Thread: ATM II RPG
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Old 05-29-2007, 02:36 PM   #328
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.
The dead body of Tollin lay, as most dead bodies do, still. Most dead bodies, mind you. One dead body was stood up besides him with a sword drawn, beating off the approaches of several were creatures. The Barrow Wight swung his golden sword this way and that, slicing heads, arms and faces wherever he saw them. But as he laughed in the midst of battle, he heard the neighing of a horse. To his horror, a great purple rider drew up before him, holding aloft a mighty sword.

The Farsegul laughed and pulled back its hood, yet there was no head, only a small potato floating where a brain should probably have been. Above the potato was a crown seemingly made of lettuce. It laughed again and said in a voice cold and terrible, "Old fool! Do you not know death when you see it?"

"Well, actually-" began the wight,

"Die now and curse in vain! This is my hour!" The sword of the Farsegul burst into flame and its horse let forth a bellow. The flames stopped and the Purple Rider coughed, "Sorry about that," he admitted, "the horse has been eating too many peas. It's got a bit of wind, you see. But anyway, you will die!"

The Pink horse was spurred at the Barrow Wight, but he leaped aside just in time and sliced the head from the hideously dressed creature. Up from the ruin rose the purple figure, its sword in hand and its potato a flame. "You!" he cried, "You have killed my steed!"

"I know," answered the Barrow Wight, "cutting off heads usually does the trick."

"Don't be fascias," snapped the Farsegul, "I am the lord of the purple Riders. The Wizard Emperor, I am. Witch King had been taken apparently." Thus their swords met in battle and for a time, the Barrow Wight was beaten back, and forced to his knees by the strength of the creature. The sword was pointed at the neck of The Barrow Wight, "Dead man," cried the Rider, "Only by a dead sword canst thou die. So Die now, be you living or dead." He raised the blade to strike, but he stopped.

Horns! Horns on the hills! The Dwarves had arrived!

***

The skies were filled with strange signs and messages and it was not long before Smilog's head began to swim. Khuz was laughing in the heat of battle, hewing off feet and heads when they came low enough. Smilog felt sick. So much blood. So many screams. He had got into diplomacy to avoid this sort of thing and now he was in the thick of the thing he had most feared. Chopping another Werewolf in half he cried aloud, "How long will this night endure?"

"About five hours," said a voice, "Fear not, oh Smilog, son of Khuz, the time is coming when you must face great perils."

"No thanks," he replied, "great pearls, now that's another matter."

"Listen to me," the voice grew louder, "not for nought didst thou find thy way to being assigned to Mordor. Indeed, hast thou not seen the signs in the sky? The Wizard's fall is near."

"Now, do you mean 'wizard's' plural or singular?" asked Smilog as another Were duck fell to his axe, "because there are a bleeding lot of wizards around and I for one would-" He stopped and listened. The horns were heard on the winds. The Dwarves were near! The Dwarven host was here!
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