[Mithadan]

As with any activity conducted in a public forum, so too are there fans of the legal profession; those who would rather perish than miss a trial of any great moment. Those who hang upon every last word spoken by a loyer and every last nuance of the law. From the corners of Valleyum, these had descended upon the plain before the Hill of Fish to witness Sueim strive against Greedhog. There they stood in the gallery. All two of them. At this moment, they were attempting to do the wave but were rather looking like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum bobbing up and down from Through the Looking Glass. But that is, of course, a different story...

Hal sidled over to Merisu and patted her on the shoulder. "Have heart fair maiden," he cried. "It is always darkest before the storm. Every cloud has a silver lining. What goes up must come down. Our distinguished counsel will muster his wiles and deliver a brilliant repartee! Justice will prevail! E pluribus unum! Ad hoc, ad loc and quid pro quo!"

"Ipsi dixit?" mumbled Kuruharan.

"Et tu?" snarled Orogarn with a glare at the dwarf.

Then Sueim smiled and rose gracefully from the counsel's table. He paused to straighten his tie, then advanced to stand before Mantoes. The shining loyer cleared his throat and then spoke in sonorous tones, words of great moment and significance. "I rest my case," he said.

"WHAT!" cried Merisu. "That's it?"

Sueim looked off towards the hill upon which the stake stood with a prisoner bound to it with leather thongs and duct tape. He nodded. "That is most assuredly it," he replied. "Hal would you escort Merisu to the rear of the Itship please?"

Hal gave Sueim a poisonous look, however, with the Velour looking on he had little choice but to comply. With bowed head, Merisu walked away until she was hidden from view behind Chrysophylax who, for the past few minutes, had been issuing a cloud of steam that even Prada's bright eyes could not pierce.

Mantoes hemmed and hawed for a few minutes with the other Velour, then returned to the bench. "Like, having reviewed the Orcish Conundrum Concordat and the records of Gravlox Uruk, we think that he was well on the way to redemption even before that idiot Elf or half Elf shot him full of arrows..."

From behind the Mists of Chrysophylax there came a voice. "What! Hey! I object! OW! Pimpi, why did you hit me..." Quite rightfully, the voice was dutifully ignored by all present.

"...Even after his untimely demise," continued Mantoes. "He worked hard at his lessons and training, even his dental hygiene though to little avail, and learned the ways and manners of the Elves. We find that he is sufficiently reformed to not qualify as an Orc for the purposes of the Orcish Conundrum Concordat."

"Oh my Emu!" came a distinctly and properly feminine yet strong and admirable cry from behind the Smokes of the Dragon. This cry was likewise ignored.

Greedhog ground his teeth in irritation and his clerks began discussing how to appeal from a ruling of the highest court on Muddled Mirth. Then Mantoes spoke again. "But like, however, the fact is that he is in the possession of Môgul Bildûr, formerly known to all here as Melvin Bluenote, and like, it is so totally true that possession is nine-tenths of the law. So I guess we kind of, like, have to rule in favor of Môgul Bildûr."

From behind the Mists of the Wyrm, there came another cry. One would have expected it to be the sound of anguish and grief of a distraught lover who had lost her one and only forever. But it sounded suspiciously like, "Yes! Yes!"

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum gasped, as did a few of the other, less interested, observers. At Greedhog's counsel table there were high fives all around and not a few "Woo hoos" and cries of "Who's your daddy?" But Sueim rose and, to the surprise of all present, he did not look displeased. Indeed, he was smiling broadly. "My Lord Mantoes," he began. "Some clarification, please. As I understand, your ruling is that Gravlox Uruk is redeemed, but that whoever is in possession of him is entitled to his...errr... possession. Is that correct?"

Mantoes nodded. "Sorry, dude."


"No problemo," said Sueim. He motioned towards the sky, and a wind arose which blew aside the Mists of Chrysophylax. The dragon, who appeared almost to be a bit teary, stepped aside. There was revealed for all to see, the sight of Merisuwyniel and Gravlox Ex-Uruk embracing one another tightly. Next to them were Pimpiowyn and Vogonwë, Gravlox's rescuers. They waved happily at Sueim, who waved back. Then the Loyer turned to face Môgul's counsel.

"Possession is nine tenths of the law, Greedhog," cried Sueim. "In your face!"

The forces of Môgul Bildûr quailed at the blow that had been dealt to their master and a wail arose from the great mass of Orcs, Trolls, Wraiths, half-Orcs, half-Trolls and other assorted incestuous combinations that comprised the army. But suddenly a rain of legal papers fell from the sky and there, free from the bonds of Sueim's writs and injuctions was Môgul Bildûr, flying on Heffalump. "Who cares about a traitorous Orc or Elf or whatever he is," he cried. "The court has ruled and I am now free to act as I see fit. I think I'll take up right where I left off before this ridiculous sideshow began. Let's see... Where was I? Oh yes!" Mogûl swept down over the Itship and his Aerophaunt, Heffalump, trumpeted loudly. He raised a hand and shouted, "Kill them! Kill them all and bring me the fragments of the Ent! Bwah ha ha!"

But at that second, a new voice rang out and it was nearly as loud as Mogûl's. "Wait a minute Bildur!"

Mogûl closed his eyes in annoyance. "Deja vu, all over again. I hate deja vu." He opened his eyes and looked about to find the owner of the voice. And lo! There stood Leninia, and next to her stood a man in a rumpled suit who looked altogether too much like a bureaucrat. But the voice belonged to neither of them. Rather, it belonged to a very tall and skinny man, dressed all in black, who stood holding a long sword. And behind him was arrayed a vast shadowy army of the spirits of Men and Elves from the Halls of Mantoes. Yes, there was Feeblenor who long ago had wrought the Lava Lamps and his seven sons, Maypo, Maalox, Celebimbo, Curuthin, Ramrod, Ramfast and Carrera. And there were Thingy and his household, and Pinhead who had dwelt in the caves of Imablonde and many others of the Noodlar and the Doolalliquendi besides. And there were the great Mannish heroes such as Moron the Old and Who-Him and their hosts as well. But Mogûl's eyes were glued upon the tall thin man who had spoken. "Too-Thin Labamba," he whispered...