Thread: ATM II RPG
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Old 06-10-2006, 07:50 AM   #71
Anguirel
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Location: The 1590s
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Anguirel is a guest of Tom Bombadil.
"Well, you abominable little worm, you haven't achieved that much yet, have you?" the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy went on.

"Well..."

"I thought you were supposed to be," the painted lips gave a very definite smirk, "negotiating with the King of Mordor by now."

"Well..."

"Well what, you lily-livered mealy-mouthed incompetent little leech?"

"Come now, Grandfather," Dracomir cut in, "isn't that slightly excessive?"

"No, it is not, you insufficiently sinuous earthworm! The portrait in the negotiation room told me in good faith you were alone with Mordorian ambassadors at least twice, and yet failed to place them under the Imperius Curse! Neither have you employed Veritaserum in order to unearth compromising secrets! Neither have you..."

The portrait ranted on and on, bringing up stratagems and spells whose very names made Dracomir's blood chill slightly, as in, get cold, not, like, relax. Tom could not help feeling that in his heart of hearts he did not naturally belong to this family. He admired their almost ludicrous capacity for evil, but he could never equal it. He shuddered at Abraxas' latest helpful suggestion. Surely his ancestor hadn't really expected him to be able to summon a Nundu?

"Still," the Malfoy picture said, almost charitably, "you are, after all, a scion of my blood, however undeserving, and I am prepared to aid you to a certain extent."

"I see," Dracomir sneered back, giving as good as he got. "That's a relief. I thought you were going to rant for the next Age of Arda."

"It's a pleasure, insect," Abraxas replied. "Now, proceed to the mahogany table by the Potions shelf. There are some presents for you there."

Sullenly doing as he has told, Tom shuffled to the table in question, feeling Abraxas' eyes swivel to keep trained on him. Arranged on the tabletop were a variety of peculiar objects; what looked like a sheet of parchment, a silvery, insubstantial cloak folded up, and a vial containing a bright purple, fizzing liquid.

"Pick up the parchment," Abraxas barked, "and tap it with your wand, while saying I solemnly swear that I will fill my SAVE in within 48 hours."

The Lord Malfoidacil intoned, just as he had heard, the peculiar phrase.

"I solemnly swear that I will fill my SAVE in within 48 hours."

A blot of ink appeared in the centre of the sheet, spreading out, sticking and congealing. A title formed at the top-

Messrs Minocher, Framroze, Eduljee and Dinshaw present THE MORDORERS' MAP

"A powerful artefact," Abraxas pronounced solemnly. "It shows a complete map of Mordor, including insets of the Castle, Lundun, and Cair Paradocks-and, what's more, everyone within Mordor, and where they are."

"All I can see is a lot of weird smudges moving around the normal map," Dracomir opined.

"Well, there have been some problems with scale. A Great Eagle could read it with ease," Abraxas insisted. "Now try the cloak on."

Dracomir expected slightly better things of the Cloak. Could it be an Invisibility Cloak, like Potter's? He slipped it about himself.

"An Inaudibility Cloak," Abraxas explained. "Marvellous, isn't it?"

"What's the point in being Inaudible?" Dracomir protested.

"Sorry?" Abraxas asked. "Didn't quite catch that." Tom took off the Cloak with a sigh and folded it up for later. Maybe he'd need to get past a crack squad of specially recruited blind guards, or something.

"Ah!" Abraxas exclaimed. "And now the potion! The fabled Infelix Infelicis!"

"Let me guess, it makes me even more unlucky than usual," Dracomir suggested.

"Yup, that's about right."

Dracomir seized the vial, ran past the picture, and hurled the potion at Abraxas' head. It smashed, and apparently being highly flammable, set the picture on fire. The Lord Malfoidacil left the antechamber, Map and Cloak stowed away, with the satisfying sound in his ears of his grandfather being immolated. He could not resist a broad smile as he left. Maybe he deserved to be a Malfoy after all.
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