With the deaths of the three Loyers and the consequential angering of the enemy hordes, it appeared that battle was indeed about to be joined in earnest (most likely
dead earnest). Since recovering from his collapse after sending his O-mail to Yawanna Gateskeeper had merely stood observing the unfolding of events and commenting the bleedingly obvious. Until now.
Quietly he slipped off unnoticed from the We're-all-going-to-die-ship while they were distracted by the assembling of the resurrected enemies, disappearing behind a rock outcropping nearby. After a short period of quiet mumbling (and a couple of shocked gasps) a figure emerged from the shadows, grey and dirty robe tattered and ragged, a bent figure moving slowly. He looked like an old beggar-man, walking wearily, leaning on his rough staff. His head was bowed, and he did not look towards them.
Vogonwe was the first of the Hey-remember-we-are-the-good-guys-and-gals-ship to notice the figure, but could not see his face: he was hooded, and above the hood he wore a wide-brimmed hat, so that all his features were over-shadowed. Yet it seemed to Vogonwe that he caught the gleam of black-rimmed glasses keen and bright from within the shadow of the hooded brows . The wannabe-poet elbowed Orogarn Two, who was muttering to himself trying to keep up with all the newcomers now on their side. "That line of horses," queried the Proctor's heir, "can you make out the warriors astride them?"
"Sure," said the sharp-eyed arrow-thrower. "Who-him's on the first one, Too-thin's on the second, and Moron's on the third."
"Who's on the second?" asked Orogarn, slightly puzzled.
"Who's on first." replied the patient elf.
"No, what's the name of the warrior on second?"
"Too."
"Yes?"
"No, I meant Too is second."
"Of course two is second -- being Orogarn
Two I ought to know. I want to know who's on the second horse!"
"Who's on first."
"What a moron!"
"Oh, he's on third."
"
WHO'S on third?"
"No, Who's on first."
"Gah! I need Maalox."
"Oh, he's bringing up the rear..."
While these two prattled on, the bent grey figure positioned himself between the battle-readied questians and the approaching armies, so that he could no longer be ignored. Kuruharan gazed with wide eyes for a while, as step by step the figure drew nearer. Then suddenly, unable to contain himself longer, he burst out: "Your arrows, Vogonwe! Get ready! It is Sauerkraut. Do not let him speak, or put his hotdog smell upon us! Throw first!"
Vogonwe took his arrow slowly and as if some other will resisted him. He held it loosely in his hand but did not ready to throw. Orogarn and Merisu stood silent, their faces watchful and intent.
"Why are you waiting? What is the matter with you?" said Pimpiowyn in a hissing whisper.
"Vogonwe is right," said Orogarn quietly, "as improbable as that might seem." Vogonwe cast a withering glance at Orogarn, but the Grundorian failed to notice and it missed its mark, falling to the ground untouched. Orogarn continued, "We may not shoot an old man so, at unawares and unchallenged, whatever fear or doubt be on us. Watch and wait!"
"That's never stopped us before," noted the rest of the group, more-or-less in unison. The old man took no notice, but stooped and sat himself on a low flat stone. Then his grey cloak drew apart, and they saw, beyond doubt, a flash of white, but whether of hidden clothing or untanned flesh could not be determined. With a flourish he swept off the grayed and dirty cloak he had worn since he first appeared to the Whatdowedonowship. (At least, it was intended to be a flourish, and would have succeeded except that the sleeves momentarily tangled, destroying the effect.) The assembled Questians, surprised (and slightly embarassed) by the maneuver, averted their eyes, not knowing what the four-eyed man wore beneath (if anything). When they dared to look again, behold, the Gateskeeper stood before them, his hair was white as snow in the sunshine (as was his pasty white skin); and gleaming white were his dress shirt and jeans; the glasses under his deep brows were polished bright, piercing as the rays of the sun; a power strip was in his hand.
"Gatesy," murmured Merisu in surprise and wonder, "your hand is restored! And you're all in white!"
"I have come through
fire and
water, and a bit of
Balrox Bleach works wonders," replied the shining geek, who wasted no time in turning to the advancing enemy who were momentarily blinded by the sunlight coruscating off his glasses and new attire. Using that moment to best advantage, Gateskeeper began speaking spells of delay and time-wasting:
Solitaire, Freecell, Pac-Man and Plus-pack!
Minesweeper, Tetris and Missile Attack!
Online casinos and fake-contest spam!
Neopets, Xanga, Napster and Hangman!
As he spoke the staff of the bright maia began to spin and turn in his hands, and soft wares began to appear, flying at the encroaching evil emissaries. Even more surprising, however, was the fact that the enemy did nothing to resist the incoming programs, but instead grabbed at them and fought over them. The advance of the enemies slowed to a crawl as they began examining, then playing the insidious games and mind-numbing amusements with single-minded focus. Mogul could hardly believe his eyes at the sight of great wyrms playing Dig-Dug, Werewolves playing Duck Hunt, and Orcs playing Beavis and Butthead (for them, a reality game) -- the Dark Lord had forgotten to put up the filters and firewalls.
Gateskeeper gave a great whistle, and from the recently resurrected came a horse shining white -- the fabled Fad-O-Slacks, Lord of Horses and Fashion Pantaloons. Leaping upon the great equine form the great software nerd cried, "Now! Charge!!" A roar rose up from the side of the Good Guys (tm) that shook the air and earth, and the line of righteous combatants surged forward to join battle.