[Hookbill the Goomba]

A shiver went down what remained of The Barrow Wight's spine. Flash was walking back from his confrontation with Alatar and Pallando. Tollin lent against a tree, but it collapsed; fortunately, none of the army noticed this and continued to talk amongst themselves. The Orange Wizard stepped up to where Smilog and the others were, his face was down cast and he gripped his staff tightly.

"Well?" said Smilog, "what did they say?" Flash lifted his head and then shrugged.

"The blighters are stubborn," he replied, "said they're going to destroy Mordor and then Gondor and whoever else they feel like having a go at. Pfft. You know what this means?" Smilog shook his head, "It means, I've got to go to Gondor! It looks like I've got a lot of work to do! Woof!" He lifted a hand and a mysterious length of rope dropped out of the sky; Flash took hold of it, saluted and then was off, swinging into the distance.

"I hate him," grumbled Smilog. They looked out over the vast mustering army, the end of it could not be seen; rank upon rank, battalion upon battalion, an immense force. "Could be worse, I suppose." the Dwarf mused, "wait... no it couldn't."

Making their way back to the graveyard, Tollin and The Barrow Wight noticed that a dim white light could be seen in the west. The Wight pointed at it and said, "I say, what do you make of that?" The others shrugged and they marched on. As graveyards go, this one was particular downcast; nothing moved, even the other ATM2 characters that were gathered there. A silence had fallen broken only by the occasional sounding of a distant war-horn, telling all that another battalion had arrived.

Smilog and Khuz noticed a large tomb near to where they stood, "Shall we... erm... investigate it?" suggested Khuz,

"You mean, 'shall we hide in there'?" corrected Smilog, "yes, I think that would be good." The stone door stood open like the gaping mouth of a particular stupid puffer fish. Tollin was taken back by the seeming lack of a stench of death which he usually associated with places like tombs.

"I say, this isn't right old chap," mumbled The Barrow Wight, "I've seen a fair few tombs in my time, and by Jove I was in one for a while, but this one doesn't-" they stopped as the sound of voices came into hearing. Footsteps also and the sound of someone breathing heavily; like an old man with a child's toy in his throat.

"Oh for cryin'-" said a voice, but it was cut off by the sound off battle cries. Smilog had learned to tune it out by now, but the atmosphere of the crypt had the effect of heightening it. Before you could say 'Why, hello thar', a sword was pressed up against Smilog's neck and a collection of figures towered over them in the dim light.

"I say," muttered the Wight, lighting his pipe, "aren't you that wizard fellow? The one who's been involved in all this trouble?"

"Erm..." said Elempi, "sort of, yes... no... a bit. It's complicated."

"Gosh."