[Diamond18]

“Well, here we are, folks,” announced Chrysophylax, alighting upon the ground. He extended his strong scaly wings like ramps, and allowed the menagerie of creatures to descend down from his back like a collection of circus clowns exiting an extremely small car. "What a hideously bad duo of analogies," he mused.

The Itship, exhausted from the excitement, duress, and general overall unrest of the battle, fell upon the bank and lay there like dirty laundry tossed aside carelessly after a hard day of sweaty exercise. Pimpi was the first to pop up, rejuvenated by a patch of mushrooms she had fortuitously landed on.

She glanced around and noticed two things, which she addressed in order of perceived importance. “Where, oh where has O Lando gone?” she wondered.

“I spied him leaving in the company of another Elf,” Vogonwë informed her. “I suspect that, his task of leading us to Gol Dulldor finished, he returned to his home. O Lando was never much for traveling far.”

Pimpi sighed at this news. “Do you suppose we’ll ever see him again?”

Vogonwë shrugged. “Not if I’m lucky.”

This matter resolved, Pimpi turned and fixed her blue eyes which I am running out of similes and adjectives for, on the becarbuncled Orc next to Merisuwyniel. “Who in the name of crumb cakes and tea leaves is that?” she exclaimed.

“I’m not sure how to explain,” replied Merisuwyniel as the curious eyes of the Itship turned to her for an answer. Gravlox, had he been a lesser Uruk, might have felt a good deal of trepidation, surrounded as he was by two overzealous warrior-types, one axe wielding Dwarf with an eye for exploitation, a big fat fire breathing Dragon, an innocuous but annoying Elf, an impertinent little Hobbit-like creature, and four sets of horse hooves. But, being the intrepid Uruk he was, he was simply thoughtful, trying to determine if he had left anyone out of his observations.

Merisuwyniel, meanwhile, was doing a goodly amount of quick-thinking. “This,” she finally fibbed fetchingly, “is a secret agent, who has been stationed at Gol Dulldor for…a while. He specializes in Orcish infiltration, espionage, intrigue, and…the like. He has come to us with high recommendations from…um…Saladriel’s Salad Bowl, and he’s going to lead us to our next destination.” She smiled nervously, hoping that the others would not call her bluff and rise up in anger at the uncharacteristic deceitfulness employed so conveniently.

“Then that hideous mien is merely a disguise?” Kuruharan asked, calculating the selling potential for such convincing stage make-up and latex attachments.

“No, haven’t you ever heard of redemption?” Merisuwyniel answered. “Orcs can be good people, too.”

“And he is to be our guide?” Orogarn Two said dubiously.

“Yes, I will guide you to the stronghold of Minor Moreghoul,” declared Gravlox, “for I have been there before, and escaped through sheer cunning and cleverness.”

“Escaped, or set loose?” Etceteron speculated, arching his eyebrows manfully (though sadly falling short of the sheer awesomeness of Roneld’s brows).

“Eru, this conversation is so insipid,” Vogonwë interrupted. “Wouldn’t you rather listen to me recite Fit the Fourth? There is much to cover, as so very much happened since Fit the Third.”

“Do not stray from the topic at hand,” Orogarn Two said sternly, flexing his muscles.

“Have I seen you before?” Pimpi blurted suddenly. “For, as we have stood here engaged in this tedious discourse, I have been having some seriously nauseating déjà vu… But… I can’t quite place it…”

“All Orcs look the same,” Etceteron said helpfully. “If you’ve killed one, you’ve killed them all.” He paused and amended, “I mean…seen one, seen them all…of course.”

“You must be thinking of my evil twin, Clive,” Gravlox said with an innocent smile, which was quite a feat for an Orc.

Pimpi narrowed her stupendously dreamy azure eyes and mused, “Perhaps…and I know this is a strange request, but perhaps if your Orc friend were to stand in front of a swirling vortex of blood, I could—wait! Lopitoff is trying to tell me something…”

“Timmy fell down the well?” Vogonwë speculated sarcastically.

“No… It’s a code of some sort… “B-E-S-U-R-E-T-O…. Be sure to… Be sure to what? D-R-I-N-K-Y-O-U-R-O-V-A-T-I-N-E… Be sure to drink your Ovaltine?” Pimpi wrinkled her brow at the cryptic message her disembodied jewelry was sending her.

“False alarm,” Vogonwë said cheerfully. “Now, for the Fit—”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Merisu,” Pimpi persisted, “for you are like a sister to me and generally any friend of yours is a friend of mine. But I must say, your Orc-spy looks foul, and feels familiar. I—”

“Oh, look,” said Gravlox, “I have some Doritos in my pack, does anyone want some?”

“Me,” Pimpi said, snatching the Orcish-waybread from his hand. “I love trying out new and different ethnic foods.” And then she promptly fell to busily crunching away at the MSG laden snack. She found it good, and the suspicious Orc rose in her esteem for the time being, because though knowledge is power, ignorance is bliss, especially when said blissful ignoramus is well-fed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, Fit the Fourth will be forthcoming.

[ March 10, 2003: Message edited by: Diamond18 ]