[Birdland]

Suddenly a voice spoke: “You cannot pass! This is a one-lane highway bridge! I am the Wielder of the Ticket of Moredough. Your speed will not avail you – you cannot pass!”

"Grrralph," asked Vogonwë. "What does your...thing think she is doing out there?"
"Beats me," answered the Wraith. "I didn't even know that she could talk."

And had it not been for the fact that Grrralph was catching his first sight of a genuine Balfrog, (who, unexpectedly, was wingless, and also smaller than he had pictured), he would have remembered that his faithful, lovelorn, impossibly aerodynamic steed could, in fact, NOT talk.

So who had spoken? Who had stepped forward and in ringing tones commanded this very spawn of Môgul to cease and desist his vicious pursuit of our Whatsitship?

Well, you had to look close, since he was standing in between two of the largest creatures of evil on Muddled Mirth, and there was a lot of smoke and flame. It was Norni Thistlebuck, the Dwarfling, the unfortunate disdained love-child of the Halfling croupier and a petty-dwarf cigarette girl. Norni was such an embarrassment to denizens of the Glitzy Caverns that he had been exiled to this lonely outpost of the caves, where he was assigned the job of toll gate keeper, and told - for Emu’s Sake - to keep out of sight.

Norni was perfectly happy with his life, having inherited his father’s happy-go-slothly hobbity ways, and none of the social-climbing skills of his mother. Also his beardless, chinless face and stubbled feet tended to scare small children, and Norni was soft-hearted when it came to the kids. So the tiny dwarfling spent his days napping, chain-smoking bowl after bowl of Old Soapy, dropping pebbles off the bridge to see how long it took them to hit bottom, and staring vacantly into space. Every so often a lost Elven spelunker or a dwarf thinking he had found a shortcut to the VIP level of the casino would pass through, and Norni would dutifully collect the bridge toll from the wayfarer, punch a hole in the receipt to show that they had paid, and then return to his lonely, futile, worthless existence.

Norni had been taking his post second breakfast nap when the horrified Gallowship came storming across the narrow bridge. The sounds of thundering feet and hoofs startled the dwarfling into action. Thinking that a bunch of gate jumpers had dashed across the bridge to avoid paying the toll, he manfully (or dwarfully) threw himself down from his kiosk onto the span, stopping (or so he thought) the Balfrog just as the malevolent Máyôr caught his first sight of our broken hearted fell beast, Grrruff.

Grrruff had sat woefully yet hopefully in the stables, waiting anxiously for the halfling croupier to deliver the billet-doux composed by the Entish Thigh. The croupier - a bitter, down-on-his-luck Bucklander who had once dreamed of making it big in Minus Teeth - had tossed this letter in the nearest floor drain (which were placed conveniently throughout the casino for the use of the patrons.)

And so the day had passed, with no word from her erstwhile heart‘s desire. Grrruff had sank further and further into despair, despite the encouraging words of Falafel, who had tried desperately to stem the Nazgrrl’s tears (This because a tear-soaked Nazgrrl has a very funny smell.) As the infamous Balfrog stormed the entertainment complex, Falafel had pushed, nudged and finally kicked the listless creature of darkness out of the stable just before the roof collapsed in smoke and flame from a well-placed whip-crack.

Grrrruff plodded over the bridge, following on the heels of the scrambling, panic-stricken Run-awayship. At that moment there was only on thing that could snap her out of her broken-hearted funk: a direct command from her shrouded master.

“Grrruff! Sit Pretty!” screamed Grralph, in a last desperate attempt to block the bridge. And just as Norni plummeted down upon the span and started demanding that the Balfrog cough up the toll, Grrruff the Nazgul stretched her wings, extended her talons, bared her fangs and spread her collar. Backlit by the spreading flames and a neon advertisement for Old Winyards, it was a stunning display.

Thus Mordaenárur the Balfrog, for the first time in the half-light of the caverns beheld Grrruff, Fell Beast of Moredough and thought her dark, dark and scorched, like a crisped sapling standing amidst the the debris of a slash-and-burned grove, while a small, annoying dwarfling hopped up and down at her feet, screaming.

And Grrruff now was suddenly aware of him: tall heir of an Entish broom, wingless - though it looked good on him - and hiding a grudge against all, that yet she felt. For a moment, still as stone she stood and stared at Mordaenárur. And it was at just this moment that Chrysophylax entered the scene, clambering over the destruction left by the Balfrog, flashing a drunken smile as he bawled loudly “Hey, baby! Here I am! Whosh your dragon, baby?”

Chrysophylax was brought up short by a broad, wingless back as he tried to cross the bridge to the object of his desire. Poking the obstruction in the back with a talon, Chrys slurred “Hey, buddy, ya wanna step aside there? I got a date with a Maia…” He waved frantically towards the blushing Grrruff, then greeted her again with a potent, smoky belch.

[ October 29, 2003: Message edited by: Birdland ]