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Old 03-09-2005, 05:44 PM   #243
Kuruharan
Regal Dwarven Shade
 
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Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: A Remote Dwarven Hold
Posts: 3,685
Kuruharan is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Kuruharan is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Kuruharan is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Boots All your base are belong to us

The Gallowship fled down the escalator, past the plot hole, and out the Mall. They continued fleeing pell mell until they reached an indefinite point and flopped down.

Chrysopylax pointed toward a hill looming in the distance. “Excuse me,” he said. “I believe that is the enemy right over there.”

"DOH!!!"

There were thousands of them spread all about the base of the hill.

“Verily,” muttered Orogarn Two. “When my people tried this stunt the earth was changéd from a plane into a sphere. Is it not time for the earth to be changéd into a banana shape or something?”

“Eucatastrophes can never happen the same way twice,” opined Kuruharan.

“It wouldn’t be exactly the same way,” retorted Orogarn Two.

“It would be the same principle,” rejoined Kuruharan.

“Pipe down,” snarled Merisuwyneil. “Look in the center of the camp! It looks like there is some sort of prisoner being tortured there!”

The distance was too great to see clearly, but it appeared that some figure with shockingly blonde hair was bound and surrounded by other figures who seemed to be going over his body with ostrich feathers and hitting him with wet noodles.

“My darling…” murmured Merisuwyniel.

“What?” said Orogarn Two.

“err…Nothing,” said Merisuwyniel.

“Milady,” shrilled a voice. “There is nothing else for it but to launch a desperate frontal assault to rescue yon prisoner and avenge the honor of this pathetic land!”

“B-b-but, that might get us killed!” whined Pimpi.

“Almost certainly,” agreed Reaperneep ecstatically.

“But then,” mused Merisuwyniel, “the Ent-that-was-Broken would fall into the clutches of Môgul Bildûr, dooming Muddled Mirth for all eternity.”

“So?” said Reaperneep. “We’ll have met with a glorious death in battle!”

“If Môgul conquers the world, the Halls of Mantoes would be his as well,” replied Merisuwyniel. “Even in death we could not escape him.”

“Well, actually, I think that would be more of a problem for you,” said Orogarn Two with a certain smugness.

“What about me?” asked Kuruharan.

“Uhhh…” said Orogarn Two.

Suddenly the air was shattered by the savage battle cries of the orcs.

“LOL! u R lAMeERZ11!!! WE ROoLZzE!1!”

A regiment of the savage creatures sprang into view.

“U iZ giViN Uz EnT (sP?) or loL11 u r gIon dy!!111”

Merisuwyniel blinked uncomprehendingly at their attackers. “What?”

“ALl YouR bASE r BELong tO uZ LOL11!!!!11”

“Oh dear,” sighed Vogonwë. “I suppose this probably means that somebody set up us the bomb.”

A little to the side, Chrysophylax muttered something to Kuruharan. “I think it might be about time to use the Whistle. It would lend some meaning to post number 215.”

“What about post number 243?” asked Kuruharan.

“I think all hoped is lost,” answered Chrysophylax.

Without further ado, Kuruharan pulled out one small bundle he had acquired in post 215. Out of the bundle he pulled a little whistle. He set the whistle to his lips and blew a mighty blast. There was no sound and nothing happened. “Are you sure it worked?” asked the dragon. “No,” answered Kuruharan. “Quick, lemme up! We may need to make a quick exit from the story!” Just as the dwarf was climbing to his accustomed position, a dull rumble was heard in the distance.

Then came the horn.

“Oh, wait…” muttered Kuruharan. “I should have thought of this sooner…what if he’s been banned here too?”

“Too late,” hissed the dragon as an earthshaking barking erupted from somewhere nearby. The orcs stopped dead in their tracks.

“WhAz DaT!!!///?”

The orcs abruptly discovered that “DaT” was the sound of a pack of monstrously oversized, vicious, and bloodthirsty hounds who pounced upon them from above and went charging on toward the enemy camp, leaving a trail of gore and shattered limbs in their wake.

The horn sounded again, very near, and it shook the Don’tknowwhatthey’vestartedship to the ground. A figure of glittering scarlet and white flashed past at blinding speed, blasting deafening (but merry) notes on his horn. A few seconds later a group of stout fellows in pigtails and short red jackets went running past, wheezing and gasping like they were having a collective coronary.

“What in the name of my gem-encrusted toenail clippers was that?” demanded Leninia.

“Hornme the Foxhunter and his Magnificent Steed Har-har,” answered Kuruharan. He has hunted every thing from the Swine of Aha to the Bingos of Down Below.”

“But has he chased Electrons to and fro?” asked Pimpi.

“But I thought the Velour would not aid us,” said Merisuwyniel.

“He’s…different,” said Kuruharan. “Let’s go watch.”

The trail of shredded internal organs provided them with ample guidance to their destination. On a little knoll, a short distance from the appalling carnage (that I could not possibly describe on a family site) sat Hornme and Har-har themselves. Har-har was an incomparably dazzling specimen of cream-colored horseflesh (Merisuwyniel instantly wanted to go give him a good rubdown, the lucky stallion…). Seen at close range, the Messyship discovered that Hornme wore a funny little black cap, a gloriously scarlet jacket, shining white trousers, and impeccably shined jackboots. Under one arm he held a vicious looking riding crop and with his other hand he held a pair of golden field glasses. One could tell by looking at him that he contained all the haughtiness befitting his rank and station. He would speak with such noble disdain to every one, carry his nose so high (that the field glasses could more accurately be described as a periscope), strain his voice to such a pitch, assume so imperious an air, and gallop about with so much loftiness and pride (to say nothing of lack of regard for anybody else’s life or limb) that anyone who had the honor of addressing him would be seized by an irresistible urge to thrash him. His native power and his dogs invariably prevented such an outcome. He was also outrageously handsome so that most women were immoderately desirous to get their hands on him (at least until he opened his mouth). In his own eyes, he appeared to be the paragon of beauty. As can easily be imagined, his fellow Velour found him to be beyond insufferable and they’d packed him off to Muddled Mirth at the earliest available opportunity. Alas, those in Muddled Mirth had taken an ill view of his devastation of the land and wildlife and had recently sent him packing back to Valleyfornia. His attendants lay strewn about the feet of Har-har, all gasping fit to burst.

“Good show!!” he squawked at the top of his voice. “Rip out that large intestine!!”

The Gallowship looked upon the slaughter.

“I say, fellow,” bawled Hornme, rapping Orogarn Two on the top of his head with the riding crop. “Be a good chap and keep hold of Har-har while I go to inspect the damage!” With one final whack to the noggin punctuate the point, Hornme bounded out of the saddle and strode off into the mess. Har-har remained with a most disdainful air about his new handler. In the midst of the rout, the forces of Môgul finally remembered they had aerophants that would take them out of the range of these demented dogs and their deranged keeper. The ponderous pachyderms were packed with a polyglot parcel of pugnacious Dumbarians, orcs, and Loyers, all eager to escape the dogs and wreck ruin upon their assailants from on high. The surviving aerophants took to the sky and sped with winged speed upon the Gallowship.

“NOW WHAT?!!!” cried Merisuwyneil.

“Here,” yelled Kuruharan. “I picked these up in the Seventh Age.” He pulled a pair of long metal tubes and large stands out from the back of the wagon carrying the Ent-that-was-Broken. He set them up so that the tubes pointed toward the sky. He grabbed Vogonwë and shoved a smaller tube-shaped thing into the half-elf’s hands. “Jam these into the back end of the guns!” commanded Kuruharan.

“What’s a gun?” said Vogonwë.

“Just do it!” yelled Kuruharan, pulling out a funny looking helmet and goggles from his robes and putting them on his head. The ill-sorted pair readied their unbelievably anachronistic devices. Finally, they both grabbed a length of cord from the back of their respective thingies.

“READY!” cried Kuruharan. “FIRE!!”

Last edited by Kuruharan; 03-11-2005 at 06:41 PM.
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