The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Mithadan]

As the Wyrms gyred and gimboled in the wabe (Elvish for cloudy skies), Merisu gathered the land-bound portion of the Muddyship to discuss their course now that the evil wizard had been heroically (more or less) dispatched (or splattered, please pick one of the above). Orogarn Two and Earnur were all for resting and imbibing at one of the local inns, perhaps the Brine Flagon. Merisu and Pimpi advocated avoiding inns, cafes, restaurants, hotels, motels, bars, pubs and all similar establishments in favor of (soberly) moving on towards their next destination. Well, the truth be told, Pimpi wouldn't have minded a cafe or restaurant, but she decided to back up her mentor. Kuruharan inquired about the trade possibilities beyond the Shire. Gateskeeper was keeping a low profile and chose not to voice an opinion. Merisu turned to Grrralph in the hope that his vote would break the deadlock.

At that moment an odd little tune rang through the air. Before anyone could determine the source of the music, Grrralph, recognizing the refrain slipped into a tapdance while singing along. "Always look on the bright side of life, de do, de do de do de do..." Merisu, somewhat alarmed, called upon the wraith to stop. Then the Elves, having sharper hearing (and rather larger ears) than the others, listened carefully until they determined the source of the tune. "It's coming from Grrralph!" Vogonwë cried.

Grrralph rummaged about in his cloak, then drew forth his Cell-antir again. Flipping it open, he examined the small screen inside. The others crowded about, impolitely attempting to see who might be calling the wraith. "It's Sasser!" cried Merisu. At that moment, Chrysohpylax thudded heavily to the ground next to them. Hot (boiling in fact) tears welled from his eyes as he crooned, "She's gooooooone, well oh ah, I've done a lot of things, she's gone, she's gone, well oh ah, I'd pay the devil to replace her...."

"Shush," admonished Merisu. She turned to Gateskeeper who was frowning in confusion. "Can you summon Sasser back?" she asked. Gateskeeper took the Cell-antir and fiddled with it for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I have never seen such a thing before," he said. "It is beyond my power to call back the wyrm."

"If not you, then who?" asked Kuruharan, who was busily dodging the hot tears which were falling around him. A whistle sounded from the Cell-antir. Grrralph took the device and looked into it again. Mystic runes were superimposed over Sasser's sorrowful face. They read, "THE VELOUR, YOU IDIOTS!"

"Well," said Orogarn. "I guess that settles it. We're off to the Pay Havens right after we stop at a pub for a bit..." A deep, threatening growl filled the air. Orogarn looked up to find himself face to face with a broad (and sizeable) array of incisors, canines and other assorted fangs. Coughing and waving away Chrysophylax's less than minty fresh breath, he continued. "Right! We'll leave immediately."

As the Forwardboundship lifted their packs and set out towards the west, none noticed that Grrralph lagged behind. Then, with a mournful groan, he slowly followed...

[The Saucepan Man]

Shortly following the defeat of Sauerkraut, Soregum had withdrawn to The Ivy Bush. Although he had remained unaffected by the old wizard’s hot dogs, years of service in Moredough having accustomed him to such enchantments, he had maintained a low profile during the ensuing confrontation, unsure of how his Master would want this one to play out. Mögul was a tricky character to second guess. And the Gateskeeper’s revelations had given him much to consider. And what of Grrralph’s contribution? Should he tell his Master what he had learned? And, if so, how might he do so without alerting his companions to the true nature of his mission? Difficult questions all. So Soregum had concluded as always that a pint or five of good Mire ale might clear his head and help him think straight.

When Soregum entered The Ivy Bush, however, such thoughts were soon pushed to a spare recess in the back of his mind, right next to where his conscience had long ago taken up full time residence. A party celebrating the liberation of the Mire from Sparkey’s bonds was in full swing and Soregum was in no mood to miss it. And of course he took no time in claiming the credit for the wizard’s defeat.

“Well, when you have been adventuring as far and wide as me, you learn how to deal with wizards … Dangerous? Yes indeed they are, but my personal safety is nothing compared to the safety of the Mire … My companions? Well yes, of course they helped out, but as always they left the lion‘s share of the work to me … Oh you are too kind, but yes I suppose that I am a bit of a hero …”

Soregum was just enjoying his eighth (free) pint when it occurred to him that he ought to check on when the Quest-ship was planning on leaving. So, bidding farewell to his adoring and gullible audience, he made his way to the stable. Only to find it completely empty. Even Twinkle appeared to have taken her leave.

“A fine pickle you and your beerish inclinations have got yourself into now, Soregum, and no mistake,” he muttered to himself, as panic gradually seized him at the thought of the pleasure that Mögul would take in rewarding his failure. “Well they can’t have gone far,” he reassured himself as he made his way back round to the front of the inn. “At least Pimpiowyn will notice my absence,” he thought with increasing desperation as he hurtled at full tilt down the western road.

Not far along the road he caught sight of Daddy Twobellies in conversation with a tall imposing figure swathed from head to foot in a dark cloak. Soregum crept closer so that he was able to overhear their conversation.

“No, ‘baint no fella boi the nayme o’ Zorrgum rowd theez ‘ere paaarts. Yoom bezt try over in Grewsome End,” Soregum caught Daddy saying, his voice little more than a high-pitched squeak..

The dark figure stood regarding the old Hobbit for a few moments as Daddy Twobellies quailed under its baleful glare. Then it spoke.

“I’m awfully sorry old chap, but I have absolutely no idea what you are saying. I do apologise if I startled you, but I simply enquired whether you might have any knowledge of the whereabouts of a certain Hobbit by the name of Soregum.”

“Be arrff with yoom and yer faarncy worrds, before oi set moine darrgs arrn yoom!” said Daddy shakily, puffing out his not inconsiderable girth and desperately pulling at the leashes of his two diminutive Northmire terriers as they cowered and whimpered behind him.

“Oh really! This is hopeless. The fault is all mine of course, my good Hobbit, but I really ought to have taken that optional language course at Fell College instead of media studies,” remarked the cloaked figure as he fished among his robes for a Mire phrasebook.

Soregum jumped out from his hiding place and approached the two figures.

“Hello Rrrrogerrr,” he said to the dark figure. “You looking for me?”

“Ah, Soregum old bean, long time no see. How’s it going with the Gallow-ship?”

“Erm, fine. Just fine,” stammered Soregum, immediately regretting his decision to break cover. “In fact, never better, since you ask. Merisu and her companions are just waiting for me beyond that copse over there. They haven‘t left without me at all, they just …”

“You’ve lost them haven’t you?”

“Well, not lost as such. It’s just a temporary …”

“That‘s quite alright, old bean. Just as well really, as I need to have a little tête-à-tête with you,” continued Roger cheerfully, turning to Daddy Twobellies. “In private, if you don‘t mind awfully, my fine fellow.” The old Hobbit visibly shrunk under the Wraith’s imposing, albeit amiable, gaze.

“Itzz arrlroight, Daddy. Oi knowze thiz ‘ere fella,” Soregum reassured him.

“Well, if yoom bee zure, Mizter Gummidge, zorr. Oi’ll leeve yoom tow it tharrn,” replied Daddy sighing with relief and hastily retreating.

“The boss is a tad miffed,” Rrrogerrr explained to Soregum as they made their way to a secluded spot on Daizzzy, Rrrroger’s Nazgurl. “Seems his Satel-antir broadcast went down and he missed some of what was going on. He asked whether you might be able to fill in the gaps. Once we’ve had a chance to touch base, I can drop you off near to your companions.”

“Um,“ Soregum gulped.

“Oh, and I have some more pipeweed from Moredough for you,” Rrrrogerrr added.

Soregum’s face brightened considerably.

****************************************

Meanwhile, some miles west, the Slow-in-more-ways-than-one-ship had belatedly discovered Soregum’s absence. Much to Vogonwë‘s annoyance, it had indeed been Pimpi who had first noticed that the Hobbit was not with them.

“Well, I don’t suppose it matters much,” remarked Orogarn Two.

“He’s not much use in a fight, after all,” agreed Lord Etceteron.

“No, nowhere near as manful as you,” said Leninia, sidling up to Earnur.

“Not a penny on him,” added Kuruharan. “We’re better off without him.”

“I never trusted him. He seems to know far too much about Mögul for my liking,” growled Grrralph, glaring at the Gateskeeper (who wisely kept quiet). “And he can‘t carry a tune.”

“Yes, no point in going back for him now,” chipped in Vogonwë enthusiastically.

“What’s the point of any of it?” sighed Chrysophylax mournfully.

“No,” uttered Merisu after a moment’s thought. “Soregum spoke the truth in the inn. We need a Hobbit to make our party truly representative if we are to entreat the aid of the Lords of the West. And it seems to me that he may have some part to play yet, for good of for ill, before the end. I can feel it in my bow.”

Vogonwë rolled his eyes, but even as he did so, he caught sight of a dark shape, like a cloud and yet not a cloud for it moved far more swiftly.

“Ellevoguereth Cosmopolitaniel!” he exclaimed.

“Wha -?” replied his companions in unison, but they were cut short as a terrible dread fell over them. A fell sound, a trumpeting whirring roar, filled the air as the dark shape advanced from the east, speeding towards the Company, blotting out all light as it approached. Soon it appeared as a great winged creature, blacker than the pits of the night, although disturbingly its wings appeared to sprout from the side of its head.

Vogonwë quickly reached for an arrow and hurled it into the air towards the advancing creature. His companions looked up. Almost above them, the great shape swerved. There was a harsh trumpeting scream, as it fell out of the air, vanishing down into the gloop of the Mire countryside. The sky was clear again.

****************************************

“Oh oh! Mögul’s going to be mad as Udûn,” muttered Rrrrogerrr as he watched the great shape fall to the earth. “That’s one of the Aircorps’ advanced patrols. I’d best get back. Much obliged for the information and toodlepip!”

Soregum watched as Daizzzy leaped into the air with Rrrrogerrr sat astride her singing away happily to himself.

“They go up-tiddly-up-up
They go down-tiddly-down down.
Up. Down. Flying around.
Those magnificent Wraiths on their …”

****************************************

The Startled-ship were just gathering themselves together as Soregum appeared from behind a tree and flashed his decayed teeth at Vogonwë in a winsome smile.

“Nice shot!” he said as he hefted his newly acquired tobacco onto the wagon.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

For a group of Questers that had frequently been side-tracked, taken detours and experienced short-cuts gone wrong, they managed to make fast time westwards upon leaving the Mire. This could possibly have been due to the influence of an impatient, fire-breathing dragon who made sure that laggers caught up quickly. Chrysophylax did take a minute or two to fly back and find the body of that winged creature, making barbecued wings of its appendages (and something similar of the rest, presumably), but was back behind the others before anyone noticed his absence.

Merisuwyniel was glad to be moving toward the goal of her journey again. She rode her horse as gracefully as always, but her thoughts turned to the future. What awaited them in the West? How were they to proceed next? She took care not to show her uncertainty, but she had no idea what expected them at the Havens or beyond. The Entish Bow was silent; either it had no information to offer her, or it was withholding something for some reason unknown to her.

Though they rode through the midst of the Mire (and the mire too, if you take my meaning) all the evening and all the night, none saw them pass, save the wild creatures. Merisu idly wondered what had happened to the fox she had encountered so long ago. Talking animals were getting rare in Muddled Mirth. With a start, she remembered that her very own noble steed belonged to those few and leaned forward to whisper some pleasant words in Falafel’s ear.

They passed the White Downs, which for some reason reminded her of a lovely, soft pillow, then the Far Downs. (They avoided the Far Ups and the Near Downs, though… ) One evening they made their camp within sight of three tall, white towers. Pimpiowyn, who had been riding beside her shieldmaidening instructor, said, “I have heard tell that you can see the sea from the top of those towers. They say that they were built by the Elves long ago to look westwards.” Merisu turned to her in surprise; if that was true, would she not be well-advised to seek them out?

After a morsel of supper (the others needing a much longer time to partake of theirs), she rode there alone. They watched her depart with languid interest, though none volunteered to accompany her. After the sound of Falafel’s hoofbeats had faded, there was silence – at least if the slurping, chewing, smacking, chomping, and burping could be ignored. When they heard a far-off rumble, they looked to the sky apprehensively, thinking that it thundered, but the stars twinkled reassuringly. Suddenly a deafening crash alarmed the questers so that they jumped up from their extended meal. The earth shook under their feet. They ran to and fro without plan or purpose, since their leader was missing to tell them what to do.

Then she rode into the camp, breathless and covered with white dust. “Quick!” she exclaimed. “Pack your things – we leave here immediately!” They scrambled to do as she said; she made sure that the cart with the wooden pieces was not left behind and counted noses, which was not easy, as some of them were covered with handkerchiefs and others were sneezing violently. Even the dragon wheezed, causing the dust to light up eerily as his flames lit the dusk.

None dared to ask, now or later, what had transpired – or maybe they just forgot about it. At any rate, Merisuwyniel offered no explanation, and if Pimpiowyn chanced to notice that there was a large round bulge in her baggage that had not been evident before, she wisely said nothing. And that shows just how much she had learned as a shieldmaiden’s handmaiden!

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

And so they came at last to Mithfortune, the Pay Havens. They searched first for a dwelling place, finding Sethamir’s Hitching Post: Bed and Breakfast for Bipeds and their Animal Companions. Large letters on the sign proclaimed: “Last Sethamir’s Before Valleyum!”

“We will take lodging here,” Merisuwyniel announced. “In the morning, I shall see to finding a ship that will bear us across the Sea.”

[Thenamir]

In their haste to depart their last camp the entire clueless-ship failed, in the paleness of that night, to notice that Merisu-The-Unsulliable-and-Always-Perfectly-Styled managed to get covered with white dust -- that she to whom no mud can cling, whose hair neither rain nor humidity can spoil, the Lady-Who-Never-Needs-Deodorant, whom the slightest dust mote would not deem to touch, she who bathes but once per year whether she needs it or not, was positively filthy. In fact, the entire group looked like a cocaine-dealers' convention.

The Dusty-ship scouted the door and the foyer of the establishment beneath the sign with the grinning bartender, but found no one to meet them, check them in, or even (as was often the case) cast sidelong sneers at them and mutter under their breath about the imminent decline of local property values. It was as though the mere rumor of their coming had driven the townspeople into hiding.

The news of their coming had indeed preceeded them, though not in the fashion to which they were accustomed. In the light of the silvery moon the strangely-clinging white dust had transformed their appearance, such that the villagers and townspeople seemed to see a company of pale dead men, dead hobbits, dead half-halflings, dead elves, even a dead dragon, being led by an impeccably-coiffed spectre of commanding presence and otherworldly beauty. Lights went out in house and hamlet as they came, and doors were shut, and folk that were afield cried in terror and ran wild like hunted deer. Ever there rose the same cry in the gathering night: ‘The Queen of the Dead! The Queen of the Dead is come upon us!’

Long ago, none other than the 3rd-Cousin-84-times-removed of Orogarn Two, Isildur himself, had sworn the inhabitants of Mithfortune to the great battle against Sourone -- but the lure and luxury of their lush beachfront resorts and their posh lifestyles caused them to abandon their oath and their quest. Therefore, the leader of the eventually-victorious Good-Guys (tm) spoke a curse against them at the Stone of Ericky, as is recorded in the prophecy of Nell's Son, that one day the dead would come back to steal away the hearts from their descendants, with a familiar name but without so much as a sharp razor-blade:

You'll come to town one moonlit night
flash those big blue eyes our way
and oo you zombied us forever more
We once were folks that got around
But now our feet are stuck to the ground
and though I never did meet you before

I said Oh no, Merisu, goodbye heart
Ghost Merisu, I’m terrified of you
I knew Merisu, you'd do your part
Oh no no, Merisu, goodbye heart!

I saw your lips I feared your voice
believe me I just had no choice
wild horses couldn’t drag me back this way
I thought about a cold dark night
and a noose that's good an’ tight
that’s all it took to make me hide away

I said Oh no, Merisu, goodbye heart
Isildur's Hair can save us all from you
I knew Merisu, you'd do your part
So here goes, Merisu, goodbye heart!

Orogarn Two of course knew of these things, but either had wisely decided not to mention them, or they had completely and conveniently slipped his mind in the search for rest and repast.

No one spoke, and the inn foyer grew strangely silent until...the ever-sharp ears of Merisu picked up the sounds of someone weeping behind the closed door that led to the common room of the bed-and-breakfast. Motioning to the rest of the Pasty-white-ship to follow her quietly (and for Chrysophylax to remain outside), she stealthily approached the door and quietly peeked inside.

Beyond the door in an immaculately-clean but otherwise unoccupied common room was a lone man, weeping quietly behind the common room bar with his head down on his folded arms resting on the counter. He seemed not to notice as the Shake-rattle-n-roll-ship stepped into the room, leaving white-dust footprints as they went.

"Good sir," said Merisu gently, "what makes you cry thus? Is there anything we can do to help?"

The man behind the counter slowly looked up, revealing a homemade nametag that said simply "Sethamir", and seeing-yet-not recognizing the lovely but coldly-white Merisu, replied in a hoarse, fearful whisper, "Merisu is coming."

Reasoning that admitting her identity right now might not be the thing to do, she asked, "Why do you fear this 'Merisu', good sir? Surely you have a strong inn and a goodly set of neighbors to help you."

Sethamir merely replied,

If you knew Merisu - then you’d know why I feel blue
For its Meri - that Merisu
oh well, I loathe that gal - yes, I loathe that Merisu

Merisu, Merisu - my business was destroyed by you
oh Meri - that Merisu
oh well, I loathe that gal - and that fool bunch with her, too!

Merisu, Merisu - pretty pretty pretty pretty Merisu
oh Meri - that Merisu
oh well, I hate that elf and I see thru Merisu

"You see," said the innkeeper and erstwhile entrepreneur Sethamir (for he it was), "I am but a humble businessman, the former owner of stables and specialty shops all over Muddled Mirth operating under my family name, the good name of Sethamir. I say 'former' because some time ago a she-devil named Merisuwyniel, reputedly a very lovely elf lass, left Minus Teeth in the comapny of a band of miscreants with, it seemed, the sole purpose of burning down, crushing, or blowing up every single one of my shops. From Minus Teeth, to the lands of the Sorethighhim, even unto the Mire, I fled before them. I thought at first that they meant me no actual harm, that each loss had to be an accident, but over time, they have visited every single one of my enterprises, and this is the only one left, and rumor is that she is coming this way bringing death and destruction in her wake. Why, just last week it was reported that she singlehandedly battled the high wizard Sauerkraut, and destroyed him! What can one do against such reckless hate?"

By this time the entire Wish-we-were-somewhere-else-ship was studiously examining the floor for cracks into which they might disappear, all except Gateskeeper who was mumbling something about "not quite singlehandedly" when Pimpiowyn exclaimed "But we don't hate you, Mr. Sethamir." The innkeeper looked up, ready to be angry, but then sagged again against his bar. "Havin' a joke on me, lass. You couldn't be Merisu and her types. For one thing, they have a monsterous cruel dragon with them..." In a moment of bad timing surely worthy of any usage since the world begain of the word "oops", Chrysophylax chose that moment to stick his head in an open window and ask, "Would you have a nice rose lambrusco to go with this freshly roasted lamb?"

"Aiiiiiiii!" Screamed Sethamir as a response. "What, you've never seen a dragon before?" Asked Orogarn Two, picking at his ear which had unfortunately been rather close to Sethamir. "No, not that," roared the bellicose innkeeper, "you *are* Merisu and her Gang! And besides, everyone knows that it's chiani and not lambrusco that goes with roast lamb!!" "Well excuse me! I just thought 'lamb', 'lambrusco', geez!" began Chrysophylax, but Sethamir paid no heed. Running for the door he burst into the streets in full bellow about fear, fire, and foes, trying to rouse the people from their terror and take up arms after these anti-capitalist dogs!

The Been-here-done-this-before-ship signed heavily and trundled out into the village square, to where by the sheerest of coincidences, the Stone of Ericky stood. The moon was at her full, and indeed she must have been full and truly stuffed to be shining down so brightly, reflecting off the still-white-dusted Questians. That, and the shrill poppycock that Sethamir was screaming brought the eyes, and then the presence, of the villagers to the great Stone, drawn there as if an artist had drawn them there. Actually, the men of the village just wanted a closer look at the lovely Merisu (just as the prophecy foretold), the women came to keep the men in line, and the children came along just because they never got to stay up so late before.

Just at that moment, Orogarn Two, swatting at a buzzing mosquito, flicked his hair from his neck in the moonlight. There was a collective gasp amongst the villagers looking upon them with fear and yet inexorable interest. A wave of whispers flew through the crowd, "The Hair of Isildur!" Several of them pointed to Orogarn, then to a statue near the stone which was made in the likeness of Orogarn's distant relation -- albeit covered often with raw eggs and toilet paper in addition to the pigeon-droppings -- because of the curse he was, as you might imagine, a not-very-popular figure. And yet, they grudgingly admitted that their ancestors had had, well, a yellow streak. Orogarn, having had neither food nor sleep, finally recognized that the villagers were looking at him, and caught sight of the statue and of the words of their whispering. Merisu made her way to Orogarn Two's side and whispered, "Looks like it's your turn to get us out of this one."

With a heavy sigh, Orogarn Two climbed the Stone of Ericky and from it's summit he cried in a great voice, "Oathbreakers, why have ye come?"

And a voice was heard out of the night that answered him, as if from someone who wished he was far away, "To gawk at th' loverly lass there, guv'nor, and a right beauty she is, too..OOF!" said the man at the last as his wife suddenly decided that her husband's stomach could do with an introduction to her rolling pin. When he had recovered his breath, he went on, "er...I mean, to fulfill our oath, and have peace from Merisu."

Then Orogarn Two said, "The hour has come at last. We are upon a great quest, to reunite the sundered pieces of the Ent-That-Was-Broken, and thus make an end of the Evil One in Moredough. For I am Orogarn Two, with Isildur's Hair from Grundor." And with that He removed his helmet, and behold! his hair sprang out into the identical coif of the man in the statue. There was a general murmur of approval from the crowd, interrupted by one strident growl of "Balderdash!!"

It was Sethamir, striding thru the crowd who screamed again, "Balderdash I tell you! These are the very ones who have spread desolation on every place they visit, leaving smoking ruins in their path as often as not, who have destroyed my life and my livelyhood! Make him show the wallet, eh? Remember that silly bit of poetic rubbish we all learned as kids?

Seek for the Wallet that was stolen
In Mithfortune it dwells
There shall his ID be given
And his pedigree forth it will tell

Though the Driver's License be faded
And the picture be dated, it brings
A hope of a curse to be unmade-ed
A long-distant cousin of Kings!"

A new murmurning swept the crowd, this time of affirmation and expectation, as they turned again to the figure of Orogarn Two upon the great Stone. With a slow and deliberate gesture he pulled his wallet from the pocket whence he had kept it since retrieving it from the Entish thief, Skinflint. With a flourish, he released the ID section of the wallet, and all 84 names between himself and Isildur came unfolding out like a worn-out accordion. This time the murmuring swelled to a cheer, and even Sethamir had to admit that the man on the stone was genuine. When the cheer died away, one of the villagers piped up, "How will you lift the Merisu curse?"

Orogarn Two swept a grand arm over his companions and said "Behold, here is Merisu, of whom you have been so afraid these long years! She seeks to sail into the Uttermostest West to heal the Rent Ent. Assist her, and us, on our way, and not only will we never return, but the curse will be lifted and you may go in peace." The men of the town cheered to try to be the first to help the beauteous Merisuwyniel, the women cheered that they could help rid the town of what they thought was a brazen hussy, and the children cheered because they knew that the longer the ruckus continued, the later they could stay up.

Merisuwyniel herself went to Sethamir and actually bowed before him. "Indeed, we did not mean to single you out for all the disaster which has followed us from the first." She handed him a small bag with a generous amount of gold, and said, "I hope that this will in some small way help you, and will purchase a night's lodging with you, for your stabling and shops have been the finest we've seen in our travels." He looked down at the bag of gold in his hand, and then at the face of the one whose name he had sworn to destroy, and then grumblingly said, "well, we can at least give you a place to get cleaned up." And thus the Truly-weary-ship found for once a good night's sleep and managed not to wipe anything out for at least one post.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

When morning came, Merisuwyniel made her way to the Harbour of Pay Havens. She walked past the yachts of those rich enough to keep private ships, knowing that they were not likely to take passengers or make so far a journey. She also passed a huge pleasure cruiser called PDQE2; it looked lovely, with luxurious cabins and fancy trimmings, but she had heard of its exorbitant prices and knew that her small store of coins would not suffice.

Thus she came to the sailing ships that were large and sea-worthy. The first one had ‘HMS Bouncy’ painted on the prow, and a sign proclaimed that Captain Blighter was responsible for it, yet it seemed deserted. She wondered as she wandered, speculating on possible reasons for its abandoned state.

Next to it was moored a ship painted green, adorned with the letters ‘Peapod’. A row of globular, grinning, greenish faces peered over the side railing. Merisu called up to them, “Can I speak to your captain, please?”

“Captain Rehab isn’t here, lady,” the first face answered, “but you can sure talk to me!”

“Umm, what is your name, good sir?” she asked.

“Call me Fishmail,” he said, winking at her suggestively. His leering expression made her leery of his intentions, so she walked away as quickly as her graceful dignity allowed.

The next ship was a real beauty, with a high, gilded prow shaped like the head of a dragon with wide open mouth. She read the name, ‘Pawned Trader’; she wasn’t sure what she thought of that, but called out “Hello-o”, approaching the gangway rather timidly, only to fall back startled when a very large mouse appeared, brandishing a sword and shouting, “My name is Grim Reaperneep! You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Fortunately the light of the early rays of the sun reflected from the dazzling beauty of Merisu’s golden locks, causing the mouse to stop, look and listen. What he saw caused him to fall down on one knee before her, lay his sword at her feet and kiss her hand reverently.

“How can I be of service to you, lovely lady?” he enquired.

“Good… um, sir,” she said, “may I speak to the captain of this ship? For I seek passage for myself and my friends.”

“The Captain is busy planning our route. We sail to the end of the world tomorrow morning,” he replied.

“That is where we wish to go!” she exclaimed. “We must sail to the Far West.”

“But we are sailing to the Utter East,” the mouse explained. “That is where the end of the world is.”

“Then your end of the world is not the same as ours,” she sighed regretfully. “Do you know who might be going in our direction?”

“Well, normally I would say you could ask Captain Mithteriouth of the ‘Only Ithtar’,” he suggested. “He and his wife Bythentennial sail to unusual places, and he has told wondrous tales of Tol Erethëa.”

“Bicentennial?” Merisu was astonished. “You mean there are human women who reach the age of 200?”

“Nay,” he answered. “No human woman is she, but an Elf. That name was given her in her youth. However, they cannot help you, for they sailed away southwards some time ago, on a wild goose chase after a shape-changing Bird, it is said.”

“What ship will bear me ever hence across so wide a sea?” the Elven maiden cried out in despair.

“Well, there is one last possibility,” Reaperneep replied. “Go to the very last ship at the end of the docks – it is known to boldly go where no Man, Dwarf, or Hobbit has gone before. Its captain is named Cirkdan, ‘Dim’ Cirkdan, the Ship-Wight.”

“Why is he called ‘Dim’?” Merisu asked, puzzled.

“Oh, that is because the light of Valleyum in his face has grown pale after staying here so many ages,” the mouse explained.

“Thank you for your help and kind words,” Merisu said, curtseying respectfully. She would have liked to take him in her arms and cuddle him, but she felt that this would have offended him deeply.

“Best wishes to you and your friends, fair lady, and may the winds ever bring you to your home harbour!” He bowed gallantly, flourishing his feather-trimmed hat and twirling his moustache gravely.

Soon Merisuwyniel approached the last ship in the Harbour. It was of a silvery hue that gleamed in the light of the sun. Curious, she looked at the side to ascertain its name – the letters ‘Ent’s Surprise’ were painted there! That seemed a good omen to her, and she walked up the gangway with a feeling of confidence.

[Mithadan]

While Merisuwyniel sought out an appropriate ship to carry the Itship across the Blundering Seas, the remainder of her companions settled in at Sethamir's and bought most of the bar (together with a few snacks). Soon all were merry and chatting animatedly about the coming voyage and their visit to Valleyum. That is, all were merry, animated and chatting except for one...

Grrralph, if it were humanly (or wraithly) possible, looked glummer than usual. As was his practice, he declined to eat or drink, but while the others engaged in a bit of revelry, Grrralph sat slumped on his bench with his hood pulled down over his non-face. He remained like this despite the best efforts of his companions... ok, well Pimpiowyn at least... to raise his spirits. He even refused to play his favorite game, set the drunkard's foot on fire. After about 3 seconds of concern, the Itship turned to other, more important matters, such as ale, porter, stout, wine and mead.

It was into this scene that Merisu entered, coming through the door of the common room with a bang, followed by a portly gentleman dressed in an odd uniform of gold colored cloth and black breeches. On the man's shoulder was a brightly colored parrot. Merisu made her way to the Slightly-soused-ship, and stood next to the table, bubbling with excitement. She waved a few of the bubbles away from in front of her face and announced proudly, "I have found a ship to carry us to Valleyum!"

In all likelihood, the reaction of her companions would have been as expected, ranging from polite interest to wild cheering, but for one thing. Even as she spoke, an unearthly wail shook dust from the rafters, shattered several wineglasses, and caused one chicken in the yard to die of cardiac arrest. "Put a cork in it, Grrralph!" cried Kuruharan as he shook his head to see if his hearing would return. But Merisu turned to the wraith with a look of concern, for she saw steam rising from his glowing red eyes.

"Grrralph, what could be the matter?" she asked. "Is this not good news?"

"Alas!" the wraith answered. "I cannot come with you fair Shieldmaiden!"

Merisu silenced Orogarn Two's cheers with a glare (and froze Gateskeeper and Earnur in the midst of a high five). "Why not?" she queried. "You have journeyed far with us. Surely you do not wish to leave us even as we approach the fulfillment of our quest? Come with us!" Kuruharan and Vogonwë began waving their arms and shaking their heads silently behind Merisu's back.

"I do wish to stay with you all," Grralph said. But, well, I do not think that I, a black wraith of evil, would be welcome in the land of the Velour. Even were this not so.... well... you see..."

"Wraiths don't like water," Gateskeeper chimed in, finishing Grrralph's sentence for him. Grrralph nodded sadly in confirmation.

"Indeed, the thought of sailing upon the waves of the Blundering Seas makes my cloak crawl," the wraith added. Vogonwë shuddered and slapped at the hem of Grrralph's garb which had began inching across the table towards him.

"Well," said Orogarn Two without a hint of sorrow. "That's that! Been nice knowing you. Don't forget to write. Bon voyage! Later! The road leads that way. Don't let the door hit you on your way out..."

"Now, now," said Merisu. "Surely there must be a way to solve this little problem. I'm sure the Velour would take into consideration your heroic..." At this moment, an odd coughing fit simultaneously overcame Orogarn, Earnur and Vogonwë. "HEROIC," continued Merisu. "Heroic assistance that you have lent us. As for your dislike of water..."

"Actually its more like a discomfort," clarified Grrralph. "A deep discomfort. Very deep. Deep down inside me. That kind of affects my digestive tract and makes me..."

At the verge of again receiving too much information, Merisu raised her hand to stop Grrralph's description of the adverse (and rather disgusting) effect which water had upon him. But before she could continue, her oddly garbed companion spoke up. Strangely enough, he punctuated every word he spoke with a gesture.

"Fear.. of... water... IS... nothing to be... ashamed of," he said in a choppy and over-emphasized fashion.

"And who might you be?" asked Earnur as he slid a knife from its sheath.

"I... am... Cirkdan," the man answered. "CAPTAIN... Dimwi T. Cirkdan of the... Ent's Surprise, but you... can call me... Dim." Kuruharan closed his eyes and muttered under his breath, "Of course..."

"And this... is... my ship's healer, Dr. Macaw," he continued. The Itship looked about in confusion, as there appeared to be no one else about. Then, to their surprise, the parrot spoke. "Pleased to meet you," it said.

"What?" said Leninia. "The pigeon is a healer?"

"I'm a doctor, not a pigeon," growled the bird irritably.

Sensing some doubt arising in his new clients, Cirkdan continued. "To... conquer... your fear... of water, you...must... look... deep within yourself... for courage."

Grrralph considered Cirkdan's words and seemed to search within what passed for his soul for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "Nothing!"

"Failing that," said Earnur as he unsteadily waved a pint about as if to emphasize his words. "I've often found that courage can be found in a bottle."

Grrralph pondered these words, then slowly and reluctantly, reached into his cloak and retrieved the bottle of Old Rotgut which Earnur had given him while at the Nancing Bow-ny in the Mire. As he uncorked the bottle of home-brewed spirits a hiss came from the flask as doubtful fumes escaped, causing the eyes of those assembled to water (except for Earnur who muttered something about "a good year"). The wraith raised the bottle to the dark space within his hood and drained the bottle in a single draught. His eyes glowed bright and he rose to his feet with a wheeze. A strong wind arose outside and caused the door to swing open. The breeze caught Grrralph's cloak and caused it to swirl about him like dark flapping wings of shadow. The glowing red coals which passed for his eyes seemed to spin like pinwheels and his body grew stiff. Then his eyes went dark and he slowly tilted and toppled, like a great tree falling, to the ground.

Doctor Macaw flew from Cirkdan's shoulder and landed on the ground next to Grrralph's prone form. He examined the wraith for a moment, then turned to Cirkdan and pronounced in profoundly shocked and sorrowful tones, "He's dead Dim."

Orogarn leapt to his feet with a loud cry, "YES!" But Merisu hurried to the wraith's side. "He's a wraith," she said irritatedly. "He's always been kind of dead." Then she brought her face close to his and listened intently. Hearing a slight hiss, she extended her arm and held the brightly burnished vambrace before Grrralph's non-face. A faint mist appeared upon the polished metal. "He yet lives!" she cried. Orogarn collapsed back into his chair and moaned in disappointment.

But every effort to rouse Grrralph failed. After propping him up in the corner and using him as a cloak-rack for a while, they dragged him off with them...

[The Saucepan Man]

Black clouds heavy with rain rolled thunderously over the skies of Moredough, their lower reaches tinged with scarlet as they caught the columns of flame that erupted unceasingly from Mount Odouruin. Occasional flashes of lightning burst through the gloom, threatening to split the murky skies into a thousand fragments. A fell gale howled down from the surrounding peaks of the Ered Lethargi and the Ephel Dûwot, driving a streaming torrent of greasy rain hard into the foetid Plateau of Gorgonbreath. One thing that could be said about the weather of Muddled-Mirth was that it had a profound sense of occasion.

Atop the dark and forbidding Tower Block of Barát-Höm, the noseless nostril flared and writhed fitfully as it savoured a scent that originated in the Pay Havens, some fifteen hundred miles to the west: the unmistakable scent of rent Ent (and the somewhat less savoury odour of rucksacks stuffed full of clothes that had gone unwashed for many months on end).

From his balcony below, Môgul Bildûr surveyed the vast army ranged across the Plateau. Battalions of Orcs, each ten thousand strong, stood in disorderly lines brandishing a perplexing assortment of viciously jagged and barbed weapons. The greater part raised their harsh guttural voices to their Master in anticipation of his impending victory, although those recently returned from Valleyum wandered silently and aimlessly across the plain, occasionally dropping the odd limb or facial feature, while their Uruk captains attempted somewhat vainly to herd them into some semblance of order. Hordes of great armoured trolls, the flame-hardened oL0g-hA1, each carrying a range of mighty insults to hurl at their foes, lumbered back and forth eager for action. And the races of Men who had pledged their allegiance to Môgul, the wild Beasterlings of Near Hardup, the pitiless Poltroons of Far Hardup and the ferocious Scallywags of Khant, Men who had entered the Land of Shadowy Deals through the Black Gate of Uncanon only days before, sat grimly in their camps. Their ludicrously exotic armour and weaponry gleamed in the light of their camp-fires as they touched up their war-paint and eyeliner. Here and there, the dark wraith-like figures of Korprat Loyers could be seen preparing their loopholes and sharpening their clauses.

But prominent amongst the forces assembled before the Dark Tower Block were the great beasts of the Aircorps of Dumbar. Each as grey as a mouse and as big as a house with a nose like a snake, they made the earth shake as they tramped o‘er the plain, tethered by chain. With horns in their mouth, they had flown from the South, flapping big ears - ruddy big ears. Aerophaunts were they. Arranged in squadrons, some carried great howdahs on their back capable of transporting whole battalions of troops while others were mounted with an array of heavy weaponry: trebuchets, arbalests and ballistas. A great trumpeting and roaring issued forth from the mighty beasts as their Dumbarian crews, clad in bright red uniforms, tended to them and loaded them with weaponry and provisions.

Satisfied with his inspection, Môgul turned and glided back into his office, carefully avoiding the remains of various Orcish clerks and functionaries, the legacy of the temporary disconnection of his Satel-antir and the downing of the Aircorps patrol. Within the office suite, Môgul’s Chiefs of Staff stood around a great table bearing a map of Muddled-Mirth. Tiny black flags stood ominously out from various locations: Ham Steep, Improvas, the Halls of Trebor and the Golden Malls of Topfloorien. Yet other locations bore brighter flags of varying colours: the Last Home Grown Cows, the Mire, the Pay Havens and, yet still, Minus Teeth. Carved wooden blocks represented the forces deployed throughout the land, the majority of them black and spiky.

A palpable sense of irritation emanated from the Dread Developer as he examined the blue denim flag that sprang defiantly from Minus Teeth.

“What news from the Wight City, Greedhog?” he enquired.

“It ssseemsss that Grundor has monetary resservesss of which we were unaware, O Profoundly Prosperous One,” the Senior Loyer hissed. “A dark cloud of Lítig-aî-Shön permeates the entire realm and the repaymentsss on our loan to the Proctor are crippling. Yet still he holds out.”

“He cannot stand alone against the financial might of Moredough for long,” spat Môgul. “There will be time enough to de-credit and discredit him and his upstart hair when we return from Valleyum.”

“Sire,” spoke up a thin, weasly figure with hair greased back into a ponytail and sporting bright red braces. “Our marketing campaign is meeting with great success.” The speaker was Perlandeen, Arch I-Mage of the dark art of Pé-Är. As he spoke, he conjured from the air a plethora of charts covered with graphs, pie charts and survey results.

“Consumer recognition of the red nostril logo is at an all-time high and our Môgul branded products are selling like hot-cram,” Perlandeen explained. “In tests, eight out of ten Muddled-Mirthlings expressed a preference for black over white, green, silver or, indeed, any other colour favoured by the so-called Free-Peoples. Evil really is the new good. And our cause has been greatly assisted by the general carnage spread throughout the land by the renegade Merisuwyniel and the buffoons that she laughably calls her companions.”

“At leassst until recently,” added Greedhog. “Lately it appearsss that they have found sssome sssupport amongssst those that they have encountered. Their defeat of the upssstart Sssauerkraut has won them sssome renown.”

“Yes, poor Colin,” replied Môgul. “He never was the sharpest note in the symphony, but he sure knew how to make an exit. Still, who knows when he might be popping up again.”

A dreadful wheezing, bubbling, grinding sound filled the office as the Dread Developer chuckled at his dreadful quip and his minions dutifully followed suit.

“We are most grateful to you for your information, Rrrogerrr,” said Môgul, recovering his composure and turning to the chipper Thingwraith, “It will stand us in good stead in Valleyum.” Although the Nazgul, being a Fell collective, had no appointed leader, they had all agreed that Rrrogerrr should attend the briefing to represent them and to relay in Wraith what he had learned from Soregum.

“That’s quite alright, my Lord, old chap. Glad to be of service.”

“Well,” continued Môgul. “If the people of this ripe and potentially lucrative land cannot be won over by subtle persuasion and crippling debt, there are always the more traditional methods. You have assembled a fine army, General Gzzmmmphllgg.”

“Thank you sir, Lord Bildûr, sir!” roared the General, standing to attention. General Gzzmmmphllgg was an enormous and heavily-built Orc, so enormous indeed that he might have beeen mistaken for an Ogre were it not for the fact that, as everyone knows, there are no such things as Ogres in Muddled-Mirth. He was extraordinarily old, having been born in the time of the Dread Developer’s rule of Dairyland, and had risen to become commander of Môgul’s armies in Moredough by virtue of the simple fact that he had not died during the intervening years (a feat which no other Orc had managed to achieve). But age and experience had taken their toll on him. He wore a patch over one eye, his left arm was withered and useless, he loped with a limp and his mottled and scabrous skin had turned a yellowish shade of pink through excessive exposure to the sun.

“You will take charge of Moredough while we are in Valleyum, General,” directed Môgul. A formidable force will remain behind. After all, we don’t want anyone sneaking in and getting up to no good while we are away, do we? Oh, and dispatch a detachment to secure Dorktank.”

“Yessir, Lord Bildûr, sir!” barked General Gzzmmmphllgg, raising his good arm in a salute.

“As for the remainder of the army, they will travel with us to Valleyum. Captain, are the Aircorps ready for action?”

“Yeah, right on, my Lord,“ replied a hairy brute of a man dressed in the bright red uniform of the Aircorps. “Mad for it. Sorted, like. Know what I mean.”

The Aircorps of Dumbar were a cruel and merciless outfit. And none was more cruel or merciless than their commander, Cap’n Ar-Kidd. He was descended from the corrupt line of Ar-Pheronome, King of Noodleor, who had flown an ill-fated mission to Valleyum some three thousand years before in defiance of the power of the Velour. A Black Noodleorian he was (or Morally-challenged Noodleorian as those of a more politically correct persuasion preferred to call them). And he was mad keen, like, at the prospect of launching an airborne assault on Valleyum to fulfil the vision of his ancestor.

“Shine on, man” he added, raising his great bushy eyebrows and flashing his gold-capped teeth in a broad grin.

“Yes, er, quite,” replied Môgul. “Very good. Commence loading the troops immediately. Dismissed!”

As the Chiefs of Staff turned to leave, Môgul called back Greedhog.

“You too will be journeying with us to Valleyum,” he said to the old Korprat Loyer. “Select a company of the most seasoned of your kind to accompany you. You will be escorting the prisoner. I want you personally in charge should negotiations become necessary.”

“I had hoped for no lessss, O Lord of Dark and Dirty Dealing,” replied Greedhog. “I fear neither battle nor negotiation, my Lord. For wasss it not foretold by Macbeth the Ssseer, and comprehensively drafted by Ssstrongclause the Watertight, that no Human, Elf, Dwarf, Halfling, Troll or Orc, or any combination thereof, whether living dead or undead, and whether male, female or otherwise, ssshall hinder me?”

“Indeed it was, my faithful advocate.”

As Greedhog departed, Môgul returned to his balcony and watched as line after line of Men, Orcs, Trolls and Loyers filed on board the Aerophaunt carriers. He was still there some hours later as, one after another, the great beasts lumbered across the poisonous plain and launched themselves into the dark and stormy Moredough sky*. In due course, he disappeared into the depths of the Dark Tower Block to make his own arrangements for the journey.
_______________________________________

*Editor’s note: When they come to make the film, Ride of the Valkyrie would be good here.