[Mithadan]

Meanwhile...Back in Moredough

In a grey stone cell, filled with chains, bamboo slivers, an iron lady, a rack and other assorted comfort items sat two figures. The first was Greedhog, Môgul's chief Korprat Loyer, and the second was a slightly rumpled, mostly reformed Uruk by the name of Gravlox. In front of Greedhog was a legal pad and an assortment of quills and ink pots, as well as a tome entitled "Rules of Uncivil Procedure". Next to these items of a professional nature was a half-eaten corned beef rueben, with a side order of potato salad, and a pot of coffee (black). In front of Gravlox was a nail file, several small courtesy bottles of hair care products bearing the mark of the Mantoes Hilton, a pocket mirror, a container of dental floss and a toothbrush. Gravlox himself was tied so tightly to the chair on which he was seated that it was a marvel he could move an eyebrow.

"We found these things in a hole beside the pile of leaves you used for bedding in your quarters, Gravlox," sneered Greedhog. "A few toiletries don't make you reformed you know." Nonetheless, Greedhog resolved to try the conditioner; Gravlox had such silky hair. "We know all about you now. We found a few survivors from Sourone's fortress at Gol Dulldor. Specifically, one Hazel Uruk..."

Gravlox groaned and closed his eyes. Greedhog smiled evilly, obviously relishing the prisoner's dismay and his rueben. "Yes, your ex-wife," the Loyer gloated. "She's taken up with Ssssam, the Thingwraith, now. And she's confirmed all that we've heard. You are a traitor! You refused to commit assault, battery and mayhem as a good Orc should, and you took up with Merisuwyniel and her foul Itship. In fact, we know that you've fallen for that she-Elf. But we understand that people sometimes fall from grace. So I'm going to offer you another chance. You can begin by telling me everything you know about each member of the Itship."

Gravlox yawned mightily, then looked mildly up at the Loyer. "You know, Ssssam and Hazel deserve each other..." he began. Greedhog interrupted his comment with a slap across the face with a wet trout that had materialized in the Loyer's hand. "The Itship!" he growled.

"Well," replied Gravlox. "There's Vogonwë. He's a magnificant poet and the best hand to hand fighter I've ever seen. If you attack them, you'd better send about twenty Orcs after him..." Greedhog scribbled eagerly on his pad. "Yes, yes, go on," the Loyer insisted.

"Then there's Moe, Larry and Curly, our wizards," Gravlox said. "Oh, and don't worry about the dragon, he can't blow fire and he's arthritic; he can barely move..."

"Moe...who?" snarled Greedhog. He consulted the transcripts from Gateskeeper's reports before looking up and glaring at his prisoner. "There's no Moe, Larry or Curly in the Itship..."

Gravlox smiled and rolled his eyes. "Woo, woo, woo, woo, woo," he hooted.

"You force me to use stronger measures," growled Grredhog. He stood and brushed crumbs from his Gucci suit. "Roll it!" he cried. Suddenly the room darkened and one wall began to glow. Insipid music began to play as words formed on the wall, one after another: "A Rankin-Bass production....'The Hobbit'"

"Aiiiiiii!" screamed Gravlox...