Thread: ATM II RPG
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Old 01-24-2007, 01:13 PM   #297
Hookbill the Goomba
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Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: On A Cold Wind To Valhalla
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Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Hookbill the Goomba is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
Smilog stomped his way from Mount Zoom in a fierce and frenzied way; in all respects, this was a Dwarf who had had a bad day. He grumbled and moaned, swore and spat until he just frowned as he stomped. "I blame you for this," he muttered, "Roggie! You and your blasted mountain." Khuz hobbled along a little behind his son and eventually had to cough loudly in order to get his attention. Smilog turned swiftly on his heel and then sighed in annoyance as he watched his father hobble closer.

"You do know that there is a huge battle about to start?" queried Smilog, "only, by the time we get there it'll be over and maybe a whole different battle will have started; one that we have nothing to do with."

"Shut up!" shouted the old Dwarf, "my legs aren't what they used to be. Why couldn't that lass take us to the Battle in the Zoom?"

"She said it was too dangerous and quite frankly I'm glad to see the back of it."

They marched on, slowly and angrily; stomping their feet as hard as they could and with great intent of making as much dust fly up as they could. Weather this was to try and make a mysterious effect was was a mild coincidence, no tale tells, but most accept that it was the latter.

Above the black clouds of Mordor the moon was rising, it's great face's light unable to penetrate the rush hour like traffic of the clouds and so the moon felt rather unhappy and left out and so went off to sulk. Birds flew just below the clouds, circling around the grave yard awaiting their feast or, at least, light snack depending on who won. The stench of upturned soil and bellowing geezers filled the air, forcing the Dwarves to cover their noses and make unsavory faces.

There was a disturbance in the air; the silence of the land was broken by a most unearthly sound....


Mixed with an eery and haunting;

BOOM... boom-boom-boom... BOOM...boom-boom-boom... BOOM

"War drums," murmured Khuz, "we have little time." forgetting their annoyance, the Dwarves hurried along the path with as swift a pace as they could. Leaping over rocks and roots that lay in their way and panting like fat children in a cross country marathon. Within a few swift minutes they came to the gate of the grave yard, yet as they stood beneath the arc of the gate, an eery voice trailed over their heads...

"Trruuueeeeee loooovvvvvveeeeeeeee."

"Blue gloves?" said Smilog, "who's going on about blue gloves at a time like this?"


Tollin's eyes fixed on where the sound of relentless quacking was coming; wereducks were something one didn't forget in a hurry. The Barrow Wight's golden hilted sword some how managed to glisten in the dim light of the Mordorian night. A red gem glowed in the guard and the pommel bore words in the Numenorian language. Not that The Barrow Wight had ever read them, that Sword had spent most of its life on a shelf above his fire place, he wasn't even sure if it was sharp.

"Looks like a terrible business, old chap," said the Wight, "they say were ducks can bight your face right off!"

"Who says?"

"Erm..." The Barrow Wight looked upwards and rolled his eyes around, "I'm not sure. But I'm sure whoever it is that said it, did indeed say it."

"I've never heard that," mused Tollin, "in fact, you're the only one I've heard say it. For all I know, the 'they' you speak of might be you. You don't have schizophrenia by any chance?"

"QUACK!" from behind them, the ghastly noise rose like... well... a rising sound. Almost instinctively, Tollin lifted his Morning Star and sung it down in the direction of the sound. There was an almighty 'splat' and a fading 'quack'. They lowered their heads and there, beneath the spikes and ball of the Morning star, lay the body of a wereduck; splattered.

"By Jingo," said The Barrow Wight, "looks like the blighter died instantly."

"You!" came an oddly familiar and probably bearded voice, "I thought you were surly dead!" Smilog trotted up to the Minotaur and the dead man and remarked, "you look right at home here, Mr Wight."

"Gosh." said The Barrow Wight.
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