[Estelyn Telcontar]

(Disclaimer: This is a satire, a spoof on the multitude of Mary Sue stories within the realm of Tolkien. Any similarities to existing fan fictions or RPGs is purely coincidental, though not quite unintentional. Due to the nature of the story, the laws of Middle-earth realism will be … bent … slightly.)

The Revenge of the Entish Bow

(Publisher's note:
This most unusual document can now finally be read - after thousands of years of intensive linguistic labour just to translate the title from the original Entish, modern computer technology has made it possible to transcribe it into modern English. We would like to apologize in advance for any inaccuracies and inconsistencies; the scope of this project has been enormous, requiring the efforts of many scholars.)


The Manuscript

Prologue


A strange, low-pitched, disturbing scream issued from the filthy hut. The young girl, poised amidst the trees to run away, stood still. Though she had seen only eight summers, she was exceedingly courageous and compassionate. By no means could she leave a helpless creature to its fate!

She leaped back to the hovel which harboured the unusual cry and tearing aside the rough mats which concealed the opening that served as a door, she glanced about the dark room. Despite the overwhelmingly prevalent odour of its orc inhabitants, no living creature was evident. But she could not have imagined such a strange sound! Once again, she looked in every corner.

An almost imperceptible noise caused her to spin around; only a huge wooden bow stood there, propped up next to a pile of filthy skins that obviously served as a bed. Shivers ran down her spine as she heard a hollow voice call, "Help me!"

"But who is there?" she asked. "Where are you hidden?"

"The bow!" came the answer.

Her brow furrowed as she looked more closely. Not even a very small creature could have hidden behind the bow!

"Pick me up!" The voice sounded strangely wooden.

Hesitantly at first, she grasped the bow. It felt warm and vibrant in her hand, and mush less heavy than its size would have led her to presume. As she held it, words came unbidden into her mind: "I am alive - take me away from this torturous place!"

And whilst she thought, "How can this be? It is impossible!" the thoughts were answered in her mind: "Run first! I will tell more hereafter!"

Harsh voices and loud steps approached the hut. She spun around, leaped through the door opening and dodged hundreds of fierce orcs with raised swords. Only her slight stature and exceeding nimbleness enabled her to escape to the nearby woods, where she disappeared from their sight.


Chapter 1

The tall, willow-slender elven maiden leaped onto the back of her noble black steed. Her long golden hair rippled down to her waist, waving in the breeze as she rode. A huge wooden bow and a quiver of arrows were strapped to her back. No saddle was needed; she was one with her horse, a unity of gracefulness that would have pleased the eye, had there been an observer to see it. Though she rode as fast as the wind, she heard the sound of following hoofbeats. More than one horseman was behind her; she could detect the sound of five – nay, seven – nay, nine horses with her delicately pointed ears.

“Noro lim, Falafel, noro lim!” she whispered to the horse. Falafel galloped even faster, passing the trees by the wayside like a vision in the night. And still, the pursuers drew nearer.

“Will there never be an end to this chase?” she thought. “Must I ever leave the safety of my home because I am stalked by these… these… suitors?”

There! Ahead of her lay the river – on its far side she would surely find a refuge. There lay the hidden farm called “The Last Home-Grown Cows.” Never would the noble princes who sought her follow to such a rural recluse. Water splashed as Falafel swiftly crossed the shallow ford. She sighed deeply, relieved to be in safety. Then she paused and turned.

Her pursuers stopped at the other side of the river, gazing at her in wonder and desire. “Come back! Stay! Do not leave!” they called to her.

She lifted her proud chin to the side, allowing them a view of her magnificent [Several letters of the following word are blurred in the original; it could be either “profile” or “bosom”. Considering the heroic nature of the story and the moral nobility of its characters, we have assumed the former to be correct.] profile.

Her voice rang out with the clarity of early-morning church bells: “If you want me, come and claim me!” Then she leaned forward, and the dust of Falafel’s galloping hooves obscured her from their sight.

The woods grew denser; soon there was no longer a path to be seen. Falafel slowed to a walk while his rider peered ahead with furrowed brows. She had never been to the Hidden Farm; no maps showed its location and instructions for finding it were invariably whispered. “Whither should I turn?” she thought. The trees surrounding her seemed to whisper – suddenly she was startled by a voice behind her:

“Despair not, mistress!”

“Oh, it is you!” She breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the familiar voice of her trusty bow.

“The trees have spoken to me of a way; I will guide you.”


° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °


Peaceful quietude pervaded the atmosphere of the Hidden Farm; even the mooing, baaing and neighing of the animals seemed subdued and dignified. Merisuwyniel breathed deeply, regretting it immediately as she realized that the proximity of barns and stables produced smells which were unfortunately not subdued. She wrinkled her dainty nose without slowing in her determined stride. She would not fail in the task which had been assigned to her!

Soon her strong fingers were pulling energetically and rhythmically; her efforts were rewarded with a stream of frothy white liquid. So intensive was her concentration that she failed to notice the presence of an observer.

Tall, dark-haired and strikingly handsome he stood, his dark eyes taking in the details of her appearance appreciatively. His eyes rested approvingly upon her two large, shapely [The document is torn here; after lengthy consultation, we have filled in with a contextually appropriate word.] hands. “Can they do more than merely produce milk?” he wondered. As quietly and light-footedly as he had come, he disappeared again.



(Here ends the manuscript that was found. We do not know if further fragments will be discovered and if so, whether they can be translated. However, the trees in Fangorn Forest still whisper the story of Merisuwyniel, and if we listen closely, we can hear it… )

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]