" Exclaimed Saruman taking the plate from Grima and sending it down to the troll who examined them, flipping them here and there. "Sir, we have given you your waffles I demand that you move from our path."

The troll grunted and just stood there, checking the waffles for money. "Grima?" Saruman inquired. "Yes, sir?" replied Grima hastily. "Whatever did you do to those hamsters?" Asked Saruman. "They're right over there, in that corner, I'll get them." But as Grima ran to get them he slipped on a conveniently placed banana peel, as he fell his leg connected with the crate of hamsetrs and knocked them off of Orth-Tank. The crate fell and splintered into a million pieces on the ground below, one of the splinters impaled the troll's eye. The troll groaned and dropped the plate of waffles, the hamsters (frothing at the mouth) looked at each other and then charged at the troll. In a few moments the troll was buried under a wave of hamsters, Saruman pulled Grima inside by the hand. "We're too young to see this." He said as he did.

After a few minutes they returned outside, Saruman winced when he saw the carcass of the troll. "Well... thats one way of doing things." He said re-starting the engine of Orth-Tank and such is how Saruman and Grima of Orth-Tank got past the challenge of the troll, they drove on south-west towards Dimrill Dale.

[Morsul the Dark]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Barrad-dash.jpgSquish him into jelly

Gothmog had an excellent idea, an idea that would lighten his load and get rid of the Troll at the same time. Peering up the tower the fake eye of Sauron loomed, Gothmog peered at his copilot and began snarling in orcish "go loosen those bolts and let the eye crush this troll if we're lucky it may even roll into the paths of the others!"

As Orcky(for Gothmog still didn't know his name) Climbed the tower gothmog looked ahead at the Troll. "Friend you are about to be destroyed and Im hungry you look like you have a bit of meat on ya'"

The troll just laughed "You little pipsqueak just pay the toll or go back because as I always say a Toll is a toll and a roll is a roll we don't get no toll we don't eat no--" as the troll began to finish his sentence A giant red eye came as a meteorite from the sky landed on the troll the following shockwave was intense but not to bad. the eye slowly rolled into the surrounding trees.

"Well then," Gothmog looked ahead, "To bad the meats all destroyed at any rate we shall stay the course head for the Old road! SouthWest Barad-Dash rumbled slowly forward..."I feel the need the need for speed!" with that Gothmog grabbed his whip, "Time to 'encourage' the slaves"

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg (Barrels) On the Doorstep

Still recovering from the thought of Gandalf's most likely uncloaking-related 'solution' to their problem, Frodo sat with the other hobbits to consider their options. At long last he stood and turned to his friends.

"I suppose there's nothing for it but to send word to the Elvenking's halls, asking for aid," he said. "A single arrow let loose from Legolas's bow would speed us on our way."

"But Frodo," said Merry doubtfully, "Who can we send with the message? We need all the mechanics we've got to keep the fireworks under control. Sam's needed to keep watch, should Mount Zoom approach, and I still haven't planned as much of our journey as I should like to have done. That's every-"

"Ahem," Pippin interrupted. "I think, Merry, that you've forgotten the important contributions of a certain member of this team."

"Are you volunteering, then, Pip?" asked Merry of a rather chagrinned Pippin.

"Of course he's not!" Sam broke in quickly. "Mister Frodo, you can't send him."

Pippin looked about indignantly. "And why not?" he demanded. "I can manage it. I did fetch Gandalf, you know, when Denethor wanted to set Farimir and himself on fire!"

"Besides, Sam, he's the only one who could go," said Frodo. "Very well, Pippin. You must make haste, though! We don't want to lose our lead - Gandalf might feel the need to uncloak again!"

It was settled, and Pippin embarked on his journey after packing "a few necessities," as he called the basket of mushrooms, tarts, jams, and pies that was now strapped to his back. It wasn't long before the mushrooms were gone, and then the tarts and jams, and at last the pies. As he made his way towards Thranduil's kingdom, he likewise ate his way through the basket, and by the time he was nearing the Elvenking's halls, he realized he was quite thirsty.

At last he could see ahead of him the great stone gates that marked the entrance to Thranduil's halls. And standing before them was the most welcome sight he could have seen - an elf sitting atop a barrel, and drinking the contents of another. Pippin ran up eagerly.

*******

"So, you say Galion's your name?" asked the Took some time later, contentedly slumping back against the barrel his newfound friend was sitting upon.

"Yes," hiccupped the butler. "And your name is Pele-, Pere-, Peregli-"

"You can call me Pippin," the hobbit interjected. "And, I've come all this way to plead with your king to" (here he paused to hiccup) "to help my kinsfolk. We're friends of Legolas, you see, and there's this troll..."

"Well," replied Galion, animatedly moving his arms as he spoke. "Legolas is away at the moment, and you'll not find Lord Thranduil in good spirits. This wine, you see, was to have been brought here yesterday for a great feast, but due to delays... Well, the king blames me, and said the wine is worthless now, and told me to get rid of it." He took another swig of the stuff, clearly trying his best to obey his master's orders.

"Oh, I've a grand idea!" cried Pippin, eyeing the crates of mead.

*******

Several hours later, back at the Bag-Endless-Fuel, Sam waited impatiently in his perch for Pippin's return. When he finally did see the hobbit, he jumped up and stared unbelievingly. "Master Frodo..." he called down the chimney.

Frodo emerged from the door of Bag End to see Pippin sitting on the shoulders of a Mirkwood elf, who was rolling a barrel ahead of him. Both were singing:

Roll--roll--roll--roll,
roll-roll-rolling to the troll,
Heave ho! Heavy load!
Down it rolls, down the road!

As the song ended, the pair reached the base of Bag-Endless-Fuel. Pippin lurched off his companion's shoulders when he saw Frodo, and made an exaggerated bow.

Frodo took a moment to try to contain himself. "Pippin," he said through clenched teeth. "Where... are... the elves?"

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The Troll is Slain

The Witch-king rested in his armchair, feeling his migraine disappear, while Ringwraith #4 climbed his way down to the eerie dungeons. These dungeons give me the creeps, he thought, it's all the orcs, I can't stand them! He arrived in the dungeons and found himself in the great hall of the front axle. The orcs were having a fun time spinning the right axlers who were chained onto the axle, but now they sat, bored and disappointed to have stopped.

"What's the deal?" shouted one orc, the chief orc, whose name was Ôsh-gosh, "Why aren't we moving?"

"There's an orc in the road," said Ringwraith #4, "And he wants us to pay a toll, but we have no cash at the moment."

"You mean we're just gonna stay here!" said Ôsh-gosh. All the other orcs groaned.

"No, no. We've made a plan. Behind us we are followed by those orccs we dropped over the elves, and they in turn are being chased by elf hunters. I'm here to select those of you who will guide the elves to the troll. Once the elves have killed the troll, we'll be back on the road."

Several more cheerful orcs clapped. "Yay!" they said.

"And what about those who will lead the elves to the troll?" said Ôsh-gosh, "What's in it for us? Are you just going to leave us stranded in Mirkwood?"

"Pretty mu- I mean, uh, um," Ringwraith #4 searched his mind for a good reward. What would the Witch-king say? "You will earn undying power and glory."

"Hooray!" said those more cheerful orcs who had before said yay.

"Good enough for me!" said Ôsh-gosh. He started picking his best orcs for the task. He soon had four others, including his brother Bigôsh.

"I've picked Bigôsh, Hâsh-brâwn, Snûpi, and Grupí. Lead us to the troll!"

Ringwraith #4, keeping his distance from the slimy, filthy orcs, led the five orcs to the hatch through the bottom of Minas Mor-go. He opened it, and with a reminder to lead the elves to the troll, the orcs dropped through one by one. Ringwraith #4 shut the hatch, and made his way back up to the Witch-king on the gates. (though with a short stop at a restroom to wash his hands. Those grimy, germ-ridden orcs!)

He returned to the gates, where he found the Witch-king waiting.

"Sir, I've sent the orcs below into Mirkwood. I've sent five of them!"

"Excellent! Come see them run! Come over to the side here!"

Ringwraith #4 came to the Witch-king's side and peered down into the forest, where he could see the five orcs running to the troll, with the elves in hot pursuit. First Ôsh-gosh was killed as a flashing arrow stabbed into the back of his heart, and next Bigôsh was beheaded by an elf who had came close enough to use his sword. Then Hâsh-brâwn and Snûpi were killed by the same arrow. It went straight through one and right into the other. Grupí was now the only one left. He ran and ran, more scared now than at any point in his life, caught between nasty elves and an ugly troll. And all the while the elves could be heard singing:

"Tra-la-la-lally! We will hunt down all orcs and slaughter them and the paths of Mirkwood will run black with their blood! Ha ha!"

Grupí had now ran into the troll. "Pay toll!" the troll shouted as it smashed Grupí into a pulp with its club. But now the elves were unleashing a volley of flashing arrows onto the troll, and in seconds it was reduced to a bloody pincushion. The elves dragged away the troll's body, still singing.

"Tra-la-la-lally! He will make a good sofa! Ha ha!"

The Witch-king turned to Ringwraith #4. "That was fun to watch! They should turn that into a reality show. I'd watch it all the time on the Ithil stone." He returned to his comfortable armchair. "Well, Ringwraith #4, I say we continue due west. What do you think?"

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg

Pippin sat miserably in a stool in the corner, wishing the others wouldn't talk quite so loud as they discussed what to do about his folly. Galion lay asleep on the floor next to him.

"We've lost enough time as it is!" said Frodo. "We can't go back to ask Thranduil for help."

"I can't think what else we could do, though," replied Merry.

"Master Frodo, could we offer the wine to the Troll?" suggested Sam.

"No, the wine is strong to us, but to the troll it would have little effect. He's already said he's not hungry, and I suspect he's not thirsty either."

"But can't he be reasoned with, then? Would it do any harm, to try talking with him? We may have none too much in our money-purses, but we must have something we could offer him!" Sam said in frustration. Frodo looked up suddenly.

"Talking... purses..." he muttered. Sam shot an uncertain glance at Merry, who shrugged in bewilderment.

Frodo looked at Merry and Sam in turn.

"It will be tricky," he said, "but I think I have a plan."

*******

The Troll stood in front of Bag-Endless-Fuel, looking blankly at a nearby tree. If only these hobbits would just leave, he thought to himself. He hadn't lied when he said he was not hungry, and having just eaten a big meal, he rather wanted to rest. But instead he had to stand there, blocking the path, until the little folk paid the toll or went away. Ah, he thought. Here they come now to pay up.

Frodo, Merry, and Sam approached the Troll. Sam rolled the barrel of wine ahead of him.

"We've come to offer you this wine," Frodo called.

The Troll scratched his head. "I already told you, I ain't hungry, and nothing but 20 gold pieces is going ter get you past me."

Frodo motioned to Sam, who pulled the crate off to the right-hand side of the path, and began to pry it open. "Just try some, at least," Frodo begged. "It's quite good, from the halls of the Elvenking!" Merry nodded in encouragement.

The Troll shook his head slowly. "That stuff ain't strong enough for a Troll, anyways" he said, sitting down heavily.

"But how else can we get by?" asked Frodo.

"I told yer," said the Troll, slightly confused. "20 gold pieces. That's the toll." He wondered if perhaps the hobbits didn't understand how tolls worked.

"Yes," said Frodo patiently. "But you see, we don't have 20 gold pieces. If we did, we'd gladly pay you. But as we don't have any gold, and we need to get by, we thought perhaps you see your way to letting us pass."

The Troll paused for a moment. "Nooooo," he said slowly. "I need 20 gold pieces. It's a toll, you see." He shifted his club from one shoulder to other.

This movement frightened Master Samwise, as the club came rather close to striking him on the head. During the preceding exchange, he had snuck as quietly as only a hobbit could, behind the Troll, dragging the barrel of wine with him. As the Troll moved the club to settle it on his shoulder, Sam ducked. He recovered his footing, took a deep breath, and plunged his hand into the Troll's pocket.

"Weren't there more of you?" asked the Troll, sure he had counted three hobbits. He tried to remember what they had been talking about. They had offered him wine - disgusting stuff, from the elves - and, yes, there had a been a third little creature, with a barrel of wine. "Where'd your little friend go?" he demanded.

"Don't you remember?" replied Frodo. "You said you didn't want the wine, so I sent him back inside." He waved his hand in the direction of Bag-Endless-Fuel.

"Oh..." said the Troll.

Samwise, his hand still in the Troll's pocket, used his free hand to pull a cup out of his cloak. Within the pocket, he closed his fingers around something and pulled it out - and, in his hand, was a purse.

"So, you're quite certain there's no way we could just pass by, you know, without paying the toll?" Frodo asked the Troll.

Quickly, Sam dipped his cup into the barrel of wine and, forcing the pouch's drawstring open, poured the liquid inside the purse. The purse, which looked quite ordinary, bunched up at the top, so it seemed almost to be furrowing its brow (although Sam knew it didn't have one). The drawstring pulled tight, then loosened, and emitted an enormous burp.

The Troll looked about in bewilderment. Frodo nudged Merry. "Oh, erm, Excuse me!" the hobbit called.

Sam quickly poured another cupful of wine into the purse, and then another. The purse's drawstring closed and began to open again, this time to hiccup.

"Shh," he whispered to the purse. "We need to borrow some money, but it'll be given right back!"

The purse seemed to consider this for a moment, and then agreed. "O' course, my fine friend. Just give me another (hiccup) sip of that, would you?" Sam hurriedly poured another cupful into the purse's open mouth. The purse sighed contentedly.

"Er, do you mind?" asked Sam in a whisper. The purse's drawstring loosened entirely, and Sam hesitantly reached his hand inside. He pulled out what they needed, then whispered a hurried "thanks," and dropped the bag back into the Troll's pocket.

Meanwhile, the Troll was attempting to explain the toll system to Frodo. "Fascinating stuff," said the hobbit when Sam signalled to him from behind the Troll. But don't you think we ought to close this transaction. Here, give this fine Troll the 20 gold pieces, Merry."

The Troll turned to Merry, and Sam took this opportunity to scurry back over near Frodo, gold in hand.

"Oh, er, Sam has it!" said Merry. The Troll turned back to Sam, utterly confused.

"Here you go, sir," said Sam, stepping forward. The Troll took the money and counted it.

"I thought you took that wine back inside your hill there," the Troll said.

"Yes, I meant to," said Sam, "But I got lost."

The Troll nodded. That, at least, he could understand. He moved aside, and soon Bag-Endless-Fuel was back on its way.

"Well done, Sam," said Frodo. "Now, which way, Merry?"

"I think we'd do best to head South-West. We can try to pick up the Old Forest Road, and head for Rhosgobel, and then to Beorn's house."

[Glirdan]

"And that my liege is my plot."

"WHAT PLOT!? ALL YOU SAID IS I HAVE A PLOT AND THEN YOU SAID 'AND THAT MY LIEGE IS MY PLOT.' WHAT RUBBISH IS THIS?"

"Oh, I'm sorry my lord" Mouth winced. "Here is what I was thinking. How about we take a piece of paper, cut out a piece in the shape of a dollar, paint it green and add the currencey number to it. Then, we coax him into believing it's a real dollar!!"

"THAT'S AN EXCELLENT IDEA MY MOUTH!!! LET'S DO IT!!"

******

"OHH MISTER TROLL!! WE HAVE OUR PAYMENT FOR YOU!!" Sauron yelled. "COME AND CLAIM IT!" The troll yellped as he saw the fake dollar bill being tossed out of the Mountain's driver side window. "Oooo! Money, money money!!" he cried as he chased the bill. "Money!! Come to daddy! I promise I won't hurt you!! Come back!! Please come bacK!" Sauron and Mouth stared at the Troll until he faded into the distance.

"That was far to easy my lord."

"YES!! AND IT WAS ALL THANKS TO ME!! MWHAHAHA!"

"Yes, whatever you say my lord," Mouth rolled his eyes as he said it. "So, which way do we go from here??"

"I THINK WE SHOULD GO NORTH-WEST!! NO ONE INHABITS THOSE AREAS! NOT TO MENTION I HIGHLY DOUBT ANYONE ELSE WILL THINK OF GOING THAT WAY!!" Sauron yelled.

"I really wish you would stop yelling..."

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Where to go now...

"Well, Ringwraith #4, I say we continue due west. What do you say?" asked the Witch-King from his comfy chair.

"Well, sir," started Ringwraith #4, trying his best to sound complex-minded, "heading due west will not take us directly towards our goal. We will be hundreds of miles to the north if we stay on that path. I think a path that is more west south-west would be a much more direct route, and will result in a faster race time and a more likely victory." He smiled with satisfaction at his own smartness.

The Witch-King just looked at him. Or rather through him. "Uhm... Sir?"

"Huh... Oh, what?" The Witch-King shook himself. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. There's just something about you trying to sound smart that puts me in a daze. Did you say you want to go south? What a stupid plan."

"Sir, I said west south-west. Not south. I know we don't want to go south." retorted #4, a little unhappy at being called stupid again.

"Oh. Well then, don't be so picky. West is just as good as west south-west. Now you're just trying to complicate things."

"But, sir..."

"No but's about it. We're going WEST, and that's final. Now, go get those orcs pushing and this massive mover moving!" finished the Witch-King, lounging back in his chair to wait for Minas Mor-go to start up again.

Ringwraith #4 trudged back towards the dungeon stair. He was not really upset about heading west, except where west took them. He had never liked visiting the other Ringwraiths realms of old, and he had doubts that the Witch-King would be able to pass up a visit to his begotten hold of Angmar. He personally would have loved to visit his own realm, which had been on the far side of the Sea of Rhûn, but that was out of the question. He could only hope to dissuade the Witch-King from heading west for too long, or else there'd be no avoiding the stop. It was unlikely to happen; he was the leader of the Ringwraiths after all, so he'd probably get his way. With that thought, he stepped through the last doorway into the dungeon.

*Ugh!* he though, *orcs again.* He pulled out his whip. "Alright, the troll's gone, get back to work! Push you mangy rats!"

"Where's Ôsh-gosh and the others?" one orc questioned.

"They're... enjoying their reward." said #4 with an evil smile on his invisible face. http://www.corsaclub.de/smilies/23.gif (<--- like that, only invisible. :rolleyes: :D)

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Well Done, folks!

Dwarfy hovered far above Mirkwood, he could just see Minas Taxi in the far north as it dashed over the rocks at the foot of the Grey Mountains. He lifted his Palantir and spoke into it.

"Well done racers!" he called, "Those Trolls are troublesome!" Sauron swore at him, but Dwarfy ignored it, "I can see that your all going on smoothly. Ah! But what's this! One of you seems to be pulling ahead. It seems that Bag Endless-fuel is a head after the first challenge! Keep up the good works!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The Second Challenge: Rats in the Pipes.

There are Rats in the pipes! Yes, unfortunately, someone let some rats lose on your vehicles. You must find out which member of your crew brought them on board and then get rid of them. To do this, you need the person who brought them to tell you the Rat's favourite food. Get those darn rats out o' them Pipes! Your vehicle cannot move until this is done!

[Meneltarmacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg
Everything was going well. There had been no need to make the Wargs run the tower, as the tree-chopper on the front had been mowing down Mirkwood steadily and feeding the trees into the steam engine for quite a while. The Orth-Tank was almost out of Mirkwood when suddenly...

Putt-putt-putt-putt-putt-PUTTOOIE!!!

The engine stopped, causing the massive tower to shake violently back and forth.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE, YOU PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A SERVANT?!" boomed Saruman's voice as the wizard charged downstairs.

"Duh? Guh? Bumble-bluh?" was all Wormtongue could stammer as he woke up to repeated whacking from Saruman's staff.

"Never mind," Saruman grumbled as he inspected the workings of Orth-Tank.

"YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!" he shouted.

Grima responded with his wittiest "Huh?"

"I don't suppose you could tell me where all these rats came from? You forgot to clean out the pipes like I've been telling you to. You're going to be Warg-fodder if you don't find a way to get these rats out of here!" The wizard really meant business.

"Maybe we could put a big plate of cheese for the rats outside? Make it extra-stinky so they'll know where to find it. Oh, and poison it as well so they won't come back. Either that, or we could flood the pipes with rat poison," Worm offered.

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Minas Tirith continued to roar along the southern edge of the Grey Mountains, occasionally rolling over a foothill or two. Denethor had reassumed his position at the helm in the Tower, occassionally casting a glance down at his new hood ornament at the head of the great "keel" of the city. "Rather a commanding and forbidding pose indeed," Denethor thought to himself.

They were cruising along quite fine, when there came a gurgle from the depths of the city, and Minas Tirith began to coast, losing its propulsion.

"Faramir!" Denethor shouted. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, Father," replied Faramir. "We seem to having engine trouble. Maybe this nuclear drive isn't such a good idea... What if it blew!"

"Nonsense!" snorted Denethor.

"Well, the city's slowing down, whatever the problem is," said Faramir. "Perhaps we should go check."

Denethor put the coasting city in park, and they descended from the tower to the citadel, and then down to the engine room in the heart of the hill. Húrin of the Keys and most of his support staff were bustling around looking rather confused.

"What's the problem?" demanded Denethor.

"Well, we're not really sure, milord," replied Húrin. "We had to shut down the city because of leak in the pipes feeding the main reactor, but we haven't ascertained why there's a leak, and until we do, we daren't start the engine up again. The last thing we need is a Chernobyl up here."

"Wrong," said Denethor. "The last thing we need is a broken down city. Faramir, you'd better help them find out what's wrong."

"But what about you, Father?"

"Somebody has to handle the supervision detail," replied Denethor.

Giving a long-suffering sigh, Faramir set to work with Húrin and his crew, looking for what might have punctured the pipes.

"Oh, rats!" said Faramir loudly, poking around a corner.

"You've found it?" Denethor turned up almost immediately at his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I just told you."

"No you didn't, you said 'rats'," replied Denethor.

"Exactly," said Faramir. "Rats!"

"I get the whole 'rats' business," said Denethor. "Now what caused the holes?"

"Rats," replied Faramir.

"You mean... rats?" said Denethor.

"Yes, rats," said Faramir, with the air of explaning to a child.

"Oh, rats!" cursed Denethor. "Húrin! Come over here!"

Húrin of the Keys rushed over.

"Have you found it, milord?"

"Yes, I have," replied Denethor. "It's rats."

"Rats!" exclaimed Húrin.

"I feel the same way," nodded Denethor.

"No, I mean it can't be rats," said Húrin. "Minas Tirith is completely free of rats, and has been ever since the days of King Tarondor, who ruled after the Great Plague. They were said to have caused it's quick spread, and the King ordered all rats in the city destroyed. It took until the reign of Narmacil II to achieve that goal, but Minas Tirith has been rat-free for the thousand-plus years since. They must have been placed here deliberately."

"But who would have done such a thing?" said Beregond, naïvely. Denethor and Faramir exchanged dark looks.

"Sauron, I bet!" said Faramir. "He's downright evil!"

"Saruman," said Denethor. "He's much more cunning."

"Could've been the Witchking," said Faramir. "He's always had good luck getting animals to flee away from him. All he'd have to do would be to drive them this way..."

"The Halflings!" said Denethor. "Are they not also known as 'descendents of rats'?"

"I think that might be anti-hobbit rhetoric, Father," said Faramir. "But it could have been Gothmog- assuming he's smart enough."

"Fat chance there!" snorted Denethor. "But it might have been Théoden! That old bugger's always known where his real competition lies, and I wouldn't put it past a kingly pretender like him."

"Nay! Éowyn would never allow it!"

"Oh yes she would!" replied Denethor gleefully. "That woman's the devil incarnate!"

"You're mixing her up with Galadriel..."

"Well, they're both blonde!"

"Father, they're COMPLETELY different."

"Yes, Boromir, but anyway, Théoden wouldn't have to tell her about it anyway," Denethor persisted.

"I'm Faramir."

"Yes, I know you are."

"But you just called me Boromir."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"Ahem!" interjected Húrin. "Does it really matter, milords, who masterminded the plan? It might even have been Dwarfy. The point is, that they had to have been released into here by someone with access to the engine room. ONLY your lordships, myself, and the members of the crew have access. Even King Elessar wasn't allowed into the city after the game began."

"Get me a roster of your team," said Denethor. "Let's find us this traitor!"

"And then?" asked Faramir.

"And then we burn him!"

[Glirdan]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpgRats!

"BLAH BL BLAH BL BLAH BLAH BLAH!!" Sauron yelled.

"May I ask why you're spekaing jibberish sire?" Mouth asked annoyingly. The yelling was getting REAL annoying and head-splitting now.

"BECAUSE IT'S FUN!!" Sauron cackled evily.

"Well my lord, by the sounds of that Dwarf up there who stole our money (CURSE HIM!!), we have another problem coming up."

"REALLY!? WHAT IS IT!? TELL ME! AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT!!"

"Well...uh...I....ummm...don't exactly know...." Mouth stated, quite embarassed and in fear. His master had an awful temper.

"WHAT!? WHY THE-" he got cut off by a loud. PUTT-PUTT-PUT-PUt-Put-put-pu-p-pfffft.....BOOM "WHAT WAS THAT!?" Sauron asked suspiciously.

"Umm...I think that was the engine dieing my liege. Would you like someone to go and check it out?"

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Rat Attack

"PREPOSTEROUS!!" Sauron bellowed. The windowpanes rattled at the sheer volume. Poor Mouth. His eardrums would never be the same after this trip.

"ABSOLUTELY PREPOSTEROUS!" Sauron repeated. "OUR ENGINES CANNOT DIE, MOUTH OF ME! THEY ARE ENGINES OF UNRELENTING EVIL!"

"Be that as it may, my lord, that doesn't change the fact that the engines have stopped," Mouth pointed out. "Listen."

The Dark Lord and Mouth craned their heads downward, listening for the soothing purr of the 250 troll-power engine cranking the gears of the ancient mountain and spewing forth molten lava. No such sound came.

"See, my lord? They have stopped. I think--"

"WAIT, MOUTH!" Sauron slapped a hand over Mouth's... er... mouth. This was unfortunate for Mouth, as Sauron was still wearing his metal gauntlets. "LISTEN!"

Mouth, trying very hard not to scream in pain or drop any teeth on the carpeting, watched as Sauron crept up to the wall. The dark lord knelt and pressed the side of his helmeted head to the wall. He pointed a gauntleted finger.

"SOMETHING IS MAKING SCRATCHY-SCRATCHY NOISES IN THE WALL, MY MOUTH," he said, in what he supposed a whisper would sound like. It was really more of a loud conversational voice, but hey, it was a step down from the usual yelling.

Mouth obediently knelt next to his master and listened.

scritchscracth... scratchy.... *SQUEEK!!* scratch...

"Sou's laeg ra's," Mouth said, trying not to lose any more teeth. "May'he we 'hould go--"

Sauron's fingers formed a fist, and he punched straight through the wall. Plaster chunks, pink insulation, pumice, and drywall flew everywhere. The dark lord fished around for a moment, searching for something. Finally his hand emerged, clutching an iron pipe.

"AHA!" he cackled victoriously. "I HAVE FOUND THE PROBLEM!" He shook the pipe and a terrified rat fell to the ground. Sauon placed his foot on the rat's tail, keeping it from escaping.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "OBVIOUSLY, YOU ARE A SPY, SENT BY THE HOBBITS TO KEEP ME FROM STEALING BACK MY RING!"

"Um," Mouth began, but Sauron waved him away. Sauron threatened the rat with a fate worse than death unless the rat revealed the name and whereabouts of its employer, but the creature didn't respond.

"YOU ARE A TOUGH GUY, AY? WELL HOW ABOUT IF I--"

Squeak! Another rat scurried between the dark lord's legs and headed into the kitchen. Sauron and Mouth turned, to see several more rats falling from the broken pipe.

"BLAST!" Sauron cursed. "THEY HAVE US SURROUNDED!"

Mouth leaped up on the passenger's seat as a particularly large rat mistook his boots for some kind of tasty dead animal.

"This is all the Witch King's doing!" he yelled. "I just know it! He's always trying to make me look bad in front of you, my lord!"

"HURRY, MY MOUTH!" Sauron yelled over the squeeking. "WE MUST FIND OUT WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS! TO THE TROLL-ENGINE ROOM!" Yelling out battle cries in the Black Speech, Sauron raced down the stairs to the depths of the mountain, where trolls ran the great engine.

Mouth began to wonder what was worse: the pain in his teeth, the pain in his ears, or Sauron, the pain in the neck.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Faramir:


"Father", Faramir gasped, "This is just like in a dream I had a while ago!"

"Really now? I, for one, dreamed that I was on a vacation in Dol Amroth last night. The sea glimmered and the hot sand of the golden beaches run through my bare toes. I was just sipping a Balar Island Ice Tea under a sunshade when I woke up", Denethor said in a wistful voice.

Húrin of the Keys nodded wisely. "I can relate, my lord. I once dreamed that-"

"No, no, NO! Listen to me. In my dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the west a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:

Seek for the rats that run free,
In Engine room they dwell,
There shall be counsels taken,
To get rid of the horrid smell.
There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand,
For mousetraps shall be broken,
and a traitor forth shall stand.

What does it mean?"

"Either it means, my son, that the Black Breath disease damaged your brain more than Mister heal-it-all knew, or then... then... Then we shall go consulting Ioreth on this matter."

"Not Ioreth! She always piches me on the cheek", Faramir shuddered remembering the horrible times when he had been trapped in the Houses of Healing for weeks because of chicken pox.

"She is the only one who has saved all the volumes of Ranger's Digest since Mid-3rd Age. There might very well be something useful there, so pick up your courage and prepare to be pinched, Captain of Gondor", Denethor said, turned on his heels and strode out of the room a disheartened Faramir in his wake.

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Rats!

The Witch-king sat in the highest chamber of the highest tower, having left the steering wheel to Ringwraith #4. He was consulting his Palantir, the Ithil stone, at the moment. Where are you, my pretties, he muttered to himself, using the stone's powers to search far and wide across Mirkwood for the competition. Ah, there you are, my pretties, he thought, when he spotted Bag Endless-fuel and Mount Zoom. Veered away, eh, too scared to follow Minas Mor-go? Mwahahaha! He then turned his eye towards his old kingdom of Angmar in the north, and he gazed longingly at the old fortresses, and the battlements, and the weary orc sentries longing to see their long-gone king. The Witch-king fondly remembered the old battles in Eriador, and his victories over Arnor. They were a race of fools and idiots, trying to stand up to me! Me! The Witch-king of Angmar! Mwaha-WHAAT?!

A rat had just ran across the Witch-king's foot, squeaking as it scampered into a corner. Rats? An exterminator had just visited the city no more than three weeks before, and already rats were infesting the place. The Witch-king stomped down the spiral staircase, and on his way down spotted two more rats. He soon reached the top of the gates, where Ringwraith #4 was driving. "Ringwraith #4! First of all, get out of my chair! Use that wooden stool I gave you. Secondly, we've been infested with rats!"

"Rats, sir?"

"No, banana splits," said the Witch-king, rolling his eyes, "Of course I said rats, you fool. They're everywhere. Look, there's one now!"

"That's odd. Didn't we have an exterminator come here just three weeks ago to deal with our ant problem? This is strange, indeed. Maybe one of the orcs brought them, or maybe Eärnur's ghost is bothering us again, or maybe an elf has infiltrated our fortress and is sabotaging the race by unleashing vermin throughout our city. Have you heard any tra-la-las lately?"

The Witch-king slapped the back of Ringwraith #4's head. "Enough of these crazy conspiracy theories of yours! Next you'll say Balrogs have wings!"

"But sir, have you seen a Balrog? Their shadows stretch out like two vast wings. I've read it before in a book."

"Oh, shut up. Let's go investigate this rat problem."

The Witch-king duct taped the wheel straight and he and Ringwraith #4 climbed down the great spiral staircase leading down into the labyrinth of cellars, dungeons, and basements. It was not long before they heard the horrible moaning of King Eärnur's ghost. He drifted out of a dungeon door and right into the stairwell. His ghostly garments were the same kingly vestments he wore on the day he died. Through his ghostly head was a ghostly Morgul blade, neatly and straightly impaled from temple to temple. It was this wound which caused an eternal headache, making King Eärnur moan so.

"Eärnur! Stop right there!" commanded the Witch-king. "Did you happen to let rats infest the city? They're everywhere. Tell me, or you'll relive June 19, 2050 of the Third Age for the rest of eternity!"

"Twasn't I," he said with a dreary sigh. "But I do know who did."

"Who? Tell us!"

"Only if you promise to free me from this prison when we reach the Grey Havens. I've been thinking about retiring to the Barrow-downs. I've heard I can lease a nice barrow for cheap."

"I don't care about your barrows. Tell us who infested this place with rats!"

"Only if you promise to release me when we reach the Grey Havens."

"Oh, shut up. Fine. I promise, but that's the last promise I'm giving you. Now, who did this?"

"I saw an orc do it."

"Who? What? How? When?"

"First of all, I have no idea what its name was. What, you think I learn their names? As for how and when, I saw him take two rats out of his pockets just a few hours ago."

"Just a few hours ago?"

"Hey, rats multiply. As I was saying, he released them from his pockets near the first basement chocolate vault –"

"You have a chocolate vault?!" said Ringwraith #4 to the Witch-king. "Why don't I have a chocolate vault? How many other secret vaults do you have, eh, boss?"

"Shut up, let the King finish his story."

"And the orc did the most bizarre thing. He fed himself to the rats. Chopped off a few toes and fingers, and fed those rats. Those rats eat orc meat."

"Amazing! Do you know what this means, Ringwwraith #4? It means we only have to look for orcs missing an excessive number of toes and fingers! To the dungeons!"

And so the Witch-king and Ringwraith #4 sped off to the dungeons. When they arrived, they found that the floor was covered in rats. Ringwraith #4 nearly fainted, and grabbed onto the Witch-king's arm to help him stand.

"Oh, get off of me, you sissy. Attention orcs! Please remove all socks, shoes, and gloves! We are taking a tally of how many appendages we've lost. Take off your shoes now, good job."

The smell was unbearable, and Ringwraith #4 finally fainted. The Witch-king kicked him. "Alright, #4, go check their feet."

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Denethor and Faramir found Ioreth in the her house in the Fifth Circle, puttering about in her garden. Her eyesight was failing a little, but she seemed to recognize them.

"Faramir, you dear boy," she greeted them, grabbing his cheek and squeezing it hard. "My are you getting big!"

"I'm in my thirties, Ioreth," said Faramir, "I rather think I've been done growing for a while."

"Never mind the pleasantries!" Denethor interrupted. "We're here on business. Rats have infiltrated the pipes, and we daren't start up the engines until they've been removed. You're the only one in the city interested in things like this. How do we go about it?"

"Well, dear," said Ioreth, patiently. "The first thing we should do is put on a pot of tea."

"Tea?" said Faramir incredulously. "What on Arda for?"

"Because it's only proper to sit down and discuss these things over a spot of tea, dear boy," said Ioreth. "And you shan't get a word out of me until we do."

Fortunately, there was nearly always a kettle boiling in Ioreth's house, and soon the three of them were seated at the table. Ioreth poured Denethor a cup, poured herself a cup, and then sat down.

"What about me?" demanded Faramir.

"Oh, sorry, ducky," said Ioreth. "Here, I'll go get you a glass of milk."

"Why can't I have tea too?" protested Faramir.

"The tea is for the adults, dear," said Ioreth. "Now be quiet while your father and I discuss these important matters. I seem to remember reading something about this in the old Home Order and Management Embrolglios magazines. Oh, and have a biscuit."

She offered him a tray of cookies. Faramir took one begrudgingly, and nibbled on it while Denethor sipped his tea, and Ioreth rambled on.

"They don't make magazines like the HoME anymore," she sighed. "The editor was such a dear man, you know. Shook my hand and called me "miss", he did, at the a luncheon for the Gardening Society. No one's called me that since I was a lass. You know what they say, the hands of etiquette are the hands of an editor."

"Er... they do?" said Faramir.

"Ssssh!" hushed Denethor. "She'll never get to the point if you keep interrupting."

"You know, that's the truth, it is," replied Ioreth. "Some people take forever to get around to things. My cousin Mithrellas, for example. She'll talk your ear off going on about the silliest things. Why just last Midsummer, she was going on about wizard's cloaks, and their clasps must be defective, and as I said to her-"

But what Ioreth said to her cousin, Faramir never heard, for Denethor's patience had already snapped.

"I'm sure it's a fascinating story," said Denethor. "And I'd love to hear it- some other time when I'm not trying to fix a broken-down city, win a race, or otherwise do anything useful. Meanwhile, can you or can you not help us remove the rats from the pipes?"

"Well, there's no need to get all huffy about things!" said Ioreth. "If there was a rush, you should have said so."

"Fine," said Denethor. "Have you got a solution?"

"Well, obviously what one has to do is lure them out," said Ioreth, sipping on her tea, and affecting the air of a great expert. "That's how it's done, you know, because you can't go in after them, and they're very clever little beasts, you know. Just like it's said in the fable about the Fox, the Rat, and the Kookaburra, when the Fox says-"

"I've heard that one already," said Denethor. "So we have to lure the rats out. What lures work?"

"Well, it depends on the rats," said Ioreth. "Very picky, they are. They'll eat just about anything, so food isn't necessarily what they want. And it should have a fairly strong smell, so that it can be out in the open, but they'll smell it in the pipes. I'd try all sorts of things: roast beef, chicken, perfume, laundry, baby powder... anything you think they might like."

"And I suppose I should go get to know them better so I've got an idea what they want," muttered Denethor.

"Well, you know what they say," said Ioreth. "Faint nose never won dead rat."

"Do they really say that?" asked Faramir.

"No, ducky, I made that one up myself," chuckled Ioreth, pinching his cheek. "But it's a right good one, I say, and it'll be remembered for sure. Just like that one about the King and his hands, and-"

"Thank you very much for all of your help," said Denethor, rising to his feet. "But we must be going now."

"Well, drop in again any time," said Ioreth seeing them to the door. "Guests are good but visitors are better, and you know-"

"Goodbye!" Denethor closely the door quickly behind them. He and Faramir set off a fast pace up the street.

"What now?" asked Faramir.

"Húrin and I will try to lure the rats out of the pipes," said Denethor. "Meanwhile, I want you to investigate the rest of the support staff, and find out who brought those rats in here. When you find him, bring him to me."

"What will you do to him, Father?"

"I'll send him to tea with Ioreth- every day," said Denethor in a growl. "He'll get what he deserves!"

[Farael]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg [CENTER]A shameless ripoff Previously on 24…

[The camera zooms to a small hut on the outskirts of Medul-zoom]
“tip tip, tiroo, tip tip tiroo, tip tip tiroo”

“Why do you keep making that noise, Jacques?”

“It is my telephone”

“There is no such thing as a telephone, but you always make that sound when you got a letter from the King… spit it out”

“It seems they have a mission for us, the Counter Troll Unit, also known as CTU” Said Jacques Bawer “We have no time, to the halls of the king!!... BRRRRR BRRRR BRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAUUUUUUAAAARRRRRRR……… EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

Theoden: “Why does he have to make those noises while riding his horse?”

Bawer: “It is a car, my liege, not a horse. Now, I heard you had a troll problem”

Theoden: “Yes, we had a troll problem”

Bawer: “I’m here to solve your troll problem”

Theoden: “You are here to solve my troll problem?”

Bawer: “Well, where is he?”

Theoden: “I don’t really know, why?”

Bawer: “Alright, so you want me to find the troll and take him out, right?”

Theoden: “Oh… no, that’s old news. The problem with the troll is over. I tried sending you a messenger, but you insisted that he called your ‘telephone’. What is a telephone, and how do you call them? We tried screaming TELEPHONE!!!! But no-one came”

Bawer: “It’s… complicated, my lord. So you don’t need me here?”

Theoden: “Well, Mr. Bawer I wouldn’t want to make you feel useless…”

Bawer: “How about you invite me for lunch?”

Theoden: “Don’t abuse your luck”

Rat: SCREEEEEEEEECH

Theoden: “What was that?”

Bawer: “It is troll”

Rat: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

Theoden: “It does not sound like a troll”

Bawer: “I know a troll when I hear one”

Theoden: “It sounds like a rat to me”

Bawer: “My lord, please I’m an… AH!! WHAT’S THAT!!!”

Theoden: “That, Mr. Bawer, is a rat”

Bawer: “It’s so ugly!! Ewwww!!”

Theoden: “STOP THE HORSENGINES!!!”

Hama: “Stop the horsengines!!”

Second man down the line: “Stop horsengines”

Third man down the line: “Stop”

Fourth man down the line: “What? I’m not going anywhere, I’m waiting here to transmit the orders down the line to the horsengine room.”

Third man down the line: “He says he’s not going anywhere”

Second man down the line: “He says he doesn’t want to go anywhere

Hama: “Someone says we can’t go anywhere”

Bawer: “It must be the rats, my liege, I don’t know how but they are compromising our efforts to move Medul-zoom”

Theoden: “Alright, then you and your Counter Troll Unit must find why the rats are here, who brought them in and how to get rid of them… and hurry!! We need to win this race”

Bawer: [Grabbing a rat and pressing it against the wall, looking straight into its eyes] “WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?!?!”

Rat: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

Bawer: [Twisting the rat on some strange sort of lock] “Do not mess with me you filthy rat, you are going to talk, the only difference will be how much you suffer before you do it”

Rat: Screech!! Screech screech screech SCREECH!!!!

Bawer: “This is useless, my lord, they won’t break”

Theoden: “Back so soon, Mr. Bawer? I was about to take a shower, oh ho ho ho how clever I am”







(That space is used to exemplify the awkward silence that fell after Theoden’s rather lame pun)

Bawer: “Well my liege, it seems that these rats are very well trained. I interrogated one yet all she would say when I asked who their leader was is ‘Screech’”

Theoden: “Then why didn’t you apprehend Screech?”

Bawer: “Is Screech someone’s name?”

Rat: [limping slightly] “Yes, you brute… I tried telling you but you wouldn’t listen. Oh, no, no-one ever listens to us rats when we talk… yes, you big men with your fast horses and big golden castles won’t bother to listen to a rat, eh? You are ‘above’ our kind, eh? Eh?... you disgust me” [exits the scene]

Theoden: “Now that’s something you don’t see every day…. Alright, bring Mr. Screech to me!!”

Hama: “Bring Screech to the king!!”

Second man down the line: “oh, that’s me”

Theoden: ”What is this all about, Screech?”

Screech: “Rats, my liege”

Theoden: “Well, the rats are slowing us down, we need to get rid of them”

Screech: “But they are my only friends! Look, there is Lando, and Molly, and Steph, and Tina, and John and look how fast Billy is running!!!”

Theoden: “I’m sorry, but we need to get rid of them.”

Screech: “There is no way, my King”

Jacques: “I’ll find a way”

Theoden: “No, we don’t have time for you to ‘take them out’ one by one”

Jacques: “How did you know my secret plan?”

Theoden: “I’m a king, I know things. Eowyn!!”

Eowyn: “Yes, uncle?”

Theoden: “Do you know how to get rid of the rats?”

Eowyn: “Actually… there is one way….”


Tick tick tick tick ticktickticktickticktick (end of the episode)

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpgOf Rats and Stewed Rabbit

Frodo woke with a start. After the hobbits had celebrated their triumph over the troll with some Dorwinion wine, he had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. The sounds of boiling water had awoken him. Looking about, Frodo saw Sam, Merry, and Pippin clustered about the fireplace, making a stew out of rabbit meat and something else, something bright red and round.

"Can I have some meat?" Pippin asked.

"Okay," said Merry. "Want some tomatoes, Sam? Great tomatoes."

Frodo leapt up. "What are you doing!" he cried.

"Tomatoes, rabbit, nice crispy bacon."

"We saved some for you, Mister Frodo," added Sam.

"Put it out, you fools, put it out!" Frodo ran to the hearth and doused the flame with a pitcher of water.

"Oh, that's nice!" said Pippin. "Ash on my tomatoes!"

"Tomatoes? They're not even canon!" said Frodo angrily. "Where did you get them?"

"Some hobbit," said Pippin, wracking his brain for a name. "Jeter Packson, that may've been it!" he said.

"Doesn't sound like a hobbit-name," said Frodo disapprovingly.

Their conversation was interrupted by Chief Mechanic Ted Sandyman rushing into the room, blowing a horn as loudly as he could. When he saw Frodo, he stopped and bent over to catch his breath.

"Rats! Rats in the engine room!" he cried. "Disruptin' the fireworks, they are, and we won't be able to start back up 'til we've got rid of 'em."

The hobbits looked at one another. Finally, Pippin broke the silence.

"I hope they've not got in the food!"

[Glirdan]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg THE EVIL DOOER?

Mouth hurried after his master. Even if he was wearing all this honking metal, he could still run at the speed of light when he was angry and he was extremely angry this time. As Mouth arrived in the Troll-Engine Room, he saw his master bereting all the Trolls around.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU LITTLE TWIRPS DID THIS!!" He yelled as he held up a rat.

"Umm, my lor-"

"NOT NOW MOUTH!" Sauron yelled. He turned back to the very confuse Trolls. "WHO DID IT!? TELL WHO!!!"

"My liege!!"

"WHAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ABOUT NOT NOW MOUTH!?" Sauron yelled.

"Oh, I understand it quite fine my lord. It's just you have rats crawling up and down your back!" Mouth yelled in horror.

"WHAT!? RATS!?!? GET THEM OFF OF ME!! GET THEM OFF OF ME THIS INSTANT!!!" Sauron screamed. It was so loud and high it was almost as high as a dog whistle. He ran around the Troll-Engine Room screaming like a little girl. "EWWW! GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFFFFFF!!!!!"

"My liege!?" Mouth tried yelling at his master.

"WHAT!? CAN'T YOU SEE I'M BUSY TRYING TO GET THESE DISGUSTING RATS OFF!?!?"

"That's the thing my lord!! They're all gone!!" Mouth yelled and with that, Sauron stopped yelling. "They all fell of when you started running around the room..."

"WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME EARLIER!?" Sauron yelled in frustration. Then he turned back to the Trolls, who were still standing there in confusion. "WHAT ARE YOU ALL STARING AT!? TELL ME WHO THE CULPRIT IS!!"

[Valier]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg Eowyn's scary little secret

Eowyn: “Actually… there is one way….”

Theoden: "Ok well out with it my dear!"

Eowyn: *In a hushed voice* " Well you have to swear not to tell anyone.....especially Faramir"

Theoden: :uuummmm right...."

Eowyn: "I also have a small animal friend that I think may help us in this situation, but you have to promise not to tell! Swear you won't!

Everyone: "We swear!! (snickers) "

Eowyn: "His name is Tito, he's a....well just look for yourselves."

Eowyn: * Pulls a pouch out from in between her....aahhem...tata's,and detaches what appear to be dainty lady tongs. She loosens the string from around the top and uses the tongs to pull out......a long purple earthworm.*

Theoden: " Dear that is a worm! How in the world is that going to get rid of a pile of rats?"

Eowyn: "This is no ordinary worm! He is a Bellow-worm!"

Screech: "A what?"

Eowyn:*sighs* "A Bellow-worm you feeble minded ninny! You know, he like bellows and what not."

Screech: "Where did you find that and what is it supposed to do?"

Eowyn: "For your information, I was walking by a pond one day and nearly stepped on it. It let out a bellow so loud I felt sick for a whole week! But after that week, I went straight back there to have a talk with that worm! I said worm, why do you bellow? and he said you almost stepped on me! and I said....well you get the idea.After a long intense discussion with the worm, we came to a consensus. He would live in my pouch and I would feed him the best dang dirt around. And he was most helpful when suitors came calling, I would just give him a sign and he would clear the room.


Theoden: *Trying to supress laughing at her* "Alright Eowyn, my dear we will try it your way! I don't see any harm."

Screech: " But lord, you can't possibly think.....

Theoden: "SSShhhhhh! Alright sweetie you go for it."

Eowyn carried the worm away from her body with her dainty lady tongs and placed it on a high shelf.

Eowyn: "Alright everybody out! I don't think you want to be here for this!"

All the people and horses were evacuated to the outside of the great Medul-Zoom.

Eowyn: Alright, I have instructed Tito to start his stuff, when I shut this door. Ready?....O you better plug your ears just in case." * Slams the door shut*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile inside......

The rats began to mull around freely now they had noticed that the people had left.

Rats: Screeeeeeeech (Which means alright!)

The gross purple earthworm named Tito rippled himself to the edge of the shelf. He raised himself up so he was almost vertical. "Ahem, Ahem.....Ahem, ahem"

Rats:" Screech, screech!" ( translates to Hey, look up...way up)

The Bellow-worm Tito began to constrict and contract, constrict then contract. He gave one last heave and he began to fill his lungs with air.
(Wait....do worms even have lungs?.....Oh well back to the story) He swelled in size and opened wide. "BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!

Rats: " squeek!" ( Translates to Let's get the heck outta here! Leave the food behind! Save the woman and children! Run away! Run away! OOOOhhhhh geeze!!!! Why Oh why? How do we get out? aaaaaahhhhhhhhh! Hold your ears!)

The rats began to run around in circles, some were carrying smaller rats, some were clawing their ears.But none knew how to get away from the horrible noise.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile outside......

Theoden:* With ear pressed to Medul-zoom's exterior* " I don't hear anything"

Eowyn: "Oh just wait he's just getting warmed up!"

Screech: "Right ok....cause he can really make noise!" *****shhaaa*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back inside........

Tito began to move his..."head" up and down, he opened his mouth up even wider and let out a sonic boom of sound.

Tito: "BBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAA!


The door of Medul-Zoom came blasting open, throwing everyone feet away from the door. A whole mess of rats came flooding out covering everyone besides Eowyn, who had taken cover. The rats began to disappate as they headed towards the eaves of Mirkwood.

Screech: "Wait! Wait! Tina....Billy...Wait for me!" *runs off into the sunset after his beloved rats, never to be seen again*

Eowyn rose gracefully from the ground and headed into Medul-zoom to fetch Tito. Everyone else stood around looking dazed.

Eowyn: "Alright I have thanked Tito and fed him some dirt. You can all go back inside all the rats are gone."

Eowyn: " I saved the day again! Well shall now travel North.....I have the perfect black dress for this occasion.......* Wanders off to change again..*

Eorlingas: " Oh just wait till we tell Faramir about Eowyn's little slimy friend!......"

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Evil is what we do best.

Sauron reclaimed what little dignity he had left and looked over the engine room. It was in turmoil. Rats scurried here and there, bits and pieces of machinery that looked half-destroyed were strewn across the floor. A pair of trolls huddled fearfully in one corner, and a third stood as a pillar of stone in another.

“WHAT IS GOING ON DOWN HERE?!” Sauron demanded. “YOU TROLLS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE RUNNING THE ENGINE!”

“We can’t!” one troll wailed. “Rats hurt us!” Mouth rolled his eyes.

“But they’re just rats, and you’re trolls,” he said slowly. “How could they hurt you?”

“Dey kill Steve!” cried the other troll. “Lookit!” He pointed a stubby finger at the third troll. It had been turned to stone.

“Steve brings in da rats cuz dey were cute. Dere were just two, but den we turn our back on dem for five minutes, and now dere’s two hundred and seventy eight! Where dey come from?!”

“Er…” Mouth said uncomfortably. “Well… I guess it’s time you knew…” But before Mouth had to say anything else, the troll went on without him.

“But den, da rats chomp on roof; eat hole in ceiling! Sun come in and kill Steve! Now we afraid to go over dere, cuz rats eat more ceiling and kill Bob and Fred!”

Mouth sighed.

“WAIT…” Sauron began, confused. “WE’RE INA MOUNTAIN. HOW DID THEY CHEW THROUGH--”

“So what happened next?” Mouth interrupted. The trolls exchanged glances.

“We panic,” Fred explained. “We throw things, try make rats go away.”

“WHAT DID YOU THROW?” Sauron asked.

“Muffler.”

“Carburetor.”

“Chunks of engine.”

“Some big gears.”

“Soda cooler.”

“Not really work.”

Mouth sighed haggardly.

“Perfect,” he said. “Just perfect. Now we’re stuck here.” All this time, Sauron had been eying the hungry little animals. So greedy… They reminded him of something…

“I HAVE JUST THE THING!” Sauron said. Telling the Mouth to stay put, the Dark Lord ran up the stairs to his room. Mouth could hear clanking, squealing, hissing, creaking, and the occasional muted cursing drifting down from the room above. Oh jeez. What was he up to now?

During this time, a large brown rat had discovered the leftover craft supplies from the brief counterfeiting scheme, and decided to eat Sauron’s crayons, one color at a time. It had just finished last green and was moving into the yellows by the time Sauron returned. The Dark Lord gripped a small box in his hands, and he seemed quite pleased with himself. (As pleased as an expressionless suit of armor could look, that is.)

“THEY ARE COMPLETE, MY MOUTH!” Sauron roared triumphantly. Mouth flicked a small gray rat off his shoulder.

“Dare I ask what is complete, my lord?” Mouth asked, fearing he’d get an answer whether he specifically asked or not. The Dark Lord held out the little box as though it were made of pure gold.

“BEHOLD,” Sauron said. “THE TWO-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT MINI RINGS OF POWER!!” He flicked open the lid of the box, and 278 miniature gold and silver rings glistened in the lamplight. The rats stared at the shinyness, completely entranced.

“I HAVE FORGED THEM IN THE FIRES OF MOUNT ZOOM,” Sauron explained. “I FIGURED, HEY, IF THE HUMANS WERE STUPID ENOUGH TO FALL FOR IT, THE RATS MIGHT TOO.” As though in a trance, the rodents all moved slowly towards the Dark Lord and his gleaming box.

“SMALL RODENTY THINGS!” Sauron yelled to the rats. “I, THE DARK LORD SAURON, WISH TO PRESENT YOU WITH A GIFT OF PEACE AND UNDERSTANDING AND ALL THAT NONSENSE!” He held the box aloft, and the rats’ eyes glinted greedily. “IN THESE MAGICAL RINGS ARE THE POWER TO RULE THE ENTIRE RATTY RACE! AND I GIVE THEM TO YOU IN A GESTURE OF GOODWILL AND… STUFF.” With that, the Dark Lord set the box down on the floor. He and Mouth distributed the rings amongst the small animals.

“Now what?” Mouth asked. Sauron leaned back in the driver’s seat, looking smug.

“WATCH.”

The rats sniffed at the bands of gold and silver, each ring intricately wrought with superb craftsmanship. Then, slowly, they lifted the rings above their heads. Florescent lights glinted off 278 specks of gold and silver. And then, the rats slid the rings over their fingers…

SKRREEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKK!!

“BEHOLD!” Sauron yelled gleefully. “MY NEWEST MINIONS, THE RAT WRAITHS!!”

Two hundred and seventy eight tiny cloaked figures now stood at attention in front of the dark lord. Two hundred and seventy eight pairs of beady black eyes remained transfixed on his great helmet, each awaiting their master’s call. One figure’s face was stained with melted crayon wax.

Sauron folded his arms over his chest smugly.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK? PRETTY WICKED, HUH?”

Mouth took a moment to consider this. They were kind of cute, in a strange sort of demented way, but they didn’t seem particularly useful. Their eyes didn’t glow with the fires of a thousand hells; their very presence didn’t inspire absolute terror in the hearts of the strongest men; they couldn’t even shriek properly. They’d be absolutely no help in keeping the door-to-door salesmen out of Mordor, at any rate.

“Well… they’re kind of… pathetic…” Mouth said, bending over to examine one. He poked it in the face, and it did not respond. “I mean, they don’t even have weapons of ultimate doom like the Nasgul do. And they don’t have any steeds. Are they supposed to scurry everywhere?”

“HMM,” Sauron mused. “YOU MAY HAVE A POINT. OKAY, WHEN WE GET HOME, I’LL ENSLAVE AND MUTATE A FLOCK OF PIGEONS FOR THEM TO RIDE. BUT FOR NOW, I HAVE A SPECIAL JOB FOR OUR NEW FAMILY MEMBERS TO DO.”

--

“COMMENCE OPERATION: PLAGUE-GROUND! FIRE CATAPULT!” Sauron bellowed, and the cardboard box filled with thirty-five Ratgul was flung high over Mount Zoom and sailed through the air, towards Minas Taxi. “HEE HEE. I AM SO EVIL.”

He looked down. A handful of Ratgul were polishing the hubcaps of Mount Zoom, a few were fixing the scratch on the rear bumper, one was painting tiny graffiti on a rock (“Sauron is mad cool, yo!”), and over a hundred were chained to the front of the Mountain, pulling it along like a chariot and giving it an extra burst of speed. The rest were either repairing the engine or baking cookies. Evil cookies. Sauron felt completely satisfied with the project.

“IT IS GOOD BEING ME, MOUTH.”

“I wouldn’t know, my lord.”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Rats in the Air?

Dwarfy flew somewhere between Mount Zoom and Minas Taxi. All of a sudden, Mount Zoom let fly from small black things that screeched with a terrible noise. With not a second to spare, Dwarfy pulled a small baby Dragon from a secret compartment in the Eyrie copter and pulled its stomach. The Dragon let forth a stream of fire that consumed the RatWraiths.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

:p

[Sleepy Ranger]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg Orth-Tank A little big problem

"Rats, rats, rats!" Cried Saruman. "And you say we feed them to get rid of them? What sort of idiot makes a plan like that?" Saruman shouted at his servant. Grima cowered and replied, "But sir..." "No buts, shut up and allow me to think you incompetent fool!" Said Saruman. So there they sat and they thought as Saruman stroked his beard. Rats in Orth-Tank, terrible, terrible, they'd need to get rid of them but how? All of a sudden Saruman smiled and raised his hand, he had an idea!

"Grima! Why do we not coax them out with their favorite food?" Said Saruman, Grima nodded, it was best to agree with him, "Yes, sire, brilliant plan! Shall we go and talk to our mad Uruk-Hai scientist about this?" "Very well, lead the way you wretched turkey." Saruman said lazily looking at his nails. So as Saruman commanded Grima led the way to the secret laboratory situated within Orth-Tank. There they found the mad Uruk-Hai scientist experimenting on nothing in particular. Saruman shoved Grima out off his way and went up to the Uruk-Hai.

"Ah! Mad scientist, have you any idea how to get rid of these rats that have decided to set up their base here?" Saruman asked him. "what? What? WHAT?" He screamed looking around aimlessly. Saruman bonked him on the head with his head as Grima winced, "You incompetent fool! I asked you if you know how to terminate a bunch of pests!" "Tests? I hate them!" Protested the Uruk-Hai which earned him another bonk in the head. "RATS YOU FOOL! WE NEED YOU TO ERADICATE SOME RATS!" Shouted Saruman impatiently and then bonked Grima on the head. "What was that for?" Whined Grima. "I'm relieving stress." Stated the wizard. "Uh... sir I may be able to come up with something, see me after an hour!" Said the Uruk-Hai gladly.

Now obviously Grima and Saruman do not know how to keep track of time because they returned in fifteen minutes. "So mad scientist, have you found anything?" Asked Saruman. "Why, yes indeed! I have discovered that these aren't ordinary rats! They are... ent-rats! They have been sent by Treebeard to hinder us!" Said the Uruk-Hai. "Oh I see! Grima round up an angry mob of orcs with axes and fire." Said the wizard. "No your sire!" The Uruk-Hai suddenly said. "We must coax them out with berry-cheese and then we grab them!" He said and added, "With this net!" He held up a huge net, big enough to net a troll. "Perfect! What do you say Grima?" Saruman asked, smirking.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Faramir:


At the gate of the fifth circle, Faramir turned down to the lower levels of the city whereas Denethor and Húrin headed for the engine room.

On the first circle Faramir found Beregond and Bergil. They knew nothing of the matter, so Faramir kept on walking from level to level questioning everyone who passed on his way, except on the fifth circle (his cheeck was still red from all the pinching), but no one seemed to know where the rats had come.

Tired and with his feet aching, Faramir finally dragged himself on the top of the city. "What's this?" he muttered to himself and stooped to pick up a scorched tiny cloak on the ground. Other than that, Faramir found nothing suspicious up there and returned to the engine room inside the hill.

"Have you found the traitor?" Denethor asked as Faramir stepped over the threshold.

"Not exactly", Faramir said, "but I found this", and he held the minuscule piece of cloth on his palm. It was black, but in the hem there was an embroided lidless eye and a little white tag.

"100% nylon, dry-cleaning only, keep off from fire", Faramir read out aloud.

"That's so low even from the baddies! Mount Zoom is sending us their laundry. Don't they have any idea how expensive dry-cleaning is?" Denethor snarled.

"Hold on a second", Faramir mused.

"There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand..."

"If Mount Doom can afford to ship their dirty clothes here, it really can't be very far off! We must get the rats out of the pipes immediately and-"

"AAIEEEEEEHHHHHH!" yelped Faramir shaking his right foot with a mousetrap clenched tightly around his toes.

"Careful now!" Denethor growled. "Húrin and I spent the whole afternoon setting those up, and the last thing we need is you to break them all."

Indeed, when Faramir looked around in the engine room, he discovered that the floor was coated with traps and each of them had a different bait. There were traps with marmalade and cheese, turnips and even Aragorn's gym socks, as Faramir noted as he wiped liverwurst off of his boot.

"Well, we didn't know what could lure the rats out, so we had to try a little everything", Denethor replied defensively to Faramir's sarcastic look.

"MWHAHAHAHA!" wheezed a voice in a corner behind the nuclear reactor. "You will never find the proper way to get rid of the little rodents", said a man stepping out of the shadows. He sounded and looked like a chainsmoker, and truly he smelled like one, too.

"Who are you?" winced Faramir stepping on a few more mousetraps (custard and sherry)

"I am Vérmïndil, son of Vérmïndur, from the House of Pár-Asitë. I am your nuclear technician", he explained as Denethor, Faramir and Húrin stared at him clearly confused.

"I smell a rat!" Húrin snorted. "He's not a member of my technician team. I haven't hired him, I assure you, my lords."

"Huh? What have I been doing here for the last three years then?" Vérmïndil exclaimed. "Oh well, no matter, I have reached my goal."

"I take it that you had your hands in this. Speak up", Denethor demanded.

"Why yes. It was my brilliant plan. Say no to nuclear power! Vote the Communists! Become a vegetarian! Never wear a yellow shirt on Monday!" the man chuckled and got an impressive fit of coughing.

"I think he might have got an overdose of radiation down here", Faramir whispered.

"No kidding", Denethor said glumly as Vérmïndil started picking his third ear while humming Happy Birthday to himself.

Faramir looked distressed. "What shall we do now, Father?"

[Glirdan]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Evil Sickness

Mouth looked up just in time to see the Rat Wraiths flying towards Minas Taxi. Just the, Dwarfy flew by and took out a baby dragon and made him shoot a fireball towards the Rat Wraiths. Unfortunately, it engulfed all the Rats that were flying. Their clothes however weer still flying towards Minas Taki and actually landed on it.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

"Because that wasn't our intention. Sheez!! We are bad guys after all!!" Mouth cried in exaspaeration(sp?). Out of no where, a shower of green smoke came tumbling down from the sky. Mouth and the Trolls saw this time and leapt out of the way. Sauron, on the other hand, was too busy gloating over his evil idea of using the Rats that he didn't see the smoke until it was over top of him. "YES!! EAT OUR LAUNDRY MINAS TAXI!! MWHAHAHA!! WAIT! WHAT IS- HACK HACK!! THAT STUFF!? COUGH!! IT'S-IT'S HACK COUGH VEGETABLES!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo........." he trailed off as he started to faint and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Master!!' Mouth cried and he rushed forward to his Master's side.

"Sire!?" Mouth cried. "Please my lord! Wake up!" And as he spoke, Sauron stirred.

"My Mouth," he whispered (which Mouth was grateful for). "Get me to my room. You will probably have to take over for the next few days. Lead us on cough cough to victory. I know you can hack cough do it." With that he slumped over.

"Master? MASTER!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" Mouth cried in pain. "How shall I go on without you?? Wait.. No more screaming? Yes!!! My ears are free from pain!! Finally!! Go Mouth! Go Mou-" he got cut off as he saw that his master was starring at him evily.

"I said get me to my room. NOW!!!"

"Errr...Yes my lord. Right away my lord."

__________________________________________________ _______________

Mouth sat at the steering wheel debating with him on which way he should take. "Hmmm, I could go North-West away from civilization, but that would lead me further away from the Grey-Havens. I could go West but I think post people will be travelling in that direction. Soooo... Rat-Wraiths!" Mouth screamed.

"Squeeeaaak?"

"Take us South-West, immeadiately!!"

"Squeeeeaaak!"

"Excellent!! I'm liking this head-honcho position. Wierd green smoke should fall from the sky more often!!! Mwha! Mwahaha! MWHAHAHAH- COUGH COUGH!! I wonder how master can laugh like that??...."

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Denethor paused for a moment to consider Faramir's question. What SHOULD they do with the traitor.

"Burn him!" said Denethor, following his first instinct. Faramir, Húrin, and everyone else in the engine room- except Vérmïndil- looked at each other uneasily.

"Unfortunately," said Faramir. "We can't. Or rather, we can't do it legally. The Steward of Gondor doesn't have the authority to order executions outside the Realm of Gondor, nor can he order them there without the King's permission, save at times when the King is in Arnor, or outside of his realms."

"Besides," interjected Húrin, "we need him alive to find out what will lure the rats out!"

"Burn it all!" swore Denethor. "You: Vérmïndil! Tell me, what is your deepest, worst fear?"

"You don't actually expect him to tell you?" exclaimed Faramir.

"Why not?" said Denethor. "I am the Steward of Gondor. He is honour-bound to obey my direct command."

"Then ask him what will lure the rats out," said Faramir. "Either way, he's not going to you."

"Says who?" piped up Vérmïndil. "I'll do what I like. My deepest fear is... is... is... is...."

"Well?" said Faramir impatiently, "what IS it?"

"I cannot speak his name!" Vérmïndil shuddered.

"It's a person!" exclaimed Faramir. "I know: Sauron."

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Aragorn! Gandalf! Elrond!" said Denethor. Again, Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Gothmog? The Witchking? Saruman?" Faramir questioned.

Vérmïndil continued to shake his head.

"Is he tall?" asked Denethor.

"Is he Gondorian?" asked Faramir.

"No and no," replied Vérmïndil.

"Rohirric?" asked Denethor.

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Is he Human?" asked Faramir.

Vérmïndil paused a moment, then said: "sort of."

"Sort of?" said Denethor. "How can one be sort of human?"

"I know!" said Faramir. "A hobbit!"

Vérmïndil nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Frodo! Bilbo! Sam! Merry! Pippin!" Denethor ran off the names of the famous hobbits. Vérmïndil shook his head to each.

"Sméagol! Gollum! Stinker! Slinker!" said Faramir. Vérmïndil and Denethor both looked at him strangely. Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Well, that's all the Hobbits I know the names of!" said Denethor.

"Me too," said Faramir.

"Can't you just tell us?" demanded Denethor. Vérmïndil shook his head in terror.

"Why not just tell us what will lure the rats out?" said Faramir. "Then we'll drop this whole line of enquiry."

"Never!" cackled Vérmïndil. "Never!!!"

"Húrin," said Denethor, "go to the Archives, and get me the Red Book. I'll run through every name in the Geneologies if I have to."

And so they did.

"The Gaffer!"

"Old Noakes!"

"Ted Sandyman!"

"Old Rory!"

"Fatty Bolger!"

"Folco Boffin!"

"Wait!" said Faramir. "He's shaking! Go back to Fatty Bolger!"

But on the second mention of the name, Vérmïndil began to shake uncontrollably.

"Fatty Bolger!" roared Denethor. "Fatty Bolger!!!"

"Yes, yes, it's him!" squeaked Vérmïndil. "Now PLEASE stop saying the name!"

"Not until you tell us how to lure the rats out!" Denethor told him.

"N-n-n-never," said Vérmïndil, biting his lip.

"Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger!" Denethor, Faramir, and the support staff began to sing.

"All right!" wailed Vérmïndil, big fat tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you! It's marmite."

"Marmite!!!" said Denethor in disgust. "Are you completely insane, man?"

"Oh come on, Father," said Faramir. "It's not that bad. It's especially good on toast."

Denethor gave his son a vile look.

"I swear to the Valar that it's true!" pleaded Vérmïndil. "Try it! You'll see. Just don't say... HIS name again."

"What? You mean 'Fatty Bolger'?" asked Denethor cruelly. Vérmïndil lost complete control of himself. Denethor turned to Faramir. "Find us some marmite!"

So, while the support staff cleaned out the engine room of banana peels, perfumes, liverwurst, Aragorn's gym socks, and other smelly miscellany, Faramir set off to retrieve his marmite. As soon as he'd opened it, rats began to pour out of the pipes.

"Quick!" cried Denethor. "Lead them out of the city."

"What do I look like?" asked Faramir. "A pied piper?"

"Do you want my honest answer?" said Denethor.

"Okay, okay! I'm going."

Faramir took off at a sprint for the gates, an army of rats streaming after him. The lead rats were drawing closer and closer, and Faramir was in a mortal panic that they would catch him and swarm him. In the nick of time, he reached the gates, which he burst through, tossing the marmite as hard as he could away from him.

The rats streamed past, dead set on reaching the marmite.

Faramir returned to the engine room weak-kneed, only to find Denethor gone back to the tower, and Húrin's team revving up the engine.

"Due WEST!" called Denethor from the tower. "We make for Mt. Gundabad!"

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg
"But how did we get rats?" Frodo asked, exasperated. After telling them about the problem, Ted Sandyman had gone back to the engine room to see what he could do.

"I don't rightly know, Mister Frodo," replied Sam. "Could be as we're leavin' too much food about." At this, Pippin coughed.

"Not in the engine room, Sam. Besides, we're moving too quickly for rats to climb on-board, and I know there were none when we left - Bilbo had the whole place cleaned when we installed the fireworks. The only thing left to think is that someone purposefully brought them."

Frodo rose and began to walk towards the engine room, the others close behind him. When they came to the stairway that led down to it, they found the way barred by a great spiked gate, which looked to have been gnawed out of wood. Frodo banged at the gate. After a time, one of the mechanics came up.

"Mister Frodo," he whispered. "The rats have taken over everything! There's a great big one, a wizard rat, by the looks of him, and he's their leader, it seems. He's got all the little furry things rushing around, destroying the fireworks and generally frightening us all into doing whatever he says."

The mechanic seemed frightened, but after a bit of reasoning with him, Frodo managed to gain admittance. As soon as he entered the engine room, he could see why it had stopped working. The engine was quite intricate, and worked in harmony with the roots of the plants which grew outside of Bag End. When the engine had been working, these roots hung down from the ceiling and the walls and were braided and woven to make bits of machinery. Now, though, most of the roots had been cut and gnawed into far more elaborate machines. What they did, Frodo knew not.

Ted Sandyman came running over to them. "It wasn't me, this time!" he said hurriedly. "Not my fault. Well, it was a bit my fault, perhaps, yes, but I swear I didn't know what would happen. When I let him aboard, Ratsey promised me-"

"Ratsey? Is that their leader?" asked Frodo.

"Yes, that's what they call him."

Frodo turned and looked around.

"Ratsey!" he called. "Show yourself!"

"I am here," spoke a deep voice. Frodo looked behind him. "No, no, in front of you. Yes, there, now look down a little."

Finally Frodo laid eyes on the rat. Ratsey was perhaps slightly larger than usual, but otherwise much as one would expect a rat to be. His coat shimmered a dark grey, his tail was pale pink, and his nose quivered ever which way. His eyes gleamed with malice and amusement.

“This is what you were afraid of?” Frodo demanded of Ted.

“I never liked rodents, sir.”

“Yes, well. Ratsey, I’ll have no more of this foolishness. Begone!”

“No!” cried Ratsey. “We shall not leave, not until we’ve gotten… SOME CHEESE!” He laughed diabolically.

“Right then, Sam, go get some cheese.”

“And-” Ratsey interjected, “we must have water.”

“Okay,” said Frodo. The requested comestibles were brought to the rat, who set upon the cheese with a fury.

“Worm!” he cried, when he had finished. Another rat came scurrying to his master’s side. This rat had a very long, bright pink tail.

“Wormtail!” said Ratsey. “We leave now, you rat! I tire of this place.”

“Why do you always call me a rat?” asked Wormtail.

“You are one! Is it really any more insulting than being called ‘Wormtail’? Or ‘Ratsey’, for that matter?”

“Hmm, guess not. I was going to leap at your back with a knife and kill you, but on second thought, let’s go see if they still have Gorgonzola at Minas Taxi.”

With that, the two rats scampered off, their tails waving ridiculously after them. The hobbits searched Bag-Endless-Fuel from top to bottom, but could find no sign of other rodents.

“That was unexpectedly easy,” said Frodo. “Let’s go West.”

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The Rats are Defeated!

The Witch-king kicked at Ringwraith #4 again. "Get up, #4, you have a lot of orc toes to count." After several minutes, Ringwraith #4 slowly stood, with confusion and bewilderment.

"Where am I? Wait, why are we in the dungeons? Eek, rats!" He clung to the Witch-king's arm again. "And what's that smell?"

"That smell is the scent of orc feet, which you'll be looking at, you fool. Now get off my arm." Ringwraith #4 did so, but trembled as the rats scurried around his feet. "Don't you remember? We're infested with rats, and we're counting the toes of the orcs to see which one let them loose."

"Oh, yeah. Now I remember," said Ringwraith #4. "But sir, why, if we know these rats eat orc-meat, don't we just throw a dead orc out the window? The rats will follow it outside, and our problem will be gone."

The Witch-king sighed. "Are you always so simple-minded? You weren't like this before the war. Did the war make you go loopy on me? Well, no matter. We need to find the orc who did this to punish him, and to find out who he's working for. He would not sabotage our race if he weren't paid to do so. Now go count those feet!"

He gave Ringwraith #4 a little shove in the direction of the orcs. Eeeew, were #4's thoughts as he stepped through the rats. He was up to his ankles in them. He also went pale when he saw how the orcs were playing with them: letting the rats crawl all over their bodies, petting rats, sticking rats in each others' shirts as jokes. Good Melkor, why? why? why must I work with these filthy orcs for eternity? #4 patted his pocket, just to make sure his lucky bottle of hand-sanitizer was still there, and approached those orcs, closely followed by the Witch-king of Angmar.

"Alright orcs, show me your hands and feet." And the orcs did indeed, shoving both into Ringwraith #4's face. He nearly fainted again, but the Witch-king caught him as he fell and stood him back up. "I don't want to see anymore fainting out of you! Now count those appendages!" And count he did.

"This batch is missing a few, but that's normal," Ringwraith #4 told the Witch-king, so they moved down to the next batch, and so in this manner they made their way down the entire length of the front axle. Meanwhile, the rats were multiplying.

"Wait a moment," said Ringwraith #4, "Weren't the rats a foot shallower when we started?"

"Hey, rats multiply. You can't expect them to sit here and do nothing. And you'd better hurry up with your counting. We don't want this place flooded."

None of the orcs of the front axle were missing an exceptional number of fingers or toes (the most missing on a single orc was three), so Ringwraith #4 and the Witch-king moved to the rear axle in the next dungeon. The rats were now up to their thighs, and the Witch-king cut a path through the rats with his sword. "Go ahead, the path may be a bit bloody, but it's fine." Ringwraith #4 could not find words to express his disgust at wading through dead rats.

And so they continued down the rear axle, checking the hands and feet of each orc, racing against the tide of rats. Ringwraith #4 felt faint many times, but the Witch-king was there to whack him over the head with a dead rat and tell him to keep counting.

Hundreds of orcs were passed and thousands of fingers and toes were counted. It soon seemed like finding the culprit was hopeless. At least an hour after they began, the Witch-king and Ringwraith #4 came to the very last orc. He sat on his hands and would not show them.

"Show your hands or we'll chop them off and look at them ourselves!" shouted the Witch-king. The orc, slowly and grumpily, revealed his hands. He only had three fingers! "Aha! And now for your feet." The orc stood. He had only three toes! "Aha! We've found our culprit, #4! Tell us, orc, what is your name?"

"Um, Bill – um, no, I'm Bob. Bob's my name."

"Tell us your true name, orc!"

"Gah, fine. I am Jên-iphûr Destroyer of Men son of Glob the Uncombed."

"No, you're not!" said the orc next to him, "You're just Jên-iphûr, with none of that fancy stuff attached to your name."

"So, Jên-iphûr," said the Witch-king, "If that is indeed your true name, come with us! There are too many rats in here." The Witch-king commanded Ringwraith #4 to unchain Jên-iphûr, and he did. They led the orc back up the spiral staircase to the interrogation chamber. It was a grim stone room, with a steel chair in the middle. They rechained the orc to this chair and the Witch-king began his interrogation.

"So, Jên-iphûr, why did you infest Minas Mor-go with rats? Spit it out! Who told you to do so?"

"It was nobody. I, um, don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me! Don't make me torture you. We can fill your mind with the incessant buzz of teenage girls slobbering over a Mirkwood prince, cause you to go crazy and hear nothing but elvish tra-la-las for the rest of your life, show you images of uncloaked Maiar so horrible to behold that you'll go blind, expose you to achingly painful debates of canonicity and balrog wings, assign you to Mordor, and lock you in a room full of werewolves! Now tell us, who told you to unleash the rats?"

"Never!"

"Ringwraith #4! Pull back that curtain!" A red curtain hung across the wall facing the chair. Ringwraith #4 tugged on a little rope, and the curtain whooshed away, revealing a painting of something so horrible I cannot describe it to you, though you might be able to guess at what it showed.

The Witch-king grabbed ahold of Jên-iphûr's head and pointed it at the painting. He pried Jên-iphûr's eyelids open, too. Tears streamed freely down Jên-iphûr's face, and his pupils began to wildly dilate. After only a few seconds he shouted out:

"Good lord, I can't take it anymore! Cover the picture! I'll tell you everything!" He thrashed his head, sobbing.

"Excellent, excellent," said the Witch-king. Ringwraith #4 tugged on another rope and the curtain whooshed back. From where he stood he could not see the picture, but didn't care to after seeing how the orc reacted.

"It was…the elves! One…of them jumped onto the city when they had followed us…*sob* *shiver*…I was headed to the bathroom when it found me…it said it would hunt me down and torture me with tra-la-la-lallies if I didn't do as it said…*sob* it gave me two rats to unleash in the city…and that's what happened. Please don't kill me!"

"Only if you answer these two questions!" said the Witch-king, "First of all, is the elf still hiding in the city? And secondly, how do we get rid of the rats?"

Jên-iphûr sobbed once more and wiped some tears from his face. "I-I don't know where the elf is. It- it-it d-disappeared! But I do *sob* know how to get rid of the rats!"

"How? Tell me, or I'll show you the picture again!"

"No! *sob* You-you lure it out with its favorite food."

"And what is the rats' favorite food?"

"Or-or-orc meat!"

"Oh, ahaah! So that was why you were feeding them your own fingers and toes," said the Witch-king, "Ringwraith #4, what did you do with the remains of the orcs killed in the riot?"

"I burned them, sir."

"Idiot. Oh well, we'll just have to kill fresh orcs then."

Jên-iphûr turned pale. "My lord, you said you wouldn't!"

The Witch-king shrugged. "Oh well. Just think of it as a noble sacrifice for the greater good."

* * * * *

The Witch-king exited the interrogation chamber, with Jên-iphûr's head in hand. Ringwraith #4 followed him, dragging the body. A horrible din of squeaking could be heard somewhere off in the passages.

"Hear that, #4? Those are the rats! They've smelt the orc's blood and are coming!"

"Great," said Ringwraith #4, not without sarcasm. He was having trouble dragging the body, and slipped a few times in the orc juice that oozed from it.

He had even worse trouble ascending the stairs with it. "Hurry up! What are you, a snail?" the Witch-king called from the top of the stairs. When Ringwraith #4 had reached the top the two hurried out the door over to the city walls.

"Wait. Not yet, you fool," said the Witch-king to Ringwraith #4, who was already hauling Jên-iphûr's body over the wall.

The squeaking from inside the tower grew louder and a faint trembling was felt beneath the feet. The rats were coming! The Witch-king got ready to throw the head into the forest. "Not yet…" he said again.

Then suddenly rats exploded out of the tower doorway, flying in all directions, scampering wildly across the walls towards Jên-iphûr's body. Their squeaking cries were deafening, and Minas Mor-go lurched to one side from the weight of so many rats moving at once. "The rats are coming! The rats are coming!" shouted an orc somewhere. Ringwraith #4 pushed the body over the wall, and fainted as the rats crawled up his robes. This is my tale, and it is ended now. Good-bye! And his thought fled far away and his eyes saw no more.

But the Witch-king was still conscious. With one mighty roar he threw the head far over the walls and into the forest. The waves upon waves of rats leapt after it in one squeaking cascade of fur, and crashed into the forest below, maddened by the scent of the orc's blood deep in the forest.

When it was all over the Witch-king kicked Ringwraith #4. "Why do you faint so much? It's not like they would've killed you. They're gone now anyways, and we must continue our journey. We can't slow down every time you feel like taking a nap."

[Gil-Galad]

"bah we got bleedin' rats Orc #4291746912b " said Gothmog

"Montague"

"now what can we do now... any ideas Orc #4291746912b?" Gothmog said

"Montague"

"eh? what you blabbering about now?" Gothmog said with sheppards pie coming out of his mouth

"my name its... did you eat my Sheppards Pie?" Montague said

"uh" Gothmog looked around "no of course not why would i do that"

"i made that for supper tonight! what are we going to eat now! solve that my Balrog-Incarnate!"

"uh... we eat those rats that are causing us troubles! yummy!" Gothmog replied

"i guess... i got this great recipe for Rat Soup!"

"great! now Orc #4291746912b! go get those Rats out of our pipes!"

"uh Montague"

"what now?"

"my name... its Montague"

"okay... when did that happen? i thought you hated anything that started with the letter M"

"well funny story, it involves a tree, a talking dolphin, a pair of confused birds and your cousin Annie, it was a wild March..."

"i see... wait Annie? but she drowned in the Sea of Nurn last...march.... you!!!"

"hey its not my fault! i found a piece of wood and i was like 'hey a piece of wood' and then theres Annie and next thing i know were at war and all that crazy nonsense... so shall i go get those rats for a yummy dinner?"

"sorry what? you said something?"

"...oh nevermind... good thing i have our cooking supplies for great orc cusine! so i'll just throw it into our pipes then we'll cook them in the pipes and i'll stab them out with a poking utensil! sounds like a plan?"

"no you don't look fat"

"do you even listen to anything i say?"

"i said i'll do it tomorrow okay!"

"... your so off my christmas card list..." Montague said as Gothmog pulls out a magazine and begins reading [Magazine headline : how to bring the Inner Orc Beauty outside Pg 16]

[Morsul the Dark]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Barrad-dash.jpg Fat Rat Dinner

'What an amazing article,' Gothmog remarked as he read. Random or....Montague was planning on cooking up the rats. 'Well its meat and I do love me some meat.'

Suddenly the sounds of burning rats filled the air excited Gothmog jumped up just in time to see rats on fire pouring out of the pipes. Gothmog dove and grabbed two of the nearer ones and started gnashing and gnawing swallowing them down his fowl throat as Montague Gingerly ate one then the next soon though no matter the eating technique the rats were soon gone.

Barad-Dash lurched into motion again. PAtting his now satisfied gut Gothmog looked ahead "West I say west!"

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg A Change of Direction


When it was all over the Witch-king kicked Ringwraith #4. "Why do you faint so much? It's not like they would've killed you. They're gone now anyways, and we must continue our journey. We can't slow down every time you feel like taking a nap."

Shaking himself to clear his head, Ringwraith #4 stood up. It was rather embarrassing to be fainting so much, but what could he do? Ever since he had been a wee lad, he could not stand overbearing stenches. And not standing them meant fainting and being on the ground. He was rather sore that becoming a wraith had not rid him of his sense of smell, but there was nothing he could do. So he trudged dejectedly towards the dungeon, where he had been instructed to go and get the orcs moving yet again. He'd rather be taking a bath to get the nasty orc blood off of himself, but that was a luxury the Witch-King had taken for himself first. And there being only one bathtub in the whole of Minas Mor-go meant that he'd have to wait for hours to get in. The Witch-King was notorious for taking excessively long bathes.

Regardless, after a little while (the orcs still had their shoes off, so he fainted twice before getting them back to work) he had Minas Mor-go back on the move and was up on the helm steering westward. It seemed like smooth sailing. He could see the Misty Mountains rearing up ahead of him, and was thinking how they were going to get up over them. Suddenly, King Eärnur's ghost floated up beside him. Annoyed at just his presence, #4 remained silent, hoping that Eärnur would do the same. No such luck.

"Are we there yet?" asked the dead king.

"No."

"So, where are we going, again?"

"West," #4 replied bluntly.

"True, but what is to the west."

"Mountains."

"Ah, true again. And beyond those?"

"The Witch-King's realm of Angmar." said Ringwraith #4, remembering how much he didn't want to be going west and thus forgetting for a moment who he was conversing with. "I really hope he doesn't decide to stop there."

"Oh, sounds interesting." said Eärnur, clearly not interested. "When's the nearest rest stop?"

"What?!"

"The next rest stop. I have to go to the bathroom."

"No, we're not stopping. There are plenty of places to go here in Minas Mor-go. Besides, you're a ghost, you can't have to go to the bathroom."

"Oh." The ghost stopped for a moment, looking off into space. "Do you have any Ád'vîl? I've got a horrible headache."

Ringwraith #4 looked at the sword sticking through the ghost's head. "You'd have to ask the Witch-King about that, and I don't think Ád'vîl works for ghosts."

Just then the Witch-King came up.

"Ah, perfect," said Eärnur's ghost, "do you have any Ád'vîl I can have? My head is killing me."

The Witch-King replied, "First off, you're already dead, so your head can't be killing you. Second, you're a ghost, so Ád'vîl won't work on you. Third, I wouldn't let you borrow any even if the first two things weren't true, because I have you here to suffer. Now get out of my sight."

After he had gone, the Witch-King said to #4, "I regretfully think we need to start heading more towards the Grey Havens. Going west will take us farther off of the course. I'm still thinking of sending someone to Angmar to rally some extra orcs to meet us on the road, but I don't know yet."

Ringwraith #4 kept looking straight ahead, hoping that he would not be the one who was sent to Angmar. "Sounds good to me, sir, do you want me to start right away."

"Yes, #4, I want us heading SOUTH-WEST, STRAIGHT FOR THE HIGH PASS NEAR RIVENDELL as soon as possible."

[Sleepy Ranger]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg Orth-Tank Who wants grapes?

"Your awesomeness, I believe this is a great plan!" Said Grima in a squeaky voice. "Yes... yes it is!" Said Saruman snatching the net from his mad scientist. "Gentlemen... we have work to do!" Said Saruman commandingly. "Not me, union rules, I can't do field work." Said the Uruk-Hai. Grima sneered at this, "Why doesn't my union let me do anything like that?" "You don't have a union, ninny! Come to think of it the Istari Union states the greasy servant must do all the housework. Have fun Grima, I'm going to go watch paint dry." Saruman said, walking away, shoving the net at Grima.

Grima took the net and then the berry-cheese and set off. He placed the berry-cheese at strategic points around Orth-Tank and then stood ready with the net. As Grima waited, he peeked around the corner and saw Saruman... the wizard was watching paint dry! But not exactly, he was watching the nail-polish on his nails dry actually but all in all its the same thing. While Grima was distracted a large legion of rats ran out off nowhere, all headed towards Grima to whom the smell of berry-cheese still hung onto. Grima turned around just in time to see them jump onto him. Grima let out a terrified scream as the horde of rats jump onto him.

Saruman heard the scream and hurried over to where Grima was. "Oh My!" exclaimed Saruman snatching up the fallen net. "I'll save you Grima!" He shouted and with one fell sweep he lift up all the rats, Grima scurried onto his feet with a petrified look on his face. "Grima, jump in the net. You have rabies." Said Saruman. "No I don't sire, they didn't bite me! You saved my life!" Said Grima. "Oh dear..." Said Saruman blushing. "Give me a hug Grima!" Said Saruman spreading his arms, as he did though he accidently let the rats fall out through an open window. Saruman yelped as the weight suddenly went a lot less, "Grima! You fool! Did you leave the windows open again?" Shouted Saruman angrily. "Uh... I can explain sir..." Muttered Grima cowering away. "Well save it for later, we best get back on our way south-west now. We must go to Moria!" Said the wizard.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Well done, all ye

It looked like all the vehicles were moving again, and so the small Dragon nudged Dwarfy on the leg. He leaped up with a start and nearly fell out of the Eyrie copter, but he steadied himself just in time. The majority were out of Mirkwood finally and moving swiftly to the west, weather taking the High pass, Moria or the gap of Rohan, each might hold secrets.

"Well done, all ye peoples," Dwarfy said, Sauron swore at him again, "After that challenge, One of you seems to have got a bit of a boost..."

[Meneltarmacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg

After making sure Saruman was asleep, Grima snuck into the room where the Palantir was hidden. Things had been getting really boring lately, and Grima was also quite hungry.

"Hello?" he said as he looked into the mysterious object. "Denethor? Witch-King? If you know a good pizza place around here, could I get a large pizza with extra pepperoni? Thanks. Oh, and I've got something you might like here. Check it out."

Grima then proceeded to show embarrassing photos of Saruman from his Wizarding School days to everyone on the other end.

[Gil-Galad]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg


Grima then proceeded to show embarrassing photos of Saruman from his Wizarding School days to everyone on the other end.


"i see he wasn't the only Un-Cloaked wizard " remarked Montague :eek: :eek:

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The Third Challenge: Porcupine Predicament

There is a bit of a problem here! It seems that one of the younger Dwarves has preyed your wheels with Porcupine pheromone before you left. Now the little creatures have caught up with you and flattened your tyres. Having done their worst, the blighters have run off with one of your wheels and the spare you keep.
You need to think of a way to get back on the road!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Bonus Level!

Orth-Tank has come to one of the 8 Bonus areas!

As soon as you have finished this challenge, you will be transported on the Anduin boat, going south. You can only get off at the Ent wash. You have no choice in the matter, seeing as how the little Gollum like creature that sold you a ticket also convinced you to re mortgage your Vehicle and buy 700 boxes of shoes. He's a darn good salesman.

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Out of the Porcupine, into the Tyre

A glorious midday sun shone down on the green, turfed roof of Bag-Endless-Fuel as it put-putted happily towards the Misty Mountains, multi-coloured sparks leaping prettily from its rear hill-mounted exhaust system. It was Pippin’s turn to keep watch in the Thrushes Nest and he whiled away his time munching contentedly on a large game-pie with a side helping of mushrooms garnished with garlic and red pepper sauce. He was just moving on to his seconds, a plate of five sizeable custard tarts, when some distant specks in the sky caught his eye. They were moving swiftly towards the little burrow-buggy, becoming larger and more distinct as they approached.

“The Eagles!” he suddenly cried. “The Eagles are coming! Frodo! It’s …”

But Pippin’s exclamation was cut short as a Hobbit-sized bundle was released by the lead Eagle, striking him squarely on the head and bouncing down the chimney, taking the unbalanced Took with it.

“Well, I’m back,” declared Bilbo, picking himself up from the hearth and dusting himself down.

“Uncle Bilbo! Boy, am I glad to see you,” uttered a joyful Frodo.

“Bilbo!” exclaimed Merry. “But how did you get here?”

“Air Gwaihir, my boy,” replied the old Hobbit. “It’s the only way to fly, you fools!”

*Groan!*

“Shame on you, Mister Bilbo, sir,” reprimanded Samwise. “For using that old chestnut simply to bump up the humour quotient of this post!”

“Gmmb fmwn gft moy awght!” piped up a hapless voice from the chimney breast.

So, once Pippin had been extracted from the chimney flue and settled with a large and reassuring plate of pumpkin pie and blackberries, the talk turned once more to Bilbo’s return.

“But I thought that you were peddling the translator conceit over in Rivendell, Uncle Bilbo,” said Frodo. “What brings you back to the race?”

“Well, when I arrived in Imladris, there was this group of Dwarves,” Bilbo explained. “Turned out to be another delegation from Mount Zoom Challenge Enterprises, led by a fellow called Bûrni Arkenstone. Well, one night in the Hall of Fire, they got drinking and talking with old Elrond. Gandalf was there too. I tried to warn Elrond, but after far more mugs of Miruvor than were good for him, he ended up placing a rather large wager on Bag-Endless-Fuel. I believe that I saw him waving the title deed to Imladris itself around at some point. Anyway, the next day, amidst bouts of moaning and clutching his head and calling for Lembacetamol, he tells me that it’s vital that Bag-Endless-Fuel wins the Mount Zoom Challenge if he is not to lose the Last Homely House and become the First Homeless Half-Elf. So he and Gandalf decide that it’s best that I return to oversee the enterprise – “to protect their investment” they said. And before I know whether I’m coming or going, Gandalf has got on his moth-piece, called up Gwaihir and, well, here I am.”

“Gracious me,” said Frodo. “So it seems that there’s a great deal riding on this race now.”

“Indeed there is, my boy. So let’s get going. Oh, and have you got that old Ring of mine? I should very much like to see it again …”

But that would have to wait since, as he was speaking, a series of sudden explosions rang out as the tyres gave way under pressure from thousands of porcupine spines. The little burrow-buggy veered first one way and then the other and only a concerted effort from Merry at the wheel managed to bring it under control. Gradually, he brought it to a standstill and the Hobbits emerged from the round front door to inspect the damage.

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Porcupines in the Tyres?

Ringwraith #4 looked out over the edge of the battlement at the pesky little blighters that were making off with their tyre. There was no use going after them, there were too many to kill, and even if they emptied Minas Mor-go, all the orcs would just go in bashing and end up sticking themselves to death on the porcupines' quills. So what was there too do but watch the dirty vermin make off with two of Minas Mor-go's tyres. And to think: they had just gotten out of an attack of feisty rodents, and now more vermin had stolen their wheels! The irony!

He walked back around to the western side of the battlement, and stood near the Witch-King, who was sitting on his throne waiting for an idea. Ringwraith #4 didn't have any and so he looked towards their intended direction to try to get inspiration. The River Anduin was not more than 10 miles up ahead, and beyond that the High Pass was somewhere in those enormous mountains. Just getting to the mountains had been a problem before, and the matter of how to get over them had been ignored until now. Yet they could not even reach the foothills with only three tyres, and all those filled with quills! He dropped his gaze back towards the River, pondering what to do. He barely saw the giant Bear that was ranging northward across the Wild. He looked straight through the fields of beans and corn and hay that lay sprawled close to the river. He didn't even see the flock of pigs that flew merely twenty yards in front of him. He was so immersed in thought that none of these registered in his mind... until one idea suddenly hit him.

"Witch-King, sir," he began.

"Yeah, I saw them, too. I've always said that pigs will fly before you'll have a good idea, so I guess you must have one."

Dumbfounded, #4 just looked at the Witch-King. Then he shrugged and said, "Actually, I do have an idea."

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

*BUMP!*

"What in blazes was that!" roared Denethor. Something had just caused Minas Tirith to careen to one side.

"Slow down!" cried Faramir. "We've popped a tire!"

"Did we drive over a sword or something!" replied Denethor. "It'd take something long, hard, and sharp indeed to puncture tires that can hold up a city!"

"I'm not sure!" said Faramir. "But we'd better stop anyway."

Denethor eased Minas Tirith into a park. With one tire punctured, the city was set on a somewhat crooked angle. Denethor and Faramir quickly descended to the citadel. Húrin of the Keys was running up to meet them.

"Milords!" he gasped. "Milords, it is terrible!"

"What is terrible?" demanded Denethor.

"Porcupines, Milord!" replied Húrin, still gasping for breath. "They've attacked our tires!"

Even as Húrin said this, explosive noises could be heard as the other tires were blown open by the porcupines. Minas Tirith rocked unsteadily, then settled to the ground, all its tires popped.

"Porcupines?" said Faramir, raising an eyebrow.

"Dreadful porcupines!" replied Húrin. "Porcupine guerillas of doom! Worse, they invaded the city and stolen our only spare!"

"Sirs!" Beregond came running up. "We've managed to drive the porcupines away, but they stole one of our tires, as well as the spare. They were giggling something awful as they made away."

"What do we do?" asked Faramir.

"Beregond, order a watch," was Denethor's first command. "If any porcupine shows its face within sight of the city, I want it captured or shot. Húrin, see if you can patch and re-pump the tires we still have. Faramir, you and I shall see what we can do about procuring another tire."

"We could hunt down these porcupines and steal them back," suggested Faramir.

"No," said Denethor. "It's too dangerous. We don't know the terrain, and we don't know how dangerous an enemy we're facing. No, we must create a new tire."

"But Father!" protested Faramir. "That's more rubber than we have in the city! We're talking about enough rubber to put the Gondorian army in sneakers for two years!"

"My decision is final," said Denethor. "Or least until I change my mind. What other options have we?"

[Glirdan]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Operation: Porcupine Tyre

"Tighten your belts ye yellow-bellied wimps!! Argh!! I shall whip ye all with the flat of me blade! Argh!" a sound of applause erupted around Mouth. "Thank you! Thank you!" he yelled. "So, now that I've won the competition, where's my prize mone?" The trolls around him looked at each other, dumbfounded by the simple question. "Well!? Where is it!?" Mouth began to get angry. "You DON'T want me to turn into master do you? After all, I AM his Mouth and can talk a LOT higher then he!!"

"Um, sir?" one of the trolls cried.

"What!? Can't you see that I'm venting here!?"

"Umm......I don't know how to tell you this, but..."

"Spit it out you confounded troll!!" Mouth yelled.

"Porcupines ran off with our front tire and made flat's out of the other three..."

"Well, replace the one in the front with-

"-the spare tire got stollen to..."

"That explains why we haven't been moving for the past five hours...Umm....hmmmm...This is predicament...Hmmm....It's times like these when I wish master WASN'T sick!" Mouth cried in despair. "Send me a sign from above!! Wait!! I mean below. Ya, below!!" Just then, a RatWraith spirit (one of the one's that Dwarfy's dragon killed[poor, poor RatWraiths..]) arose from the ground. "Ahh! It's a spirit from below!! Wait! It's a spirit from below!! We're saved!!"

"Squeak!!"

"You have a plan?"

"Squeakity squeak!"

"A wonderful plan?'

"Squeaken squeak"

"An awful plan?"

"Squeakity squeaken squeak!"

"An awfully wonderful plan?"

"SQUEAK!!"

"Oh!! A wonderfully awful plan! I get it! Well come in here and we shall converse."

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Pippin and the Porcupines

“Porcupines!” said Merry, gazing into the distance. “Hundreds of them.”

“Where?” asked Pippin.

“Just beyond that meadow,” replied Merry. “Er, Pippin, where are you going? Pip?”

But it was too late. The young Took was haring off in the direction that Merry had indicated.

“I wonder where he’s off to?” mused Merry.

“More to the point,” said Bilbo, staring glumly at the lacerated strips of rubber that now adorned Bag-Endless-Fuel’s empty axles. “What are we going to do about these tyres?”

“They got the spare too,” said Samwise, ambling up disconsolately.

“There must be something inside that we can use,” offered Frodo in an effort to lift their spirits. “Hobbit-holes are veritable treasure troves of mathoms and the like. You must have something hidden away in there that will serve us as makeshift wheels, Uncle Bilbo.”

The Hobbits fell silent as each tried to think what might best fit the bill. But it was not long before their thoughts were rudely interrupted.

“Ow! Ouch! Ooh! Eek! Wa-hey! Ow!” grumbled a pin-cushion as it stumbled delicately towards them.

“Well there’s something you don’t see every day, and no mistake,” observed Sam.

“Ouch!” said the pin-cushion, pulling a handful of quills from its body.

“Pippin!” cried Merry. “Where have you been? And why did you go off chasing after the porcupines?”

“Well I was hungry!” wailed Pippin. “But I couldn’t see any Porky-pies. Just a load of big rats covered in these nasty spines.”

:rolleyes:

[Morsul the Dark]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Barrad-dash.jpgWhat a Pine Problem this is

Picking the last rat meat from his teeth gothmog looked ahead and smiled they may not be in the lead but he was full and therefore in good spirits, "Montague," I think when we finish I'll spruce this baby up get one of those nucleur engines minas taxi has give the slaves a rest. Suddenly the tower stopped dead and Gothmogs mood quickly changed. "Why have we stopped?"

"Porcupines have flattened our tires." Montague answered, "And by the way we don't have engines?"

"No We're being pushed by thousands of slaves....." Gothmog was suddenly hit by an idea

"What is it sir."

"What if we rope a few hundred into thread a slave chain, a chain gange. We chan wrap them around the axels and voila we go."

"Voila sir?"

"Shut up." Gothmog embarressed by his less than orc-like use of the word but then again he wasn't quite an orc was he.

"Well anyway sir we don't have time for that kind of thing."

"What about the pool?"

"Sir I highly doubt this is the time for a swim." Montague was beginning to think something was missing upstairs for gothmog and it wasn't just the giant eye that was now somwhere in the forest.

"No you see We use our inner tubes as makeshift wheels."

"That's stupid they'll just pop."

"Fine What about a catapult We fling ourselves past the others!"

"But when we land we'll still need tires. Don't we have a spare?"

"Of course," Gothmog exclaimed." We still need three tires though..."

At that moment Orc #9346956856625363286864264562436c came throught the door. "Actually sir they took the spare."

"Who?" Gothmog enquired

"The Porcupinies," Random Orc #9346956856625363286864264562436c

Gothmog got extremely angry at that moment, "I say we go with my orginal plan rope the slaves together and make new thread, you there," The Orc was heading quickly for the door, "Halt! You have just volunteered to do the job you have three hours. Now go!"

[Gil-Galad]

"so we just use a bunch of our many slaves as our new tire then" Montague said

"uh...yep pretty much" Gothmog replied

"brilliant!" Montague shouted

"sssshhh, its nap time" Gothmog said as he quickly fell asleep

"so i guess i'm driving...again... slaves!"Montague shouted" "steer the wheels South-West!"

"but i am tired" one of the slaves yelled back

"alright take a break...wait... your a slave! your break-time aint till 7:00! back to work!"

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Barrad-dash.jpg

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The Witch-king has an Idea

The Witch-king gave a dreary sigh. "Alright, Ringwraith #4, tell me your crazy plan."

"Well, sir, you see those bean plants over there? In the field?"

"Those weeds? How do you know they're bean plants?"

"Because I like plants."

"Nerd."

"Anyways, as I was saying, we can harvest the beans of those plants and feed them to the orcs, making gas. If we can collect this lighter-than-air gas, we can fill a balloon with it, tie it to the city, and we can float over the mountains. Why need tyres, when we can float in the air?"

"That's a stupid plan, and needlessly gassy. And why did you say tires with a Y instead of an I?"

"I did not."

"Yes you did, I heard you myself."

"Well whatever I said, what do you think we should do, if you are so disapproving of my plan?"

"I think we need help from the other seven."

'The other Ringwraiths?"

"No, the seven Fathers of the Dwarves," said the Witch-king. He rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Of course I mean the other Ringwraiths, idiot. Just let me summon them. Stay here and don't touch my chair."

The Witch-king entered the highest tower, and climbed up the spiral staircase up to the chamber of the Ithil-stone, and from there he used a ladder to crawl through a trapdoor in the ceiling. And once through that trapdoor, he was on the roof of the highest tower.

"GET OUT OF MY CHAIR!" he shouted at Ringwraith #4 far below. Ringwraith #4 sprang out of the armchair as though he had sat on an iron spike.

"Better!" shouted the Witch-king. Now he got back to the task at hand. On the roof was a great read lever, labeled Only Pull in Emergencies in four languages. He pulled this lever, and instantly a great roaring and shaking was heard and felt. Out of the highest tower burst a great pillar of roaring green flame, visible as far away as Erebor. "Mwahahahaha!" the Witch-king shouted. He hurried back down the tower.

"They're bound to see that beacon!" he said.

"But wh-why are you summoning the other Ringwraiths?"

"For their wingéd steeds, of course, you idiot! With all nine tethered to the city, they can lift us into the air and we can fly to our destination!"

"Isn't the city too heavy to be carried by our flying beasts?"

"Pfffffffff, no, as long as we lighten it a bit. We just throw the ugly furniture overboard, toss a few orcs over the sides, and voila! We're airborne. And we can always replenish our orc supply once we're in the mountains."

"Great plan, but how long will it take for the others to arrive?"

"Why do you ask so many questions? They'll be here in no time flat. In the meantime, you can go down to my chocolate vault and grab me a Khît-Khât bar." The Witch-king leaped into his armchair and shooed away Ringwraith #4, who glumly marched down to the dungeons and cellars to get the Witch-king his chocolate bar.

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Try as they might, Faramir and Denethor were having virtually no success in coming up with an alternative tire strategy.

"We haven't got enough rubber in the city. I've already said that!" said Faramir. "Not if we melted down ever shoe, rubber band, and rubber duck in the city."

"Don't be silly!" scoffed Denethor. "We couldn't melt down the rubber ducks anyway. The support staff would revolt."

"What about a wooden wheel?" said Faramir. "Like a waggon?"

"It wouldn't give us a decent ride at all," objected Denethor. "No traction either. It'd probably break down in the mountains."

"What about canvas?" said Faramir.

"What, are you going to paint us a tire?"

"No, I meant that we could wrap a wooden wheel in canvas- or any kind of cloth. Pad it down, so to speak."

"That'd really slow us down," said Denethor, shaking his head. "Who knows where the other racers are at? No, we can't afford to be slowed down."

"But we can't replace the wheel with one equally efficient!" said Faramir.

"Well, how else can we move the city?"

"I can't think of a thing," said Faramir. "There's no one or nothing big enough to carry the city."

"What about Balrogs?" interjected Denethor. "They're big and strong- and they certainly were cheering us on at the starting line. I've heard that they can fly, too."

"I'm pretty sure they mean 'fly' in the 'rush' sense," said Faramir. "Besides, where are we going to find a bevy of Balrogs around here?"

"We could summon them."

"I don't think that Balrogs are the answer anyway," said Faramir. "What have we got to offer them?"

"I'd give them Mithrandir if I could lay hands on him!" said Denethor. "I've heard they have a bounty on him."

"Well we don't have Mithrandir and I don't think we're going to be able to get him," said Faramir. "What other options are there?"

"Well, speaking of flying..." Denethor's speech trailed off as he thought. "What could we do to get the city airborne?"

"I don't think it's even possible," said Faramir. "The Fellbeasts are Minas Morgûl-exclusive, the eagles are working for Dwarfy, and good luck trying to get a seven-tiered city off the ground using thrushes and ravens."

"At least we know that old goat Saruman's crebain won't be able to help him," said Denethor. "Say! I've got an idea! How about we ditch the city, and continue the race in the Houses of Healing? They put that thing on wheels too, didn't they?"

"I don't think the Houses of Healing could handle a long distance trip over rough terrain," said Faramir. "I'm also quite sure that we have to have the city, or the majority of it, when we cross the finish line."

"Burn it!" swore Denethor. "So basically what it comes down to is that we have to find ourselves a way to make this city run without a wheel?"

"Not necessarily..." said Faramir. "There is one plan we haven't considered. But I hesitate even to mention it."

"What is that?" Denethor raised an eyebrow.

"We could go after the porcupines and steal back either the spare tire or the stolen wheel," said Faramir in a low voice. "It's dangerous, to be sure, but I'm beginning to think we have no other options."

"Go after the porcupines!" Denethor's eyes were popping out his head. "You must be mad! They'll kill us all! What's more, they know the terrain, and their base is in the northern eaves of Mirkwood- the dread forest!"

"I know, Father," said Faramir, "but Mirkwood isn't really all that different from Ithilien. Black Squirrels, black Kingfishers, poncy Elves... all the big dangers of Mirkwood have moved into Ithilien."

"What about the spiders?" asked Denethor.

"I don't think there are any this far north," said Faramir. "And if they're are... well, I'm not too worried. Elempë's Who's Who in Middle-Earth says that Hobbits are generally more dangerous than them."

"Maybe so," said Denethor, "but still... to fight against the Porcupines themselves! It's practically suicide! We'd have to take almost the entire support staff with us just to have a chance, and I don't mind saying that I don't like the idea of leaving the city virtually abandoned."

"Ioreth and Bergil can watch it," said Faramir confidently. "I've shown them how to work the trebuchets, should they need it."

"Very well..." sighed Denethor. "Call Húrin, Damrod, and Mablung to a council of war. Once we have a plan, have Beregond summon the rest. If we must fight these dreaded Porcupines, let us employ every bit of cunning we possess, so that we might, hopefully survive."

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Fog on the Stove-top

Frodo fingered the ring that hung from a chain around his neck. He had been scouring Bag End for hours, searching for anything that could be used as a replacement wheel. He felt tired, weary.

"Any luck, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, entering the room Frodo had been searching.

"No, Sam," replied Frodo.

"Well, Mister Bilbo's asking for you. I've a feeling he has something up his sleeve, yet."

Frodo followed Sam down the corridor towards Bilbo's study. They both stopped, though, when they came to the kitchen doorway, out of which a steady stream of smoke was pouring forth.

Frodo waved his hand in front of his face and coughed. "What's going on in here?" he called. He could see a figure moving towards him through the cloud of soot, and was not surprised to discover it was Pippin, looking a bit ashen-faced.

"I wanted to help out," he explained. "So I went to the pantry for a bit of a snack, to help me think, but all I could find were those biscuits - you know, Sam's recipe, they're always hard as a rock. And then I thought, you know, they're round, too! So I measured one of the other wheels, and baked an enormous biscuit. I did the math, and everything. It's an hour for 6 servings, and as this was at least 30 servings, I did it for five hours." Here he paused to rub some soot out of his eye. "Did I count wrong?"

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Smoke get in your Tyres

The Hobbits stared disconsolately at the piles of crumbs and broken biscuit which lay neatly at the four corners of Bag-Endless-Fuel.

“Oh well, Pip,” said Merry. “At least you tried.

“Perhaps if I bake them for longer next time, they’ll be stronger,” offered Pippin.

“More likely than not, you’ll burn the place down,” observed Samwise.

“Still,” said Bilbo. “It’s given me some ideas. After all, food is the one thing that we do have in prodigious quantities.”

And so, over the next hour, they tried every possible comestible item of suitable size and shape that they could lay their hands on: large, round slabs of cheese (nice ride quality but prone to warping), huge game pies (too flaky and subject to leakage), enormous pancakes and crumpets (hopeless), monster doughnuts (too flabby and unstable), rollers comprised of impressively-sized cucumbers, marrows and corn-cobs in a row (too irresistible to the local wildlife), immense meatballs (too prone to degradation) and so on. All, alas, to no avail.

Then they moved on to kitchen utensils: plates, pans, dishes, breadboards, rolling-pins, bowls and baking-trays. But though each was crafted with Hobbit appetites in mind, none were quite large enough or strong enough.

Finally, as Frodo headed back to find something else that might avail, his eyes rested on the front door – the round front door.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed. “Hobbit-hole doors are round and just the right size!”

“But will they be strong enough?” asked Merry.

“They will if we nail a few together.”

And so the Hobbits set about removing Bag End’s doors from their frames and nailing them together in groups of three. Next, they carefully fixed them to the axles and stood back to survey the results of their efforts.

“You know, this just might work, my boy,” said Bilbo happily. “Let’s try it out.”

But as the first firework was ignited, and Bag-Endless-Fuel lurched forward unsteadily, it became clear that the ride provided by the makeshift wooden wheels would be unbearably uncomfortable.

“We’ll never make it over the High Pass without tyres on these things,” remarked Bilbo glumly, taking out his pipe and filling it with some Longbottom Leaf to help him think.

Silence once more descended on the living room as the Hobbits mused over the conundrum which faced them. Bilbo’s smoke rings became ever larger as he wracked his brains ever more desperately, until they were the size of large ... tyres!

“That’s it!” he exclaimed. “We shall use smoke rings as our tyres!”

“Smoke rings!” cried Frodo in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Smoke is surely entirely unsuitable as tyre material. It won’t stay on the wheels for a start. And even if it did, it could never support the vehicle’s weight.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” replied Bilbo. “We are taking place in a race in which the vehicles are assorted buildings, cities, towers and geographical features. We have just been attacked by a pack of wheel-obsessed porcupines. I heard from Elrond that Medel-zoom employed a rabid rabbit to get past the Troll, while Sauron turned a pack of rats into a pack of rat-wraiths. We are all stretching the bounds of credulity as it is. Smoke ring tyres are surely entirely in keeping with the way this race has gone so far.”

In no time at all, the Hobbits were back outside, with Bilbo puffing away on his pipe and blowing ever larger rings of smoke. Once they were of sufficient size, he carefully blew a ring around each ad hoc wheel. For a moment, the smoke simply swirled shapelessly around them. But then, as the Hobbits looked on in amazement, it began gradually to coalesce round the wheels, slowly lifting the vehicle slightly off the ground.

“Well I never did …!” spluttered Sam.

Unfortunately, however, the effect lasted only a moment. The Burrow-Buggy began to shake and bob furiously before, with a muffled *pop*, the smoke dissipated and it fell to rest once more on its wooden wheels.

“Blast and botheration!” said Bilbo. “The suspension can't take the strain. The effort required to support the disbelief is too much for it.”

“Hey there little man, what’s going down?” said an unfamiliar voice behind them.

“My car. That’s what!” muttered Bilbo in irritation, turning to see a wild-eyed man with dark brown eyes, a mane of unkempt brown hair, a long brown beard, dressed in a robe of rich reddish-brown and sporting a pair of shiny brown boots. “Now, who are you?”

“I go by the name of …”

“Radagast the Brown!” interrupted Bilbo.

“Er … yes,” Radagast replied. “However did you guess? Anyway, dude, you can call me Rad. It’s a lot less ghastly.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Rad,” said Bilbo, shaking the Brown Wizard firmly by the hand. “I’m Bilbo Baggins. And this is my nephew, Frodo, and …”

But he stopped short as he noticed Radagast staring intently at Frodo.

“Have we met before?” the Istar asked Frodo. “I’ve got this weird feeling like I know you. Like you were family or something …”

“I don’t think so, brother,” Frodo replied.

“Weird, man. I was, like, tending to my garden and feeding the birds back in Rhosgobel when I got this groovy feeling telling me head out over the Anduin to this spot. Like someone close to me was in need of my aid. Anyways, like I said, what’s going down?”

And so Bilbo and the others explained to Radagast about the Mount Zoom Challenge, how they had to win because Gandalf and Elrond were depending on them, but how they could not go on without serviceable tyres.

“Cars, eh? Races?” Radagast said when he had heard enough. “It all seems a bit uncool to me, environmentally speaking. All those fumes polluting the air and hurting the plants and the trees and the animals. And causing global warming and the like.”

“Oh, I can assure you that we use only eco-friendly fireworks to propel Bag-Endless-Fuel,” Bilbo explained. “Provided by none other than Gandalf himself.”

“I see,” answered Radagast. “Well, I can dig that, man.”

“So, can you help us, Rad?”

“Well, seeing as you're friends of Gandalf, and what with the groovy Frodo feeling and all, I guess I can. What’s the problem?”

Bilbo explained about the smoke ring tyres and how the illogicality of the solution had rather overwhelmed the suspension of disbelief. Now back in Valinor, Radagast had been a rather sensible, studious fellow by the name of Aiwendil, logical of mind and rational of thought. And, although he had gone somewhat native on arriving in Middle-earth, he still had the knack of pulling a logical possibility from a logical improbability when the situation called for it.

“You know the best way to make something illogical logical in a place like this?” he asked.

The Hobbits shook their heads. Radagast turned and pointed his finger at a small band of Goblins who had been surreptitiously creeping up on the group, weapons at the ready, whereupon their blades promptly turned into large daffodils. Unsettled and confused, the Goblins turned tail and hopped off back to their Misty Mountain caves.

“Magic, dude!” explained Rad. “If there’s one thing that makes something unbelievable believable in a fantasy world, it’s magic. My normal thing is nature-based magic – you know, flower power and the like – but, hey, magic’s magic, you know?”

And so, after Bilbo had once more blown large smoke rings around the wheels of the little Door-Mobile, the Brown Wizard walked from one to the other, weaving his hands in ornate, swishing patterns and chanting under his breath. And as he went, a transparent film gradually formed over the rings of smoke and bound them to the wheels.

“Cool!” said Rad when he had finished. “That should do the trick. Now, you’d better get going if you’re not to bankrupt the Wise. If I know Gandalf, he’s probably been using the Counsel’s floating fund to support his gambling habit. Fare thee well.”

“So long, Rad!” the Hobbits called, waving farewell as they once more embarked on Bag-Endless-Fuel. “And thanks for all the swish.”

As the funky Brown Wizard watched the little Burrow Buggy heading smoothly off West towards the High Pass, his eyes rested on the smoke swirling around its Hobbit-door wheels, securely harnessed by his magic. Absent-mindedly, he rolled some herbs up in a thin strip of paper, lit it with his finger and inhaled deeply, before letting out a long, and slightly high-pitched, sigh of satisfaction.

[Morsul the Dark]

New treads rock

The Tower surged into motion and with each agonizing turn of the wheels new screams were heard. "Ah sweet music," Gothmog smiled, "You know Montague you are an excellent co-pilot, South-West is a perfect direction. You know what though I bet Dwarfy has more challenges coming up and I bet you have some awesome ideas on how to pass them we have to keep an eye out."

[Gil-Galad]

"thats what i'm here for, i did graduate from Narchost U, where did yo ugraduate from?" Montague asked

"me oh... a little place called Charcost U"

"Charcost! you like the rivla of my university! ha never thought i'd see the day where a CU would be in command of troops..."

"yeah...wait what?"

"oh nothing" Montague said with a smile as the tower continued South-West to the hum of agonizing screams which oddly sounds like Beethovens 5th Symphony...

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Confessions of a Forgotten Ringwraith

"Why do you ask so many questions? They'll be here in no time flat. In the meantime, you can go down to my chocolate vault and grab me a Khît-Khât bar." The Witch-king leaped into his armchair and shooed away Ringwraith #4, who glumly marched down to the dungeons and cellars to get the Witch-king his chocolate bar.

After arriving at the lower levels, Ringwraith #4 suddenly remembered that he didn't even know where the chocolate vault was. After all, he had not even known about it until a few days ago.

"Drat, him, he always gives me tasks he knows I'm going to fail!" he said to himself. Looking left and right, he thought about what to do. Drudgingly, he started off in one direction in search of the chocolate vault.

A few hours later, he had still not located the room where the sweet safe was located. He had grown more and more depressed as the time went on. Not only was he given this menial task, but soon the other Ringwraiths would arrive. With the rest of them here, he would just be forgotten again. It always happened that way; he was always left out. In fact, he had found out that he had been the last choice for side-driver of Minas Mor-go for the race. The only reason he was here was that all the other Ringwraiths had previous engagements on the day the race started. Furthermore, the only reason that the Witch-King had chosen him over his highest ranking orc was the fact that the orc had gotten skewered in a riot before the race had started. It was all very depressing to think about.

Suddenly, he looked up and saw a room that he had never noticed before. Pushing the door open, he knew he had found the right place. Crates upon crates of tongue-numbing sweetness were stacked in the gigantic storeroom. Taking a quick glance back in the hall, he walked over to the nearest crate, filled with Twîks, and began munching on a few. After all, he had been gone so long, a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. So, a couple dozen chocolate bars later, he walked down the aisle to the Khît-Khâts and, grabbing one, made his way back up to the Witch-King.

"What took you so long?!" said the Witch-King gruffly.

"Well, I didn't actually know where the chocolate vault was, so I had to find it. Anyway, here's your Khît-Khât."

"Idiot, why didn't you just admit you didn't know up front and ask where it was. Now you've taken so long that I've changed my mind. Go back and get me a Schnîkûrz. And you better hurry back, because you'll be taking candy orders from the other Wraiths as they arrive."

Ringwraith #4 looked at him blankly. *Jerk* he though. He turned and started back down to the vault. *Oh, well, more Twîks for me* he though with a quiet laugh.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Faramir:



Five tall figures stood in the throne room of Minas Taxi and looked as glum as though they would have just lost all their tyres in the middle of nowhere which, in fact, was the situation.

"A war is now ahead of us", Denethor said and sat down on his throne. "As we speak our spare tyre rolls closer and closer to Mirkwood in the hands of porcupines. I'm afraid we must raid their camp to get our tyre back."

A little chaos occurred from hearing the words "raid" and "porcupine" in the same sentence as Mablung tried to jump out of a window, Damrod hide behind a statue and Húrin who valiantly attempted to slip out of the room unnoticed, bumped into an armor that fell on the floor with great clattering.

"But my lord! That's madness!" Húrin exclaimed shuddering as he picked up a gauntlet. "No offense, of course", he added quickly.

"None taken, it was Faramir's idea, anyway", grunted Denethor.

"But it is the only way", Faramir said clearly offended. "Or do you have any better ideas?"

"Maybe lord Denethor could challenge the leader of the porcupines for a duel, and the winner would get the tyre", Mablung suggested dangling on a window sill.

"Yes", Damrod agreed behind the statue. "Or maybe the loser should have the tyre. Then we could have better chances to get it ba-"

"Right, any other ideas then?" Denethor interrupted loudly.

"What about an undercover operation?" Damrod asked.

"I don't think any of us looks like a porcupine enough to make it work", mused Faramir.

"Hear me out, my lords", Húrin cried. "I think I've got an idea."

And Húrin of the Keys explained his plan to the rest of the men. After a few ooohs and aaahs, they had agreed on a scheme.

"Now, this is still dangerous", Húrin warned, "and all of us won't probably return. I suggest that we take the Houses of Healing and drive as near to the porcupine camp as we can get in secret. Then we shall start Mission Cone Cow."


***

When Denethor, Faramir and a handful of trusty Gondorians marched towards the Houses of Healing, they spotted Ioreth pottering in the garden in a plaid apron and dotted rubber boots.

"I wonder if the porcupines will take us seriously if they see her with us", one of the soldiers muttered.

"I see your point", Denethor nodded glancing Ioreth's everything else but modest straw hat. "Faramir, go tell Ioreth that we will borrow the Houses of Healing and there's no need for her to come along."

Faramir looked slightly distressed, but he took a deep breath and strode after Ioreth who had just disappeared inside.

Outside Denethor's group waited. Nothing could be heard from the Houses, and after a while the soldiers started growing restless.

"Mablung! Go to look what is taking so long there and return to give us a report", Denethor commanded, but after Mablung had gone, it fell silent again, and there was no sign of anyone coming back to crouch behind a fence where they were hiding from Ioreth. Finally Denethor sent Damrod after Mablung to find out what was going on, but after an hour when their knees crunched from all the squatting, Denethor cried: "That's it! We're going in."

Húrin of the Keys kicked the door in, and Denethor and the soldiers rushed into a cozy lobby. On a bench there sat in a row Faramir, Mablung and Damrod, each of them holding a big glass of milk, and a cookie tray was set in a little table in front of them.

"Lord Denethor, what a marvellous surprise!" Ioreth beamed. "I was just about to tell these young lads a story of my cousin's neighbour, a horrible incident it was, now she's moved, naturally, after such inconvenience that the neighbour caused - I still feel bad for her peonies although I, of course, told her that she should have planted daffodils in the first place..."

Faramir looked at his father and shrugged apologetically while Mablung and Damrod looked seriously agitated.

"Uhm", Húrin hesitated, "excuse us, but we would like to borrow the Houses of Healing for a military mission."

"Oh, that's right, these dearies here already told me", Ioreth said and leaned forward to pinch Mablung on the cheek. "Shall we go then", she said briskly, wrapped a scarf around her neck, placed goggles on her forehead and sat in a fluffy easy chair behind a wheel. "Well, lads, to the pedals, march!" Ioreth smiled and gestured to the back of the room.

The colour escaped from the Gondorians' faces when they slowly understood what Ioreth meant.

"Now hold on a moment!" Denethor rasped. "Is the Houses of Healing a pedal car!"

"Do you have any idea what exhaust fumes do to convalescents? No, my dear Denethor, I couldn't risk a healing process with pollutants. My cousin had once a terrible case of coughing, and I told her, mark my words, a cough and pollutions go together like mustard and strawberries-"

"Mustard and strawberries?" Faramir couldn't restrain himself.

"Yes, my dear, meaning, of course, that it is a horrible combination, that's one of my own proverbs - now where was I..."

"Ioreth!" interrupted Denethor. "I sure do hope that my men pedal as quickly as your tongue goes for every lost moment weakens our chances to get our tyre back. Let's go!"

"Very well, very well, although you must know what they say about wise men and rushing although my cousin-", but seeing the interesting shade of red upon Denethor's face made the woman hush up. "Right, take your seats, dearies. Remember seatbelts, everyone. Here we go."

And with that the knights of Gondor started pedalling, and afterwards when the whole race was over, songs were made of the Houses of Healing zooming down the circles of the White City with a woman in dotted rubber boots behind the wheel.

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Dusk was falling as the Houses of Healing approached the edge of Mirkwood. Ahead, Denethor could see a great bonfire, with the shapes of dancing porcupines flitting in and out of sight in front of the flames.

"One good thing about these burned pedal-contraptions," he grumbled to himself. "They hardly make any noise."

"Halt!" he gave the order, his men stopped pedalling. The House coasted several feet before Ioreth hit the breaks.

"Okay, men," said Denethor. "We're ready to commence Operation Cone Cow. Faramir will lead the archers in drawing their attention away on the left. Once the porcupines join battle, Beregond will lead the strike team into the heart of their camp, find either the spare tire or the stolen wheel, or both, and signal the Houses of Healing. I will remain here with a select team of pedallers. We will then charge the porcupines with the House and rendezvous with Beregond's men, who will have the tire or wheel ready to lash onto the roof. Faramir and his men will move closer to our position to give us some protective fire. Once the tire is mounted, Beregond's men will join the pedalling team, and we will retreat at once to the city. Faramir and his men will follow on foot to give us time to install the tire. Any questions?"

"Just one, sir," said Damrod, raising his hand, "where do the Cone Cows come in?"

"They don't," said Denethor.

"But why is it called Operation Cone Cow, then?" asked Mablung.

"Because all successful military operations need to have cryptic and distinctive code names," replied Denethor. "Do you know what Erkenbrand's return to Helm's Deep was known as? Operation Chicken Fingers. Do you know what the Ents' assault on Isengard was called? Mission Plausible. Do you know what Thorongil's up-the-Anduin-in-black-sailed-boats was called? Operation Pipeweed. Understand?"

The soldiers nodded silently.

"Good," said Denethor approvingly. "Then man your stations, and may the Valar be with us."

Night had completely fallen as Faramir and the archers left the Houses of Healing and made their way to the Porcupines' right flank, where they began to open fire- literally.

"Fire!" squealed the porcupines, as flaming arrows came swooping down out of the night at them.

"Sir," said Mablung to Faramir, as he lit another arrow, "why are we using flaming arrows? Is it just because Lord Denethor likes fire?"

"I think so," said Faramir. "The signal Beregond's going to send up will also be fire. That's why we made him stay in command of the Houses of Healing detachment."

Meanwhile, as the enraged Porcupines were being drawn off to face Faramir and his men, Beregond's footmen attacked from the Porcupines' left, cutting down the few who had been left to keep watch, and soon catching sight of the stolen wheel at the centre of the camp.

"Light the purple flame!" ordered Beregond. One of the men hastened to light a quick fire, adding powder to colour the flames a bright purple.

"That's the signal!" Denethor told his men, from his vantage point on the roof of the House. "Full ahead! Pedal!

"Well! What are you waiting for!"

"Just a minute, dearie," said Ioreth, at the wheel. "The boys need to stretch first."

"We're in the middle of a military campaign!" Denethor growled.

"Yes, I know that," said Ioreth. "But you can really damage your tendons if you don't stretch. My uncle Baragundiliondil-"

"Never mind your uncle! We've got work to do!"

A moment later, when the men had finished stretching, the Houses of Healing surged forward, jumping the enemy lines, and zooming the centre of the Porcupine camp, where Beregond and his men were ready with the tire.

"Can the Houses support its weight?" worried Húrin. "That's a HUGE tire!"

"They better," said Denethor. "Or we'll be peddling all the way to the Grey Havens."

"Hurry!" said Beregond. "The Porcupines have caught sight of us! They're sending a force back from the battle with Faramir's men!"

The tire, larger around than the House was wide, was only just affixed to the roof, and Beregond's men aboard when the Porcupines reached them.

"All hands: pedal!" ordered Denethor. Ignoring Ioreth's warnings to stretch, the terrified men began to pedal with all their might, but weighed down by the tire, they were barely able to move at all.

"Beregond, Húrin, and Mablung!" shouted Denethor. "Stand by to assist me in repelling boarders! The rest of you: pedal!"

So as the Houses of Healing slowly lurched away, picking up but a little speed as it went, Denethor and his three companions drew swords and stood in the doorways, to fight off the swarming porcupines.

"Faramir and his men are giving us what cover they can," reported Mablung, who's door opened to the right. "But he's hard-pressed indeed. It looks like he's withdrawing to the city. Correction- they've just started running flat out towards the city."

"Burn it!" swore Denethor.

"More trouble!" cried Beregond. "There's a giant picnic table on wheels advancing at us, almost directly head-on!"

"A giant picnic table?" said Denethor.

"Yes, sir!" replied Beregond. "Everyone knows that Porcupines and picnic tables go together. Anyway, it doesn't appear to have an engine of any sort. Several Porcupines are pushing it. However, they appear to be intent on ramming us!"

"I guess we're going to see just how much a beating this baby can take!" said Denethor. "Full speed ahead! Let's bounce them off our sides!''

"This House isn't made like the walls of Minas Tirith!" warned Beregond.

"Never mind that!" said Denethor. "It's all or nothing now!"

Slowly, inexorably, the House and the giant picnic table lunged at each other. But both were moving too slowly to truly cause a crash. Instead, there was a momentary deadlock, as the peddlar's power was nullified by the opposing, pushing porcupines headed in the other direction hit them head-on.

"PEDAL!" roared Denethor. But both sides tried harder, and both sides couldn't move.

"Sir, if we were to reverse a bit," Húrin began to suggest, but Denethor frowned.

"And give them the victory! We shall never back down! Never!"

Things went on in much the same way for several minutes, with both sides straining to move. Then a loud "MOO" sounded in the night.

"What the-!" cried Denethor. "Cows!"

"MOOOOOOOOO!" sounded the deep, booming sound again. The Porcupines began to scurry towards the sound, which was coming from the north. As they drew nearer with torches, the shape a vast, vengeful cow became visible. Again, the night was shattered with a booming "MOOOOOO!!!"

The Porcupines' nerve broke, and they began to flee back to the safety of their camp, abandoning the giant picnic table.

"Do we advance?" questioned Húrin.

"That cow might not like us any more than it likes Porcupines," said Beregond.

"Advance," said Denethor. "Perhaps it can be persuaded to let us pass."

So they advanced. However, before they had quite reached the dreadful cow, Faramir and his men appeared out of the woods.

"Faramir! You coward!" cried Denethor. "Fleeing the middle of battle! And with a giant cow menacing both Man and Porcupine alike! You ought to-"

"Excuse me, Father," interrupted Faramir. "But you. should be moving. This giant Cone Cow won't fool the Porcupines for long."

"Giant Cone Cow..." Denethor spluttered. "But, the mooing!"

Faramir held up a horn.

"The Horn of Anórien!" he said proudly. "Passed from Uncle to Nephew since Moronwë, the Second Son of Pelendur the Steward, butchered a great domesticated cow of Dorwinion. It has been carried by the second son of the Stewards ever since, and it is said that if it is blown anywhere in the Realm of Gondor as it was of old, the blower shall find a dairy cow!"

"But we are not in the Realm of Gondor as it was of old," pointed out Denethor.

"That's just as well," said Faramir. "Ioreth's already got a dairy cow, should we want milk."

"The Porcupines seem to have got over their fear of the cow!" announced Beregond. "They're regrouping!"

"Quick, get your men aboard!" Denethor ordered Faramir. "We need all the pedalling power we can get!"

Leading his men to pedalling stations, Faramir raised the Horn of Moronwë to his lips, and let loose one last MOOOOOOOO!!!!

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Axles buckling under the weight of the wheel, pedallers starting to drop from fatigue, and its walls battered from Porcupine attacks, the Houses of Healing barely made it back to Minas Tirith before the Porcupines caught them.

"Ioreth!" ordered Denethor. "Take Minya Squad, and get the House into the City. Beregond, I then want you and Minya Squad to man the trebuchets! Húrin, take Tatya Squad, and get to repairing that punctured tire, and get it back on the city! Faramir, Nelya Squad, you're with me. We fight off the Porcupines!"

MOOOOOOOOO!!!!! blared the Horn of Moronwë.

But the dread cow-horn no longer held any fear for the Porcupines, who were becoming ever more numerous as the van was joined by the main body of their host, and eventually by the rear stragglers.

"Where did the Porcupines get a van?" demanded Denethor.

"I think the narrator means the giant wheeled picnic table," replied Faramir, as he struck at a Porcupine.

The Porcupines' numbers were swelling, and the Gondorians were fatigued, and Denethor was beginning to fear that they would never escaped the dreaded quilled creatures, when suddenly a great stone troll fell out of the sky into the mass of the Porcupines, crushing several beneath its awesome weight.

"My hood ornament!" cried Denethor.

Soon, other statues came soaring down on the Porcupine horde. Their spirit broken, the Porcupines fled. Denethor turned to yell at Beregond, who had descended back to the gates, the trebuchet fire having been successful.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing, throwing these statues out of the city?" he demanded to know. "These are priceless works of art, some of them thousands of years old!'

"I am sorry, milord," said Beregond. "But we used up all of the random chunks of buildings and such in the Siege, and we had to use whatever came to hand. The statues weren't parts of buildings, and they were large and stone, so we used them."

"But... my troll!"

"I don't think it's damaged, Father," said Faramir, examining the troll. "In fact, I think they're all fine- except for that statue of Grandmother that used to be in the courtyard on the the north side of the Fourth Circle- it blew apart completely."

"The one with me as a dashing seven-year-old?" Denethor's eyes narrowed.

"We can commission a new statue..." Faramir began.

"Yes, the square is going to need a new one," said Denethor. "I think the Hero of Porcupine Ridge would be a suitable subject."

"Surely you don't mean Ioreth!" blurted out Faramir.

"Why in blazes would I mean Ioreth?" demanded Denethor. "I meant me!"

"But you barely DID anything!" protested Faramir.

"Who's plan was it?" Denethor narrowed his eyes.

"I seem to remember Damrod and Mablung proposing most of it," said Faramir.

"I seem to recall them seconding everything I said," said Denethor.

"Are sure?" said Faramir. "I have the minutes here somewhere..."

"You can't trust those," said Denethor. "The secretary was suspect."

"But I was the secretary!" protested Faramir.

"Exactly!"

"Milords, I hate to interrupt," interrupted Húrin, "but we've repaired and reaffixed the tire. My men are preparing the engine as we speak."

"Order the rest of the men to bring the undamaged statues back into the city," said Denethor. "I will be in the Tower. We make Due West, to pass the Misty Mountains by at Gundabad."

[Glirdan]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Devloppment

Just then, Sauron entered the room. "MY MOUTH! WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!? WHY HAVE WE STOPPED!?" he yelled. Even though he was disappointed that his master had regained his voice, Mouth was exstatic(sp?) that his master had returned.

"Master! You have returned! Thank Er...I mean Morgoth!! But may I ask how you recovered so quickly?"

"WELL, YOU SEE MY MOUTH, REST WAS ALL THAT I NEEDED! I THINK I JUST CAME DOWN WITH A BIT OF SCURVY-GRUNGE."

"Why, that's...wait...what in Morgoth's name is 'Scurvy-grunge'? Wait...don't answer that."

"OK. SO, YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION. WHY HAVE WE STOPPED!?" Sauron asked.

-10 Minutes-

"So you see master, this Rat Wraith spirit was just about to tell me about his wonderfully awful plan." Mouth stated.

"WELL, WE DON'T NEED HIS HELP ANYMORE!" and turning to the Rat Wraith he yelled "BEGONE YOU BEGOTTEN SPIRIT! WE DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"

"SQUEEAAK!!" the spirit yelled in fright and vanished in a purple cloud of green smoke.

"NOW THAT THAT NUISSANCE IS GONE, I SHALL TELL YOU MY PLAN MY MOUTH."

[Sleepy Ranger]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg Orth-Tank Wacky Races...

Saruman was merrily humming along to 'Yellow Submarine' as he took his bath. His bathtub was quite conveniently shaped like a yellow submarine. All of a sudden Grima burst into the bathroom and then for no real reason began running around in circles. "Grima! What are you doing here?!? Who is driving?" Saruman roared angrily. "The porcupines, sir!" Grima replied. "What porcupines? We don't have any porcupines, you fool!" Saruman replied grabbing a towel. "No sir, they flattend all our tyres and went on a hayride with the spares." Grima said. "Well, we'll think of something to do. I must get dressed, until then I expect you to get out and push." Grima nodded walking off.

About half an hour later Saruman joined Grima outside who was desperately trying to push Orth-Tank forwards but had so far done nothing significant. "Grima you fool! Can you not push a tower modified into a car?" Saruman shouted angrily. "But sir..." Grima began only to be cut off by someone singing loudly, "I AM THE EGGMAN, THEY ARE THE EGGMEN, I AM THE WALRUS GOO GOO KA CHU!" followed by The Beatles van coming down from the hill and taking the long and winding road to where Orth-Tank stood. The Beatles all tumbled out of the van one at a time, in this order- John Lennon, George Harrison, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr.

They looked at Saruman and Grima who looked back at them, it was quite obvious everyone was confused and had no real idea as to what was happening. "Ringo, I said left not right!" Harrison said. "But I did turn left!" Ringo replied. "No, you went straight on!" Lennon complained. "We were moving?" McCartney piped in. Saruman looked at Grima with a long face, this would be a hard days night.

After spending five minutes watching the Beatles argue over who took the wrong turn and then watching them set up their instruments and do nothing with them, Grima began to tug on Saruman's cloak. "What is it you measly excuse for an ameoba?" Saruman asked impatiently. Grima pointed at the wheels on the Beatles' van. "Not now Grima, I'm trying to think of a way to get moving again. Let it be. Let them go on their Magical Mystery Tour." Said Saruman when all of a sudden his eyes lit up and he said, "Why thats a great idea! Listen, Grima! We could steal their tyres!" Saruman said beaming.

As Grima and Saruman began to discuss how to get the tyres away from the Beatles Lennon shouted out at them, "Oi! We've got a song for you!" After which they began to play 'I Need You' to Saruman and Grima, stating that it was in honor of their great friendship. After the performance Saruman called for the band's attention and said, "Now listen, we need your tyres!" This statement caused them to begin playing 'Drive My Car'. Saruman slapped his fore-head, this would indeed be a hard days night.

[THE Ka]

((OOC: Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been asked by Sleepy if I would continue his Orth-Tank Wacky Races post. As I am in course of my life to be kind to those who deserve such, I have taken up this request. I hope that this shall not be any harm to The Mount Zoom Challenge players, spectators, managers, and any other affiliation to this thread. Poděkovat vám všem.
Sincerely,
THE Ka))
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg The Orth-Tank Continues...

As Saruman was about to just send off Grima to jack the car, steal the wheels, and possibly make off with the stereo, (even if there was an apple in it), The Beatles reminded Saruman of a possible plan. Grima just was perplexed with astonishment that The Beatles were playing for them, and slowly snuck out an autograph book, just in case Saruman wasn't looking.

" Grima! Put that diary away! I have a plan..." Saruman barked out the side of his mouth.
" sigh... Yes master?"
" I believe there is a possible way to get tyres out of these musicians without ending up in more of a sour milk sea... Grima! Go fetch me my bath, quickly!"
" Which one master?"
Saruman with a mixed look of utter astonishment and slight coy pitty for such a helpless creature he saw Grima as, pulled him by his collar and gave his orders with a drone.
" Don't play stupid with me, Grima! You know, the one I take here, there and everywhere! The one I most positively use eight days a week!"
" ... I still don't get your point." Grima said flinchingly.
" The Yellow Submarine! Fetch it now, and there better be no scratches!" Saruman roared as The Beatles' ears picked up his words, and began to play just that. Yellow Submarine...

" Ah ob la di, ob la da! If I don't make it out of here soon my head's going to go helter skelter..." Saruman began to rumb his temples. Suddenly, he was shaken out of his thoughts to the sound of a rather yellow, submarine-like tub hitting the ground. Turning back in rage, to possibly find his beloved bath indeed sunk in disrepair, Saruman looked up Grima, sitting in the bath, which had been moved down the stairs of the Orth-Tank with nothing but a bath mat and a few rubber ducks.
" How did you - Nevermind! Grima, get out of that tub with your filthiness. I have propositions to make!"
Saruman walked over to The Beatles as they were finishing Yellow Submarine, with Grima slowly trailing behind with the bath on his back.

" Excuse me fellows, but since I see you are a little attached to your tyres, I wish to know if you would like to make a trade." Saruman said with his best charm and a rather convincing smile.
The Beattles were about to play again, but their curiousity was caught. Well, that of Paul's at most.

" What do you want our tyres for Saruman? ... And what's that greasy fellow carrying on his back?" McCartney asked.
Saruman's smile widened. I can almost see those tyres on the Orth-Tank! Just have to played them a bit longer, and see if they will take this bath... Though, I'll miss it. It's a wonderful tub.

Grima was just stunned that Paul had adressed him indirectly, and was almost squashed by the girth of the yellow tub as he brought it over.
" Well Paul you see Grima here was driving, but unfortunately I forgot how utterly stupid and mechcanically challenged he is. Alas, I wish I could hire better, but his damn HMO won't let me torture him for another year -"
" There was porcupines Paul!" Grima couldn't help but bursting out. Even if it was his first and last attempt at saying, 'hello' to McCartney indirectly.
" Grima! When I want a babbling fool I'll ask for one! ... Oh, and yes, apparently porcupines ran off with our spares..." Saruman's face was turning red. This had indeed, if not anything else, been a hard day's night.

" Tough break my friend, is there anyway we can help you out?" Harrison addressed in a cool tone, Saruman obviously was a serious type.
" Well, there is one way. I would like to make a trade off. Your tyres for my yellow submarine bath!" Saruman stepped back with the grace of a salesman on the peak of a deal. There it stood, in all of it's great yellow lusture of cleanliness - The Yellow Submarine of tubs.
The Beatles stared at it at first with amasement, then slight, but cool despiration. They hadn't been to a good hotel in a week, all thanks to Ringo's apparent lack of direction, and mixed in with the fact that Middle Earth wasn't exactly anywhere near their tour stops, though, they were still trying to fiend off masses of fangirls that appeared out of no where. All in all, that bath looked like a good trade.

" That tub is amazing, and let's face it, we haven't been to a good hotel is a week! I say we take it, we can get more tyres later!" Ringo said amongst his fellow band mates, hoping that they might see his logic.
" Wait! Where are we going to get tyres in a place like this? I know the bath looks wonderful beyond all imagination, but think of the tyres!" George tried to make a case with them, even if that tub was really, truly amazing, and would look great in the tour somewhere.
Saruman was about to just send Grima out and take the tyres anyway and keep the bath for himself when Lennon closed the deal.
" Saruman, we'll take it!"

" I'm so glad you all saw what a deal this tub is, really, I enjoyed it very much myself... So, that'll be four tyres you can give?" Saruman said with a smile.
The tires were soon off The Beattle's van and the Orth-Tank was ready to go, leaving a rather glum group with the impressive yellow submarine bath.

" John! Where are we going to find more tyres?! It's not as if this bath has it all you know, though, it is rather impressive." McCartney couldn't believe that John, out of all people would trade good tyres for a yellow tub, even if it was wonderful. They all felt as gloomy as Eleanor Rigby, and most definately would not be being for the benefit of Mr. Kite. Just when things would go helter skelter, John explained his reasoning:
" Mates! It was a good trade! Besides, we have spares in the back under the equipment."
Pulling back a few instrument cases, there lay the band's spare wheels in boxes, everyone could breathe again.
" ...And I thought those were birthday present drum cases!" Ringo pipped in. After putting the spares on, and getting the tub to fit somewhere on or in the van, The Beatles were off and hopfully on their way to the tour.

After having a few moments to enjoy belittling Grima even more, Saruman had the Orth-Tank back on it's due course, humming a bit of 'Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except for Me and My Monkey'...

[Valier]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg Medul-Zoom A little Prick causes alot of troubles


Eowyn: 51....52.....53.....54.....55.....56....

BANG!!! HISSSSSSSSSSSS!

Eowyn: "Now look what's happened! My brush has become stuck in my hair! Someone is going to pay for this"

*Stalks off to find her Uncle*

Eowyn: "Uncle! Uncle? What is the meaning of all this racket? Why have we stopped?"

Theoden: "I am unsure my dear, I have sent Hama out to have a look."

*The door to Medul-zoom flies open and there stands Hama holding his nose and panting as if he was running*

Hama: "My lord....Our tyres are gone!"

Theoden: "What do you mean gone?"

Hama: "Well only one is gone and the others are flat....and it smells really bad out there!"

Theoden: "Well do we not have spares?"

Hama: "No me lord."

Theoden: "Well that is great! Just great! Any idea as to where the tyres went?

Hama: " A porcupine stole them."

Theoden: "A porcupine?"

Hama: "A porcupine my lord."

Theoden: "A porcupine dear Hama?"

Hama: "Yes Sir a porcupine."

Theoden: "Now what would a porcupine want with our tyres Hama?"

Hama:" I know not my Lord."

Theoden: "Well if you do not know, and I do not know......"

Eowyn: *Ahem* If you two are done......Who cares how or why they were stolen! I have a brush stuck in my hair!"

Theoden: "here Hama you hold her still and I will extract the brush......Ok on three..."

Hama: "Pull when you say three or before you say three?"

Theoden: "I said on the count of three....that means when I say three you pull."

Hama: "Now when you say three, do I pull on three or pull for the number three?"

Eowyn: "AAAAHHHHH You two are crazy! Leave my hair alone! All I need is a big bald spot for Faramir to see!"

Eowyn: " I know what to do.....again!.....

*Eowyn reaches into her hidding spot....*Ahem* between the Tata's and pulls out a card that reads...

M.E.A.A

Your friendly neighbourhood,get your vehikle out of trouble company.

Eowyn: "These guys are always around when you need them!"

Eowyn:* Walks over to the table and picks up a large goblet and places it over her ear*

Eowyn:" Hello?.......Hello?........Our vehikle is broke!....Hello?....

Theoden: Ummmm My dear......The Eagles that run that buisness are working for the Dwarf who runs this race."

Eowyn:*Pouts* Well what else are we supposed to do? We are falling behind in the race, we need to figure out a way to make us go faster!"

Theoden: "Well I think I have a plan brewing in this here old head........But I am reluctant to do it.....*Pouts* It involves shaving some of my Golden Hall.

Hama: "Shaving? My lord?"

Theoden: " Yes Hama, that is what I said....Shaving!"

Hama: “But Sir, we are fresh out of Gillette…”

Theoden: *Glaring at Hama* “No you fool, I don’t mean THAT shaving. You know as well as I do that it took me seven years to grow this beard, I ain’t loosing it for no race! No, what I mean is…” *whispers whispers*

Eowyn: *Feminine whispers whispers whispers?*

Hama: *whispers*

Theoden, glaring at Hama again: *whispers whispers you fool whispers*

Half an hour later, all the smiths of Medul-zoom were called to their lord’s presence. Theoden’s announcement surprised them all. Thirty percent of the golden hall would be scraped off and made into… the golden runners for the golden sled! Without tires *ahem* tyres nor replacements, and without rubber to make new ones, it would be the only way out.

The works started right away and soon the banging of hammers could be hear all through Medul-zoom. Theoden sure wished his ancestors had not decided to have the dome made out of gold, given that a dome being hit by a hundred hammers sounds like a giant bell being hit by a hundred hammers… while having one’s head inside the bell itself.

Shortly thereafter, enough gold was scraped off yet there was one inconvenience. It was impossible to melt so much gold fast enough. Theoden was in a sour mood, realizing that he had scraped thirty percent of his golden hall for nothing when Hama himself came up with a perfect plan.

Hama: “My lord do you recall what happened with the Nazghulrats of Mt. Zoom?”

Theoden: “Yeah, they got incinerated, why?”

Hama: “Well… how did they get incinerated?”

Eowyn: “By a baby-dragon’s fire!”

Theoden: “Not fair! It was my turn to answer, she’s a cheater”

Eowyn: “nananana I win, you loose now you get a big bruise”

Hama: “Please, my lord and lady, we need to get going”

Theoden: “Well, then get to the point”

Hama: “Well, what if we pretended that three of those nazghulrats found their way to our pile of un-molten gold?”

Theoden: “Why, the little dwarf would probably try to burn them to crisps!”

Eowyn: “And that would certainly melt the gold!”

Theoden: “Go to your room, you are trying to steal my thunder”

Eowyn: "Ummmmm I think not! I shall not be caged! You get the gold ready and lace it with some steel from some swords to make it strong,then I shall go and make Ratnazgul decoys for the dragon to burn. Let's meet back here in an hour."

Theoden:*rolls eyes*

AN HOUR LATER

The gold and steel had been fashioned into ski molds and was equipped with three large black Rat looking decoys on each side.

Eowyn:* Yelling up into the sky* YOOOHOOOO!!!! DWARFY?????? I think we have a NazgulRat problem! See them there all in parellel lines? Could you send your dragon to burn them up?!!

Out through the clouds swept the tiny dragon, who let forth a stream of flames that burn up the decoys and melted the gold till it bubbled.Then flew back into the great blue expanse that is the sky.

Eowyn: " There now we have two skis that will certainly get us over that mountain quicker than the other teams. I will leave you men to the work of attaching the skis and readying the horses for our departure."

After alot of grunting and groaning, the ski's were attached and the great Medul-zoom was ready to hit the road again.

Theoden: Well that's it then....we are officially a sled. I shall sit up front and lead the way. Eowyn now that you have changed your outfit again, would you care to join me?

Eowyn: *Sits beside Theoden in a new red dress with matching white hat(to hide the hair brush)*"On fair horses! Take us West towards the High pass. We shall make easy work of this pass with our new means of transportation."
Theoden:*grumbles* "Trying to steal my thunder again!"

[Glirdan]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Stony Wheels

"HOW ABOUT WE TAKE THAT STONE TROLL THAT WAS DOWN IN THE ENGINE-ROOM AND CRAFT WHEELS OUT OF HIM?" Sauron shouted.

"I don't think I'll ever hear again...Anyway, yes, that actually sounds like a good plan master!" Mouth agreed. So the two ran down the passageway to the Troll Engine-Room and burst through the door. It took thr Trolls about five minutes to realize that their master and his mouth had entered. "We really do need better servants..." Mouth said exhaustedly.

"AGREED! AND AS SOON AS WE MAKE IT TO THE FINISH LINE, WE WILL FIND BETTER HELP! BUT FOR NOW, WE NEED TO GET PAST THE EVIL PORCUPINE PREDICAMENT!" They made their way over to the Troll (which, convieniently, was still in the exact spot where he was turned to stone) and began chiseling him with convieniently placed chisels. Mouth was just about to break the Trolls right arm off when a spirit arose from the ground. "MY MORGOTH! WHAT IN MY LATE MASTERS NAME IS GOING ON HERE TODAY!? FIRST A RAT WRAITH SPIRIT AND NOW THIS!!"

"You shall no touch my body!" The spirit shouted in anger. It was then they realised that the spirit was that of the Troll which they were chiseling.

"AND WHO'S GOING TO STOP ME!? YOU!? MWHAHAHA! DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH!!" Sauron continued to chisel the arm and it evenutally fell off.

"That's it! Now you've done it!" the spirit shouted. "I place a curse on my body parts so that you shall never touch them again!!" As he said this, his body parts body and his arm, began to float up to the cieling and as the body progressed, different body parts broke off and spaced themselves out along the roof.

"NO!! OUR WHEELS!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" Sauron cried turning towards the spirit. But once he looked, it was no longer there. "WHAT!? WHERE'D HE GO!?"

"Ummm, while you were complaining and yelling, he said that he was off to a tea party with Morgoth..." mouth said.

"OOOO. WELL, WHAT ARE WE TO DO NOW?" Sauron asked. It was then that Mouth realised that the Mountain was floating in mid air.

"Ummm....is this supposed to happen?"

"IS WHAT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN?"

"The Mountain...It's floating!"

"WHAT!?" Sauron cried. He ran to the window and looked at the ground and noticed that they were about five feet off the ground. "WELL, THIS IS CONVIENIENT!" Sauron shouted with glee.

"Yes, it is. Now, all we have to do is figure out how to control it..." Mouth said.

"ALREADY DONE!"

"What? What did you do?"

"I SET IT TO VOICE ACTIVATION! SO, ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS IN WHICH DIRECTION WE WOULD LIKE TO GO, AND WE'LL GO!!"

"Brilliant master! Just one question, when did you do that? Wait...don't answer that... I don't think I want to know..."

"OKAY! IF YOU SAY SO. MOUNTAIN, HEAD FOR THE HIGH PASS!!" and Mount Zoom zoomed off towards the High Pass.

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Behold! The Flying City of Minas Mor-go!

"#4, get out here!" shouted the Witch-king. In the distance seven black shapes fluttered, growing larger by the moment. Ringwraith #4 hurried out of the tower, with chocolate smeared all over his face. The Witch-king just rolled his eyes.

"The other Ringwraiths are coming! And make sure to be on your best behavior," said the Witch-king. He straightened the fancy battle-helm he always wore since Pelennor and strode forwards. The other Ringwraiths swooped near, and landed upon the battlements. The wind from the wings of their great, flying beasts lifted and fluttered Ringwraith #4's robes most embarrassingly.

"Stop playing with your robes, #4. The other Ringwraiths have arrived," said the Witch-king. "Greetings, comrades!" he shouted to the others as they climbed off their high mounts, "I welcome you to Minas Mor-go! Come, come!"

The other Ringwraiths leapt to the ground, gazing all around them, admiring Minas Mor-go's axles, but…

"Where are the wheels?" asked Ringwraith #3.

"Shut up," said Khamûl, or Ringwraith #2 as he is sometimes called, "What did I tell you about your manners before we arrived? Idiot." He strode over to the Witch-king, and gave him a huge embrace. "Brother! It's been too long! How are you? How are you?"

"I'm doin' great! Wonderful to see you again! How do you like what I've done with the place?"

"Amazing! How does this thing move, orcs? Wow." Khamûl ran over to the walls to see what the view was like, and then hurried back to the Witch-king. "And hello there," he said to #4, "Great to see you again, … you."

The Witch-king coughed. "Ahem, #4."

"Ah, yes! Now I remember you! Great times we had! Great times! So, Witch-king, for what reason have you called us?"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, we're in a little race."

"Mhmmm, mhmmm."

"But porcupines have punctured the wheels and stolen the spare."

"Mhmmm, mhmmm."

"So my idea was that, if we lighten the load a bit, we can get this thing airborne with our great flying beasts!"

"Wow! Amazing idea, Witch-king. So what sort of things do you want us to help throw overboard?"

"Well, as you guessed, we're orc-powered, and orcs are pretty useless when it comes to flying. I'd kill and throw overboard about half, which is, say, 500."

"I see, I see. Go on."

"And then there is the ugly furniture vault. We need to clear that out."

"Hmmm. Okay."

"And once we've lightened this place a bit, we can tie our flying beasts to the walls, and we're flying!"

"Sounds like a plan to me! I'll get on it." Khamûl called over the other Ringwraiths and began handing out tasks. "#5 and #6, head down to the orcs and kill about half. #7, #8, and #9, start tethering the flying beasts to the city walls. And #3, I want you to go empty out the ugly furniture vault!"

"Why me?" asked #3.

"Because I said so, idiot."

"And take #4 with you!" said the Witch-king, shoving #4 in #3's direction. The two shuffled off to the tower, following #5 and #6, who were already with swords unsheathed.

"Well, Khamûl," said the Witch-king, "Let's grab the lawn chairs and reminisce about the good ol' days. Hey, #4! Bring up some lawn chairs while you're down there!" And Khamûl and the Witch-king began chatting about the days they used to swoop into battle and slaughter hordes of foes on the battlefield.

* * * * *

An hour later, the Witch-king and Khamûl were still chatting, stretched out on lawn chairs #4 had brought up from the cellars. #7, #8, and #9 had only one more flying steed to tether to the city's walls, and the sounds of blood-curdling massacre could be heard drifting out of the dungeons as #5 killed hundreds of orcs and #6 tossed their bodies out the window. And occasionally a large thump was heard as #3 and #4 tossed another paisley sofa to the ground far below.

Soon all of the flying beasts were tied to the walls of Minas Mor-go, half of the orcs were lying on the ground below, and every single paisley sofa had been ejected. The Ringwraiths gathered on top of the gate for what came next.

The Witch-king and Khamûl stood from their lawn chairs, pleased that they lightening of the city and the tethering of the beasts had finished so quickly.

"Attention, Ringwraiths!" said the Witch-king, "You shall now behold the first flying city in all of Arda!" He raised his hands to the heavans triumphantly, and laughed a deep, evil laugh. "Mwahahahahahahahaha!"

The flying beasts began to flap their great wings, and the city lurched to the side. The Ringwraiths hit the floor or grabbed onto whatever solid bit of the city they could find, as Minas Mor-go lurched and wobbled. The punctured tires left the ground. The city raised into the air. Behold! The flying city of Minas Mor-go!

The city righted itself and drifted away westwards. "Khamûl and I have decided," said the Witch-king, as the other Ringwraiths stood from their crouched positions, that Minas Mor-go, headed towards the High pass, will move in a southwest-ish direction, but a little more west than south. The important thing is that we are headed for the High Pass."

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Punchline!

"WELL, THAT WENT BETTER THAN EXPECTED," Sauron said. Mouth raised an eyebrow.

"Better than expected?" he sputtered. "We angered the ghost of a troll! We have cursed body parts floating around our ceiling! The Rat Wraiths you tied to the front of the mountain to pull us along are now dangling by their harnesses, seven feet off the ground!"

"YES," the dark lord agreed. "BUT LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE: WE JUST INVENTED THE HOVERCRAFT... OR THE ZEPPELIN; YOUR CHOICE."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpgGoin' Goods!

The Eyrie copter flew nicely over the River Anduin. A small rope ladder lead down from it and flapped just over a small Dwarf who was filling buckets and flinging them on the small fire that had started in the base of the copter. One of the Baby Dragons had got out and gone to help Medel zoom, and upon it's returning it had got a little over excited.

Eventually, Dwarfy got the fire out and clambered back into the Eyrie copter and zoomed up into the clouds. Now, Minas Mor-go is a magnificent sight, even if it is a city of complete horror, it was staggeringly beautiful and, as Dwarfy has just discovered, a heck of a thing to get hit by in the small of the back.

"Oi!" he cried, "That’s not fair!" An Orc laughed and threw a brick at Dwarfy who ducked and then steered the copter away from the mad city in the sky. After getting the copter under control, at last, he climbed higher and used his patented Dwarf-o-scope to see the progress of the racers. It seemed that http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Minas Taxi was pulling ahead.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The Fourth Challenge: Shelob's Lazy lob.

The problems just keep coming at the moment. Driving along, your driver falls asleep at the wheel. When the driver is awoken, you discover you are caught in a giant spider web. Fortunately, the Giant spider is asleep. It’s a Lazy lob. (And may well be a crazy cob).
You need to get out of the net and away from the Spider by any means possible!

Good luck!

************************************
BAD BONUSES! :o

Orth Tank has moved down to the Entwash due to their last bonus.
Mount Zoom and Bag Endless-fuel have come into a strange situation...
While climbing over the Misty Mountains by the High Pass, they came across some troublesome goblins. The Goblins captured the vehicles and nocked out the driver and assistant. When they awoke they found themselves in Drúwaith Laur near the river Isen.

************************************

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor

Minas Tirith was again running, but Denethor was in a rather bad mood.

"Porcupines! Of all the nasty creatures! Why couldn't it have been platypuses or something?" he muttered. "We're probably leagues behind the other teams! Confound them all!"

He shook his head. It had been a long night, and he was tired.

"Father," Faramir poked his head into the control room, "you're looking very tired. Should I take the helm?"

"Nonsense!" said Denethor. "I'm as fit as a fiddle."

"More like a bass fiddle," muttered Faramir to himself.

"What was that?" demanded Denethor sharply. "You're starting to mumble. It's time you went to bed! It's hours past your bedtime."

"I'm a grown man!" protested Faramir.

"You're still beholden to obey the Lord and Steward of the Realm, though, are you not?" snapped Denethor.

"Yes, but you're no longer the Lord of the Realm- that's King Elessar," pointed out Denethor.

"I'm still the Steward though!" said Denethor, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You. BED. Now."

"But we aren't even in the realm..." protested Faramir.

"You are a citizen of Gondor, no matter where we are!" said Denethor with a glare, "and Minas Tirith is a part of the Realm of Gondor, no matter where she drives!"

"All right! All right! I'm going to bed!" said Faramir. "Maybe you should park the city while we both sleep."

"Nonsense!" scoffed Denethor. "We've been held up long enough as it is. You sleep, I'll drive."

Still looking hesitant, Faramir exited the tower. Denethor continued to mutter under his breath long after his son had fallen asleep.

"Thinks me senile... Ha! I'm only a year older than Thorongil- and you don't hear people calling HIM senile... Fall asleep indeed.... Calls me a bass fiddle does he? At least it's manly... He's nothing but a piccollo! Why isn't Boromir here, anyway? Great man, Boromir... Takes after his father... Good man, his father.... Wise man... never uncloaks, him... Yes, I never uncloak... Confound Mithrandir... definitely confound him... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......"

The next thought that Denethor remembered came to him when he awoke suddenly, face splayed against the helm. Faramir was shaking him awake.

"Father! Father! Are you all right? Have you had a stroke? Or heart attack???"

Denethor roused himself, and stood up.

"Nonsense, I just dozed off... How long have I been out?"

"Probably three hours," said Faramir. "Húrin said he noticed the city start to veer at that time, but he assumed that you were just taking us on a new course. But when we got stuck in giant spiderweb, he went and got me- and here I am."

"It can't be three hours," said Denethor. "It was just a moment or two, I'm sure. Wait- you said something about a giant spiderweb?"

"Yes, the city is stuck in one," replied Faramir, and gestured out the window. Denethor peered out. His jaw dropped. An huge orb web hung between two tall peaks of the Misty Mountains. And the front of the city was stuck right in it, from the bottom circle up to the top of the spine of stone on which the troll statue was set.

Denethor licked his lips anxiously, swallowed, and turned to Faramir. "Any sign of the spider?"

"Not yet..." replied Faramir.

[Meneltarmacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpgA bit of a problem...

While Saruman had gone upstairs to get some rest, Grima had been driving Orth-Tank steadily along.

He soon grew tired of this and began to hum some music to himself, not paying any attention to what the tower was doing. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

This didn't last long, however, as the tower came to a sudden stop with a loud SSSSQQQQUUUUIIIISSSSHHH. A huge spiderweb held them fast.

Saruman charged downstairs to where Grima was still sleeping on the job and woke him up by bellowing the usual set of curses, insults, and threats at him. Grima, as usual, responded with the best "Duh?" he could muster.

"Well," said the wizard, "no thanks to your lazyness, we're stuck in a gigantic web. I don't suppose you have any ideas as to how to get us OUT of what you've gotten us into?"

"I, uh, might," Grima responded, "but, um, uh, it would be a little, uhhhhh"

"WHAT?!" Saruman yellled.

"I was going to suggest you get your lawyer to sue the spider for being a hazard to navigation, but I thought it would be a little too evil even for us." finished Grima.

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Stranded!


Sauron was dreaming of pretty pink ponies and cupcakes, and innocent villagers being burned alive. It was a good dream.

He was just about to bite into a chocolate cupcake with mocha sprinkles when Mouth started screaming at him to wake up.

"My lord!" Mouth's voice cried out, forcing the cupcake to dissappear in a puff of turqoise smoke and miniature turtles with wings. "My lord!"

"BWHUZZZAH?" Sauron asked groggily as the dream fizzled away into nothingness. "WAIT CUPCAKE! DON'T LEAVE! I- OH. IT IS YOU, MOUTH."

The Dark Lord's head ached. Groaning, he raised his hand and scratched his iron helm. There was a large dent in the metal.


"HWUH?" Saruon asked. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"I'm not sure, my lord," Mouth answered honestly. "I think we were attacked and knocked out."

Sauron thought about this. He looked around him; the inside of Mount Zoom seemed much more.... natural.

"WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!" Sauron boomed. Mouth's headache became ten times worse.

"Yes, my lord," Mouth replied. "Someone stole--"

"SOMEONE HAS STOLEN THE INTERIOR OF MOUNT ZOOM AND REPLACED IT WITH OUTDOORS!" The dark lord stood and looked around.

"They stole ALL of Mount Zoom, my lord," Mouth corrected wearily. "And they've left us stranded here."

Sauron rubbed his chin thoughtfully, creating a horrible metal-on-metal squeal as he did so.

"I SUSPECT THAT GNOMEY THE DWARF FELLOW HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT," Saurons said.

"DWARFY the Dwarf," Mouth corrected.

"SAME DIFFERENCE. ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT WE FIND MOUNT ZOO-- WHAT WAS THAT?"

There were sounds coming from behind them. They were not alone in this place. Something deep inside of Sauron recognized the presence. It was... familiar, somehow. It was...

"HOBBITS!" Sauron roared angrily. "THOSE LITTLE RING-THEIVES ARE HERE, MOUTH OF ME! I CAN FEEL IT!"

"Well, maybe they're stranded too. Perhaps we should join forces or--" SMACK! Mouth got a fist of iron on the top of his head.

"COME BACK TO YOUR SENSES!" Sauron said. "US? JOIN FORCES WITH THE HOBBITS!? WE MUST DO WHAT IS IMPORTANT HERE, MOUTH."

"Find Mt. Zoom?"

"MAAAAYBE.... OR FIND MY RING. WHICHEVER WE COME ACROSS FIRST."

Mouth raised an eyebrow. Sauron finally stared down at the ground sullenly.

"FINE," he muttered. "WE'LL FIND THE MOUNTAIN...."

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor

Denethor and Faramir stared dumbly- and glumly- at the giant spiderweb for a good five minutes before saying anything. And by "dumbly", I do not mean that they were stupid- although some have said that. No, I mean that they were silent. Mute.

Then, rather suddenly, Beregond came tearing into the control room.

"Lord Faramir! We've found it!"

"What?" said Denethor, shaken out his his reverie.

"The Spider, milord, we've found it!"

"No, I mean what do you mean talking to Faramir first?" said Denethor. "I am still the Lord and Steward of this city, am I not?"

"Er... yes... but it was Lord Faramir who ordered that we find the spider," explained Beregond.

"You did this without consulting me?" Denethor narrowed his eyes at Faramir.

"You were asleep, Father!"

"That's no excuse! Anyway, where is this spider?" Denethor turned back to Beregond.

"It's just around that outcropping of stone, sleeping!" said Faramir. "We would have tried to pre-emptively kill it, but we found ourselves shaking too hard to hold our weapons steady, so we fled- that is to say, we retreated, back to the city."

"I think I hear something," interrupted Faramir.

"What do you mean, you hear something?" said Denethor.

"Be quiet and listen!"

"Are you telling me to be quiet!" Denethor roared, but the noise that Denethor was hearing was suddenly a great deal louder, as though the volume had been turned up.

"Is that... music?" asked Faramir.

"It has a beat," said Denethor, "but I wouldn't call it music."

"Verily, milord," said Húrin, "that is known as music. I believe the younger generation calls it 'hip-hop'."

Even as they were discussing the "music", the spider clambered over the outcropping of rock, and into their view. It began to wiggle and shake in time with the music.

"What is that horrid spider up to?" asked Denethor in revulsion. "And look at it's size- it must be the offspring of Ungoliant herself!"

"I think it's dancing..." said Faramir.

"A Dancing Spawn of Ungoliant!" said Denethor, amazed. "Now I've seen everything."

"We're still no closer to getting out of here," pointed out Faramir. "And now the beast is awake."

[Maeggaladiel]

Sauron and Mouth had been walking around aimlessly for some time, searching for Mount Zoom. They had made certain to steer clear of the Hobbits, because Mouth knew that the Dark Lord could be a little obsessive when it came to his precious ring. After all, if he had his ring again, he would have the awesome power to make Mt. Zoom far more fuel efficient. And what with the price of gasoline these days, he really couldn't afford NOT to have it.

"HOW COULD ANYBODY HIDE AN ENTIRE MOUNTAIN ON WHEELS?" Sauron grumbled. He grabbed a rock and lifted it. A centipede scurried away, robbed of its hiding spot. "NOT HERE, EITHER."

"My lord, how could--OW!" Mouth was interrupted as something small and hard fell onto his head. "What the ruddy Morgoth was that?!" He looked down. A shiny black rock was at his feet. He picked it up. "What's this?"

The Dark Lord leaned forward and took the rock from Mouth. He turned it over in his hand and looked at it with an experienced eye.

"OBSIDIAN," Sauron remarked casually. "VOLCANIC GLASS. TRUST ME; I KNOW A FEW THINGS ABOUT VOLCANIC ROCK. MOUNT ZOOM IS A VOLCANO, AFTER ALL."

"Why on Middle Earth would volcanic glass fall from the sky?" grumbled Mouth.

You could almost see the little thought lightbulbs appearing over their heads. Slowly, Mouth and Sauron looked up.

"HOLY WING OF BALROG!!!" Sauron cursed. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF EVIL IS THAT?!"

The great Mt Zoom was suspended in midair, wrapped in a shining white substance that was stretched between a rock cliff and some trees.

"Must be some pretty sturdy trees," remarked Mouth. "And some pretty strong rope. To think, Mt. Zoom was right under our noses the whole time."

"ABOVE OUR NOSES," Sauron corrected.

"Quite."

They stared at Mt. Zoom for a while, in silence.

"So what now?" Mouth asked.

"WE MUST GET IT DOWN," Sauron said. "I'LL CALL THE RAT WRAITHS TO THROW A ROPE OUT THE WINDOW. RAT WRAAAAAIITHS!"

Sauron waited, but there was no reply. He tried again. And again.

"WHAT COULD THEY BE DOING UP THERE?" he asked.

Finally, they heard a tiny sound drifting through the window.

"squeeekie... squieeekeesqueekiee! SQUEEEK."

"What do they say, My Lord?" asked Mouth. Sauron sighed.

"OH YEAH, LIKE I CAN SPEAK RAT." he said flatly.

If Sauron had learned to speak rat, and then the southern Rat Wraith dialect, he might have heard something like, "We're stuck to a giant web and can't come to the window right now. Please leave a message after the 'squeak' and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. SQUEEEEK."

[Meneltarmacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Orth-tank.jpg

The spider crawled down the web, intent on devouring what it had caught. But standing before it on the balcony of Orth-Tank was a truly horrifying sight.

A man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase was reading some kind of important document.

"Your web, spider, is clearly a hazard to navigation in this area. Since you knowingly put this giant web up to catch food though this was clearly a major route of travel in the country of Rohan, you must pay a sum of money of at least..."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!" the spider shrieked. It fell off the web, extremely pale and extremely dead as well. Saruman's lawyer had destroyed it quickly, efficiently, and mercilessly.

The Uruk-Hai burned off the webs and the tower drove off WEST toward the Gap of Rohan.

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg On Minas Soar-gul

The flying city of Minas Mor-go offered a much smoother ride than was expected, though at times it got a bit windy out. By now the city had reached the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The High Pass could be seen in the distance.

The Witch-king sat back in his leather armchair, chatting amiably with Khamûl over piña coladas. The other Ringwraiths were elsewhere, having been sent off on errands across the city.

"Hah! I sent #4 to scrub the toilets!" boasted the Witch-king.

"Well, I sent #3 to go make us more piña coladas!" said Khamûl.

The two threw back their heads and laughed. But their laughter did not last long. Suddenly, Minas Mor-go (or Minas Soar-gul, as it was called while in flight) halted in mid-air. The city slumped to one side, but did not fall to the ground. The flying beasts screamed and became tangled in dozens of white, taut strands. The city was ensnared. It bounced up and down a few times before coming to a rest. The other Ringwraiths ran up to the gate to see what had happened. King Eänur's ghost had drifted up, too.

"I felt us stop. Are we there yet?"

"No, idiot!" said the Witch-king. "We're caught in what looks like a giant spider's web."

And sure enough, they were captured in a giant web, spanning the distance between two great pinnacles of rock.

"Where's the spider?" asked #4. His knees started to shake and knock together. It was no secret that he was afraid of spiders.

"There!" shouted #9, pointing to a corner of the web. And there, curled up, lay the fearsome spider, poking one of the flying beasts with a leg to see how tender it was. The spider's eyes were as large as watermelons, and its fangs were as long as a man is tall. Its legs were covered by bristly black hairs. #4 fainted. The Witch-king kicked him and #4 came to, but still had to avert his eyes so he wouldn’t feel faint.

"How are we going to get out of this web?" asked #3.

"Easily, idiot. We cut ourselves out," said Khamûl.

"Exactly," said the Witch-king, "But we need to distract the spider while we cut. And I have a plan. #s 7-9, go find enough wood for a catapult. #5 and #6, go find nails, ropes and hammers. I have a plan."

"Wh-what's that?" asked #4, dreading the answer.

"We build a catapult, idiot," said the Witch-king, "And we launch you near the spider! While the spider's busy wrapping you up in its threads, we cut ourselves out and voila! we're freed."

"Me? And the spider? But-but how are you going to get me back once you've launched me?"

The Witch-king shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now go make yourself useful!"

And #s 5-9 ran off to find the proper construction materials, while #4 ran away sobbing to contemplate his fate. #3 followed him to provide emotional support.

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Over Hill and Under the Influence

Bag-Endless-Fuel was almost though the Misty Mountains. The journey over the High Pass had proved uneventful so far and the little burrow-buggy was fast approaching Rivendell.

All of a sudden, a helmeted figure in overalls stepped out into the path of the mobile hobbit-home, brandishing what appeared to be a lollipop with the word ‘STOP!’ emblazoned on it. As Bag-Endless-Fuel obligingly came to a halt, it was immediately surrounded by a crew of similarly attired fellows, who promptly set about, variously, jacking, changing, tightening, adjusting, hammering and polishing.

“Ah. It looks like Elrond has laid on a much-needed pit-stop for us,” remarked Bilbo.

Behind him, unnoticed where it hung on the wall, the Elven blade Sting began to glow a pale blue.

As they worked, the mechanics started to sing.

Pack! Stack! The black track!
Grip, crank! Wrench, yank!
We’ll fit from Goblin-pits
New tyres, my lads!

“New tyres!” exclaimed Frodo joyfully. “Rad’s magic was good while it lasted, but we could certainly do with some fresh rubber.”

“Did they say ‘Goblin-pits’?” enquired Pippin, anxiously munching on a chicken wing.

“Don’t be silly, Pip,” relied Merry. “Elrond wouldn’t employ Goblins in his pit-crew.”

Nuts, bolts! From Goblin vaults!
Spanner and drill! Hammer at will!
Polish, shine, More streamline!
It's fine, my lads!

“Good. They’re adjusting the front wing,” noted Bilbo. “That should give us better down force.”

“You know, I’m sure I heard the word ‘Goblin’,” piped up Pippin again.

“Nonsense, my lad,” Bilbo reassured him. “Look. They’re handing out drinks now.”

Thirsty from their endeavours in the race, the Hobbits gratefully took the proffered bottles, as the mechanics continued their song.

Sup, swig! Quaff, drink!
Swagger and sway! Stagger and stray!
Glug, glug! The grog is drugged,
While Bag-End gleams, we Goblins scheme,
To take it by force way off course
It’s dire, my lads!

“Phew! Thatsh strong shtuff!” declared Bilbo, swaying unsteadily.

“Cshertainly putsh bire in yer felly, as gy Maffer would shay,” remarked Samwise.

“Feeling … shleepy …” murmured Frodo.

“Mmm. Not bad,” Pippin added, and promptly fell over - swiftly followed by his companions and the remainder of Bag-Endless Fuel’s crew.

***********************************
“Ouch! My head!” groaned Bilbo, as he slowly came round.

“Feels like the room’s spinning,” said Frodo, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s because it is,” observed Merry.

“Eh? That’s not right,” said Bilbo. “It’s not designed to spin.”

“And I wonder why it is so misty outside?” added Frodo, peering through the window at the white mist which appeared to be obscuring the view. “I know they’re called the Misty Mountains, but …”

“We’re not in the Misty Mountains any more,” interrupted Merry, from his post at the navigational sideboard. “We appear to be some 500 miles south-west of the High Pass, in the Drúwaith Iaur, and some 50 feet above the ground.”

“I don’t think that we’re supposed to be here,” remarked Sam.

“And I don’t think we want to be, either,” said Pippin, appearing at the hearth, his face white as a sheet. He had awoken first and, finding the door jammed, had climbed up to the thrush’s nest to take his bearings. “We appear to be caught in a giant spider’s web,” he continued. “The chimney’s clear of it, but not much else.”

“How do you know it’s a spider’s web?” asked Merry.

“Because I saw the spider!” he wailed, reason surrendering to fear. “It’s big and it’s hairy and it’s got nasty great fangs and …”

He broke off, gibbering.

“Quick, to the library! There’s not a moment to lose!” ordered Bilbo, taking Sting down from the wall. “I believe that I have just the thing.”

For what seemed like ages, the Hobbits stood watching Bilbo searching among the great, dusty tomes of his library.

“Found it!” he suddenly cried, taking down a slim packet from one of the shelves.

“What is it, Uncle Bilbo?” asked Frodo.

“This, my boy,” replied Bilbo, removing a shiny, silver disc from the packet. “Is the File of Galadriel!”

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Faramir:



The beast started climbing down the net, and a few meters above the Gondorians' heads it halted and let out a shriek:

"Don't just stand there, let's get to it, strike a pose, there's nothing to it. Vogue!"

During the last sentence, it leaped in the air and landed in a way that she, no doubt, considered to be a graceful pose.

"I take back what I said earlier", Denethor muttered glowering the spread-eagle spider. "Now I've seen everything."

"It's going to eat us all alive", whimpered Faramir.

"Yo! Eat ya?" the arachnid piped up. "You gotta be kiddin'! You have- what, 15% fat? And da old man's even more" she wagged her hairy leg at Denethor. "Nah, I ain't gonna eat you. Yet" she added and winked three of her eight eyes impishly.

"It's this fur coat", Denethor whispered defensively to Faramir and Húrin. "Inside it I'm still firm and tough as young beech!"

"And as flammable, too", remarked Faramir.

"Let's dance!", the spider hissed.

"Right. Húrin!" Denethor said hurriedly. "Gather a group of guerillas and find out how we can get off of this dratted web. And Faramir, we'd better obey that morbid creature and keep it in a good mood until Húrin gets back."

"But... I can't dance!" Faramir cried anxiously.

"You can't?" Denethor frowned. "What do they teach in the army!"

"C'mon, shake it!" the arachnid bellowed, and its massive body trembled like jelly.

"If only my firstborn was here", sighed Denethor.

"Oh, you wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had stayed at home and Boromir had joined the race instead!"

"Well, he's the Disco King, isn't he?"

"Yes, but-"

"And what are you, eh?"

"A polka prince", Faramir said and blushed.

"That's right, my son. But don't worry. As it happens, I can remember some moves from my youth. Now, pay attention and follow my lead."

And Denethor started spinning around and waving his arms as though he had been swimming. Then he started moonwalking around the stony yard. The spider blinked all her eyes and stared at Denethor and Faramir who tried to mimic his father as well as he could. She let out a little snort, but politely covered her mouth with her front legs.

"Wave your arms, son! Faster!" exclaimed Denethor.

"That's the chicken dance, dad" Faramir said in disbelief.

"So, you know the moves then", Denethor yelled back grinning wildly.

Soon the spider couldn't be bothered to hide her amusement, and it gargled and hiccoughed hysterically pointing at Denethor and Faramir. The gargling changed into outright guffawing and the whole web shook as the gigantic beast rolled around in spasms of laughter. She couldn't keep her grip of the web anymore and with a loud thud she fell on the ground. Far below Denethor and Faramir could hear hollow heehawing and they caught a sight of a mess of hairy legs wriggling towards the skies.

"It couldn't be that bad", Denethor said worriedly.

"I don't think it matters very much", panted Faramir. "Now it's our chance to escape! Where's Húrin?"

[Maeggaladiel]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Zoom.jpg Spidery Doom


"What IS that thing?" Mouth asked. A strand of the great white rope was attached to a nearby rock. Mouth grabbed it in an attempt to climb up and free the mountain. His fingers wrapped around the rope... and his mouth curved into a grimace.

"Yeeachh!" he said. "It's slimy!" He tried to let go, but found that he couldn't. "And sticky!! Gack! My lord, give me a hand here!"

"MAYBE IF YOU PULL REALLY HARD," Sauron suggested, not moving from where he stood. "REALLY SHAKE IT."

So Mouth did. He shook the rope. And shook the rope. And then... The rope shook back.

"Bwuaazzuh?" Mouth asked, confused. He looked up. A long stick had fallen into the net. Odd...

And then the stick moved. It was joined by another stick, and another, and suddenly Mouth noticed that the sticks were all joined to what looked like a rock. But it wasn't a rock. It was moving. And it was--

"WELL WHADDAYA KNOW!" Sauron said, rubbing his chin and inspecting the rope. "YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS, MOUTH?"

"Giant spider web?" Mouth guessed. Saruon looked deflated.

"HOW DID YOU GUESS?" he asked.

"Oh... Just a hint," Mouth said, staring up at the giant spider that was getting ever closer. "Look, could you please help me here?"

"I KNOW JUST WHAT TO DO," Sauron said. Mouth moved over so Sauron could pull him off the web, but to his suprise, the Dark Lord ran off.

"MY LORD!" Mouth yelled. The spider drew closer.

"JUST A MINUTE." Sauron returned with an axe. "THIS'LL HELP."

"Where did you get-- Nevermind. Just get me down."

Saruon walked right past him and went into a clump of trees. Several trees were chopped down. The spider came closer.

"Sauron!"

"GIMMIE A SEC."

Wood chips flew. A tub of water was brought out. The spider examined Mouth with its insectoid eyes, choosing the tastiest place to bite.

"MY LORD!!"

"HOLD ON."

A typewriter was produced. The spider started wrapping Mouth's arm in webs.

"MY LOOOORRRD!!!!"

"DONE."

Saruon emerged, with something hidden behind his back.

"HEY MOUTH," he said. "HOW DO YOU STOP A GIANT SPIDER?"

Mouth grit his teeth.

"I was hoping YOU'D know that," he said. "Seeing as how I'm the one in danger of being eaten."

"IT'S A JOKE, MOUTH. YOU HAVE TO ASK ME HOW."

Mouth sighed as the giant spider started planning what vegetables would go well with Mouth of Sauron Stew.

"Fine," he said. "How do you stop a giant spider?"

"WITH A GIANT ROLLED-UP NEWSPAPER!" Sauron replied, producing a giant rolled-up newspaper from behind his back. "I MADE IT MYSELF. SOME QUALITY JOURNALISM."

THWACK! Sauron hit the spider, and it fell to the ground. It lay on its back, its legs flailing wildly about for a moment.

"NEVER FAILS," Sauron said.

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Whilst Denethor and Faramir made fools of themselves distracting the dancing spawn of Ungoliant, Húrin and the rest of the support staff had drawn axes, and were doing their best to hack through the wide, sticky, very strong ropes that bound Minas Tirith in place.

They had made some progress by the time that Denethor and Faramir sought them out, having perhaps freed the city 50%. Faramir seemed to have been shaking his head in disbelief for some time, to judge by the "I still don't believe it..."s he was muttering under his breath, and the irritable look on Denethor's face.

"Where do you think Boromir got his talent from, eh?" Denethor finally burst out as they had nearly reached Húrin. "It wasn't from your mother... those Dol Amrothians haven't a clue how to dance. Prim, proper, and stiff... not a disc jockey among them."

Húrin did his best to look nonchalant, for Denethor was turning to him. Faramir could be heard to croak:

"Talent? He calls that talent! He's as bad as I, only more practised at it!"

Denethor ignored his son. There were more important matters at hand.

"Report," he addressed Húrin.

"Milord, we have freed approximately half the city, at various locations. It is possible that we can put the city in reverse, and pull free of the cords. Cutting the remaining threats, which are generally harder to reach, could take several hours."

"Hmm..." growled Denethor. "We've had such miserable luck thus far: trolls, rats, porcupines, and now this spider. I can't imagine how far we've fallen behind. Let's try reversing. What's the worst that can happen?"

"We'll blow the engine," said Húrin, "thus setting off the nuclear powering device, destroying half the city, and leave us still stuck in the web."

"What are our odds?" asked Faramir.

"About 50/50," said Húrin, still calm.

"Let's do it!" said Denethor. "Those are the best life-and-death, seat-of-your-pants, heroic episodes odds I've ever heard. Húrin: start the engine!"

Húrin and his men returned to the engine room, while Denethor and Faramir headed for the Tower. Soon Húrin sent up the signal.

"We're smoking!" Faramir told Denethor. "Húrin's ready!"

Denethor grabbed the gear-shifter, and put Minas Tirith in reverse. He put his foot to the gas pedal. Minas Tirith's engine revved loudly.

"We're straining at the net!" Faramir reported, "but I don't think we'll manage it. We're stuck good!"

"Pride and despair!" Denethor cried. "Didst thou think the tyres of the White Tower were bald? Nay, they can grip more than thou knowest, young fool. For thy fear is but ignorance. We go then, and labour not in vain! Go forth and cut! Flippery! For a little struggle you may triumph on that field, after a day. But against the power that now arises, there is no victory. To this web only the first finger of its hand has yet been stretched. All the city is moving. And even now the wind of the West aids us and wafts over the mountains a force of great strenght. The web has failed. It is time for us to depart who would not be caught."

"Such counsels will make the spider's victory certain indeed," moaned Faramir.

"Fear on then!" laughed Denethor. "But I say to thee, Faramir Denethorion, I will not be thy coward! I am the Steward of the House of Anárion. I will not step down to admit defeat to this spider. Even were her web proved too strong for me, still she is but a spider. I will not bow to such a one, last of a ragged house, ever bereft of lordship and dignity!"

"To me it would not seem that a Driver who faithfully saves his vehicle is diminished in love or in honour," said Faramir, and fear was in his eyes. "And at least you would not rob your son of his choice while his death is still in doubt!"

Now the wheels of Minas Tirith were spinning in the rocky ground, and the web had been pulled its tightest. It must now either snap, or the city must fail. Faramir collapsed from the tension.

Meanwhile, the spider, regaining control of itself, decided that not only were the humans unfit to eat, the city was definitely too stony to be tasty, and she clamboured up the mountainside, and plucked loose one of her threads.

Minas Tirith zoomed away at full power, its passengers knocked against its wall, temporarily careening out of control.

"So goes Denethor, son of Ecthelion," murmured the spider. "And so pass all the days of this web that I have known; for good or for evil they are ended."

And, with the infinite patience that spiders seem to possess, the great dancing spawn of Ungoliant set about repairing her web.

Meanwhile, Denethor had slowed down the city, and Faramir had been shaken awake by the jolt.

"Where to now?" he asked his father, a bit apprehensively.

"WEST, past the mountains," said Denethor. "But by a route other than the one that spider guards!"

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Minas Mor-go is freed

The Ringwraiths worked furiously to build the catapult. The spider was slowly approaching, but was repelled away from the city by several well-thrown rocks. The spider retreated back to its corner of the web, and the Ringwraiths were able to finish their catapult.

It was soon finished. The Witch-king walked around it, surveying it from every angle.

"These beams aren't exactly even, and the ropes are fraying in a few places, but it'll do," he said. "Now, I want this thing aimed near that spider! #4'll distract it while we cut the city free."

The catapult was aimed and #4, whimpering, crawled in.

"Cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it," said the Witch-king, quipping a particular insult he had been dying to say for ages. "Now, #5, ready your sword, and when I say NOW, cut the rope that'll launch #4 at the spider."

#5 unsheathed his sword and stood at the ready. "Now!" said the Witch-king, and #5 chopped through a rope, sending the catapult's arm swinging, launching poor #4 through the air. He landed on the web, and stuck there, bobbing slowly up and down until the web came to a rest. And then the spider noticed him. It crawled over and poked him with one large, hairy leg. #4 screamed. He was too scared to faint.

"Now, boy, unsheathe your swords, cut the city loose while we have a chance!" shouted the Witch-king.

With a mighty SHHHINNNNG their swords were out and they started chopping away at the threads tangled around the flying steeds of the Ringwraiths. They were freed, and the great monsters beat their wings, and tried to pull the city out of the web. They strained with all their strength, and after a great sucking *pop*, the city was pulled free. It swung dangerously in the air, but the flying steeds were able to level the city.

"Look at #4!" shouted #3, and all eyes were turned onto the web. #4, still screaming his head off, was being wrapped head to foot in the spider's sticky thread. "We have to save him!"

"Alright, then," said the Witch-king, "Once we're lowered onto the ground you and a few others can untie a few of the flying steeds and rescue him."

By now poor #4 was completely coated in webbing. The giant spider tucked him under its hairy arm and began to climb one of the giant stone pinnacles to either side of the web. #s 3, 5, 6, and 7 leapt upon their fell, flying monsters once Minas Mor-go was safely on the ground, and they flew up to where the spider climbed up the rock pinnacle. They swooped close, reaching out with their swords, trying to stab the gigantic spider. But none could get close enough to give the spider more than a scratch.

The spider kept climbing, until it reached the very top of the pinnacle. It set poor #4 down on top. He was still screaming, but had managed to cut apart a few threads of his cocoon with a convenient Khand-army knife. The spider reared up on its hind legs, and beat its forelegs against its chest and roared in triumph. But the fight had just begun. The Ringwraiths swooped closer, and then again, trying to topple the giant spider. And all the while, #4 struggled to free himself. The Ringwraiths swooped around once more, and the spider reached into the air and whacked #7's flying steed to the ground. The spider roared once more, but as it did so the flying monsters of the Ringwraiths soared near, and #3 leant far out with his sword and stabbed it deep into the beast's shoulder. The spider howled in pain. And then again, and again – another sword and then another hit the spider. It began slipping from its high perch. Another stab, and it was clawing at the rock face in desperation. Its end was near.

By now #4 had freed himself, and he stood feebly upon the pinnacle. The spider was hanging on by a single leg, and #4 still had the strength to stab it with his knife. The spider fell from the pinnacle, roaring in anger all the way down, and it hit the ground dead. All of the Ringwraiths rejoiced. #4 fainted.

"The flying Ringwraiths got it! Haha!" shouted Khamûl.

"No," muttered the Witch-king. He peered over the walls of the city at the spider's body. "It was #4 killed the beast."

#4 was rescued, the spider was dead, and Minas Mor-go was freed from the spider web. They were soon airborne again, and the Witch-king called all of the Ringwraiths to the gates.

"Now, my friends," he said from his armchair, "we must resolve an urgent piece of business: in what direction will we fly next?"

"To the High Pass!" cried Khamûl.

"Amen!" cried everybody else, and Minas Mor-go, or Minas Soar-gul as it was now called, soared away into the west.

[Valier]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg Medul-zoom "The curse"


Eowyn: "Dang this stupid brush! My hair will be ruined if I don't get this out soon!" *pulls uselessly at the brush tangled in her hair*

All of a sudden the great Medul-zoom gave a lurch and came to a jolting stop. The brush that was tangled now was held freely in the hand of Eowyn.

Eowyn: "Well that solves one problem,but why have we stopped?" *leaves her room to see what's going on*

Theoden: "What now? Hama go have a look and see why we have stopped, we must be far behind the other racers and the shame of it is driving me insane!"

Hama cautiously opens the doors and steps outside.

Hama: "my Lord! We seem to be caught in a web of some sort!"

Theoden:"A web?

Hama: "Yes me Lord a web!"

Theoden: "A web dear Hama?"

Eowyn: "Let's not start this again!! Is there a spider present Hama?"

Hama: "ummmmm I think that lump over there is the spider." *points to a large greenish lump*

Theoden: "well what is it doing? Does it not know who I am? Go Hama and tell him to release us at once!"

Hama: "Sir I don't think we should get too close.."

Eowyn: "I say we poke it with a stick from here."

Theoden: "good idea! Sticks!! We need sticks!"

Hama: " Sticks! Get us some sticks!"

After many sticks were retrieved they tied them all together and made one long giant spider pokin' stick

They inched the stick towards the spider, little by little.

*Poke, Poke, Poke*

Eowyn: " Hey! Spider! Hey!"

Spider: *barely lifting it's head* " Dave? Dave's not here man!" *goes back to doing whatever it was it was doing*

Theoden: "Dave? Who is this Dave?"

Eowyn: *Pokes the spider again* "Umm Dave is it? Can you please let little old me pass through your web?"

Spider: "I said Dave's not here man, now get lost! Your ruining my buzz"

Theoden: "buzz? I thought it was a spider?"

Eowyn: *sighs* Ok then spider we will just cut through your web here and be on our way!"

Spider: *rolls towards them and lets out a huge cloud of smoke? from his mouth* No way dudes! I can not allow you to do that! I've got it exactly the way I want it! You'll just have to rot there....I am a vegan and your smell is revolting, so stay over there!"

Theoden: " Well I never! I will not stay here and rot! *turns to Hama and Eowyn* We must come up with a plan to distract that, there spider before we fall into last place!"

Hama: " Well me Lord what do you have in mind?"

The three put their heads together (literally) and came up with a plan.

A SHORT TIME LATER

Eowyn: "Yoohooo Dave!"

Spider: *rolls to face the group* What do you want? I told you to just stay there and not make any noise"

Eowyn: " Well we have decided if you do not set us free, we will put a curse on you!"

Spider: " A curse eh?...what kinda curse?"

Eowyn: " The worse curse ever! The shinning! Every time you look over here at us poor stranded people you will see nothing but blood!"

Spider: "Hee hee hee Blood eh? right.....*turns over and goes back to sleep*

Eowyn: "Alright but don't say we did not warn you!"

Theoden gave a sign and the Eorlingas began to cut through the web, while Theoden, Eowyn, and Hama began to odulate their arms in the air, yelling deedledoo, deedledoo, deedledoo!

The spider began to become annoyed with all the noise, so he turned himself to face the three again. As he rolled his massive self to look at the Hall a horrific sight began to take shape before his eyes. The spider began to sweat and shake with fear. The great doors to Medul-zoom began to open....wave upon wave of crimson blood began to pour out, heading towards where the spider lay.

Eowyn:"It is working! I think all that smoke is affecting his brain!"

Spider: "EEEWWWWWW there's blood everywhere!!! You know I am a vegan! This will never come out of my web now! (gag) The smell!!! (gag,gag) I can not possibly live here now dudes! I'm outta here! You can stay here you dang murderers!"

*The three look at each other and giggled.*


With a sad little hop the spider was over the edge of the web and was floating away on the wind, never to be seen again

With one last cut of a sword, The great Medul-Zoom fell the short distance to the ground and was once again on their way.

Eowyn: " I wonder what will be next? stray cats? Well upon every great success I must return to my chambers and change my attire...tootles..."

Theoden: How does she own that many clothes? I only own four outfits...*turns to Hama and says in a whiney voice* Hammmmaaaaa....I want more clothes than Eowyn has....I am the King you know....

Hama: "Yes me lord I will see what I can do.."

Theoden: "But I want them now...."

Hama: " I said I will see what I can do Lord, now which way are we to be heading?"

Theoden: *pouting* I say we head again for the HIGH PASS, we may still be in this!"

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Files and Spiders

“The File of Galadriel?” asked Frodo skeptically. “Don’t you mean via-”

“No,” broke in Bilbo. “It’s the File of Galadriel. The Lady sent it to us when she heard how much Elrond had bet on us. Mentioned something in the letter about no-good son-in-laws... But, in any case, she said it should be used in times of great need, and this is a time of great need if I’ve ever seen one.”

He showed the disc to the others. On one side was a short inscription:

Greetings and congratulations on your purchase of the File of Galadriel, version 3.8. This latest model has the most up-to-date features of any system in Middle Earth, providing fast and easy access to the Arda-wide-web.

With that, Bilbo looked purposefully at the disc. Then he paused, looking closely at the silvery object.

“Well, go on, then,” urged Pippin.

“Yes, well, erm, I’m not precisely sure what to do with it,” replied Bilbo. “There were three or four manuals that came with it. They’re somewhere about here...” He trailed off, looking about helplessly.

After a bit of searching, the hobbits managed to find two manuals. One appeared to be written in some sort of Orcish language (“Why would the Orcs need to know how to use it?” demanded Frodo in frustration). The other booklet, much to their vexation, was written in Khuzdûl, the language of the dwarves.

“Now what?” asked Sam.

“Well, I do have a Dwarvish dictionary,” said Bilbo. “Gandalf gave it to me some time ago.” Bilbo walked to a shelf and pulled off a large volume. He blew some dust off the cover, revealing the label “Khuzdûl for Dûmmies”.

“Doesn’t ‘dûm’ mean ‘hall’?” asked Merry.

“Shh!” responded Frodo. “Don’t ruin the cheap jokes!”

The hobbits crowded behind Bilbo as he opened the tome and laid it next to the manual. Together they began to decipher the instructions.

After some time, they had managed to translate the Table of Contents, which consisted of such items as “Get Underway Guide” and “Quandary Solutions”.

“ ‘Get Underway Guide’, that’s what we want,” said Bilbo.

Fifteen minutes later, they had gotten:

To instigate, confiscate disc from holder. Introduce disc in vacant manuscript or bulletin. Close manuscript. Tolerate ten minutes for setting up. Reopen manuscript and Skrêen appears. Enter authority with pen and ink.

“ ‘Confiscate disc from holder.’ Right. We’ve already taken it out,” murmered Frodo. “ ‘Introduce disc in vacant manuscript or bulletin.’ What does that mean?”

“Put it in a blank book?” suggested Pippin.

Bilbo fetched an empty journal from his shelf. “So, my lads, do we just put it in?” he asked.

“It can’t hurt,” replied Frodo.

Bilbo took the disc in hand and slid it between two pages of the journal. Immediately the hobbits could hear whirring sound, and the book began to emit faint crackles.

“What’s it doing?” asked Sam.

“Dunno,” replied Pippin. But it says to ‘tolerate ten minutes for setting up’. Who’s for luncheon?”

When the hobbits returned from their meal-break, they found that the book was laying quietly on the desk where they had left it. They approached it cautiously. It remained inanimate.

Frodo summoned his courage and opened the journal to the first page. A beam of light streamed upward from the page, creating a rectangular image in mid-air. For a moment the image looked dark, but then a logo appeared: “Portholes 3000”. The book once again began to emit crackling sounds.

The Skrêen went dark again for a moment, and then a lovely image of a forest appeared. Smaller images appeared on top of it, with words beneath them.

“What did it say after the thing about setting up?” he asked. “Something about ink?”

Sam looked at their notes. “It says ‘Reopen manuscript and enter authority with pen and ink’.”

Frodo picked up one of Bilbo’s pens. “Does it say what to write?” he asked.

“Wait a minute,” said Pippin, consulting the dictionary. “Oh, wow, you can change the background. Here, let me see...”

Pippin grabbed the pen out of Frodo’s hand and began to move the stylus about on the book. It left no trace of ink, but a small image of an arrow appeared on the Skrêen and moved in accordance with the motion of the pen. Pippin tapped the pen stylus on the book, and a Porthole opened on the Skrêen.

“Neat,” he said. “Look, you can have a picture of a horse of Rohan, or the White Tree of Gondor. Oh, I’ll put up a picture of the Brandywine.”

“Pippin, that’s quite nice, but do you think you might be able to help us figure out how to get out of this spiderweb?” asked Merry through clenched teeth.

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Files and Spiders, continued

“Oh, right,” Pippin replied to Merry’s query. “Here, I’ll just click on this Îcon, and we’ll be on the Arda-wide-web.”

Another Porthole appeared. Pippin continued to move the pen, occasionally tapping it. Every so often, he would consult the manual and dictionary, and then return to the Skrêen.

“I think I actually have a plan,” said Pippin, his eyes growing large with surprise. The others looked around a bit anxiously. Plans were not Pippin’s strongpoint. “Really,” he added. “Look.” He pulled up a Porthole labeled Google. “You see, this is a Search Enghîne. It can find anything on the Arda-wide-web! And it uses Spiderbots.”

“Spiders?” exclaimed Sam. “That’s just what we don’t need more of right now!”

“But there are good spiders and bad spiders,” replied Pippin. “The one whose web we’re trapped in right now is a bad one, because it wants to eat us. But with the Spiderbots, we can tell them what to do.”

“Well, what can we tell them to do?” asked Frodo.

**********

“Is Sam ready?” asked Pippin. Frodo called up to Sam, who was up in the thrush’s nest. Sam shouted back that he was in position. Pippin turned back to the Skrêen. The Google porthole was up. Taking the pen in his hand, he wrote “Bag-Endless-Fuel”, then moved the arrow to the Enter button.

“Quick, Pippin, I think the spider is waking up!” he heard Sam shout from above.

The arrow hovered over the button. Pippin tapped it.

For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had happened. Sam was still shouting about the other spider. “It’s seen us! It’s moving towards us!”

“Come back down, Sam!” cried Frodo. “It’s safer in here!”

Several seconds later, Sam emerged from the hearth. “It’s coming fast, Mr Frodo!” he gasped. The vehicle shook as if it had been hit by something large and, perhaps, fanged. The hobbits waited.

“Look!” shouted Pippin. He was pointing out a window. The others rushed to where he stood and peered out. They could see another spider, and yet it seemed to them that “spider” was hardly a fitting word to describe it. This Googlebot spider was huge. It was wearing a beige Safari Hat (at rather a jaunty angle) and had a utility belt slung around its abdomen. It was scurrying down the web as quickly as it could, towards the hobbits, but was still much farther away than the original spider, which they could now see was fast approaching.

It seemed that the Googlespider could see this too, and it increased its speed. Still, it seemed it would not reach them. The first spider was almost upon them now, and was about to sink its fangs into the side of Bag End.

At the last moment, the Googlespider shot a stream of web behind it, latching onto the main web. It leapt off of the web, swung down, and grabbed a hold of Bag-Endless-Fuel, pulling it way from its sticky prison. On the upswing, it released its hold on the web, and the hobbits fell over as the Googlespider and Bag-Endless-Fuel tumbled through the air. Frodo felt sure they were all about to die. But the Googlespider shot another stream of web out, secured a hold on an overhanging branch, and stopped their descent a few feet above the ground. He then released them and they landed, rather ungracefully, but intact.

The Googlespider took out a map and made a notation on it, marking the location of the Bag-Endless-Fuel. He then rushed off in another direction, presumably having received instructions to seek out the location of some other unlucky web-resident.

“That was rather remarkable,” remarked Bilbo. He turned to the others. “North by Northwest!” he cried.

“Yes, the spider did look rather like Cary Grant, didn’t he?” said Pippin.

Bilbo stared at him. “What are you talking about? Who’s Cary Grant? I was saying, we head north by northwest! We must press onward! Gandalf keeps reminding me how much he has riding on this.”

[Maeggaladiel]

"PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT, MOUTH," Sauron called from the ground, casually reading the giant newspaper. "I AM NOT PAYING YOU TO LAZE ABOUT ALL DAY, YOU KNOW."

Mouth, halfway stuck on the spider web, hacking away at the ropes holding Mount Zoom, wondered what would happen if the mountain just HAPPENED to fall while Sauron was standing underneath it...

"This would be a lot faster if you helped, My Lord," Mouth grumbled. "Or at least if the Rat Wraiths helped." Sauron gave a snort and turned the page.

"I'M WATCHING THE SPIDER," he said. "THAT WAY IT WON'T RETURN FROM THE GRAVE AND EAT US WHILE WE'RE UNAWARE. AND THE RAT WRAITHS CAN'T DO THIS KIND OF MANUAL LABOR. IT'S IN THEIR CONTRACTS."

Mouth, muttering to himself, gave the mountain an angry kick. SNAP!! The last of the web broke loose, and Mouth and the Mountain fell straight down and landed on the ground with a loud THUD!! Sauron looked up from his paper at the giant racing machine that had impacted with the ground a mere four feet away.

"I HOPE YOU DIDN'T SCRATCH THE PAINT, MOUTH," Sauron warned. Mouth just sort of whimperd from the place he had fallen, halfway trapped in a thorn bush. "AH WELL. NOW THAT WE HAVE THE MOUNTAIN, I SAY WE HEAD NORTHWEST FROM HERE."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Barrad-dash.jpg Barrad Dash freed.

While the other vehicles zipped along, Barrad Dash hung in the spider web helplessly. Gothmog had fallen asleep and his Orc assistant was jabbering in the corner. The other Orcs had decided to make a meal of the Spider that was asleep some feet away, but they were so stuffed that they couldn't move to free the vehicle

Suddenly, Dwafry the Dwarf flew down in the Eyrie copter with three of his best Dragons. In no time flat, the web was burned off and Barrad Dash zoomed off into the distance, although it was a little behind now.

"Don't let it happen again!" Cried Dwarfy.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The hardest Challenge yet is coming!

BAD BONUSES!

Medel Zoom and Minas Mor-go have come into a strange situation...
While climbing over the Misty Mountains by the High Pass, they came across some troublesome goblins. The Goblins captured the vehicles and knocked out the driver and assistant. When they awoke they found themselves in Drúwaith Laur near the river Isen.

Dwarfy watched as Bag Endless fuel seemed to be going forward again. Yet something wasn't right with the buggy... or any of the other vehicles either! Something was terribly wrong! There was smoke coming out of the bottoms of the vehicles. Dwarfy sent a Baby Dragon to report. When it returned, he was terrified!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The Fifth Challenge: Balrogs in the Basement

The Dragon reports a terrible evil in the lower reaches of the vehicles! A creature of shadow and flame, messing about with the inner workings of the engines and generally scaring the heck out of everyone.
Get it out of there!




Challenge ends on Wednesday 17th May

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg A Very, Very Warm Welcome

Having finished the Dorwinion wine in celebration of their narrow escape, the hobbits sat around the table enjoying a pipe with the recently arrived Gandalf. He had reached Bag-Endless-Fuel an hour or two ago, after several days' searching for the wayward hobbit hole. Upon hearing of their goblin-induced detour into a spider's web, the wizard laughed heartily.

"I bet he wouldn't find our near-death experiences so amusing if we weren't in the lead right now," whispered Frodo to Sam.

As the company puffed on their pipes, they failed to notice that a darker, thicker smoke was rising from the engine room below.

The hobbits listened politely as Gandalf recounted a particularly amusing decloaking incident that had occurred last week, hoping this meant that he'd not be decloaking this week.

Gandalf finished his tale. Frodo blew a smoke ring and sighed contentedly. "Ah, it's nice to be back on track," he said.

"It is indeed," said his uncle. Bilbo sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, prepared to have a bit of a nap. His plans changed, however, when Bag-Endless-Fuel gave a stomach-turning lurch and careened suddenly off to one side, spinning as it went. Finally the craft came to a halt.

The kitchen furniture went flying, and it took a moment or two for the chair's previous occupants to extricate themselves from the jumble of wood that was now strewn about the floor.

Standing, Sam volunteered to have a look from the chimney-top to see what was going on outside. Gandalf looked around, a frightened (and frightening) gleam in his eyes. He muttered something to himself and waved his hand through a cloud of smoke, which was now quite clearly not coming from the hobbits' pipes. Sam re-emerged from the hearth with the news that he could see nothing outside which might have caused their course-change.

"Well what could have done it, then?" asked Frodo. The other hobbits looked around uncertainly. Frodo turned to Gandalf. "What could have caused this?" he asked of the wizard. Even as he asked, he could begin to smell the odor of something burnt. Thick, dark smoke was pouring into the kitchen now.

"I fear this is the work of a power far beyond you," Gandalf replied gravely. "But let us hope I am wrong. Perhaps it is merely some trifle; That we're on fire, or something."

"On fire?" cried Sam. "You call that a trifle? The engine room's full of fireworks!"

The sound of Ted Sandyman's horn confirmed for them that something was, indeed, wrong.

"You can all go check on that," suggested a nervous Pippin. "And I'll start making elevensies." He quickly donned an apron.

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg The Tale of Durin’s Drain

“What do you think the problem might be, Gandalf?” asked Bilbo.

“I hope to goodness that I am mistaken, but I fear that I am not. Long ago, under the leadership of Durin the Breathless, the Dwarves opened a brand new racing track in the depths of Moria. The circuit of Khazad-Zoom, it was called. Yet, in their eagerness to fashion the perfect racing line, they delved too deeply and awakened a dreadful creature: a thing of smoke and fire, which sustained itself through the consumption of mechanical items. On the circuit’s inaugural race, the beast attacked. Cars, pit garages, grandstands and hospitality suites: all succumbed to its insatiable appetite. Only two teams escaped the carnage, and they lost most of their cars and spare parts. Of the terrible fate of the race organisers, nothing is known. The affair dealt a perilous blow to Dwarven racing ambitions and the sport took years to recover. The loss to the Dwarven economy was incalculable, and so the creature ever after was known as Durin’s Drain. The circuit of Khazad-Doom itself was abandoned and fell into ruin. In recent years, however, a party of Dwarves, led by Nascarlin son of Formallawundin, attempted to re-establish and refurbish the facilities there. I fear that they may once again have awakened Durin’s Drain.”

“But what does that have to do with us?” ventured Frodo.

“There has been no contact with Nascarlin and his company for some years. I suspect that all there is now lost and that, hearing of the Mount Zoom Challenge, the creature has emerged from Moria in search of further mechanical parts to satisfy its terrible appetite.”

“Y-y-you m-mean …?” stuttered a terrified Bilbo.

“Yes! The creature is feasting within engine room of Bag-Endless-Fuel right now.”

“Ai!” all wailed.

“Come, now that the exposition is done with, there is not a moment to lose,” commanded Gandalf. “To the engine room!”

[Valier]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg Medel-Zoom Of DwarfBots and the Balrog Bagman



Eowyn: *dreaming*She is seen running through the fields of "Faragorn" running and spinning in the middle of knee high Aragorn's and Faramir's, their wild hair waving in the wind, when suddenly she hear a poor little puppy, whining.... then......*POOF!!*

The dream dissipates as Eowyn lifts her head from the steering wheel, as a great throbbing begins. A long string of drool connected to her face drips into her lap as she opens her eyes and *sighs* realizing it was only a dream. She also realizes that the puppy whining is coming from her uncle. He lay sprawled on the floor, arms raised, pawing at the air and whimpering slightly.

Eowyn: *jostles Theoden* "Uncle! Uncle! Wake up!"

Theoden: *Startled and shouts* "No more goat soup!"

Eowyn: *stares in bewilderment* "Goat soup? It seems uncle that we have been ambushed! We are no longer where we were! The mountains are no longer in sight!"

*KNOCK!! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!*

Theoden opens the doors to Medel-zoom holding his head in pain. There stands a scrawny little man in a long white coat. He shouts with a swooping wave of his arms "Hello everybody!"

Theoden: "Who are you and what do you want?"

In turn the stranger replies " I am professor Nick and I hear you have a terrible problem in your basement."

Eowyn and Theoden look at each other in puzzlement, then back at the Professor. But before Theoden could speak a mighty thunderous noise was heard from bellow their feet.

Eowyn: "Ssschman what was that?"

Professor: " Splaaah! Don't you know a Balrog when you hear one?"

The colour quickly fades from Theoden's face

Professor: "Don't you worry! I have the perfect solution to your problem!"

Eowyn: "That's odd.....a Balrog?....Mighty convenient that your here eh?

Theoden: "A Balrog?!!....I wish Gandalf were here, He would know what to do!"

Professor: "Such a powerful demon cannot be smotten!"

Eowyn: "Ok so what do we do? We are not wizards!"

Professor: "I have many things, but what you need is some dwarves! ...Well not real dwarves...Oh no!...DwarfBots! much more efficient!"

Theoden: *whispers to Eowyn* "This guy has had way to much Shire weed for his own good!"

Suddenly heavy footfalls could be heard coming up the steps....There stood a bunch of shiny metal Dwarves, lined up ever so nicely...

Eowyn and Theoden simultaneously: "You were serious about them!"

Theoden: "So what can these things do against a Balrog?"

Professor: "I won't tell! I just supply them, you figure it out!......Oh and each Bot is 35 dollars to rent."

Theoden: "Do you not know who I am? Do you not see my name tag?" *points to large brass plaque on his chest* There in big, bold letters read.. THEODEN KING

Eowyn: *rolls eyes*

Professor: "Ok I go talk to my wife"

30 seconds later...

Professor: "Since you look like nice guy, with fancy name plate, I will give you an extra super, special deal of only 34.50 per Bot!"

Eowyn: "That is only fifty cents off!, that is not a very extra super special deal!"

Professor: *In utter disbelief* "What!! That save you 50 cents...now if you take that fifty cents from each Bot you rent and go to another store...you can buy something else!"

Theoden "I do not know....Maybe we should try a different way...."

Professor: "Ok you go shop around, but when you come back....maybe no deal...maybe 40 or 50 dollars...demand and supply gone up!"

Eowyn: *pulls money from her secret Ta-ta hiding place* "Here this should cover it, we will take 6 Bots"

Proffesor: "Done deal! Rental one hour!"

Theoden: "No way we can do this in an hour!"

Professor: "One hour!, then I be back!"

Theoden: "Too bad Gandalf wasn't here....This Balrog seems much smaller than the one in his tale... Don't Balrogs hate heights? *tilts his head slightly to the side and stands pondering*

Eowyn: *Almost visible light pops up over her head* "OOOOOOOooo I know why don't we take two Bots and put one on top of the others shoulders...... *Eowyn stops talking and looks slowly over at the professor, who is careening forward to listen, then snaps back straight at the look* Eowyn pulls Theoden aside and cups his ear with her hands and whispers him her plan...

To be continued.....
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

It had happened again. Minas Tirith was no longer moving. This time, fortunately, it wasn't Denethor's fault. He had not fallen asleep at the wheel. In fact, he was wide awake, steering the city, when it suddenly began to slow down. A mysterious dark smoke began to rise from the lower levels of the city, issuing from houses whose basements connected to the Engine Room.

It wasn't long after when Húrin and the rest of his staff fled the Engine Room in terror. They made their way straight to the Tower, where Denethor was about to send Faramir to see what had happened.

"An evil of the ancient world, it seemed!" Húrin reported in terror, "such as I have never seen before. It was both a Shadow and a Flame, strong and terrible!"

"It was a Balrog of Morgoth," agreed Ioreth. "Of all the engine-banes most deadly, save the One who drives the Fiery Mount!"

"Indeed, I saw within that Engine Room that which haunts our darkest dreams. I saw Taxi's Bane," said Beregond in a low voice, and dread was in his eyes.

"Alas!" said Faramir. "We long have feared that under Rath Dínen a terror slept. But had I known that the mechanics had stirred up this evil in the Engine Room again, I would have forbidden us to enter this race, us and all that would join us. And, if it were possible, one would say that at the last Dwarfy fell from wisdom into folly, sending us needlessly into the net of the Engine Room."

"He would be wise indeed that said that," said Denethor gravely. "Needless were all of the deeds of Gandalf in life. Those that followed him knew not his mind and cannot report his full purpose. But however it may be with the guide, the followers are blameless. Do not repent our our entry into the Race. If our folk had been stranded long and far from Gondor, who of the Dúnedain, even Faramir the Foolish, would pass nigh and not wish to restart their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons?"

"Erm, Father..." said Faramir. "We weren't talking about Gandalf... We were talking about Dwarfy."

"Oh. Right. Húrin, please continue. Can you tell me once and for all: are Balrogs wingéd?"

Húrin gulped really hard. "Well, uh... my lord... It's, ah, difficult to say... You see, it's shadow stretched across the Engine Room like two great wings... but I'm not sure if they WERE two great wings... Why don't we pass by Rivendell and ask Glorfindel? He fought one, after all, and ought to know if anybody does."

"And just how are we going to get to Rivendell if we can't move?" demanded Denethor. "The Engine appears to be completely inert at the moment, and may well be in a state of destruction, for all we know, and short of entering the Engine Room and confronting the foul demon, we have no way of assessing the damage or repairing it."

"I don't suppose we could lure it out?" suggested Faramir.

"What do Balrogs find alluring, I wonder?" said Denethor skeptically.

"I've heard they come flying if you're under attack by giant spiders," said Faramir.

"That's helpful," said Denethor sarcastically. "If we had known, we could have called on their aid at our last problem. What else?"

"Well, they are known to fly from the destruction of giant landmasses, so I imagine any sort of earthquake, flood, cataclysm, or something of that sort might drive it out."

"Oh yes, and we can definitely produce a cataclysm on demand," Denethor rolled his eyes.

"I didn't say this was going to be easy..." said Faramir.

"Milords, I've heard that Balrogs can be dropped off pinnacles to their deaths," said Beregond respectfully. "If we could lure the Balrog up the tower..."

"And then have to clean him off the fourth circle when we're done?" Denethor scoffed.

"How would we lure him up there anyway?" asked Faramir.

They sat glumly in silence for several minutes. Finally, Faramir took a deep breath, and turned to Denethor.

"Father, I know that you've always deeply regreted my association with Mithrandir, but I think being a Wizard's Pupil may come in handy here."

"Why? Are wizards known to be able to defeat Balrogs?" asked Denethor. Faramir nodded.

"Mithrandir defeated and killed the Balrog of Moria," nodded Faramir. "It just so happens that he taught me the basic skills that he used in doing so."

"And?" Denethor demanded. "What are they?"

"Well, to defeat the Balrog..." Faramir hesitated. "Mithrandir had to uncloak his native power as a Maia."

"You mean he was Mithrandir... Uncloaked?" Denethor's eyes bulged. Faramir nodded glumly.

"It is a dangerous ploy," he agreed. "But what options have we?"

"We could always abandon the city, get lost in the wilds of Angmar, lose our minds and join an ancient clan devoted to hedonistic worship of the Witchking," said Denethor.

"I'd rather do that one, milord," said Beregond.

"We cannot!" cried Faramir. "We have our honour as Men of Gondor, and to all those for whom we stand! We are charged with the keeping of the city until the King should return!"

"You don't need to remind me of my oaths," growled Denethor. "Fine. If you think you can do it... go do it... It is not enough, I deem. Go and rest as you may. Tonight's need will be greater."

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg The Bridge of Camshaft-Doom!

Ted Handyman's horn sounded once more, more urgent than before.

Gandalf and the Hobbits dashed down the stairs to the engine-room, hurtling through a wall of thick black smoke. There they found Ted gibbering uncontrollably in a corner.

"Ai! Ai!" he wailed.

"Aye aye," replied Sam, nodding to him in greeting.

"No! Ai! Ai!" Ted persisted.

"Ai?" enquired Sam, blinking in confusion.

"Aye!" confirmed Ted.

"Eh? Ai?"

"Eh? Aye!"

"Oh!"

"If you're both quite finished, I suggest we get down to business," said Gandalf impatiently.

Cautiously, they advanced along the great camshaft that ran almost the full length of the unfeasibly large chamber which housed the engine of Bag-Endless-Fuel. The shaft bridged a vast chasm below them, over which the vehicle had conveniently come to rest. Thick smog obscured the far end of the chamber. Beyond it, a fiery light glowed and an ominous clanking and grinding could be heard, a sound which suggested that the Burrow-Buggy's delicate mechanical parts were being put to a use other than that for which they were designed.

As they reached the far end of the shaft, the black cloud parted to reveal a sight which filled them with dread. A demon of smoke and fire stood amidst the wreck of the engine, munching on what looked to be a piston. It was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it. As they watched, it wrenched a series of gears from the guts of the engine and, with sparks flying about it, set about chewing on them. Then it caught sight of them and with a rush it leaped towards them. Flames poured from the stricken engine and wreathed about it, and the black, oily smoke swirled in the air. In its right hand was a blow-torch and in its left it held a chain of many links.

“A Balrog,” muttered Gandalf. “Now I understand. What an evil fortune! Deep indeed did the Dwarves of Khazad-Zoom delve.”

"Ai!" wailed Ted

"Eh?" questioned Sam.

"Don't start that again!" said Merry.

The dark figure streaming with fire rushed towards them.

"Back over the shaft!" cried Gandalf. "Fly!"

"But Gandalf ...!" objected Frodo.

"This is a foe beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!"

“Fine by me,” said Frodo. “I just wanted to point out that we cannot fly, as we do not have wings.”

“I meant fly in the figurative sense of moving with great speed, rather than in the literal sense of travelling through the air,” observed Gandalf.

“Right you are!” replied the Hobbits, turning and flying figuratively back towards the stairs. On reaching them, they turned to watch in horror, as the Balrog reached the camshaft. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on his staff. His enemy halted, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. Sparks flew from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm.

"You cannot parse!" he said.

The Balrog paused and considered this for a moment.

“Cannot what?” it asked.

"Parse. As in to break something down into its constituent parts. You cannot do that to the engine. I will not let you. I have a lot riding on this. I am a servant of the secret bet, wielder of the odds of favour. This engine will not satiate you, devourer of turbine. Go back to the scrapyard! You cannot parse!"

A terrible, crackling roar came from the Balrog's fiery maw, and the Hobbits realised that it was laughing.

"Oh yeah, old man? Whaddya going to do about it? Uncloak?"

"Don't tempt me!"

The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly on to the shaft, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall. But still Gandalf could be seen, glimmering in the gloom. He seemed small, and altogether alone: grey and bent, like a penniless debtor before the onset of bankruptcy.

'You cannot parse!' Gandalf insisted.

With a bound the Balrog leaped full upon the camshaft. Its blow-torch sprang into flame and its chain whirled and clinked.

At that moment Gandalf lifted his staff, and crying aloud he smote the shaft before him. The staff broke asunder and fell from his hand. Sparks flew and the camshaft cracked. Right at the Balrog's feet it broke, and the section upon which it stood dropped into the chasm below. With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward, and its shadow plunged down and vanished. But even as it fell it swung its chain, and the links lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink. He staggered, and fell, grasped vainly at the shaft, and slid into the abyss.

“Fly, you fools!” he cried, and was gone.

"Gandalf!" cried Frodo and Bilbo in unison.

"Fly?" mused Sam aloud. "And just how does he expect us to do that, either literally or figuratively, with the engine being such a wreck and all?"

"Look!" cried Merry, pointing to the shadows which still hung about the ceiling above. "The Balrog's wings are still there. They must have torn from it when it fell into the chasm."

“But they’re not real wings,” pointed out Frodo. “The shadow just looks like two vast wings. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” said Bilbo. “They look real enough to me, spreading as they do from wall to wall. You think that you can fix them up to what’s left of the engine, Ted?"

"Quite frankly, Mister Baggins, nothing would surprise me at this stage. I’ll do my best. They may not last us long, but I may be able to make running repairs to the rest of the engine on the way."

And so it was that, before long, Bag-Endless-Fuel took to the air powered by the two mighty, shadowy Balrog wings which might or might not have been real, but which were real enough for present purposes to convey it Due North.

[Boromir88]

Medel-zoom, of Dwarfbots and the Balrog Bagman (cont.)

Sometime later....

With Theoden on the roof dressed like Gandalf and two Bots on each side of the roof hidden with rope in hand to trip the Balrog, the plan was almost ready.

Eowyn heads inside with the last two Bots, taller than her now and dressed up like Gandalf in a tattered white robe and matching hat (left over from Halloween) and sheep wool formed as a beard and to top it all off, a large stick to serve as a staff. Eowyn directs the Bots to the basement hatch and has them stand in front of it. She runs over to the fire and pulls out a large coal and places it infront of the Bots/Gandalf. She leans in and gives the Bots a brief run through off the plan, then she flings open the door and hides herself.

The Balrog was having fun reeking havock in the basement, when he became aware of a light coming from above...with a figure standing there..

DwarfBots: *in a thunderous Gandalf/Computerized voice* "YOU SHALL NOT COME TO THE TOP OF THE ROOF!" Then the Bot lifted his "staff" and brought it smashing down onto the coal, creating sparks and the effect of wizardry.

Eowyn: *smacks her forehead and rolls her eyes*

Infuriated by the challenge?...the Balrog roars and begins to climb out after the figure.

In the meantime the Gandalf Bots took off out the doors, just as the Balrog was emerging. As he made it outside the bots had stripped off their Gandalf facade and shreeking, pointed to the roof. There stood Theoden/Gandalf and he shouts down : "Wow what took you so long? First day with your new legs?"

Balrog: *roars* and heads up the roof towards Theoden.

In the meantime........One of the Bots manning the ropes, notices that he is standing on gold.....he pulls out a little pick and begins pinking away....

Theoden: * walks a bit towards the Balrog making a taunting motion* "Come on you panzy!"

Balrog: *roars again; picks up speed and nears the rope*

The three DwarfBots did their job, they pulled the rope and it caught the Balrog, just above the ankles, but with the missing Bot the rope was not tight enough to bring down the beast. Teetering at an awkward angle, swinging his arms back and forth, the Balrog tried to regain his footing on the edge.
Noticing the problem Theoden walks a safe distance towards the Balrog, raises his stick and pokes him right in the shoulder, sending him toppling head over heels down the roof and into a pre-readied mud puddle with a steaming hiss and a sickening, crunching snap!!!
The beast was smotten.

Theoden grabbed the mining DwarfBot and clambered down off the roof towards Eowyn and the other Bots.

Professor: *runs over to the huge hissing mud puddle* "What have you done? You've killed Rocky! You bastards!.......Oh I mean Yay!! you killed the Balrog! *grumbles* My wife is going to kill me!" *He lets out a long whistle* "One hour up now! Thank you come again!" and he sped off with his six DwarfBots in tow.

Theoden: *Looks at Eowyn* "Did you see that?! He was like AAAAAHHHH, and then I was like POKE.... and then he was like ...PSHSHSHSHAAAAHHHH!!!" *making a falling gesture with his hands*

Eowyn: "Yes Uncle you got rid of the Balrog! All by yourself, you did!" *rolls eyes and thinks I will never hear the end of this*

Theoden: *looks smug* "You better believe it. But, you know, I'm gonna miss those little dwarf buggers."

Eowyn: *rolls eyes again* "So, will I uncle. We'll have plenty of time to talk about your heroic fight to the death with the Balrog, but right now we have to figure out which way we want to go."

Theoden: "I say we head North, North West, towards the finish line.."

Eowyn: "Ok lets! I will be in my room, changing if you need me....."

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

Denethor and Húrin met Faramir at the entrance to the Engine Room. Faramir was clad in a long, white robe.

"Is it not enough that you are a wizard's pupil?" scoffed Denethor. "Or do you think yourself the equal of the head of the Istari?"

"It's the colour of the Stewards, Father," explained Faramir. "I thought it would be appropriate. Besides, if the Balrog thinks I'm that powerful, so much the better."

"So it's not enough to shame us by Uncloaking in the first place," bemoaned Denethor, "you also have to deliberately tie it to my office!"

"Well, it's too late now," said Faramir. "We have a job to do."

"No, you have a job to do."

They entered the Engine Room, and a terrifying sight met their eyes. The once clean and well-ordered Engine Room was dark, lit only by the fiery light of the Balrog. Machinery littered the floor, torn from the walls, mishapen and bent. The Balrog was twisting a long rod into a pretzel as they entered.

Faramir drew himself up. He spoke sternly. "You will be a fool if you continue, Balrog! You make that clearer with every piece you break. It has got far too much danger for you. Let it go! And then you can go and be free."

"Wot's that?" the Balrog blinked, shadowy eyelids temporarily obscuring his fiery eyes. "I'll do as I choose and go as I please."

"Now, now, my dear Balrog!" said Faramir. "All your long life you have been careful, and you owe yourself something. Come, do as is safest: stop it."

"Well, if you want my Engine Room for yourself, say so!" said the Balrog. "But you won't get it. I won't give my Engine Room away, I tell you." His hand strayed to the handle of his fiery whip.

Faramir's adam's apple gulped. "It will be my turn to get angry soon," he said. "If you say that again. Then you will see Faramir the White Uncloaked!" He took a step towards the Balrog; and he seemed to grow tall and menacing; his shadow filled the room.

"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of shadows! Leave the Engine Room in peace!"

The Balrog backed away to the wall, looking wary, his hand clutching at his whip. He answered in a cold (for such a hot being, it was quite cold indeed) voice: "Come not between the Balrog and his lair! Or he will slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, why thy flesh shall be rended, and thy shrivelled corpse be left naked to Flaming Whip."

"Do what you will, but being Uncloaked was my plan!"

"Uncloak at me? Thou fool. No living (or dead) wizard may Uncloak at me!"

Then Denethor heard of all the sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Faramir laughted, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel. "But no living wizard am I! You look up a man. Faramir, I am, Denethor's son. You stand between us and our race. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will Uncloak at you, if you do not depart!"

Then apparently winged creature screamed at here, and yet the Balrog made no answer, and was silent, as if in sudden doubt. He approached Faramir, tall and threatening, towering above him. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears, Faramir let fall his cloak.

The Balrog shrieked in horror and pain, and Denethor and the others saw the room lit up with a pasty whiteness. The Balrog began to contort and twist, losing his form, becoming a mere swirling mass of shadow and flame. Then all was silent. For a second.

"Faramir! Put that cloak back on right now!"

"Yes, Father!" Faramir, somewhat stunned looking, hastily donned the cloak. "Well, it seems that the foul beast is defeated... Now what? He has wrecked our Engine Room."

"Sirs," interjected Húrin, "the swirling mass of shadow and flame is still there. I bet you that my men could jury-rig a way to harness it's energy to power the city, at least until we can get the engine repaired."

"Make it so," said Denethor. "Faramir, go get changed into something decenty and un-wizardy. I shall be in the Control Room. We make WEST-SOUTH-WEST"

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg South of the Isen

Ringwraith #4 woke up and looked around. He had no idea where he was. Furthermore, he had no idea how long he had been out. *Crap* he thought, *I bet I've been out for weeks and the race is over already. He slowly got up. *Man, my head hurts! I thought those Goblins would jump at the chance of joining us, but instead they jumped us!* He started to wobble around a bit. After a short time, he was able to stand up straight and move around without any trouble.

Soon he found the Witch-King, who was still knocked out. *Best let sleeping dogs lie* he thought to himself. He headed up towards the steering platform, and when he got there he tried to figure out where they were.

It was fairly cool out, so he guessed it was morning. By looking at the sun, he figured out which way East was. Minas Mor-go was sitting on a decent sized plain. Just a few miles to the North was a good sized River. He followed it with his eyes as far as he could to the West, and could just see that it emptied into the sea. *Ah, so we're fairly close to the Sundering Sea. Whoa! How'd we get over here!* He looked down to the South and he could see some mountains in the distance, and away to the West... there nothing but the river and plains.

At that moment the Witch-King came up, still slightly wobbling.

"What day is it? And where are we?" he mumbled.

"Well, I'm not sure about the date, but I've figured out where we are. We're just South of the Isen. See, that's the Sundering Sea over there, and those are the Western end of the Ered Nimrais." #4 replied, very satisfied by his deductive capabilities. Not to mention his geographic knowledge.

"Well that sucks." the Witch-King exclaimed, "But it looks like we've just been out for a couple days."

"How do you know that?"

"Simple." the Witch-King stated, "See that ham sandwhich I left by my chair? If we'd been out for more than 72 hours, that would be all shriveled up and moldy."**

Ringwraith #4 rolled his invisible eyes. It was true, though. "So what are we going to do? I guess head north?"

At that moment there was a commotion down on one of the lower levels of the city. Looking over the edge, #4 could see a chaotic mass of orcs rushing out of one of the first few floors of the castle. They appeared to be running for their lives. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a firey strand came out of the doorway and took of one of the orc's heads. The other orcs ran faster, but a couple more did not get away. Suddenly, an orc captain stepped onto the steering platform.

"What do you want?" demanded the Witch-King.

"Wee hafe eh probum!" the captain replied. "Thur's eh Balrog in thi city!"

"Oh, just what we needed. Another thing to slow us down!"

"Sir, it shouldn't be too much of a problem." #4 said patiently.

"What?! How can this not 'be too much of a problem'!"

"Well, we have the River Isen right there at our disposal. Here's what I say..."


**No, I do not know if this is scientifically correct, but it doens't matter. It's just a story. :D

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank, Grima, use the Force!

As Saruman sat in his study busily studying maps, calculating distances, figuring out what happened to the seven dwarven rings, eating chocolate fudge and all those other things geniuses do he began to ponder on what exactly those screams from down below were. Of course, he could always go and check but whats the point, Grima would burst into the room in a bit and tell him about it anyway. In fact, that should happen in...

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

Right about now, Grima burst into the room panting heavily. He ran up to Saruman and fell before his feet. Saruman smirked and said, "Come now Grima, I know you love me and hold me in the highest respect but there is no need to bow before me." "I tripped." muttered Grima, getting back to his feet which earned him a bonk on the head from the staff of Saruman. "Now fool, speak! Why are you here?" "Well you see sir... theres a... a... ba..bu..bar.." Stammered the frightened Grima. "A burgular? This is grave news indeed." Said Saruman stroking his beard.

Grima looked at Saruman and took in a deep breath, "No sir, its a balrog!" After saying so he began to run round and round in circles for no apparent reasons. "A balrog? 'Tis gave news indeed..." Muttered Saruman. "Come Grima, we must head to the Weapons Hangar... we have preperations to make!"

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank, Showdown

And so it would end, Saruman had acquired certain glowy swords he called lightsabers, one for Grima and one for himself. With these weapons they would face the Balrog and his evil dorc army. Grima's eyes burned with revenge, those Uruk-Hai that died... the Balrog would pay.

The two headed down to the basement, standing before the giant double doors that seperated them from their foe. "Come!" Said Saruman and the two shoved the doors open. It was time... for honor, glory and vengenace.

The Balrog throws switches on a control panel. His Interbasement Wing Ship is guarded by a squad of super battle dorcs. The giant double doors open.

Dorc Captain: Your excellency!

The Balrog turns as Saruman and Grima run in through the giant double doors. They draw their lightsabers. The dorcs raise their weapons.

The Balrog: That won't be necesarry, Captain. Stand down and leave them to me.

The dorcs lower their weapons and back off to the walls. The Balrog looks at Saruman and Grima with slight amusement.

Saruman (To Grima): We move together, you slowly on the...

Grima: I'm taking him now!

Saruman: Grima, no!

Grima: You'll pay for all the Uruk-Hai you killed today Balrog!

Grima charges across the open space at Balrog, who smiles faintly, watching him come. Grima raises his lightsaber. At the last moment, Balrog thrusts out an arm, and Grima is lifted up, hurled across the room, and slammed into the opposite wall. He slumps to the foot of the wall, semi-conscious. Balrog moves toward Saruman.

Balrog: Saruman, isn't it? As you can see, m Ring power are far beyond yours. Now, back down.

Saruman: I don't think so.

Saruman lifts his lightsaber. Balrog smiles.

Balrog: Ah, but if I must.

Balrog draws his lightsaber. He and Saruman start to circle each other.

Balrog: I have spent the last ten hundred years learning to use the power of the One Ring. It gives me infinitely greater power.

Saruman: You fool, thats my role. I know everything you're going to do but I'll lose anyway just so that we have an excuse to end this in a cool way.

Saruman comes in fast, swinging at Balrog's head. Balrog parries the cut easily. As they fight, it quickly becomes clear that Balrog is the complete swordsman - elegant, graceful, classical - a master of the old style.

Balrog: Grand Istari Saruman, you disappoint me. Aule holds you in such high esteem.

Balrog parried another cut.

Balrog: Surely you can do better...? (parries) No, I'm surprised. Has Istar swordsmanship degenerated so quickly, or are you trying to make fun of me? (cuts) Which is it?

Balrog thrusts. Saruman steps back quickly, panting for breath.

Balrog: Come, come, Master Saruman. Put me out of my misery.

Saruman takes a deep breath, gets a fresh grip on his lightsaber and comes in again. For a moment, he drives Balrog back. Then Balrog's superior skill begins to tell again, and he forces Saruman to retreat.

Balrog increases the tempo of his attack. Saruman is pushed to the limit to defend himself. Balrog presses. His lightsaber flashes.

Saruman is wounded in the shoulder, then the thigh. He stumbles back against the wall, trips, and falls. His lightsaber goes skittering across the floor.

Balrog raises his lightsaber. Saruman looks up helplessly. Balrog's lightsaber flashes down and clashes against... Grima's lightsaber! Balrog and Grima stare eyeball to eyeball.

Balrog: Thats brave of you, boy but foolish. I would have thought you'd have learnt your lesson.

Grima: I tripped...

And Grima charges at Balrog. The force of his attack catches the Balrog slightly off balance. Grima's lightsaber flashes. Balrog draws back, putting a hand to his arm. He takes the hand away and looks at the smear of blood whee Grima has nicked him.

Balrog: You have unusual powers, young fool. But not enough to save you this time.

Grima: How do I get myself into these messes?

Saruman: GRIMA!

Saruman uses the Ring to catch his lightsaber and he tosses it to Grima. With two lightsabers, Grima attacks. Balrog parries and ripostes. It is no contest. Grima is driven back against the wall. He loses one lightsaber. Finally Balrog, in one flashing move, sends Anakin's arm, cut at the elbow, flying still gripping his lightsaber. Grima drops to the ground in agony. Balrog draws himself up to deliver the coup de grace.

Suddenly, the great doors slide open. The dorcs turn fast, raising their weapons. Through the thick smoke, emerges the heroic figure of Aule. He stops on the smoke-filled threashold, four dorcs lined up on either side of him, bows pointed. Meanwhile Grima reveals he had his hand hidden inside his shirt and it was only his sleeve that got cut off.

Before the dorcs can get off a shot, Aule raises his hand, and the dorcs are flung against the far walls and crash to the floor in heaps of smoking metal.

Silence. Balrog steps away from Grima to face the Valar. His lightsaber whirls in a formal salute.

Balrog: Master Aule. At last we shall know who is the most awesome.

Aule draws a miniature lightsaber out of his cane. He salutes formally.

Aule: Balrog. I have no interest in contests foo'!

Balrog charges across the space at Aule. He rains down blows upon the tiny figure. Aule doesn't budge an inch. For the first part of the contest, he parries every cut and thrust that Balrog aims. Nothing the great swordsman tries gets through. His energy drains. His strokes become feebler, slower.

Aule attacks! He flies forward. Balrog is forced to retreat. Words are insufficient to describe the range and skill of Aule's speed and swordplay. His lightsaber his a humming blur of light.

Balrog's lightsaber is sent cartwheeling from his hand. He staggers back, gasping and spent, against the control panel. Aule jumps onto Balrog's shoulders, and is about to drive the lightsaber into the top of the Count's head.

Aule: End o' da line, foo'!

Balrog: NNNNNNOO!!!!!!!

Balrog raises his arms and knocks Aule off his shoulders and then, with all his might, he uses the Force to pull on one of the cranes in the hanger. It comes crashing down on Saruman and Grima. But in the blink of and eye, Aule is under the crane, holding it up, using the Ring. Aule closes his eyes and concentrates.

Grima is hungry, and Saruman tries toget out from under the crane. The fallen crane trembles and starts to life. Behind it, the sound of the Wing Ship's engines are heard starting up.

Aule concentrates harder. Slowly, the crane rises. The sound of flapping wings increases. Aule exerts every scrap of his powers. The crane lifts clear of Grima and is thrown to the ground. Balrog's wing ship takes off. Saruman and Grima struggle to the exhausted Aule, but it's too late. The Wing Ship rises into the air and flies away...

It is now time to carry on, they shall head north-west, towards Isengard...
Begun the Mount Zoom Challenge has...

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg The balrog is defeated

The Witch-king listened carefully to #4's plan. His idea was to fly Minas Mor-go to the Isen, and dip the bottom levels into the river. Once they had flooded, the balrog's fires would be quenched, and from there the balrog would be easy to handle.

"That's the craziest idea I've ever heard!" said the Witch-king. He called the other Ringwraiths over. "Does anybody have another idea?"

"I've got one," said Khamûl. "We fly the city to the river and we dip the lower levels into the water. With the lower levels flooded, the balrog's fires will be quenched and we can easily deal with it."

"That was my idea!" shouted #4.

The Witch-king ignored #4's complaints. "Excellent idea, Khamûl! Let's get started! Get the flying beasts flapping their wings! To the river, and quickly! I can hear the balrog roaring beneath my feet!"

The Ringwraiths whipped the flying beasts into flight and Minas Mor-go rose from the ground, drifting slowly through the air towards the river. Every few moments, the Witch-king sent an orc to peer down the tower stairs to check on the balrog. It was risky business. One in every few orcs was grabbed by the balrog's long whip darting out of the bowels of Minas Mor-go, and the orc would be dragged screaming into the city's basements.

"Hurry up! Faster!" shouted the Witch-king, "We're losing orcs!"

Soon the city was over the river. "Dive, dive, dive!" the Witch-king commanded. The city was carefully lowered, and it dipped into the river. Everything remained silent. Soon a deep gurgle was heard as water seeped into the city's lowest dungeons. And then there was violent splashing, and a deep roar rumbled through the floors. Steam billowed from every window. Soon the entire city was wrapped in the misty steam.

"The balrog! Its flames have been put out!" said #4. "My idea worked!"

"Ahem, my idea," said Khamûl. He then turned to an orc. "You there! Go see what's happened to the balrog."

The orc nodded meekly, and crept towards a door in the side of the main tower. With one frightened look back at the Ringwraiths, he disappeared into the steam.

Minutes passed. #3 checked his watch. Khamûl yawned. #s 6-8 began a game of poker. The Witch-king frowned, having realized he had left his paperback novel in the steamy towers.

Finally, the orc's blood-curdling screams were heard. His footsteps echoed from the steamy doorway, and finally he appeared and flung himself on the floor outside the tower. He was dripping wet and a foul-scented mud had smeared his ragged clothes.

"The balrog!" he shouted, "It's alive! And it's coming!"

"Impossible!" said the Witch-king, "We've drowned it!"

"No! It still lives! But as a thing of mud and slime! He follows me! He saw me in the steam, and he lunged after me! O, he is coming here and we are doomed!"

"Quiet, fool!" the Witch-king commanded, "Now tell me, did it have wings?"

"It was too steamy to tell!"

"Oh well," said the Witch-king, "But there are more important things to attend to! Like how we're going to deal with the balrog once it arrives."

"I have an idea," said #4. "When the balrog arrives on the walls, we can just tip the city to one side. The balrog will slip and fall into the river below."

"Sounds like a last resort to me. What else can we come up with?"

"Well," said Khamûl, stepping forward, "When the balrog arrives, we can just tip the city to one side. The balrog will slip and fall into the river below."

"That was my idea!" #4 said, "You stole my idea, again!"

"Quiet, #4. Stop accusing Khamûl of idea-theft just because his ideas are better than yours." #4 crossed his arms and sulked. Khamûl stuck his tongue out at him. "And now we can just wait for the balrog," said the Witch-king, "As soon as the balrog appears, I want the flying beasts on the opposite side of the city to fly higher. The city will tilt and we'll be rid of that balrog."

And so the Ringwraiths and orcs waited in quiet anticipation. The grouped to either side of the doorway and the predicted path the balrog would take as he slipped. They could hear the balrog's gurgling roars deep inside Minas Mor-go. As each moment passed, the roaring grew louder, and the squelch-squelch-squelch of the balrog's footsteps were heard. Soon its wet, slimey head appeared in the doorway, roaring, and it reached out with a slippery claw.

"Aaagh! It wants me!" shouted the orc-scout.

"Now! Now! Tilt the city!" shouted the Witch-king.

The city lurched to one side and the Ringwraiths grabbed whatever solid, sturdy thing they could get their hands on. The balrog slipped head-first out of the doorway, over the walls, and he splashed into the water, followed by a handful of orcs. The city righted itself, and the Ringwraiths peered over the walls. The balrog slowly sunk to the bottom of the river, splashing and clawing at the orcs in the river.

"Well, he's taken care of!" said the Witch-king. After a quick head-count to make sure no Ringwraiths had fallen into the river, the Witch-king declared which direction the city would move in next.

"I say we head north!" he shouted. The flying beasts pulled the dripping city out of the river, and off they went.

* * *

For three days, there were strange reports across Eriador of a marvelous rain cloud. It flew with amazing speed, and, by some atmospheric phenomenon, it always seemed to look like a castle to all witnesses.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Movin' on.

Releasing some more of the racers from the trouble of the Balrog, Dwarfy the Dwarf flew high in the sky and peered out at each of the racers. There was a little trouble with Barrad Dash...

***Bonus***

Well done! You have come to the Moria Bonus! This be a good bonus! You ride the Kazad-Vroom motorway all the way to Ettenmoors! It cost you five gild coins, or three orcs, but it was slaves well spent!

***

As the great city of Minas Taxi began to ride ahead a little faster than the others, it suddenly came to a stop! In fact, all of them did. Once more the little Dragon flew out to inspect the trouble. The news was rather amusing to Dwarfy.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Singing Elves Silliness

As the vehicles ride along, they are stopped by the enchanting song of elves. Not even the Dark Lord himself could resist and they all fall into a trance. When you awake you are tied up in the corner of the engine room and the Elves are having a party in the driving room! They sing songs of silliness that make your ears hurt.

Get them out!

You have until Wednesday 31st of May.

Good luck!

[Valier]

Medul-Zoom http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg "Do you smell that?"


*Eowyn opens her eyes and finds herself tied up in a corner, she proceeds to wiggle her Oh-So slender hands free from her binds.She turns to Theoden who is bound beside her*

Eowyn: "Uncle! Wake up!" *Jostles Theoden*

Theoden:" I'll tear you into pieces! You'll never take me alive!"

Eowyn: *confused look* "I won't even ask anymore. Uncle! Where are we at? What's that dreaded singing? Why am I in these rags? What's going on?"

Theoden: "Ackkk! Stop with the questions. I got a blistering headache."

Eowyn: "Come on now, we have to figure out what's going on."

Theoden:" I just need to get these noises out of my head. Noise, noise, noise, never goes away!" *perks up* Oooh ale!

Eowyn: *surprised* "I never imagined you as a ale person!"

Theoden: "I prefer the harder stuff, but anything to get rid of my headache." *Goes and opens a case of ale*

Eowyn: "Stop goofing around Uncle. We have to get ourselves out of this mess, or I'll go insane from this singing."

Theoden: *Now drinking from a bottle of ale* "You and me both, my head is going to explode."

Eowyn: "The last thing I remember is hearing the wonderful voice of Elves singing, then the rest is blank. Then I woke up here. But these songs...these are just silly songs."

Theoden: "Stupid elves think they can just come into my Medul-zoom and party the night away without inviting me! Well, they'll get what's coming to them."

Eowyn: "We have to get them out of here, or we'll lose are heads."

Theoden: *On his 3rd ale bottle...he starts hiccupping and slurring* "What d'you got in mine?"

Eowyn: "I suppose we have to scare them off some how. But there's so many of them."

Theoden: "How 'bout we go in dere an say "boo!" Ya, that should do it."

Eowyn: *sarcastically* "Sure that'll do it, an old man stumbling in saying boo. Good thinking!"

Theoden: *starts fifth bottle of ale* "Why thank you."

Eowyn: "What would drive the elves away in total disgust and fear?"

Theoden: *hiccup* "I know! Your singing...I remind of the time when you sang at Theo's funeral, and that right there scared the crap right out of me."

Eowyn: "Uncle!"

Theoden: "It's true, I wus jus' thinking, I need to get you some choir lessons!"

Eowyn: *face growing red, but subdues it* "Ok, if it will get these Elves out of here it is worth a try."

Theoden: *on 8th bottle of ale* "Shure worked on me."

Eowyn: "But these Elves are skilled. It's going to take more than awful opera singing to drive them away."

Theoden: *farts* "Hehe, wooh, scuse me."

*A lightbulb appears over Eowyn's head*

Eowyn: *Downs two ales of her own* I think I've got it Uncle!! Grab a few more ales and follow me."

(To be continued...)

[Valier]

Medul-Zoom http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Medelzoom.jpg "Do you smell that?" Continued...


Eowyn and Theoden are crouched behind a door peering at the Elven party.

Eowyn: "Oh kay Uncle you go first, then I follow you and we party hardy!" *Sways from side to side*

Theoden: "Umm we need more ales...we drank them all..."

Eowyn: "Don't worry they have lotso ales in there, lets go and get some." *stumbles forward*

Theoden: "Oh yeah...mmmmmm...more ales." *hiccup*

Random Elf: "Do you smell that? something noxious is coming this way!"

The elves became momentarily quiet as they looked towards where the smell was coming from.

Theoden and Eowyn burst through the hall doors, arms outstretched, both severly intoxicated swaying and hiccuping

Theoden: "TAAAAA-DDDAAAAAA!!!!"

Eowyn: "WHAT A NICE PARTY YOU HERE HAVE! BUT I'M AFRAID WE HAVE NO MORE ALE TO CELEBRATE WITH YOU'S! OH THERE'S SOME ALE, GIMMY, GIMMY!! *dives towards the ale*

Theoden:" WHY IS EVERYBODY YELLING? *sways dangerously* I LIKE TO MOVE IT, MOVE IT! *moves hips round and round* COME NOW CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG? I KNOW WHAT WOULD MAKE THIS PARTY EVEN BETTER!!"

Eowyn: "WHAT WOULD THAT BE MUNCLE?"

Theoden: "WHY..... A SONG OF COURSE!!"

Elf 1:"you are ruining our party! *pouting* Go away now!"

Elf 2: *whispers to Elf 1* " Something smells like it's rotting in here and I think it's them!"

The Elves stared at the two in horror,as they began to muster themselves to put on a show.

Theoden: "Ok,Ok I know you all know this one, so don't be shy and feel free to join in!"

Eowyn: "YA TO JOIN IN! *hiccup*

Eowyn begins to clear her throat and ready herself for her solo.."HHHAAAACCCKKKK AHEM,AHEMMMM!!"

Elf 3: "Ewww She sounds like a cat bringing up a hairball!"

Elf 1: " Shhhhhh just let them finish and maybe they will go away. How bad can it be?"

Eowyn: *on the top of her lungs* "OOOOOHHHHHH BARUK-KHAZAD. KHAZAD-AIMENU...............*lots of loud dwarvish gibberish spews forth*

Theoden began to do a little Jig...he hopped from one foot to the other and waved his arms in the air. But his face began to crunch into a slight grimace...He began to hop a little faster keeping up with the fast paced singing of his niece.

Elves in unison: "DWARVEN MUSIC! ARE YOU KIDDING? EWW EWW EWWW STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!!"

As Theoden hopped faster the grimace on his face began to change into a more relaxing smile...he hopped even higher now, as Eowyn came to the climax of the tune.

Elf 2: *holding his nose* "Why is it beginning to smell worse in here?"

Theoden: "OH YEA SORRY! I HAD TOO MUCH SOUP OF SOME GOAT.. AND UH, THE ALE IS WORKING IT'S OWN MAGIC!"

Elf 1: *gagging* " You call that magic?"

Theoden: *overtop of Eowyn's horrible singing* "WE LIKE TO PARTY, WE LIKE TO PARTY! PARTY, PARTY, PARTY PARTY!!!" *does a weird little happy dance*

With a loud groan Theoden falls to the floor in a drunken stupor, but not without letting out the loudest, longest, most vile expulsion of gas ever heard or smelt before.

Theoden: ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSS SQQQUUEEEKK!
"DANG THOSE..... BARKEN SQUIRRELS! they always stinkin up the joint....ya stinky....and ya *starts to snore*

Eowyn begans to twirl around singing with all her might, the smell in the room gets so strong she must also plug her nose, but she continues to belt out the drinking song that Gimili son of Gloin had taught her in a high pitched whinning voice.

All around the room the Elves were in an up roar. They were being tortured by the sounds and smell of the two.They began to attempt to plug their ears and noses at the same time. Gagging and yelling the Elves began to run from the room, leaving Eowyn still spinning and singing amongst the noxious cloud.

Eowyn: " AAWWWW DOES MY MUSIC BOTHER YOU? BOTHER, BOTHER, BOTHER, BOTHER.... *spinning wildly* BOTHER, BOTHER, BOTHER!!"

She slowly stops her body from spinning, but her head still seems to be going round and round....

Eowyn: "BOTHER......bother?..... *tries to focus eyes* HAMA!? WHERE ARE YOU? YOU CAN STOP HIDING NOW AND COME OUT! HAMA, HAMA, HAMA, HAMA, LETS GO NORTHWEST AGAIN!! WE NEED TO GET TO THE FINISH LINE SOON SO WE CAN DRINK MORE....... AND PARTY!! *her eyes unfocus* FARAMIR? NO NOT NOW!!......HAMA!! HAMA? *falls to the floor in a heap* "AH THERE YOU ARE FARAMIR!....OH of course.... *trails off into whispers and snores*

Hama: *emerges from the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to his boot* "Oh geez! What the heck is that smell?" *looks around and smiles as the last Elf runs for the door holding their nose* Now I Hama, am in charge!! *looks back to make sure he wasn't overheard then he runs like a little girl up the stairs and to the drivers seat* "TALLY-HO THEN...NORTHWEST IS WHERE I THE GREAT AND MIGHTY HAMA CHOOSE TO GO!! *puffs up chest and smirks as he starts the engines*

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

The Chronicler of this portion of the tale is believed, from evidence in the manuscript to have been a Burrahobbit. One will note the characteristic brevity.

It was most easy for Denethor and Faramir to defeat the Silly Singing Sindar: they cut through their bonds by rubbing them on the sharp machinery. They stuffed earplugs in their ears to blunt the horrid noise. They scared the Elves out of the city by pretending to be 13 Dwarves and a Hobbit crashing a hunting party. They restarted the city and headed West-Southwest. They did so with an abundance of anakronistic humour.

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Tra-la-la-lally-ho!

The loss of Gandalf had been hard enough for the Hobbits to bear. But all hope seemed to fade when the Balrog’s wings finally gave out some 300 miles short of the Shire. Trailing the shadowy remants of the great wings, Bag-Endless-Fuel suddenly lurched into a dive and began to plummet towards the earth below. Straining with all his might, Merry was able to pull the vehicle into a glide and it hit the ground with relatively little damage. Sadly, however, the havoc wreaked by the Balrog on the little Hobbit hole’s delicate machinery had taken its toll. Ted Sandyman had done what he could with the few spare parts available to him, but the motorised Burrow was now running at less than half capacity.

“Well, that’s it I’m afraid,” Bilbo remarked ruefully. “The game’s up. We have no chance of taking the chequered flag now.”

“But surely we can … uhhhn!” replied Frodo, sliding gracelessly to the floor. Still wondering how they might uhhn and why they would want to, his companions promptly followed suit.

************************************************
When they came round, the Hobbits found themselves sitting in the engine room, bound and gagged. But that was not the worst of it. The unmistakeable sound of Elven voices tra-la-la-lallying in unison could be heard ringing out from above. And the very quaintness of it filled them with despair.

O! What are you doing, and where are you going?
Your engine needs tending! The brakes need a-mending!
O! tra-la-la-lally! Here down in the rally!

The owners of the voices suddenly appeared in the engine room and began to circle the stricken Hobbits, singing at them mercilessly.

O! Why are you dawdling, when the race needs a-winning?
The cylinder‘s shaking! The dynamo‘s breaking!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly! The rally is jolly!
Ha! ha!

But, as they sang their quaint song, the Elves began to attend to the engine, hammering here and cranking there, uniting the broken mass of metal with their shockingly twee melody.

O! Where are you going, with gears all a-grinding?
No knowing, no knowing what makes Mister Baggins,
And Frodo go so slow,
No time now to tarry, here down in the rally
Ha! ha!

And, as the Hobbits watched, the engine began to pull itself back together, brought back to life by the woefully whimsical song. Before long, it was as good as new, gleaming and sparkling under the glow of Elven faces.

O! Will you be winners, or will you be losers?
Your chances decreasing, your lead disappearing!
To lose would be folly, to win would be jolly,
So hurry and hasten! Now suitably chastened,
By our tune
Ha! ha!

The gags and ropes were removed from the Hobbits and one of the Elves addressed them.

“Quick now, my little friends,” he said in a voice so light and airy that was almost too much to bear. “You must be on your way.”

“But … why …?” spluttered Bilbo.

“Elrond sent us,” the Elf replied, forestalling Bilbo’s confused questions. “He has a lot of money riding on this, you know. So come now, make haste and don’t disappoint him.”

“But why did you bind and gag us?” asked Frodo.

“Ha! Ha!” the Elf cried, and the Hobbits steeled themselves, fearing another distressingly droll song. “Would you have let us anywhere near the engine if you had heard us singing first?”

“Point taken,” nodded Bilbo.

“Now be off with you,” laughed the Elf. “You have a race to win!”

And with that, the Elven host departed, leaving the mobile Hobbit home to trundle on North West towards the Havens.

[Gurthang]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Some Idol Noise

Ringwraith #4's invisible eyes fluttered open. His head hurt again. Hadn't he just been through all this? His ears were ringing, too. Wait, not ringing, but singing... or at least he was hearing some singing. It sounded awfully merry and nonsensical. It was strange, though,... because somehow... it brought back memories...

*Picture blurs out for flashback sequence*
King Gnick (the previous persona of Ringwraith #4) stood in his throne room, his loyal subjects standing all around him. The people's garb and the arichtecture tell that it is far to the East of Middle Earth. The room is large, with a high ceiling, as well as the usual four walls and a floor, and large stone pillars at regular intervals. Tapestries depicting hunts and victories at war adorn the walls and low tables and cushions are scattered everywhere. The guests have long finished eating, and servants are just finishing removing the remains of the feast.

The King stands. Everyone turns and looks at him. He speaks:

"Truly this is a grand day. I am so happy to have so many fine subjects to fill my hall with gladness on this feastday. It is very nice that I have such servants and a palace to hold so grand a party." (A band in the background begins playing softly) "It is very nice that we have this time of peace to enjoy such festivites." (Music picks up) "It is so nice that I am king of our fair land." (Music swells) "It is so nice... to be... King!"

And with that King Gnick launches into a rather long musical number titled So Nice To Be King. The lyrics are not recited due to the sheer length of the song, and in fact were written down only once and kept by the King. He did not want others to be able to sing his song.

But, as the King sang, much did happen. The crowd joined in chorus as the King strutted down the aisle in front of them. A few fell in behind and formed a V shaped following that perfectly mirrored Gnick's sweeping motions and graceful dancing. The music rose and fell, and then rose higher again. Around the hall the procession went, the King swinging himself around a column here, dancing atop a table there, all the while releasing his every gladness through his song. Once around they went, then the King stood atop his throne and was regally silent as the chorus rose around him. The crowd split, and dancers emerged in the center. Singing and swaying to the tempo, they sang their (short) verse, and the crowd closed around them again, only to part once more for the King. He made a few more rounds around the room before beginning the emotional finale where the music swelled and the crowd lifted him up on their shoulders and strained their voices to hold that last note of joy. And then...
*ZZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPPP*

"Number 4? What are you doing?"

"Er... um.... ow my head...?"

"You lazy bum! The rest of us woke up hours ago. Lucky we decided to untie you. Come. We have another problem."

Number 4 got up unsteadily and followed after the Witch King. Not until then did he notice Khamûl, Number 3, and Number 5 were also there. He followed them down the hallways, up the stairs, and through many rooms before they stopped. Even after walking all that way, Number 4 could still hear that blastedly blissful singing. They were in a conference room. The rest of the Nine were there, acting as if they had been waiting forever. Shaking himself to ward off another flashback, Number 4 went over and poured himself a cup of coffee while he listened to the Witch King explain the problem.

"Elves." he started, "about 12 stinking elves somehow managed to get here on Minas Morgo. We must have picked them up when we were on the ground after getting attacked by those Goblins. Well, they've occupied the driving tower and won't stop singing for anything. We need a way to get them off this ship."

"Why don't we just kill them?" asked Number 7.

"If we attack, they might damage the driving mechanism, or more importantly my chair, so we need to get rid of them without making them mad."

"Can't we just sneak up and knock them out?" questioned Number 3.

"You're gonna knock out 12 elves, all at once, without any of them seeing you first? Good luck." the Witch King scoffed in response.

Khamûl interjected, "I have a plan. We make them think it's a contest. A singing contest, they'll love that. Anyway, we say we'll pick them off one by one, an elf per round we'll say, 'worst' singer leaves the platform."

"Okay, and then what? We stuff them in a room?" interrupted Number 9.

"No, once we have each by themselves, we'll knock them out and drop them off the edge. So it'll take a little time, but we can get them out without any hassle this way."

"Great," exclaimed the Witch King, "We'll name this contest Minas Morgo Idol. Khamûl, it's your idea, you'll be the host. Numbers 3, 4, and 5, you guys are judges."

"But how are we going to stand that blasted singing! And they shine so brightly when we look at them." complained Number 5.

"Here, take these." The Witch King tossed Khamûl, 3, 4, and 5 a few sets of earplugs and a pair of sunglasses for each.

"But with earplugs we won't be able to hear them." Number 4 noted.

"Well, duh!" retorted the Witch King, looking at him strangely, "Now get up there and get started. I'll be in my chocolate vault if you need me."

----------------------------------------------

"Welcome contestants!" shouted Khamûl as he jumped out of the doorway. "Congratulations on making it here!"

The elves stopped singing for a second and looked at him confused. They had no idea why he was wearing sunglasses. Then they shrugged and continued singing. Khamûl continued unhindered... after all, he couldn't hear them.

"Welcome to Minas Morgo Idol! Today one of you will be the next big star! How will we find out which one? Well let's meet our judges!" And with a sweeping motion of his arm he brought out Numbers 3, 4, and 5. They sat down behind a table that just happened to be right there. "Let's just call them Number 3, Number 4, and Number 5... and now that that's done, let's get this show going! First contestant."

And so the show started. But something was amiss. Unknown to any of them, Ringwraith Number 4 sneakily dislodged his left earplug. He actually wanted to hear the elves sing! :eek: The result was that he randomly flashed back to his 'younger days' and didn't have his head in the contest at all. The other two Ringwraiths had their earplugs firmly in place, and so the contest did not go over exactly as planned. The last two contestants were actually the best and the worst singers of all the elves.

The two, named Katharine and Taylor(;)), came up and sang their numbers. The judges looked at each other. Well, Number 3 and Number 5 looked at each other; Number 4 was off in flashback-land. Number 3 voted for Taylor (who was the better singer) and Number 5 voted the opposite way like they had done for every round. Number 4 did nothing. He just sat there, still in his flashback. Number 3 gave him a sharp jab in the ribs and he jerked back into real life. He looked around dumbfounded for a second until his eyes fell upon the two finalists. Strangely, he had actually heard the two during some of the previous rounds, and knew Taylor was better. So he picked him for the win. Katharine left the room in tears, that is, until she was knocked out and tossed down to earth.

"Congratulations Taylor! You are Minas Morgo's Idol!"

Suddenly the three judging Ringwraiths gasped. They all just realized a shortcoming to the plan. There was this one last elf, but no way to get rid of him! But Khamûl just looked at them and smiled an invisible, understanding smile.

"Now Taylor, I know this is a big deal for you, and it will mean great fame and fortune in your near future. But for now, I've got something else to give you." And with that he opened a nearby doorway.

No more had he turned the handle than a stream of overly eager record label spokespersons rushed out. They all set their eyes on Taylor, intent on having him sign with them and only them. Out the door they ran, like a streaming tide, and rampaged across the platform. Taylor turned to run in terror, but there was nowhere to go! Before he could think of anything to do the wave of spokespersons hit him, and he was swept over the edge by the rushing mob, never to be heard from again.

The Ringwraith's took out their earplugs and breathed a sigh of relief. No more singing! The Witch King emerged from one of the stairways, having been alerted by the lack of singing that the elves were gone.

"Great work fellows. Now, let's get this city moving again. On to the North-West!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Pit Stop

The Vehicles were battered and bruised after so many challenges and interruptions. Some of the Drivers were getting over worked with all the repairs, it was getting silly. Bereft of ideas, Dwarfy took up the palantir and called all the vehicles...

"Alright, you lot," he said, "We're going to have a little break now. I'm sending some repair houses to your locations to fix up your vehicles. You won't lose your position in the race, I won't let anyone go until I say so!"

All the vehicles slowed down and stopped, except Mount Zoom. Dwarfy could hear Sauron's evil laughter from a mile in the air. He sent the baby dragon down to burst his tyres.

So, the race stood still. Here, then, are the positions so far...

1st place: Bag Endless fuel
2nd Place: Mount Zoom
3rd Place: Medel zoom
4th Place: Barad Dash
5th Place: Minas Taxi
6th place: Minas Mor-go
7th place: Orth Tank

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg End of the Rest

The tires were repaired, the fuel tanks filled up, the windows patched, suspension un-rusted, the engines all working a little better and the Mount Zoom Challenge was ready to continue! All at once, the vehicles zoomed off towards their goal.

They road along quite nicely for a good while, but then, as was becoming usual, something was slowing the vehicles down and yet another challenge was up ahead!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg Man-eating Horses horror!

You are going well towards the grey Heavens after your nice long pit stop, yet your engineers stop working and are filled with fear. The driver sees a whole group of horses stood outside the Vehicle. "Drive over them!" says Sauron, But when he looks back at them they are inside the vehicle!

These are Man-eating Horses! (They even like Orcs and Miar with a side order of Hobbits).

Get rid of the horses some how

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpgCrazy Horses! Wah! Wah!

“Man eating horses!”

The cry cam from Sam, who had taken the wheel while the other Hobbits relaxed in the parlour.

“Gosh!” said Pippin, munching lazily on a chicken leg. “He must be hungry. I wonder whether he might prefer chicken instead.”

"Who?" asked Merry.

"The man eating the horses," replied Pippin. "I've heard of being hungry enough to eat a horse, but I don't think that even I could manage more than one."

“Er – I don’t think Sam is referring to a man dining on horse meat, Pip,” said Merry. “I think he means horses that eat men.”

“Well, we should be fine then,” said Pippin. “We are Hobbits, not Men.”

“Actually, many scholars hold that Hobbits are a sub-branch of Man,” pointed out Merry. “In which case …”

“Well, that’s all very well,” interrupted Frodo. “But we really could do without a herd of equine carnivores running about the place.”

“Nonsense!” said Bilbo, as he roused himself and headed for the door to the living room. “There’s no such thing as man-eating ho … Ulp!”

The other Hobbits rushed to join him. And sure enough, there in the living room, half a dozen evil-looking, sharp-fanged horses were advancing menacingly on Sam.

“Grammercy! Lawks a lordy!” cried Sam. “They’re after having me for their dinner, Master Frodo sir! Help me!”

“Well, whether Hobbits be Men or not,” observed Frodo. “They don’t look particularly choosy to me. What are we going to do?”

[The Saucepan Man]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpgThey eat horses, don’t they?

“Horse eating men!” came the cry from Ted Sandyman who, for want of another character, was stationed in the Thrush’s Nest.

“I know, Ted,” shouted Bilbo. “There are six of them down here.”

“No,” replied Ted. “I mean that there are men who eat horses approaching.”

“How do you know that they eat horses?” asked Frodo.

“Because they are chewing on horse-flesh and brandishing horse heads,” shouted Ted back. “And their standard bears the recipe for a rather fine Cheval en Croûte avec Jus Piquant.”

“Aha!” declared Bilbo. “It seems that the horse-eating men have sniffed out the man-eating horses.”

“Eh?” said Pippin, confused.

“It’s quite simple, Pip,” explained Merry. “We are beset by horses that eat men, which dietary description includes Hobbits for present purposes. Yet it would appear that these man-eating horses do not sit at the top of the food chain in this strange land. The horses that prey upon men are, in turn, preyed upon by men that eat horses.”

“Oh. Thanks. That’s much clearer,” said Pippin, still confused.

In the meantime, the man-eating horses had lost interest in Sam and were shifting nervously, nostrils flaring and eyes rolling. With a jubilant cry, the horse-eating men burst through the front door and advanced upon the man-eating horses, brandishing spears and pastry cutters. Mass confusion and panic broke out. Two of the man-eating horses were caught by the horse-eating men, while the other three managed to make it to the side door and out onto the plains. The horse-eating men quickly trussed up their captives and set off in hot pursuit of the remaining man-eating horses. It was all over in a flash and Bag-Endless-Fuel was calm once more.

“Well, that was … interesting,” remarked Frodo.

“Indeed, my boy,” replied Bilbo. “But let us not tarry here. It is a silly place. Let us be on our way. I propose that we head Due North through the pass in the spur of the Ered Luin.”

“I wish that I’d had time to take down that recipe,” remarked Pippin.

[Meneltarmacil]

A terrifying NEIIIIIGGGGGHHHH echoed through Orth-Tank.

"What is all that noise?! I was on the palantir!" Saruman shouted.

"*SNRRRRRKKK* What?" asked Grima as he woke up.

"Never mind," said the wizard as he headed downstairs.

In the engine room, a battle was raging between the Uruk-Hai and a number of ferocious-looking horses. The horses seemed to be inexplicably gobbling up the orcs, as if the orcs had no fighting skills whatsoever.

"I think what we've got here is a case of Imperial Stromtrooper Syndrome, sir," Grima offered as he walked up. "It frequently occurs in massive armies of doom. Symptoms include mass stupidity and inability to kill the good guys at even point-blank range with superior firepower."

"Ah yes, I remember now," Saruman said. "Caused by narrators unfairly favoring the heroes, if I remember correctly. I know just what to do. We'll tie up the narrator and write the rest of the story ourselves."

Just as they were about to do that, however, tragedy struck and... Hey, what are you doing? Put that rope away now! I'm serious! Stop it! AAAAAAAmmmph...

This is Saruman taking over for the moment. We shipped the horses off to the glue factory, gave the meat to the orcs, and will release Meneltarmacil if he agrees to behave. Oh, and I inexplicably acquired fifty billion dollars and my own private space station.

That really isn't good writing, you know. And you're making me sound too much like Nilp with those italics.

Cut it out, or I'll feed you to the orcs.

*GULP*

EDIT: We're heading WEST.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Faramir:


"TERRIBLE... HORRIBLE... News!" Faramir panted running to Denethor who was steering the city over the plains somewhere in the wild. "A horse... in the engine room... a while ago, disguised as Grandma Ecthelion", he wheezed on. "When I wondered her big ears and protruding teeth it revealed itself. The beast gobbled up Vérmïndil as one piece! I ran for my life - I mean... came to give a due raport to you, father."

"Hold your horses!" Denethor frowned looking at his gasping son. "There's some uninvited hack aboard, and it ate who?"

"Vérmïndil, the hermit from our engine room", Faramir whimpered.

"Did it indeed? What a splendid horsy", Denethor smiled approvingly. "That's not so bad. I say we keep it. Having some extra horsepower never hurts."


But before Faramir got to protest, Húrin darted at the two men.

"My lords, there is a horse in Mrs. Ecthelion's night gown galloping towards the citadel with mad glint in its eyes."

"It's out to get us", Faramir whispered. "What we shall do now!"

[Alcarillo]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/MinasMor-go.jpg Auughhh!!! The Horses!!!

#9 ran panicked to the Witch-king. "We've been boarded, lord!" he said. "By man-eating horses! They're threatening to devour the orcs and flying beasts if we don't hand over the city!"

"Why on earth would man-eating horses want a flying city?"

"Beats me, lord, but we'd better hurry! They've taken #3 hostage!"

"#3… nearly as useless as #4... I declare an emergency Ringwraith meeting. Gather all the Ringwraiths you can and bring them to me. I'll be on top of the gates, by the helm."

"Aye, lord!" #9 said and ran off to collect the others. Some minutes later they had gathered around a conveniently located table near the steering wheel.

"Listen here, comrades!" the Witch-king said, strutting around the table. "We are faced by a ruthless band of man-eating horses, and they have already captured one of our own! We need a plan!"

"Can't we just attack them?" asked #7.

The Witch-king rolled his eyes. Were they always so simple? "To attack them would be utter tomfoolery. Does anybody have any smarter ideas?"

"Can we…ask them to leave?" said #4.

"No! Nobody ever drove a band of merciless horses from their vessel by asking them to leave! What's gotten into that head of yours?" #4 slumped lower in his chair and his head drooped. "Well, if nobody has any good ideas, I suppose we must use mine. #5 and #6! Tell the horses to meet Khamûl and me up here in an hour for 'negotiations'. #7 and #8! Prepare this table for a tea-party! #9 and #4! Round up all the butterknives, toothpicks, pins, and needles you can find! My brilliant plan will become apparent soon!"

The Ringwraiths split up to complete their tasks. #5 and #6 ventured deep into the heart of Minas Mor-go to deliver their message to the horses, #7 and #8 searched high and low the finest silverware and china, and #9 and #4 raided every chest, desk, and cabinet for all the pointy items they could find. A pile of pointed objects soon accumulated at the table.

#5 and #6 soon returned to tell the Witch-king they had delivered their message, and he told them to begin putting a Morgul pin/toothpick/butterknife under each cushion of each chair.

"But why, lord?"

"Don't you see? The moment the horses sit down for negotiations, each shall be pierced by a Morgul blade (or point), and they shall be transformed into harmless wraiths!"

"But what if we create wraith-eating horses?"

The Witch-king rolled his eyes again. "You can't eat wraiths."

Soon everything was ready: the table was set, the cushions were booby-trapped, and soon the man-eating horses would emerge from their hiding place to negotiate with the Witch-king.

The hour came and emerging from the shadows of Minas Mor-go came a great band of horses. In their train they dragged a bound and gagged #3. The horses' leader came forward and neighed to the Witch-king. The horses were about to take their seats when the Witch-king shouted "Wait! Listen, horses! We will be negotiating over tea, and so, this being a tea party, there will also be party games. The first shall be musical chairs."

"What are you doing, lord?" whispered Khamûl. "Why are we playing party games?"

"Because if each horse sits one at a time, they'll realize what we've done with the cushions! Then there'll be no hope of turning them into wraiths! They need to sit all at once, so none will know before what we've done before he sits." The Witch-king now turned to #4. "#4, please supply us with music from your clarinet."

#4 ran downstairs to fetch his instrument and assembled it as quickly as he could. Unfortunately he was fresh out of cork grease, and had to run into basements for some more. And when he found that his reed was torn, he had to go back downstairs for another. The chief horse stamped his hooves in impatience.

"Don't worry, my guests! #4 is a musical virtuoso. Just wait until you hear him play!"

Finally #4 began to play a meaningless tune, along the lines of pop-goes-the-weasel. The horses pranced around the table, and when they could feel the music was ending, each positioned himself above a chair, and when #4's tune ended, they all sat down as one. But instantly they rose up again, having pierced their horsie bottoms on the pointed objects hidden under the cushions.

"Haha!" The Witch-king taunted. "You've been hurt by Morgul blades! Now you'll all become shadowy wraith-horses!"

The angry horses stamped their hooves wildly and trampled the chairs and the table and the china, but by the Witch-king's dark arts, they became wraiths within the hour, and from that day forward, Minas Mor-go was known throughout the world for the ghosts of horses that haunted its halls.

After untying #3, the Witch-king proclaimed that Minas Mor-go would be headed north-west.

[Maeggaladiel]

Sauron slammed a gauntleted fist down on the dashboard, causing the Morgoth dashboard bobblehead to shake violently.

"MOUTH!!" Sauron bellowed. "I DISTINCTLY REMEMBER TELLING YOU TO RUN THE HORSES OVER!!"

Mouth cringed at the noise.

"I tried to, O Evil One," Mouth said through clenched teeth. "But somehow they got inside."

"I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW SO MANY CREATURES CAN WEASEL THEIR WAY INTO MY IMPREGNABLE MOUNTAIN FORTRESS OF DOOM!!!" Sauron complained, resting his elbows on the dash and cradling his helmeted head in his hands. "I SWEAR, SOMETIMES IT'S ENOUGH TO MAKE ONE GO MAD." He sighed haggardly and looked at a security screen, seeing the horses chase down and devour random orcs and the occasional Rat Wraith that was too slow to get out of their way. He frowned, although Mouth couldn't tell because he was still wearing the helmet. "AND ANYWAY, AREN'T HORSES SUPPOSED TO BE VEGETARIANS?"

"It would appear that these are man-eating horses, My Lord," Mouth remarked casually.

Sauron nodded, as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

"THEN IT IS SIMPLE," he said. "ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS INVENT THE BAZOOKA AND DISPOSE OF THEM."

"I don't think so, My Lord."

"YOU ARE RIGHT. IT WOULD BE MUCH BETTER TO INVENT THE GUIDED MISSILE LAUNCHER."

Mouth sighed.

"NO, My Most Evil and Highly Audible Master."

Saruon's eye sockets glowed dangerously.

"WHY NOT?" he demanded.

"The horses have just eaten our Invention Department." Mouth tapped the monitor, where a series of lab coats lay on the ground, with bits of orc scattered around them. "We can't invent things ourselves anymore due to labor union issues."

"BLAST," cursed Sauron. "OH WELL. I HAVE A BETTER IDEA. COME ALONG, MOUTH."

**************************************

A few moments later, Sauron and Mouth were standing in the engine room. A small, terrified orc lay before them. The creature was bound and had an apple shoved in its mouth, and Sauron and Mouth had placed him on a large silver platter and surrounded him with a delectable-looking vegetable medley.

"Tell me again why we're serving up our engine crew," Mouth asked. He picked up a large red bottle that was next to the orc. "And why we're giving them our best wine."

"SIMPLE," Sauron said. "WE'VE CREATED A VERY FORMAL DINING EXPERIENCE HERE."

"Yes, I noticed you've set out a tablecloth and have added a candelabra."

"AND NATURALLY, YOU CAN'T EXPECT TO HAVE A NICE ROAST WITHOUT A GLASS OF WINE TO ACCOMPANY IT." The orc looked ill.

"I'VE POISONED THE WINE, YOU SEE," Sauron continued. "WHEN THE HORSE COMES UP TO EAT... UM... WHAT DID YOU SAY YOUR NAME WAS?"

He took the apple out of the orc's mouth.

"Waturs, sir!" the orc squeaked. Saruon shoved the apple back in.

"WHEN THE HORSES COME TO EAT MR. WATURS HERE, THEY'LL HELP THEMSELVES TO THE WINE. VIOLA! NO MORE HORSES!" He puffed himself up proudly. "SOMETIMES I'M SO BRILLIANT I SCARE MYSELF."

Thus saying, Sauron shoved the wine, the orc-roast, and a pair of wine glasses out into the room where the horses were feasting. He and Mouth hid behind an overturned table and watched.

The horse walked up to Waturs. It sniffed him. Waturs looked terrified.

"YEEESSSS," Sauron whispered, or at least yelled slightly less loudly. "GO ON..."

The horse sniffed the wine.

"THAT'S RIGHT..."

The horse ate up Mr. Waturs and left.

"CONFOUND IT!! HAVE YOU NO MANNERS AT ALL!?! I OFFER YOU WINE AND YOU REJECT IT!!" Sauron jumped up and down furiously. Mouth patted him on the shoulder.

"Well sir," he said. "You know what they say. You can lead a horse to Waturs, but you can't make him drink."

"MOUTH."

"Yes my lord?"

"SHUT UP."

**************************

Ten minutes later, Saruon and Mouth had concocted Plan C.

"Hey horses!" Yelled Mouth. "Look what we've got!" He pointed to the large wooden crate next to him. The horses walked forwards curiously.

"VIOLA! THE ONLY THING CAPABLE OF TAMING UNRULY HORSES!" Saruon opened the crate. Ten creatures walked out and reached for the horses.

Fifteen minutes later, the beasts were harnessed and were pulling Mount Zoom along.

"Wow," Mouth said. "It actually worked."

"YEP," Sauron replied. "IN EVERY HORSE MOVIE I'VE EVER SEEN, ALL IT TAKES TO CALM THEM DOWN IS TO GET AN EMOTIONALLY-DISTURBED TEENAGE OR PRE-TEEN GIRL ON THE SCENE. WE HAVE SOME BONDING MOMENTS, SOME ANGST, SOME EMOTIONAL RIDING SEQUENCES, AND PRESTO! GRAND FINALE! NICE HORSIES!!"

"Except, what are we going to do with all these teenagers?" Mouth asked warily, as a handful of said teens were now setting up makeover stations around the volcano.

"THE HORSES ARE STILL MANEATERS, AND WE'LL HAVE TO FEED THEM EVENTUALLY!" Sauron replied cheerfully. "AND NOW, WE HEAD NORTHWEST!!"

[Gil-Galad]

Montague was looking around... it was really quiet... the screams of the slaves used as wheels can't be heard, only the few groans and "i'm not dead yet!" but he'll be along shortly now...

Gothmog was still sleeping in the back, on top of his pile of Cosmo's magazines, snoring quite loudly.

Then Barrad-Dash came to a big halt as they crashed into what they assumed was a tree... but it was in fact OLD MAN WILLOW, Montague was terrified as Gothmog still slept away. Then OLD MAN WILLOW awoke and started swinging like crazy, having a temper tantrum. Montague, as the different orc he is, tried to calm him down, and they became friends over time, always playing, then one day Gothmog got up and saw Montague having fun, he charged over, with chocolate ice cream dripping from his shirt, and yelled at montague to get back in the veichle, Montague stated that he did not know where they were and be best they sit tight for dwarfy. Gothmog was furious, and also threw a fit like a little girl. Right then OLD MAN WILLOW came back from picking flowers, he though Montague was in danger so he decided to throw some sort of moving hting with dead wheels that screams of tormented souls that starts with a B...


So he threw that Buick, but he missed terribly, so he tried again with Barrad-Dash, it hit Gothmog right as he decided to calm down, but it still rolling and going after Montague, then OLD MAN WILLOW realized this and activated his super-powers, he was infact Manwe the Benevolent-ish ruler! and long story short, Montague was able to fly, Gothmog was now apart of the barrowdowns and OLD MAN WILLOW went to sleep


oh and Montague has lazer-eye beams... and a sword of fire...yeah...fire...blue fire... cause hes awesome... and he'll help anyone too if they sing a song, the Montague song

"Oh Montague your so fine, your so fine you blow my mind hey Monty! *clap* Hey Monty! *clap*"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Dwarfy.jpg The Eighth Challenge - Tea Time of Terror

As the vehicles drive along, it comes to around 6 o'clock. Tea time is comming fast, but it seems that a group of Barrow Wights have haunted the food storage areas and are drinking all the wine (or whatever).

Deal with them!

YOU HAVE UNTILL WEDNESDAY 19th JULY

[Glirdan]

"Oh Master!!!" Mouth cried. "It's your favortie time of the day!!!"

"OOOO!!! IS IT TOOL TIME!?!?"

"NO!! That's on at 7! It's TEA TIME!!"

"OOOO!!! YAY!! LET'S BREAK OUT THE PRETTY LITTLE PINK CUPS WITH FLOWERS ALL OVER THEM!!!"

"What!?!?"

"WELL YOU SEE, OUR OLD BLACK CUPS SEEMED TO BE KILLING OFF ALL OUR GUESTS! I THINK THE RIMS MIGHT HAVE BEEN POISONED...SO, I CHUCKED THEM AND BOUGHT NEW, PINK, FLOWERY ONES!! DON'T YOU LIKE THEM!?" Sauron added with a menacing look.

"Yes, of course I do Master," Mouth answered and then muttered quietly, "Pink and flowery cups!? What has gotten into him!?

"WHAT WAS THAT?"

"Nothing my lord, nothing!!"

"OKAY. SO WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!? GET THE CUPS OUT!!!!"

"Yes, straight away Master," and Mouth scurried off to find the cups, still muttering too himself. "Pink! And flowers!! Seriously!" He walked down to the kitchens and started his search for the cups there. "Hmmm...pink and flowery cups...where could they be? I mean, you couldn't miss them! They're so obvious in a Mountain that has only black and red on the interior!!" He searched and searched. Finally, he gave up and went back to the Control Room of Doom. "Master," Mouth panted. "I can't fi-"

"WOULD YOU BE QUIET!! I'M DRINKING MY TEA AND WATCHING THE SIX O'CLOCK NEWS!!!" Sauron yelled.

Mouth winced and looked over to find his Master sitting there drinking tea out of the very cups he was supposed to be looking for. "Master, where did those come from?"

"OH! I HAD THEM BROUGHT UP TOO ME BEFORE YOU LEFT ALL WILLY NILLY TO GO SEARCH FOR THE TEA CUPS!!"

"But...I....what!?!?" Mouth stuttered quite confused.

"COME JOIN ME FOR SOME TEA MOUTH!"

Mouth walked over and took his seat.

"Excuse me, do you mind not sitting in me?" an eerie voice floated up from the chair. Mouth jumped up, looked around at his chair and gasped.

"M-Mas-ster," he stuttered.

"YES MOUTH?"

"THERE'S SOMETHING SITTING ON OUR CHAIRS!!!!" he yelled and fled from the room.

He ran all the way down to the pantry "A pantry in a Mountain!? Who ever heard of such a thing!?" and opened the door, only to find more ghastly, green figures drinking all the wine and ale.

He ran out of there down to the kitchens. The orcs cooking looked up at him in confusion. "Get back to work you brainless oafs!!" Mouth barked. He started walking around muttering at loud and still getting glances from the cooks. "There are....what are they? Ghosts? Well, whatever they are, they're hauting our pantry and drining our wine and ale!! What are we going to do!?!?"

[Caranlondien]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Bag-Endlessfule.jpg Fog in the Kitchen

"Tea time!" cried Pippin jubilantly, racing through the halls of Bag End. "I've set the table and I made a surprise dish!"

"I hope you haven't been trying to re-create that recipe from the horse-eating-men," said Merry warily. Pippin chuckled uncertainly. The two hobbits set out in the direction of the kitchen. When they got there, they saw Frodo, Sam, and Bilbo looking disapprovingly at a stream of smoke pouring out of the doorway.

"Oops," said Pippin after a few seconds.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to go in and put out whatever's on fire," said Frodo resignedly.

The hobbits entered the kitchen in file, with Frodo leading. Sam was behind him, and after him came Pippin, and then Merry. Last came Bilbo. The kitchen seemed to stretch on endlessly. Suddenly Frodo saw a hopeful sign. On either side ahead a darkness began to loom through the mist; and he guessed that they were at last approaching the hearth, in which Pippin's cooking was presumably in flames.

"Come on! Follow me!" he called back over his shoulder, and he hurried forward. Before he knew it, he had entered the hearth. But now he seemed to be alone. "Sam!" he called. "Pippin! Merry! Come along! Why don't you keep up?"

He backtracked, but soon became lost. "Where are you?" he cried out miserably.

"Here!" said a voice, deep and cold, that seemed to come out of the ground. "I am waiting for you!"

"No!" said Frodo, but he did not run away. He fell to the ground and looked up. A tall dark figure leaned over him. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him. The icy touch froze his bones, and he remembered no more.

------------------------

Frodo awoke with a sense of dread. But when he opened his eyes, he saw no smoke. He looked around, bewildered. He was covered in soot from the hearth, and lying in the kitchen. Bilbo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin were sitting quite comfortably around the kitchen table, finishing their tea.

"What happened?" demanded Frodo.

Pippin held out a cup of tea. "Oh, a barrow wight and his family had moved in to our hearth. They mistook all the smoke for fog, you know. Horrible sense of smell, barrow wights have. Anyway, I explained it to Pete--that's his name, you see--and he was quite happy to shove off. Said the place was rather lacking in treasure for his tastes, anyway."

"But," Frodo broke in, "but, he tried to kill me!"

"Old Pete? Never!" cried Pippin. "The sweetest guy, he is. And he has a lovely wife, and two adorable children."

Frodo looked around helplessly at the other hobbits. Merry shrugged. "Pippin's the one that talked to them, the rest of us were out cold." Sam nodded in confirmation, but Bilbo frowned.

"Not enough treasure?" he asked incredulously. "All the treasure I brought back from the Lonely Mountain, the One Ring, Sting, mithril armor, and countless other relics, and it's not enough treasure for him?"

"Some of us," said Pippin haughtily, bits of biscuit flying out of his mouth, "have discerning tastes."

[Caranlondien]

Once the tea had been finished and Frodo had recovered, he and Merry went to have a look at the maps.

"Northwest, straight for the Grey Havens!" cried Frodo.

"Okay, okay," said Merry. "I'm right next to you, you don't have to yell."

[Glirdan]

"ARGH!!!!" Sauron cried as he ran into the kitchen's. "THERE'S GHOSTLY GREEN THINGS FLOATING AROUND IN THE PANTRY!!"

"Yes, Master. I'm quite aware of that."

"WELL!? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT!?"

"I thought we could...hold on...What am I going to do about it!? I thought we were a team!?!?"

"YES, WELL, YOU SEE..."

"YOU'VE REPLACED ME!?!?!" Mouth yelled in anger.

"WELL, NOT REPLACED PER SE..."

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!!!! YOU....Wait!! I think I have just come up with the perfect plan..." Mouth said slyly looking evily at his Master.

"MOUTH!? WHY ARE YOU...YOU WOULDN'T!!!" Sauron said horrified.

"You have no idea what I would or wouldn't do!!" and Mouth lunged at Sauron with a piece of rope which was convieniently placed beside him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Here ghastly ghouls!! Come get you're supper!!" Mouth cried into a speaker which echoed throughout the Mountain. He then looked at Sauron who was hanging outside off a pole. "It's okay Master, I have a theory and you're the best bait we have."

"MOUTH!! WHEN I GET DOWN FROM HERE, YOU'LL BE-"

"-sorr? Why? You betrayed me!!"

"NO!! I ONLY STARTED GOING OUT TO LUNCH WITH A RAT WRAITH!! THEY DO MAKE WONDERFUL COMPANY YOU KNOW."

"Oh!! Well in that case, I am sorry and you may harm me anyway you see fit."

"OH SHUT UP AND GET THIS THEORY WITH YOUR'S UNDER WAY!!!"

"Fine," then Mouth turned back to the speaker. "Here Wight's!! There's some fresh meat outside!! Come and-" Just then, he hear a rumble and the door burst open. He jumped off to the side as the Wigths rushed past him, through the window and outside to where Sauron was tied up. "That's it. Go outside, all of you..." Mouth muttered silently. Then he heard a shriek of pain. He looked up outside and saw that the Wight's were disintagrating as they got near Sauron. After awhile, all the Wights had disappeared.

"Well, that wasn't what I expected..."

"MOUTH."

"I thought they would have disintagrated because of the sun..."

"MOUTH!"

"Instead, I think that Master's soul sucked them into his own!!"

"MOOOUTTTHHH!!!'

"It's brilliant!! Go Mouth! Go Mou-"

"STOP YOUR CELEBRATING AND GET ME DOWN FROM HERE THIS INSTANT!!!"

"Oh!! Yes! Right away my lord!!'

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"SO, MY SOUL IS SO EVIL THAT IT SUCKS UP OTHER EVIL BEINGS AND MAKES THEM DISINTAGRATE!?"

"I think so!"

"IT'S BLOODY GENIUS!!!"

"I know!! I didn't even know you could do that!!"

"WELL, NOW THAT WE HAVE THAT PROBLEM TAKEN CARE OF, CARE TO JOIN ME FOR TEA?"

"I'd be delighted!! Pass me the sugar please!"

"HERE YOU ARE!! COULD YOU PASS ME THAT HALF AND HALF CREAM?"

"Certainly!"

"RAT WRAITHS!!!"

"Squeak?"

"HEAD NORTH NORTH WEST!!! DID YOU KNOW THAT'S AN ACTUAL DIRECTION!?!? IT'S AMAZING IT IS!!!" And the Moutain sped off North North West.

[Formendacil]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v604/hukbillgoomba/Minastaxi.jpg Denethor:

"Milord!" Húrin of the Keys gestured wildly for Denethor's attention. "There's a problem! We have-"

Denethor raised a hand brusquely, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

"What now? Haven't we had enough problems thus far? Be gone, and let me drive in peace!"

"But what if it affects the city?" asked Faramir. "Surely, we cannot drive if the Engine Room is damaged!"

"Is the Engine Room damaged?" Denethor snapped to Húrin.

"N-n-n-no," said Húrin, "but-"

"There, see?" Denethor retorted to Faramir.

"Well, other parts of the city-" Faramir began, but Denethor swung back to Húrin.

"Is the movement of the city in any way impeded?" he demanded.

"N-n-n-no..." Húrin began.

"Then forget the whining, and let's get on with this job! We have a race to win!"

"But the wights, milord!" Húrin finally broke through his stuttering. "They're drinking the Royal Cellar dry!"

"Whites? The laundry has got into the cellar?" Faramir was puzzled.

"No, Wights! Barrow-wights!" Húrin persisted. "There's a whole clan of them in the wine-cellars, and they're drinking us dry!"

"Is that it?" Denethor scoffed. "What do I care? It's not even my cellar! What do I care if they drink Thorongil's wine? In fact... we are being unmannerly! Faramir, go down to the cellars, and keep our guests company. We may need their help if we encounter any more disturbances before the Grey Havens. Oh, and the key to Thorongil's private brandy cupboard is under the doormat to his rooms."

"But... but..." Faramir began.

"No buts!" Denethor insisted. "I've got a city to drive! West-South-West!"

[Meneltarmacil]

Grima, bored half to death by the lack of action, waited until Saruman dozed off, then crept downstairs to the food storage areas, intent on getting some of that wine Saruman had been refusing to let him try. He opened the door and...

"AAAAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

This was answered by an equally loud "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!" from upstairs as Saruman charged downstairs.

"Snooping around in my private wine pantry, Grima? I should have guessed," the wizard remarked, and started bonking Grima on the head with his staff again.

"Master, I (OUCH!) think you should (OUCH!) look at those (OUCH!) ghost things!" Wormtongue explained.

There was, however, nothing to worry about. Saruman's wine had been some of the truly strong stuff, and the Barrow-Wights were passed out on the floor and snoring loudly.

"Get the big vacuum cleaner, Grima," Saruman commanded as he took one of the bottles of wine, chugged the entire thing in one gulp, and tossed the empty bottle out the window.

Grima brought the vacuum cleaner, and Orth-Tank set off Northwest after the Wights had been vacuumed up and dumped outside.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Bag Endless-fuel drove over the hills faster and faster as Mount Zoom thundered over the horizon behind the buggy. Bilbo urged the engineers to get the fireworks going at full speed, for Sauron's laughter could be heard getting louder and louder. Frodo stood at the controls, watching in horror as the cutlery and fine china flew across the room and the steering wheel looked as if it were about to fall off.

"Bilbo!" Sam cried, "We're going too fast! We'll crash!" The Blue Mountains came to an end and the buggy trundled over the rock and hills. Suddenly, the smell of the sea filled Sam’s nostrils and he forgot his fears for a time. The Grey heavens were near! The fire works gave one last blast of fire, sending Bag Endless-fuel zooming towards the finish line with all speed.

Dwarfy the Dwarf stood atop of the high white tower looking out over the lands, peering into the distance for the slightest glance of one of the racers. The crowd was growing restless and full of anger for Dwarfy had promised the winner within an hour, it had already been two. He bit his lip and had one last look across the horizon, and there he saw Bag Endless-fuel zooming towards them at an insane speed. In it's wake, however, was the towering mount Zoom, black smoke belching forth from its summit and ash falling all about it.

Bilbo ran to the control room, out of breath, he lent on the door way and tried to get Frodo's attention, "There’s," he began, "there’s no- no- ah... wait... just a moment... phew... there’s no... Phew... there are no breaks. Yeah, that was it. No breaks."

"WHAT?" cried Frodo, pulling the break leaver and seeing that nothing was happening, "We're all going to die!" he shrieked.

The Buggy smashed through the white tower, sending Dwarfy the dwarf into the sea, Sam lent out of the window and shouted, "No breaks! No breaks!" the crowd screamed and dispersed as the barrow buggy flew through the stands and out onto the peer before being sent sky high by an exploding firework. Bag Endless-fuel came hurtling down towards the sea, the hobbits yelled and screamed as the water came closer and closer.

All of a sudden, a freak time vortex opened up just below the buggy and it was sucked into it and sent thousands of years into the past. Some say that they were all destroyed in that vortex of Doom, but many like to believe that Bag Endless-fuel will race again. Perhaps in some other time and place, back when the world was different and Sauron was just the servant of another...

Meanwhile, Mount Zoom flew into the grey heavens and stopped right on the edge of the water. The black smoke poured forth and choked many in the audience while Dwarfy the Dwarf climbed out and peered up at the great mountain. From the crack of Doom, Sauron himself issued forth followed by Mouth and the rat wraiths. The crowd were filled with fear, as the Dark Lord stood before them, menacing and horrible to look upon.

"Well," he said, "Where is my award?"

http://i75.photobucket.com/albums/i291/JoelCornah/Winnerofzoom.jpg

[Maeggaladiel]

"THIS IS AMAZING!" Sauron yelled happily. "I CAN'T BELIEVE WE ACTUALLY WON! IT DOESN'T REALLY SEEM RIGHT, YOU KNOW?" Saruon hefted the trophy above his head and shook it. The crowd went wild. This may have been out of fear rather than admiration, though.

"Yes," Mouth mused. "It was really convenient of Bag Endles-Fuel to disappear like that..."

"GOTTA LOVE THE RANDOM TIME-SPACE VORTEX, HUH?" He looked down, unhappy. "I AM, HOWEVER, SOMEWHAT CONCERNED WITH THE FACT THAT THEY STILL HAVE MY RING OF POWER. WHAT IF THEY DO ONE OF THOSE WEIRD TIME-ALTERING THINGS, WHERE THEY, LIKE, STEP ON A BUTTERFLY OR SOMETHING AT THE DAWN OF TIME AND THAT CAUSES SOME CHAIN REACTION SO I NEVER EXIST? OR THAT THE NABISCO COMPANY IS NEVER CREATED?"

His eyes widened, a feat that was near impossible considering that his eyes are two holes in an iron helmet.

"WHAT IF THEY GO BACK TO THE TIME WHEN I WAS BUT A SERVANT OF ANOTHER?!!"

There was a moment of silence as he pondered this.

"NAH..."

"My lord..." Mouth began, kicking the dirt.

"YES, MINION?" Saruon prompted as he waved to the adoring crowd. At least, he pretended they were adoring. Really, they were probably all cheering in fear of his horrible wrath should they do otherwise. Or they were screaming obscenities. Or choking to death on the Mountain's exhaust. It was hard to tell when there were so many voices screaming so loudly.

"Well, my lord, we won, and I was wondering if you'd keep your promise." He suddenly looked very small as the Dark One turned and fixed his attention on him. For a moment, Mouth feared his life would end.

"I ALWAYS KEEP MY PROMISES!" boomed Sauron. "WHAT WAS IT I PROMISED YOU AGAIN?"

"A promotion, my lord." Mouth looked hopeful. Saruon pondered this for a moment.

"AH YES, I REMEMBER. VERY WELL. MOUTH OF SAURON, YOU ARE HEREBY BEING PROMOTED TO RANK OF... MOUTH-AND-LOWER-SINUS-AREA OF SAURON!!"

Mouth's nose suddenly got much larger and redder.

"Oh... lovely." Mouth said flatly.

"YOU ARE WELCOME."