The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Rimbaud]

Face it, Hal, you came out pretty lucky, thought the quarter-elf, inside a half-Elf’s head. Halfemption mused on their predicament, but realised that he was spending most of the musing time working out who was who, or rather who wasn’t who. Or something. He began to feel a little like his late half-brother. He felt a little like the deceased Halfullion as well, but it was his actually-always-late half-brother, Hees Tardierthanthou, that he felt like. Second to every conclusion, first to none. Or in his youngest brother Runt the Monk’s case, first to nuns.

“I wish,” he started out loud, in Vogonwe’s velvet tones, “that all this confusion would just sort itself out and save me the trouble of devising an improbably clever solution to it all!”

*blam!*

There was a loud noise and a blinding flash of light.

They all looked nervously at each other. Sadly, they realised , nothing had altered, they were still the Hellthisissomemixedup-ship.

“Nice try,” said Pimpi-keeper, rubbing her/his shin. “Bad luck – hang on, who are you?”

“Hal,” said Vog-emption.

“Thinking of a way out?”

“I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do,” replied Vog-emption, a little snidely.

“I read you, Hal,” replied Pimpi-keeper.

“Look!” exclaimed Kuru-suwyniel, and for once it wasn’t so much of a pleasure to do so. “We have some priorities.”

Everyone relaxed. It was comforting when Merisuwyniel took control, even when she was trapped inside the somewhat less aesthetically pleasing Dwarven form.
The Heroine-in-a-Halfman continued. “One, we need to find my body. The pretty one. Two – we need to get through this door and escape.”

Vog-emption said, “Since this is the only way out, and it seems we all woke up in here, logic suggests that your body is back whence we came.”

They all looked back down the maze of passages, little rooms and corridors with an under whelming enthusiasm. The sort of enthusiasm that is normally garnered when your unwanted guests suggest another bottle. Of your wine.

Kuru-suwyniel’s hand edged backwards, surreptitiously. No wonder men are always scratching. She caught Kuru-claw looking at her suspiciously and cleared her throat.

“I know in my heart,” she began.

“My heart!” squawked a dwarf in a parrot’s body.

“…in my heart, that we need to find my body before we can leave. And what anybody would want to do with my body is quite beyond me,” finished the be-dwarfed wielder of the Ent that was Broken.

There was some liberal shuffling of feet after this last bit, and few met her eye.

But the usual suspects for tedious heroism stepped up to the metaphorical plate, although they looked an even more motley crew than normal: Orugum Two, Cirk-onwe, Vog-emption and Half-Leninia volunteered to explore for hijacked Elven waifs, while the others remained behind worked out a way of overcoming the fearsome bureaucracy of the only way out.

And so it was that on Stardate, um, three-ish, that the Company known as the ReallyConfused-ship split asunder, if only for a short time.

The Hero Searchers

Those that would seek the Elf that was Hijacked, named themselves the Body Snatchers, after a brief but passionate row. The corridors of their strange new prison were duly invaded by the Body Snatchers, who decided after tripping over each other for a while to divide into two further sub-groups. After more bickering, the two sets were the Aggressively Deadly Duo, comprising Half-Leninia and Vog-emption (Halfemption felt proud to be wholly included), and the Concern of the Alliance of Grundor and Elves, comprising Orugum Two and Cirk-onwe.

The ADD moved absent-mindedly off to the left, and the AGE Concern shuffled off to the right.

The search was long and not especially funny to describe, not even the scene where the ADD found themselves in a sauna with a small penguin, a priest and a rabbi. It was, the ADD mustered the attention to be annoyed by, the AGE Concern who discovered her body. Piloted, it seemed, by a rather confused rodent, she had simply curled up and gone to sleep. Orugum Two cursed his weaker body, as he saw Half-Leninia effortlessly hoist the fair maiden upon her shoulder and trek back. She, naturally, was rather pleased by the whole affair.

When they arrived back, they came across a scene that can only be described by someone with the willpower to do it, so we’ll skip right to the dialogue.

“Why on earth…?” began Vog-emption.

“That’s just not right…” said Half-Leninia, depositing the Mouse-in-Elf gently on the ground.

“Oh good grief…” muttered Orugum Two.

“Sweet heavenly Errata of the skies…” mumbled Cirk-onwe.

The Remainder of the Reunited-ship were, frighteningly, writing. Scribing. Scratching. Looking a bit, well, academic. Well, all apart from Kuru-claw who was flying around and landing suspiciously close to everyone’s pockets.

“What the…” began Vog-emption again, still not grasping the true horror of what
he was seeing.

“It had to be done,” sighed Kuru-suwyniel. “We have to fill out these forms. I don’t think there’s another way.”

“Really? replied the Quarter-in-a-Half, divisively. “I was thinking brute force.”

“We don’t have any champagne,” replied Pimpi-keeper, missing an ‘e’.

However, Kuru-suwyniel had her way, and the forms were filled. The Mouse and Grrmoi slept still. The parrot-dwarf flew around, but agreed with them that there was certainly a limited number of options.

Finally, they were done. Forms were filled, and as everyone was thoroughly sick of the whole trans-corporeal experience, they delivered them straight to the quite staggeringly named Mr Smith.

However, as they had not detached the yellow duplicates, he refused to accept the originals. There were further hold ups, before he finally agreed that they had a) no right to be there and further were b) utterly improbable as people so that c) they probably weren’t there at all and therefore d) it mattered not if the door was opened or not.

Vog-emption, Pimpi-keeper and Orugum Two leant their shoulders to the task, and swung the double doors open, as one would open a large pair of double doors.

There were gasps.

They had reached – a superior bureaucrat’s office. Who had a similarly large door at the other end of his office, which was slowly closing. Through which they could see another office. And another.

“This won’t do,” said Kuru-suwyniel, slumping to the ground. “This isn’t the answer.”

“Brute force?” asked several of the Company of Lost Souls again, and she wearily acquiesced. Several splintered doors and satisfyingly dead bureaucrats later, they all confessed that that probably wasn’t the key either.

“What do they want?” asked Pimpi-keeper frantically. “What is it that has caused this?”

It was, oddly, Grr-moi, who solved it. Or rather, Kuru-caw, who was pecking at his finger. At the large gold ring on his finger. The large unfamiliar ring on his finger. This sentence is redundant.

“Um,” said Cirk-garn Two. “I don’t remember Neemoi having any jewellery.”

Then, slowly, they all realised they had identical rings on. Kuru-suwniel gasped.

“There are fourteen of us! And fourteen rings! This is the work of the mysterious Saturday the Fourteenth Gang. This is the band of pirates who were not quite as hard as the Friday the Thirteenth Crew. The Saturday Gang forged fourteen rings of power, to enslave all who wore them.”

“But,” said Pimpi-keeper, sounding increasingly Blanchettian. “They were all of them…deceived. For another Ring was made…”

“One so shiny and glittery that only the tasteless would wear it!” shouted Vog emption.

“The Status Symbol of the Small Minded!” bellowed Cirk-onwe.

They all cried, “The One Bling!!!”

“Handy, really,” said the Parrot-Dwarf Kuru-claw, settling on his mind’s true body.
“Because I bought it at a jumble-sale just two months past.”

“You mean?” said Kuru-suwyniel blankly.

“Yep,” said the Parrot. “It’s in that bag on your back. My back. Your back. You know.”

Kuru-suwyinel dug around in the pack, and eventually came up with the gaudy great Ring. As soon as she pushed it onto her thick, gnarled finger, everything turned white around them and then black, and then some static, and then a small snippet of a Radio Four program about tourism in Hull, and then darkness, and then they were back on the beach.

In their own bodies. Which made everything a lot easier. Except. They. Had. Lost. Both. Syntax. And. The. Damn. Boat.

Yep – couldn’t see it anywhere. In the words of Marcel Proust – shucks.

[Mithadan]

The Maroonedship stood flummoxed, bollixed and bebothered upon the sandy, but otherwise empty and quite boatless, beach. Pimpowyn, who had just eaten her last sandwich, was particularly vexed by this unfortunate turn of events.

"Well this is just great!" she screamed, ranted and raved. Vogonwë cringed, then ducked as a largish seashell came hurtling through the air, folowed by a smaller, but undoubtedly harder rock. "Marvelous!" she continued. "Just spiffy! No boat! Did you hear me? NO BOAT! No boat and no food equals no quest and a bunch of dead adventurers."

Orogarn (2) and Gateskeeper clucked sympathetically as Vogonwë attempted to calm his betrothed down. "Now, now dear," he said calmly. "Something will come up. Things will work out."

"Things will work out?" she cried ignoring Merisu's whispers about conduct unbecoming a shieldmaiden. "How will they work out?" She stalked purposefully over to the edge of the waves, raised her right hand high and extended a thumb. "I suppose we can just hitch-hike and get a ride back to our ship?"

"Need a ride...?" came a voice from nowhere.

Actually not quite nowhere. For just as Pimpi extended her thumb, a ship came around a conveniently located, nearby promontary and floated up to the Itship. It was a grand old ship, crafted by Elves in a slightly dated style reminiscent of the late First Page. It had a high prow shaped like the head of a duck and three tall masts. Upon the top of the tallest mast a light swirled, flowed and glowed so that it could be seen from miles away, at least so long as a pesky promontary was not in the way.

"Ear-hand-ill," whispered Merisu in awe.

"Need a ride?" offered the mariner once again.

"Yes!", cried the Itship as one.

"What's that?" he said. "I'm a bit hard of hearing you know." And indeed, as he turned to face them, the Guyandgalship saw that his right hand was firmly ensconced in his right ear. They clambered aboard the vessel, using a rope ladder which the mariner slung over the side and communicated their desire to be carried to their ship via much shouting and hand signs.

As they got underway, the Itship gathered around Merisu. "What's this guy's story?" asked Kuruharan. "You seem to know of him."

"It is a long tale, and a sad one," she answered. "Perhaps someday there will be time to tell it in full, but for now, here is the Tale of Ear-hand-ill the Mariner.

"Perhaps you have heard of Benny Clammyhand and Lucy-Jane Thinguviel. Benny was a simple farmer in Mytoenien, long ago in the First Page, when he was evicted by Mogul Bildur. Homeless and sad, he wandered until he came to the enchanted realm of More-iath, which signifies 'lots of trees' in the common tongue. There, at an all night keg party, he met Lucy-Jane, daughter of King Thingy and they fell in love. But Thingy was displeased and declined to allow them to marry until Benny proved himself by capturing one of the Silmaroils, the great Lava-lamps of old.

"Benny went off, idiot that he was, to seek a Silmaroil, but Lucy-Jane came with him and they went even to Slangbad where they were taken before Mogul. Then Lucy-Jane recited heroic Noodlarian poetry for hours on end until all his minions fell asleep from boredom. But Mogul would not sleep. He challenged Benny to a duel. But Benny, who had been hiding under a chair, would not fight. He kept whimpering about being good and eating many fishes if he were allowed to leave. Instead, Lucy-Jane offered to play one hand of poker with Mogul, winner take all, and I do mean all. Mogul drew two pair, but Lucy-Jane filled an inside straight and beat him. Mogul was so angry, he smote himself on the forehead and knocked himself out. Seeing their chance, they pried one of the Silmaroils from Mogul's crown and fled back to Thingy who had no choice but to let them marry."

"A beautiful tale!" said Vogonwë with a sniff and a tear. "Especially the part about the poetry. But what's it got to do with Ear-hand-ill?"

"Popáyë the Sailor was a down on his luck mariner who moonlighted as a bartender at the Crow's Nest on the shores of the great sea. He was in love with Birdwing, a princess, but she would not marry him until he became rich. One night, Thingy came to town with his posse and the spent a long night drinking at the Bird's Nest. In the morning, he woke up with a horrible hangover only to discover that his purse had been stolen by the legendary Dwarvish thief, Kururobinhood. Having no money, he offered Popáyë a Silmaroil to settle his bar bill.

"Popáyë and Birdwing resolved to take the Silmaroil to Valleyum where they could cash it in for a reward. Now Popáyë was poor and not that bright, but he was a great sailor. He took ship and they journeyed for many weeks through storms, shipwrecks and other adventures until they reached Valleyum. There, they were greeted joyfully by the Velour and were wined and dined until they were quite snookered. Then the Velour took him before Mantoes for his reward to be decreed. And Mantoes asked Popáyë, 'Do you love the sea?'

"Popáyë, being quite fully in his cups, answered yes. And Mantoes asked, 'Do you really, really, really love the sea?' And Popáyë cried 'Yes, I love the sea with all my heart!' So the Velour rewarded Popáyë by making him the official Coastal Patrol of the Velour. They enchanted his vessel and affixed the Silmaroil to its mast and sent him off to pick up trash and rescue castaways for all time. But they also decreed that he must always stay on his ship. So Popáyë and Birdwing sailed back to Muddled Mirth..."

"But what does all this have to do with Ear-hand-ill?" asked Pimpiowyn.

"When they reached port, Birdwing asked Popáyë about their engagement. And Popáyë responded with the famous staves which are heard even now in sailors' bars on the shores of Muddled Mirth. He said:

"Birdwing,
you're a fine girl,
what a good wife you would be!
But my life, my love and my lady,
is the sea."

Orogarn, Gateskeeper, Soregum, Vogonwë and even Kuruharan winced upon hearing this. No wrath like a woman scorned, and all that. Merisu, seeing their expressions, nodded thoughtfully. "I told you it was a sad tale. Birdwing seized Popáyë's hand and shoved it into his ear. Then she stalked off and they never saw one another again."

Merisu sighed sadly. "I see that we've reached the Ent's Surprise..."

[The Saucepan Man]

A great white seabird glided majestically over the western reaches of the Blundering Sea, heading homeward to roost on the cliffs that spread north along the coastal regions of Valleyum. Beating her powerful wings against the wind, she wheeled and passed over the Isle of Toll Entrihëa, where the VIA (Valleyum Immigration Authority) diligently enforced Valleyum’s rigorous immigration policies. None born in Muddled-mirth entered Valleyum without passing via VIA, and few that attempted to pass via VIA were permitted to enter Valleyum. They had a strict “Elves and Those seeking to save Muddled-mirth from ruin only” policy.

Catching a thermal, the magnificent bird relaxed once more, gliding high above the Laurinandon Bridge, which led from Toll Entrihëa to the port of Valleyfornia on the mainland. The water sparkled brightly beneath her as the westering sun caught the sails of the beautiful vessels of the Calamari, the Squid Ships of old, which bobbed and ducked prettily in the sea. Nearer to the sandy shore, which swept southwards from Valleyum, a multitude of tiny figures could be seen perched proudly on carved wooden boards, the legendary sërf-flets of the Elves, as they navigated through the coasters that rolled into Valleyfornia’s beaches, while others paddled out to meet the towering waves. The art of sërf-fletting had long been forgotten in Muddled-mirth, but was carried on by the Elves of Valleyum, the Calamari and the Vaniti, since they had little else to occupy their time. The craft had been taught to them by the Velour in the First Page of the Light-Fittings, although the Velour themselves sërfed only on private beaches reserved for their sole use.

As she approached the shore, the great bird of the sea caught the first strains of the Musac of the Velour, its hypnotic, melodic, yet somehow bland, tune accompanying the pulsating rhythm of her wings as she once more wheeled, turning north towards the wilder northern coastal regions.

Had she carried on inland for perhaps ten miles, she would have come eventually to the modest country cottage where dwelt Häulié and Yawanna. Yet, although the dwelling itself was humble, the grounds were extensive and bounteous. Every plant that had ever put up shoots in Muddled-earth, and yet more that were native only to Valleyum, grew there amongst its fragrant gardens. The scent was intoxicating, and it was said that few that passed time there could resist becoming overpowered by the ambience of Yawanna’s gardens: the legendary gardens of Kïuw.

A radiant figure clad from head to toe in green hummed softly to herself as she tended to the gardens. Her skin was olive green and her verdant hair was bedecked with flowers. With tender care, she clipped an errant shoot here and soothed a fresh leaf there. She was in her element. As always, when Häulié was away on business, toiling in his workshop under Mount Tangential, Yawanna found solace amongst her flowers and shrubs.

“Hello Princess!”

The voice stopped Yawanna in her tracks.

“Mel?” she called out uncertainly, her voice wavering with emotion.

Slowly, Môgul Bildür stepped out from the foliage.

Yawanna stood blinking in amazement as a series of staccato drumbeats rang out, quickening in rhythm as they reached their climax.

=================================================

THENAMIR'S LONG-DELAYED POST
or, Long Ago and Fur Away

During the voyage Gateskeeper remained alone on most days in the cabin he shared with Soregum, seeing that on deck there was nothing to see but sea. (Soregum usually spent his time away from the cabin, alternating between filling his stomach in the galley, emptying his stomach over the rail, and following-Pimpi-dodging-Vogonwe.) Ever since the revelation of his former association with the Dread Developer, the All-aboard-for-Valleyum-ship had understandably withdrawn from him somewhat. Kuruharan would come down on the pretense of being friendly, but after a few pleasantries he merely pressed him for his inner-circle product secrets and high-pressure sales techniques. Pimpi and Merisu did check in on him from time to time in a motherly fashion to make sure he was alright, and to encourage him to join the rest on deck for a new game that Orogarn Two had invented.

O2 had taken the Brick-that-was-Broken, the memento left to him by Earnur before their departure from the Pay Havens, and rounded it off at the sharp corners, polishing the side opposite the inscription to a flat smoothness, intending to use it as a paperweight when (or if) he returned to Grundor. As he worked with it on the deck one sunny day, the stone slipped from his grasp and, to his surprise, slid scross the deck on the smoothed side for a considerable distance. Inspiration hit him like, well, a brick. By the end of the day, he had with Cirkdan's permission created a set of marks on the deck to use as targets with differing point values. By pushing the stone across the deck with the tip of his sword he could cause the stone to come to rest atop the targets from the other side of the ship with some accuracy. He decided to name this new game Schuphilboerd (after a half-remembered Muddled-Mirth children's story about a toothless dwarf and an orc-midget) and invited everyone else to take turns at the new diversion.

In spite of the levity, the inferior Maia still sought some way to show that he was "with them" in their quest now, despite the now-almost-continuous throbbing of his gloved hand. Perhaps a gift of some kind, especially for the two ladies which had shown him such kindness. It was at that moment that Captain Cirkdan poked his head through the door to announce that they would be stopping briefly for rest and resupply at the small and totally non-canonical island of Tol Kayssevin. Gateskeeper marvelled -- Cirkdan's skull must be thick indeed to poke through a solid-wooden door like that. "Nay," replied Cirkdan, "the only way to make the ship light enough to lift off the ocean for Valleyum was to use balsathrond, the lightest of all woods." "That's not exactly what I meant, you could have just opened the door" muttered the wizard under his breath as Cirkdan withdrew his head, leaving a splintered hole.

For Gateskeeper, the timing of this landing could not have been more perfect if the author had intended it that way -- which of course, was the case. Being a waypoint on the way to Valleyum for immigrating elves, what passed for the mall on Tol Kayssevin was actually a strip of duty-free shops selling mostly cheap miruvor,, low-quality pipeweeds, and knock-off Silmaroil-baubles -- but there were deals to be had for those with a keen eye. Once the ship had made berth, Gatesy wasted no time in disembarking (a term at which the Entish Pieces seemed to take some offense) with Kuruharan secretly following along to watch a master at his craft.

While the rest of the So-far-so-good-ship rested or shopped a figure that appeared to be a lame elf boarded the ship, introduced himself as "Mobilhench", and asked for the Captain. Cirkdan was otherwise occupied, having invited a local lovely down to his private cabin in hopes of boldly going where no man had gone before, and was not happy about the interruption. Eager to return to his guest, he swallowed the stranger's story about wanting to finally go to Valleyum and being weary of Muddled Mirth, etc, etc, and accepted the new passenger without the normal screening. After all, reasoned Cirkdan, aren't the folks at VIA supposed to keep out the undesirables? The new passenger laid his bundle on the bed of his cabin and opened it up straightaway, pulling out a gleaming Cell-antir. He poked a few buttons on its screen, waited a moment, then said only "I'm in." before snapping the cover shut.

Gateskeeper made his way from store to store, as Kuruharan took notes -- it was amazing how quickly he could sidestep the fluff and frippery and persuade proprietors to bring out the "good stuff" for his perusal. Nevertheless, the wizard bought nothing, obviously looking for something special, until he arrived at a small and exceedingly overpriced bar to take refreshment. As Gateskeeper nursed his beverage Kuruharan sauntered in as if by coincidence, hailed his shipmate, and dropped his pack by a chair at the table. "Friend dwarf," Gatesy began unexpectedly, "you are a trader of some reknown, and carry a store of things both useful and bizarre -- I wish to repay a kindness."

"Male, female, elf, dwarf, human, or other?" replied the subtle and crafty dwarf with a grin.

Gateskeeper retold most of the foregoing post to the listening dwarf, who nodded with the practiced sympathy of a successful used-car-salesman. "I think I have something that might do the trick," said Kuruharan, reaching into his pack and rummaging around. In a short time (and after discarding a small mountain of miscellaneous other items onto the table) he cried, 'Aha!' and produced what appeared to be a fist-sized cream-colored ball of fur which trilled and cooed. "What is that?" asked Gateskeeper out of morbid curiousity.

"This, my friend," replied the It-ship's master of the garage-sale-in-a-bag, "is a troubabibble." .

"Come again?" replied the sharp mind on the other side of the table.

"The perfect cute pet. It's soft, furry, and makes a pleasant sound."

"So would a chinchilla trumpet. I fail to see..."

"Look, Gatesy, I know it's not a guy-thing, but you know women and cute furry animals. They'll be swooning over it as soon as they see it, and you'll be restored to their good graces."

"Hmmm. Do you have more?" said the wizard in hopeful tones.

Kuruharan put the troubabibble back in his knapsack along with a cookie. "Any moment now." There was a brief crunching sound and then a strange pop noise, after which the diminutive trader pulled no fewer than eight Troubabibbles from the knapsack.

Gateskeeper returned to the Ent's Surprise with both his spirits and his pocketbook a bit lighter, with Kuruharan following after. As soon as they boarded the ship he bowed deeply to Merisu and Pimpi and handed each one of his newly-purchased Troubabibbles. The adorable furballs immediately began purring and trilling in a manner that would make the disposition of the most amiable cat look like that of a hemorrhoidal cave troll. Before his morning coffee.

This of course set up such a truly nauseating chorus of "awww", "so sweet", and "aren't they just darling!" that the rest of the crew and passengers gathered 'round, making even more such noises, except for Vogonwe, who glowered that his love was fawning over something other than himself, and Soregum, for the same reason. Gateskeeper winked at Kuruharan, but the dwarven entrepreneur was too busy to respond...he was selling the rest of his troubabibbles to those gathered around at a high markup. It was capitalistic greed enough to warm Gateskeeper's heart. Everyone was so enamoured with the new fuzzy arrivals that no one noticed when the ever-present comestibles in Pimpi's hand were suddenly and inexplicably not present.

Later at dinnertime, taken for once onshore at a touristy but moderately priced inn, the Ship-O-Ship was introduced to their new passenger. Everyone seemed to accept the newcomer right off, except for Merisu. Being practically perfect in every way ( as was her sister, Meripoppins) she was conflicted in her heart, suspecting something not quite right about the lame elf, yet not wanting to point it out and ruin the convivial dinnertime atmosphere. She did feel compelled to point out something that immediately had everyone on their feet, swords drawn: Pimpi was late to dinner.

Reeperneep immediately piped up, with good leaf too, before waving his rapier and shrilly crying out, "We must find out what foul play is afoot, and I will challenge the villain to single-combat..."

"Sorry I'm late everyone!!" Cried Pimpi as she ran into the room clutching something bound up in her pillowcase. "I couldn't get away because my troubabibble was having...kittens? babies? troubabibblettes?" The assembled gathered around to see the new arrivals and began another round of positively puke-inducing cuteness. All except Mobilhench, who backed tenuously away from the sack of furballs. Merisu, holding one of the adorable hairballs walked up to their newest guest and fawned, "isn't he just the most precious snookie-wookums? Here, see for yourself." Suiting the action to the word, she held the creature almost under the nose of Mobilhench.

Perhaps not surprising to some, the troubabibble began to screech and hiss in a most appalling fashion. Merisu raised an eyebrow. "How odd," she began, "it doesn't like you." She gestured around the room. "They like elves, humans, dwarves, wizards, halflings, half-halflings, and even parrots...but not you. I wonder why? Doctor McCaw, if you would be so kind?" Mobilhench tried to remain still, but the cold claws and sharp beak of the medical mockingbird made him flinch as McCaw mumbled things like, "no heart...heavy makeup...fake ears...foul stench...Dim, this man is a orc-Klingon!"

Dimwi T. Cirkdan jumped to his feet again. "Tones...what..do you mean...orc-Klingon?"

McCaw replied in a yelping screech, "Blast it, Dim, he's an orc, clingin' to my feet and wings -- he's taking me hostage!!"

Once the groans at the long-expected punny had subsided, Merisu wailed "Mobilhench -- Mogul Bildur henchman!! Why didn't I see it sooner!!"

The malevolent miscreant bellowed, "That's right, and I mean to blow holes in your ship and keep you here until The Dark Lord can arrive to deal with you right and proper. And if any of you makes a move to stop me, I'll rip this cockatoo's wings off."

"Blast it, I'm a parrot, not a cockatoo!" squawked the purloined parrot before Mobilhench wired his beak shut.

"You'll never get away with this," spoke Merisu the expected line.

"Ah, but I will," Mobilhench sneered, "All I have to do is escape through the kitchen door here behind me, and if you follow me, the bird dies!"

The What-do-we-do-now-ship stared in frozen horror as the parrot-carrying-shifty-eyed-ex-lame-elf-now-orc tried to open the door, which seemed to be stuck, causing the horror to thaw just a bit. At last the door slid to one side, and the would be Docnapper tried to make good his escape.

Unfortunately for him the kitchen was filled to bursting with troubibabbles, thousands upon thousands of decendants of one lone creature which had managed to roll itself into the restaurant's pantry stores of grain. With nothing to hinder them, they ate and reproduced at will, and boy did they have a lot of will. The mountain of fur tumbled out of the kitchen doorway, and in surprise the orc to released the hapless Doctor McCaw who wasted no time flying out of reach.. The troubibabbles, though, finding themselves piled atop the one thing in the universe they hated, screeched and howled with fear and rage, tearing into the orc which was rapidly disappearing under the accumulating balls of fluff. The Never-Seen-That-Before-ship, seeing that (a) the problems with the newcomer were being taken care of by the troubabibbles, (b) there would be no dinner forthcoming from this particular kitchen, and (c) the troubabibbles were still eating (and therefore multiplying), beat a hasty retreat from the restaurant and back to the ship.

Once all were back aboard, Orogarn Two and Cirkdan counted noses to make sure no one had been left behind. All the noses were there, but one snout was still unaccounted for -- Chysophylax! All of a sudden there was a thundering boom and a flash of light from where their restaurant once stood. A few moments later Chrysophylax himself could be seen taking off from the site of the explosion, alighting a short time later on the quay beside the ship. Casually breaking a plank off from the wood of the dock and picking his teeth, the fiery dragon burped, and said only "Tastes like zerl."

It was not long after that the Oops-we-did-it-again-ship was again under sail before they could be caught.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Weeks passed, and the Sail-Away-Ship saw no more land. The water surrounding them seemed endless, spread from horizon to horizon. Days were long and tempers short, and Merisuwyniel soon tired of hearing the males’ favourite complaint: “Water, water everywhere, but not a drop of ale…” After patiently answering Pimpiowyn’s dozenth “Are we there yet?” one afternoon, she decided to occupy them with Tales of Toll Entrihëa and songs of the Lessened Realm. Her companions and those of the ship’s crew who had survived their various adventures listened, enthralled by the charm of her voice so much as by the beauty of her words. If the attention of several wandered to noticing the shape of her lovely mouth or the falling and rising of her breath (frequently detrimental to their own), who could blame them?

She sang to them a song of the Straight Road:

Would you like to fly in my Elven sailing ship?
Would you go up high in my Elven sailing ship?
We could float into the West together, you and I,
For we can fly!

Up, up and away in my beautiful, my Elven sailing ship!

So engrossed were they that they heeded not the background noises nor heard Captain Cirkdan’s voice calling out, “…three, two, one, zero, lift-off! We have a lift-off!” Only when the crew members began to cheer did they look, and lo! the waters beneath the ship faded away. It seemed that its prow rose, or perhaps the sea sank; at any rate, they appeared to be sailing on air.

Uncertain, Merisu’s voice faltered and halted, at which the ship rushed downwards, falling toward the waters below. Neemoi, the enigmatic first mate, ran to Merisu and shouted above the din of waves and screams, “Keep singing! You must keep singing, for your song creates the Straight Way upon which we sail. Without the singing, it cannot carry us.”

And so she lifted up her clear voice once more, and the ship steadied itself and rose again – as did the spirits of her companions, save one. Soregum stood at the railing, and none cared to come closer to aid him.

“We must all sing,” Merisu rallied the Song-Sung-Blue-Ship around her. “You must help me, for I cannot do this task alone.”

“But your voice is better than ours,” Gateskeeper replied.

She answered, “The woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those who sang the best.”

Soregum moaned, Dizzy, I’m so dizzy, my head is spinning. Like a whirlpool, it never ends. And it’s you, ship, making it spin, you’re making me dizzy.

“Wonderful!” their Elven leader exclaimed brightly. “That’s the spirit!”

Hang down your head, poor Soregum, Vogonwë sang, rather spitefully, hang down your head and retch…, breaking off when Merisu looked at him reproachfully.

Orogarn² struck up “Varda in the Sky with Diamonds” in his fine baritone, and all joined in, singing “La, la, la” most of the time, since they didn’t know the rest of the words, but it mattered not. As long as they sang, the ship sailed onwards, upwards.

“How about you, Kuruharan?” Meri asked. “Is there a song of your people that is fit for this occasion?”

He hesitated. “Well, Dwarves are not normally allowed to take this road, but perhaps I can change one to fit.”

Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to Valleyum we go..., he began, and the others soon learned the catchy melody and sang with him. He followed that up with a rousing chorus of “Chrys, the Magic Dragon”, which seemed appropriate to a journey beyond the sea. Unfortunately, Chrysophylax was not allowed to sing along, as his fiery enthusiasm would have been detrimental to the ship’s sails and other accoutrements.

Next Reaperneep sang them a song of wistful homesickness:

I’m not by Tolkien, I’m by CSL, my dear,
For me, this journey is not right.
Speaking animals are rare over here,
I’m a Narnian in Muddled-Mirth.

Oh, I’m an alien, I’m an Arda alien,
I’m a Narnian in Muddled-Mirth.

“Leninia?” Merisu directed a questioning look at the reticent pop star. “I’m sure you have a wealth of songs to perform.”

Leninia shook her head, muttering something about the audience and the money not being worth the effort, then reluctantly began:

I made it through the Sundering Sea,
Somehow I made it through,
Didn’t know how far it was
To sail with this crew.

Like a Velour,
Landing for the very first time,
Like a Velour,
With your sërf-flet
Next to mine.

Her movements, decidedly un-Velour-like, were calculated to attract attention, and she soon had all of the males goggle-eyed.

All but Vogonwë the Faithful, of course – he was looking at Pimpi, happy to have her undivided attention. (Soregum was seated in the back, near the railing – just in case.) He began to sing a new poem he had written for her.

Lay down
Your sweet and curly head.
Ship is falling,
You’ve come to journey's end.
Sing now
Of the ones who came before;
They are sërfing
The waves on the distant shore.

Why do you eat?
What are these crumbs upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your hunger will pass away.
And you’ll be here in my arms,
Digesting.

What can you see
Upon the menu?
When does the dinner gong call?
Across the sea
Neon lights beckon
’Restaurant at End of Universe’.

Her big blueberry eyes and cherry lips smiled at him so sweetly that he grasped her hand and pulled her to the prow of the ship. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Well, I suppose so,” she answered, more truthfully than romantically.

He clasped her waist and held her as she spread her arms wide to welcome the wind. Unbidden, a song came to her and she warbled,

Every night in my meals
I see you, you feed me.
That is how I know I eat on.

Far across the table
And plates in between us
There is food for us to feed on.

Hot, cold, not timid, but bold,
I help myself and you carry on.
Once more, we’re never too poor,
You’re here sharing my meal,
And our meal will go on and on.

In the meantime, the ship’s crew had struck up a hymn to their beloved ship.

Ent’s Surprise, Ent’s Surprise,
every journey you greet me,
Sails so white, shining bright,
You look happy to meet me.

Waters below do we leave and go
To Valleyum forever.
Ent’s Surprise, Ent’s Surprise,
Find my homeland forever.

So engrossed were they in their singing that none noticed the droplets that filled the air until they ceased, and Hal’s voice, still unfamiliar to them, sang:

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all Valleyum in my way.
Gone are the dark shores that had me down,
Gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny age.

And lo! the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and they beheld white shores and beyond them a far country under a swift sunrise. From afar they smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of music that came over the waves. They listened, enraptured, to the words that welcomed them: “Good, good, good, good vibrations!”

Unfortunately, they had stopped their own singing a bit too soon. The ship pitched downwards and crashed on the sandy beach. It splintered, destroyed beyond repair (What, that surprises you?!), but all survived. Well, at least the Questers and the crew did; no one noticed the white feathers flying up from below the prow.