[littlemanpoet]

Anakron led the Offending Party off of the Platform of Caer Pairadocks, his black cloak flowing behind him regally. As they came to a wall in a high building with bad architecture, he looked over his shoulder once, condescendingly, and said, "Single file, please." Immediately, squabbling broke out for pride of place behind the pontifical presence of the Grand Anakronist himself. Anakron rolled his eyes, caring not who was first or last.

They entered the building and walked down a narrow, musty corridor. There was room for one individual going in either direction, and they Offending Party passed by many officiously dressed Orcs, all of whom had halitosis, causing those with health conditions to gag and cough and water profusely from their eyes. Anakron seemed immune to both the smell and its effects upon their bodies.

Finally the corridor led after a while to a huge foyer, knwon as the (what else?) Grand Entrance of Caer Pairadocks, known by all and sundry in that part of town as White-All. Which seemed a gross misapplication, since the building was quite dirty and gray, perhaps with the fumes that were ever in the air in Mordor.

Anakron stopped the Offending Party at a long desk in the Grand Entrance, behind which stood an officious looking Orc dressed in a drab gray uniform covered in badges, bars, and stripes, denoting the Orc's high station in the Mordorian bureaucracy.

Anakron raised his staff and the Siamese Cat sitting atop it opened its mouth and yowled. "Your prepared speech, Lugnut."

Lugnut blinked with a pained expression. "Lûgnût, sir," coughed the Orc. Lûgnût faced the Offending Party officiously.

"Your obstreperous duty," said the genderless one, "is to propend from these premises to Edge-Where, at which location will be transferred to you your next challenge. All currency shall be removed from your persons post haste, and to each of you will be donated ten Trolls for various and sundry expenditures that you will incur whilst on your meandering journey. Oh, and you also shall be invested with these maps for your perusal and potential aid."

Each of the Offending Party handed in their money and received ten Trolls, and were directed to stand where the Grand Anakronist indicated with his Staff.

"Oh, one final detail. No assistance of any nature that you consider your personal possession, be they butlers, servants, men at arms, or what have you, may propound to you whilst on this endeavor. You must attend to your own considerations of the more necessary nature.

"You have one day, that is, a period not less nor more than twenty-four hours, to reach your destination whilst journeying through the metropolitan demesne Lûndûn, using the [i]public transport system[/b], to arrive at Edge-where. Be aware that the maps have erroneous names. Such places as Less-Terse-Square, as you know them, are given names on these maps that read more like Lice-Ester-Square. So use care in finding your way around. And at this moment, you may endeavor to begin."

With that, the Offending Party raced out into the open air and were immediately smitten by the familiar fume and stench of White-All. Litter blew down the walks and streets in a stiff wind, for it was another day of bad weather. The roads were jammed with yellow PT Cruisers or Little French Cars With No Guts, most of them blaring their horns in a horrendous din. Orcs were behind the wheel of every vehicle they saw. Worse, the Offending Party were constantly getting bumped by people, all of whom seemed to be in a rush.

Anakron shouted from the doorway, "Well, don't just stand there, gawking and procrastinating, you fools! Get on with it! Your future depends on it!"