Assigned to Mordor RPG

[Durelin]

Valde continually shot the camera brooding looks, and deftly wiped away beads of sweat that were forming on his temple. Why? Because he was concentrating, of course. This driving stuff was hard work; just ask Steve McQueen. And of course there was the fog, and then the sleet to deal with. Valde was pleased, though. The drastic changes of weather only added to the feel of tension and suspense. If only a good thunderstorm would blow in, then he could have a good brooding moment, and perhaps even a horrific one. But after each change in weather, Valde Delego, wanting only to give the viewers what they wanted, would say to the camera: “Slow down while driving in inclement weather, and be sure to turn on your headlights.” He then punched down on the gas a little harder. “How do I turn on the lights?” he asked, and suddenly a Mr. T voice spoke. “I pity da fool who’s goin’ the wrong way!”

“And so finally, the GPS system came to life, and Valde Delego could breath more freely, if only for a moment,” the kamuraman said, narrating for him.

Valde began following the directions given by the Mr. T voice, and ended up having to turn around and cut across what seemed to be seven lanes of traffic. By the end, even the Mr. T voice was confused. But then the voice decided that it was best to take a few more rights before they no longer made a wrong. Things settled down for a bit, and even the sleet came to an end. But then a terrible wind started raging, and it seemed an entire sandstorm had swallowed up Valde’s Cruiser. He turned to the kamura. “O what lot life leaves me with! First fog, then sleet, then wind, and then…Britney Spears? “Wait…where’d the steering wheel go?” Valde had just enough time to say before his car crashed into a billboard with a stereotypical blonde on it in a pose that was meant to please the masses of a certain kind. Perhaps she was limbering up for…a show; yes, that’s it: a show. The sign actually read “Paint your game face on” in the bottom right hand corner, but Valde wasn’t sure if it was meant to be there or not.

Stepping out of the wrecked car, he was immediately forced to the ground. The kamura man was still in the car. Most of his rigging was knocked over and tangled around him, trapping him. He did not seem to wish to leave the car, though, anyway. Valde found himself to quickly be back to his normal form. He almost wished he was an orc again, though. The rough skin of such a creature, he assumed, would not sting so much as his did from being hit by the sand. He pulled his coat over his head, and tried to rise from the ground, all the while ignoring a voice in his head that sounded like a commercial. “Dry and irritated skin? We know you orcs get it, too. Just admit it! And now you can more easily treat it, with new Orcbond orcish lotion. Soft enough for a man, but strong enough for any orc. Buy some today at your local pharmacy, and turn that cowhide into leather!”

What? he thought.

“That jerky into tenderloins!”

Tender loins?, his mind questioned, What are they trying to sell?

Valde suddenly remembered he was lying on the ground in the middle of a sandstorm. He may not be on the road, but he could hear the cars whirring by, and the sound was too close for comfort. He crawled under his car, feeling it safe to do so, assuming that if it had not blown up yet, then it would not now. And this was on top of the fact that the gas tank had been just about empty. He had observed this, but pretended that he had not so that when the gas did run out, he could surprise the viewers. But now…now those viewers would never know what happened to Valde Delego! They would bury an empty casket twenty five years after his sudden disappearance, and his grave would be in Minas Tirith, the city happy to finally welcome him home. Feeling a Boromir moment coming on, Valde focused his mind on more important matters. He prayed to Ilúvatar that he would still arrive somehow at the correct destination, and fashionably late as well as fashionably battered and worn in appearance. Considering the story of the tortoise and the hare, Valde felt his lack of sleep catching up to him, and soon let his eyes close, forgetting that it was the hare who had fallen asleep, and had lost.

[littlemanpoet]

Official Off-topic Post

I stick out my little finger when drinking any kind of beverage. Its a natural reaction to lifting a beverage-holder in Britain. We Brits have a very slight difference in our blood to the rest of the world's population, completely isolated in our little fingers. It generates a force against most kinds of drink, particularly tea (there is currently a major study being undertaken to discover why) which pushes the finger away from the drink.

Interesting eh?

On another note, why is cheekiness associated with Brits? Anyone have any ideas?

end official off-topic post.

unbeknownst courtesy of Eomer of the Rohirrim

[Encaitare]

A myriad of sounds came from the PT Cruiser: a low and reproachful yell of surprise, a rasy cry of distress, a high shriek of pure terror, and a quieak like that of a small animal which has just been thrown against a soft surface. The car itself had also let out a cry as it was bumped off the road, but all the passengers heard was the squeal of tires. What the vehicle actually said was "OhnoOhnoOhnoUlmosavemeeeeee!!!" (Ulmo is, after all, the Vala whom all motor vehicles hold in the highest regard, since he did indeed drive a car of his own*), but as neither Dwarf, nor woman, nor Orc, nor ferret spoke Automobile, the words were lost on them.

It took Wilhelmina a moment to realize that the steering wheel had magically materialized before her. "Where did you come from?" she wondered aloud. Next to her, Fléin was stamping his feet in search of pedals which were no longer there either, and it dawned upon the old woman that it would be a good idea to stop the car.

"I hope you don't mind driving a bit more," Wilhelmina said to her companion, hopping out of the car. She'd already begun to turn a bit Orkish even from the short time behind the wheel, and she disliked the sensation very much.

As they got back on the road, the Cruiser only a little worse for the wear, it became apparent that a number of changes had been made on the surrounding area.

"Kotekth fith, pewiod? What'th that thuppothed to mean?" the kamuraorc inquired curiously.

Wilhelmina did not care to enlighten him about feminine hygiene, and instead said, "Goodness, it's getting toasty!" She tried rolling the window down, but the hot wind blew dust in her face.

"This'll be Anakron's doing," Fléin said darkly. "Let's hope he keeps the tricks in his sleeve for a while."

They did not know it, but at that precise moment, two very strange things were happening.

Not far from the road was a garish poster five stories high. It displayed the silhouette of a goblin, frozen in the middle of an awkward dance move. One word accompanied the image: iOrc. While the sign was unsightly, and only a few people at that point actually knew what an iAnything was, that was not the strange part. The monstrous ape currently scaling the sign held that office.

And very, very far away, Ulmo was wondering why he had just had a number of cars crying out to him for help. "Must be another bloody pile-up in Lûndûn," he grumbled. "I do hope the tow trucks come this time." He put his blue convertible in Drive, cranked up the Beach Boys, and decided to go see if there were any heroes who might need directions to Gondolin.


*"Behold now Ulmo leapt upon his car before the doorway of his palace below the still waters of the Outer Sea" - Book of Lost Tales 2

[the phantom]

Soon after leaving Edge-Where, it began sleeting. "This is exactly why I wanted an SUV with four wheel drive, anti-lock brakes, and quality tires," said orc-Mardil as the SUV sped past yet another car that had slid off the road.

"When will we arrive at Mount Doom?" asked Sai.

"Oh, it isn't far," said Mardil. "We left Edge-Where at 9:00 AM and it's about 225 miles to Mount Doom. Even if this weather persists, we will arrive at Mount Doom around 1:00 PM- unless we encounter some delays."

"Is that likely?" asked Sai.

"Yes," answered Mardil.

"How long do you think that might take?" asked Sai.

"It depends on what the delay is for," said Mardil with a hint of hostility. "We should leave the radio on the traffic station. That way, if we have advanced warning we can take an alternate route."

"Aren't most roads besides the Interstate in really poor condition?"

"Yes, Sai," said Mardil slowly, barely restraining his wrath, "But this vehicle can handle it. Any other questions, or are you finished bugging me?"

"Hey, Mardil, calm down. Your orcish form is making you irritable," said Sai.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," said Mardil. Mardil slumped a bit in his chair, took several deep breaths, and began humming in an effort to calm his nerves.

Suddenly Sai burst out, "Mardil! Stop the car - it's Alli!"

"Wha- where?" stuttered Mardil, bringing his mind back to the present.

"Over on the side of the road," answered Sai. "Pull over! If her car's broken down we can give her a lift."

For a moment, Mardil's mind fluttered back to the rescue from the balrog. He had put himself at risk and gotten Alli to Edge-Where just in time to receive full points-and she had repaid this favor by first yelling at him and then avoiding him. "Over-emotional, irrational girl!" he thought. "I really don't feel like having her along. Once again, I'm saving her, and once again she probably won't have anything good to say to me. But, I hate to leave her with everyone watching." Mardil looked back at Orckel. He had his camera up and had it fixed on Alli as the SUV sped past. She was staggering. Mardil wasn't certain, but it looked like the side of her face was bloody.

Cursing mentally, Mardil pulled over onto the shoulder and came to a stop. Sai gave a sigh of relief. Mardil put the vehicle into reverse and backed up until they were within twenty yards of Alli. As Mardil exited the vehicle, Alli fell to the ground. Rushing forward, Mardil scooped her up and brought her back to the SUV and deposited her in the back seat (after ordering Orckel to climb back into the rear with the spare tires). For the next twenty minutes of the drive, Alli could be heard murmuring a constant stream of unintelligible words with a "Mardil" thrown in every once and a while.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli lost train of thought. One moment she was muttering obscenities about the state of Mordor and her mood and then next there was a gas-guzzling SUV next to her and suddenly she fell.

It was a rather odd sensation; she knew that she wasn't awake, but she also knew she wasn't really sleeping. She could have sworn that she was lifted gently as a sleeping child by strong, warm arms... but she also could have sworn that she was flying... and besides... her swearing of late had been frowned upon by the more conservative members of her kamura crew. Somehow she floated between consciousness and she could feel the ground moving beneath her. Had Roggie come back? She was warm again.

She started to see things. She knew they were dreams, but they seemed so real.

Mardil came toward her. She backed away stubbornly. There was a white horse involved in the vision and the words "happily ever after" flitted through her head. She groaned and muttered "No... no... go away."

Her father was there. He hugged his daughter as she returned home. He was so glad to see her.

He turned into Valde. His eyebrows overwhelmed her. "Tweeze." she mumbled.

She was holding a baby. He was clad in a black cape with dark and sinister eyes. He gurgled happily and she pushed his hood back. Eyebrows again. "Wax." she moaned desparately.

She was on the Jerry Springer Show. Mardil appeared in the audience, chanting "Jerry, Jerry!". "Mardil?" she asked, confused. She wanted very much to escape from this foolish television show. Was he there to save her? No... chivalry was dead. He came on stage. He had on a kilt. A small man in red jumped out from the audience and spat a fireball at him. Mardil was engulfed in flames ("Mardil!") and turned into Roggie of Morgoth. His shadowy form burned steadily and dream Alli stepped backward, shielding herself. "You're so hot." His wings disappeared.

Alli screamed at the horror of a wingless balrog and when the SUV hit a rather large bump she woke with a start and it took a rather long time before it occured to her that the ground wasn't moving so much as that she was laying on the seat of a moving vehicle and before the writer decided to end the sentence. Alli looked up and saw Sai glancing back worriedly. Mardorc concentrated on the road. She suddenly remembered her mission to save the world from the evil Màrîo. Had Mardil "saved" her again? She sat up angrily and fell right back down, blood oozing slightly from her head wound. She hit the back of her head on the door handle. This did not much more improve her disposition.

"Pull.... over...." she ordered firmly through gritted teeth. "and let me the [deleted] out of this gas-guzzling, environment-destroying, too-macho, trying-to-compensate-for-something hunk of moving metal before I let myself out. What right do you have to abduct me AGAIN when I was perfectly fine on my own?!"

[the guy who be short]

Fléin took his hands off the steering wheel, shrinking back to dwarf size. Then, slinking through the gap between the driver and passenger seats, he slid into the back, allowing Wilhelmina to cross over without anything awkward happening, "like my sitting on your lap."

"Woo don't theem to mind thitting on my lap," the still-suspiciously-nameless back seat orc replied. Fléin hit him with the flat of his axe.

A short while later, the Dwarf was once more a Dworc. A raging sandstorm had sprung up, and traffic was at a standstill. How he was meant to perform a turn in the road and get them back in the right direction in this weather, Fléin had no idea.

"Ith that-"

"Shut up," a harmonious chorus intervened.

"Zhiant Monkey!" the orc squealed on regardless.

Fléin and Wilhelmina both strained their eyes. "Yes, I can see where you're coming from," Wilhelmina replied, "that sandcloud does look exactly like a-"

The sandcloud bellowed. Fléorc and Wilhelmina instinctively flung their hands over their respective ears, but they could still feel the beast roaring in their chests. Their heartbeats seems to falter to accomodate the noise.

The ferocity of the storm died down in inverse proportion with the ferocity of the giant ape before them. They could see it clearly now, right in front of the windscreen. Far worse, it could see them clearly, right behind the windscreen.

"Wondewfuw! Wondewfuw thhot!" the orc squirmed in delight. "I wondew how Anakwon doeth it, it'th tho realithtic, ithn't it?"

The ape - King Kong - beat its chest in a cinematic fashion, let out a bellow for its own sake, reached out, and picked the car up in one hand.

Wilhelmina and Fléin ignored the smell of urine suddenly emanating from the back seat.

The ape lifted the car to its face; all that was visible in the windscreen was a gigantic eye, staring into the innards of the cruiser. Admittedly, there was quite a lot of fur visible around it too, but that didn't sound as dramatic. The pupil roved from Fléin to Wilhelmina to the sticky mess in the back seat. Fléin was struggling to keep from following the Orc's example.

Wilhelmina, on the other hand, seemed to find the entire experience exhilarating beyond belief. "Isn't he a beauty?" she said to the quivering dwarf, before turning back to the ape. She rolled down her window and leant out.

"Are you mad? You'll get us both killed!" Fléin whispered urgently at her. A small whimper from the back seat communicated a "I don't want to die either," from the Orc.

But Wilhelmina ignored them both. She stuck her head out of the window, squinting into the failing sandstorm (the ape was blocking off the flow of the air) and screamed, as loudly as her old lungs could manage, "Coooo-eee! Coooooooo-eeeeeee!"

The ape receded a little, then turned his head to look directly at the beaming woman (Why, oh why, did I bring her with me?), and, to Fléin's amazement, beamed back. It roared in glee to spot her face, holding out its other hand for her to climb onto. The Dworc watched, mesmerized, as she stepped out, shielding her face with her hand, and looked up at the creature. "Aren't you a beauty?"

And at that moment, Mr Swanky descended onto the old woman's face. The ape gasped; the ferret stared up at the black muzzle of the monster.

And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty, and from that time she (Fléin looked down to check on this point) stayed her hand from killing, and she was as one dead.

The ferret seemed quite pleased about the whole affair too.

[littlemanpoet]

It was two hours past midday. The traffic snarls had begun at the cross-over point from left-side-of-the-roadness to the-other-left-side-of-the-roadness. Car after car squealed out of control because too many orcs insisted on driving alone, thus rendering them in the passenger's seat and useless in terms of car control. Anakron allowed the hint of a smile.


It seemed that King Kong himself had appeared in Mordor. What hey, a brand new Anakronism. Some of these things appeared will-Anakron or nill-Anakron. Little matter. The Grand Anakronist wondered if King Kong would find his Empire State Building, and if he would find his girl. He didn't care either way. He also did not care that various and sundry of the members of the Offending Party thought incorrectly as to who was what, or what was who. He didn't even care if they succeeded. He did not, of course, mind that Mordor was getting only more interesting with the advent of the Offending Party's desperate race to get out. Anakron allowed a mild smirk.

The traffic snarls worsened. That was because of Rôgû. Known to balrog-wingers by his nickname of Roggie. Rôgû was angry. He had murder on his mind. Not that Anakron could read balrog minds, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that someone who had a cold virus freezing one of his legs into shards, making him a maimed laughing stock amongst balrogs, could not be quite pleased with things. Rôgû was above ground, wreaking havoc along the interstate, picking up and throwing down Cruisers, Little French Cars with No Guts, Hummers, and anything else that came to claw. Traffic had been backing up in both directions for miles, for a good hour. Anakron allowed the quickest, smallest escape of a momentary giggle.

All the alternate roads were two lanes only. And towns were frequent, slowing traffic down to 30 miles per hour .... at best. And in Mordor, it was always rush hour, no matter the time of day ... especially in the towns. Anakron snickered.

And raised his staff. The cat yowled. The sandstorm stopped, sputtered, spewed, and spit the sand out of its mouth. It looked at Anakron out of the side of its eyes, wondering why it had been stopped.

"You are to turn into a thunderstorm hiding a tornado," Anakron said to it. It grinned and bloated and grew dark and wet and began spinning. Anakron cackled and did a jig.

[Celuien]

Panakeia sped up the ramp to M25, fighting the blinding sleet. By now, she had learned to use the pedals in her Cruiser quite efficiently. She was particularly fond of the accelerator. It’s simply exhilarating. The thrill of it all. She pressed down on the pedal and merged onto the Interstate with a zoom, ignoring the fact that the coefficient of friction for bald rubber tires on an icy road was roughly equivalent to cotton socks on a newly waxed floor. The Cruiser slid wildly, colliding with a row of strange objects resembling gigantic orange ice-cream cones. Wonder what those were for.

The road was oddly quiet for a Mordorian highway. Too quiet. There wasn’t another driver in sight, save for a few slow moving trucks containing more of the odd orange hats (the best explanation Panakeia could generate, although she was still puzzled by their placement at the roadside) and squads of orcs. Something had to happen.

And it did. Suddenly, the weather changed. Instead of the lashing sleet, Panakeia’s windshield was now hammered by flying sand. She couldn’t see a thing until, rounding a bend, she found the other drivers. Cars were at a standstill behind a line of the orange hats. “Your Taxes at Work. Road Under Construction For Your Safety and Convenience.” Too late, Panakeia slammed her foot against the brake. She swerved off to the side of the road. Four loud pops informed her that her tires had blown out. The Cruiser came to an unsteady stop at the edge of the highway, just in front of an enormous billboard. “Paint your game face on.” Panakeia stared at the sign, puzzled, and then set the bizarre message down to the poor taste in advertisements that seemed to reign in the local industry.

She walked around her Cruiser. Four flats. Now what? Bert exited the Cruiser, pointing his kamura at the flattened tires and asking Panakeia what she planned to do next. Ignoring his running commentary, Panakeia walked ahead in hopes of finding assistance. Maybe there’s a service station nearby.

Then she noticed that she was not the only driver in distress. A tiny road paralleling the highway ran on the other side of the billboard. Another Cruiser, its front end crushed, sat at the sign’s foot. And a man lay under the car, his face covered with sand. Looks like trouble. Best not to get involved. She spun on her heel to leave…and ran straight into Bert.

“Next time on Escape from Mordor. Will Panakeia play the hero and rescue the unknown stranger? Or will she turn a blind eye and continue her own journey, ruthless as ever? Find out tomorrow, same time, same station.”

The word ruthless stung Panakeia like the blowing sand around her. Looks like there’s no choice now. I’m on kamura. What would my fans say? She stared at Bert, the expression of one who has been unjustly slighted on her face.

“Of course I’m going to help. How could I leave anyone stranded in this storm? Come on.” She hurried up to the disabled Cruiser and tapped the unconscious man on the shoulder. “Is everything alright?”

He awoke with a start. “Begone! Thou gleeking beetle-headed pumpion!” He shook the sand out of his face.

Panakeia was shocked to recognize another member of the Offending Party. What in Middle-earth could have happened to Valde? Aloud she said, “A fine way to welcome me! I came to help you, but if that’s the way the wind blows, so be it.” She started away.

Valde called to her. “No, forgive me. I was dreaming.” He stared at Panakeia as if attempting to recall something. “Panakeia, yes?”

“Well, that’s more like it.” She brightened. “That’s right. Nice to see you, Valde.” Panakeia turned her profile to the kamura, making sure to put her better side in full view. “Need a ride?”

Valde noted Panakeia’s posturing for the kamura. He wasn’t sure he liked this amateur putting on a show. But he was in a spot. “Yes, I do. If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all.” She noticed the kamura man trapped in Valde’s Cruiser and pointed him out to Bert, who quickly went to free his colleague while Valde and Panakeia went to survey the damage to her vehicle. They were shortly joined by Bert and the kamura man, who seemed shaken more than hurt.

Panakeia appealed to them. “Now’s the time to make yourselves useful. Change the tires.” Bert nodded and set to work, but the kamura man gaped at her. “That’s not in my contract.”

“Well, it’s not in my contract to take you with me. Go on and help Bert, or you can stay here.” Grumbling something about temperamental stars giving too many orders, he joined Bert at the back of Panakeia’s Cruiser.

Half an hour later, just as a thunderstorm started to drench the ground with rain, the four of them were seated in the Cruiser, waiting in a long line of traffic on the highway.

[the phantom]

"Should I try and revive her?" Sai asked Mardil shortly after they were on the road again.

"No, leave her alone," ordered Mardil. "I think the trip will probably be more pleasant for all of us if she stays knocked out until Mount Doom."

After a bit, Sai spoke again. "Isn't Mordor supposed to be rocky, hot, and dry?"

"Yes, for the most part, but we're still in Nurnia," answered Mardil. "Ages ago, when Sauron was lord here, Nurnia was where his slaves worked fields and such, so obviously he didn't blast this area with the breath of death the way he did everything in the north of his land. As you can see, there are even stands of trees in this country."

As he spoke the road entered a forest of pines. Soon, the road began climbing up towards a high ridge of land that seemed to stretch in both directions to distant mountains. "I'll bet that's where the land will change," said Mardil as he examined his map. "That should be the border of Nurnia."

As they approached the top of the ridge, they noticed the pines beginning to thin out, and there appeared to be racks of coats scattered throughout the trees. As they continued, the trees were replaced completely by rows upon rows of coats. "We're leaving Nurnia all right," said Mardil.

When they reached the top of the ridge, Mardil pulled over onto the shoulder. "There's Mount Doom, dead ahead."

Sai looked at it for a moment, but she was soon focused on something a bit nearer. "Look, Mardil- what is that just a bit down the road?"

Mardil's eyes widened in amazement. "It looks like the road flips directions."

"But why are all of those cars off the road?"

"I don't know. I'm going to turn the radio on and scan for a traffic report."

ssssssss...your home for the best music of the late 3rd age...sssssssss...and I really think that Dol Amroth needs to find a better point guard...ssssssss...Oops, I did it again, I play with...ssssssss...partly cloudy with a chance...sssssss...in the game, oh baby baby, Oops you think I'm in love-

"That's not a traffic report, Mardil," said Sai, turning the sound down as she spoke.

"Hey! I like that song!" protested Mardil.

"Are you kidding? That song is awful!" said Sai.

"Well, okay, I guess I don't like the song that much, but the video is great. The... uh... choreography, and... um, the... camera angles and such."

Sai rolled her eyes. "In other words, you think Britney Spears is hot."

"She's got a great body! You can't deny that!" said Mardil in defense.

"Okay, whatever, just find a traffic report," said Sai, still rolling her eyes.

ssssss...tomorrow we'll see mostly sunny skies with...ssssssss...no way will the king support such legislation, because there...ssssssss...switches sides of the road right after leaving Nurnia.

"That's it! Turn it up!"

According to what information we have, not only do the lanes switch, but the steering wheel and pedals switch sides of the vehicle, so if you have a passenger have them prepared to drive. If you are by yourself, go slowly, and when you cross the red line on the road, be ready to grab the wheel as it appears in front of the passenger seat.

"Well, no wonder all of those cars are crashing. They weren't able to control their vehicle," remarked Mardil.

Sai climbed into the back seat, leaving the entire front to Mardil. "You do what that guy said the directions were for a driver driving alone. Can you do that?"

"M'lady- Mardil can do anything."

------------

"Wow," said Sai looking at the car thermometer. "It's up to ninety degrees outside. I can't believe it was just sleeting only an hour ago. That is really strange."

"Everything in Mordor is strange," answered Mardil. "I mean, just look at me. I'm turned into an orc!"

"You know Mardil, you aren't a half bad looking orc," laughed Sai.

"Ha ha, very funny," said Mardil, feeling a bit self concious about his appearance.

"Oh, the's vewy wight, you know," lisped Orckel from the back. "You have a nithe even thkin tone, good teeth, and vewy shemetrical fathial featureth. Aftew tonight'th epithode ith aired, it'll only be a thort time before pictureth of you in your orcith form awe hanging in da bedwoomth of orc-girlth evewywhewe."

"I've never been more proud," said Mardil.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli woke suddenly, her head pounding. Mardil's arms seemed to be around her. Well this is nice. she began to think before realizing that it was not exactly a message that she wanted to convey. She struggled to get away from his too-comforting grasp and felt something sharp pressed against her neck. She remembered this feeling, though she'd tried so hard to repress it. She didn't understand what was going on but she understood without doubt that she was being held with a blade to her neck by a man she had trusted. Without thinking, she cast a betrayed look at Sai and turned quickly, ramming her shoulder into Mardil's wind-pipe.

Caught off guard, Mardil dropped the blade, loosed his grasp slightly, and Alli was able to kick her way out the door. The rain washed the blood from her forehead as she ran stumbling toward Roggie. His eyeliner had smeared and his fire had gone out. He stood now as a sentient pile of ash dressed flamboyantly in pirate regalia. He smiled broadly to see her, though the looked was countered by one of obvious pain.

She ran to him and embraced his good leg, crying in the downpour. She didn't care where Mardil was now. She knew she would be safe with her friend. Suddenly Roggie roared angrily. Alli turned, splashing mud, and saw Sai running toward them. Roggie detached his young friend from his leg and began to move toward her. Sai stopped, slipping on the wet ground. She looked utterly terrified. Roggie strode angrily toward her.

"No!!!" screamed Alli, chasing him and grabbing him by the peg. "Roggie, no! She's harmless!"

"They tried to kill you!" he roared over the thunder. Sai stood frozen. Mardil had his hand to his neck, rubbing his windpipe. He climbed from the reckage of the vehicle and pulled free a bolted crossbow. He looked utterly furious, though handsomely so. Alli screamed again.

"Stop it!" she cried desparately. "Everybody just freeze!" Her voice cracked with emotion now. Completely unexpectedly, everybody did what they were told. Roggie steamed carcinogenically and angrily, but he stopped, looking at Alli and waiting for her to speak. Sai still did not move. Mardil did not relax his aim but at least looked at Alli instead of murderously at her companion.

"Tell me what the [deleted] is going on." It was too much just now. Why couldn't everybody get along? Why had Mardil tried to kill her? Why had Sai let him? The only one that she could trust was Roggie.

"Roggie," she asked, frustrated and confused tears streaming. "What is wrong with you? Why are you hurting people?"

He looked suddenly ashamed and crouched down, whispering in her upturned ear.

"They what?"

He whispered more.

"And then what happened?"

Mardil stood impatiently, tapping one foot. Sai was astounded at the sight: a huge and truly menacing looking balrog crouched low and gently, whispering into a teenage girl's ear. How this friendship had been formed she had no idea but it was truly a curious one. She had never before seen the like of it.

"And then?"

The rain was beginning to slow as Alli looked around and began to grin a bit.

"It's beginning to make sense. A movie? Yes... it certainly makes sense." A film crew that had been hidden by the torrents of rain had become visable. Stunt men began pouring from the smashed vehicles. Roggie took off his blue bandana and allowed Alli to wipe his smudged eyeliner clean with it. She was the picture of tender motherliness. Suddenly her face became stern.

"Roggie, Sai and Mardil were not in this movie. Why did you try to attack them? You know that fighting doesn't solve any problems."

He now looked like a sulking child subjected to his mother's disappointment.

"What did you say?" she repeated with an italicized parental look.

"I was mad at them."

"And why were you mad at them?"

He grimaced, glaring at Mardil who now looked outright astounded at the turn that this adventure had taken. Alli... moody, bitter, sarcastic Alli... was lecturing a balrog on proper ways of handling anger? Sai looked impressed.

"Because... that one" he nodded toward Mardil, "attacked me with tanks. I was minding my own business and he up and shot my leg off. Does he have any idea how painful it is for your leg to shatter? Yes, the peg got me cast in Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of Durin's Bane, but it aches something awful just before storms."

Roggie looked sad now instead of angry. Alli patted him on the knee (the highest part of him she could reach now). "There, there... revenge never solves problems Roggie... you know that. What do you say to them?"

Roggie looked at her with pleading in his eyes. "Do I have to?"

"Yes." she glared at him maternally.

"Msry." he muttered. She glared more heavily. "Fine. I'm sorry I tried to kill you." Alli's gaze softened.

"And how do you intend to make up for trying to hurt them? It doesn't matter who your enemies are... an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

"I don't know... I suppose I could..."

"Hmm?" she looked expectantly.

"I could take them to Mount Doom Casino and Resort." he said at last. "That's where the reality show said you guys have to go, right?"

She nodded, satisfied. "Will that solve this catastrophe?" Alli yelled to Sai and Mardil. Sai nodded happily, slightly concerned about her safety, but confident that Alli, no matter how angry, would not be vindictive enough to get her killed. Mardil looked annoyed but nodded stiffly. Roggie lifted Alli gently onto his shoulder where she sat cheerfully looking down at the world. He next stopped and did the same with Sai. When Sai was comfortably settled, Roggie picked up Mardil. Alli leaned over and whispered in Roggie's ear and Roggie smiled. He began to stride toward Mount Doom.

"Wait!" cried Mardil. "Don't I get a seat?"

"Nope." said Roggie. "I'm not that nice."

And with that the group finished the trip to Mount Doom, Mardil gripped firmly in Roggie's left hand, as the balrog enthusiastically swung his arms to the rhythm of his saunter. In a very short time, they were there.

[Celuien]

Rain poured down on Mordor, soaking the loose earth at the side of the Interstate. The resulting mud slid onto the road, obscuring the yellow lines that ordinarily divided the lanes from one another. Drivers moved about willy-nilly, leading to numerous near crashes that left Panakeia's knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"Would you like me to drive?" queried Valde. Her driving is making me nervous, went a voice in his head. She's as bad as any of the others here.

"No. I'm doing fine, thank you," she snapped back.

And then, just ahead, the road broke into chaos. Cars skidded out of control and left the road. Others spun in spirals. "What's going on?" Panakeia cried in alarm.

The answer came in the form of a sudden switch in the position of the steering wheel. In a flash, the wheel vanished and reappeared on Valde's side of the car. He grabbed it and pulled to the other side of the road, deftly avoiding the stopped and disabled vehicles blocking the road. The kamura man commented, "And he's done it! What form. What skill!"

"Shut up!" barked Panakeia, who was none too pleased with the change in situation.

"It must be some strange manifestation of the Anakronism Dweomer," said Valde. His voice cracked and croaked as he morphed into an Orc.

Panakeia, now in human form, voiced her assent. Now that she was out of the driver's seat, she proceeded to offer Valde endless advice on his driving. "Why don't you speed up and go around that slowpoke?" "Don't hit the brake so hard." "Careful, don't oversteer. You'll go off the road!" Valde ignored her advice and concentrated on supressing thoughts of stopping the car and leaving Panakeia at the side of the road. It is her Cruiser, after all. But why does she have to go on and on?

And then they saw a new obstacle. An enormous peg-legged pirate-Balrog stood in the road. Panakeia screamed in recognition. "The Balrog! And he's bound to be furious." She had not forgotten Mardil's treatment of the creature.

She watched as the Balrog lifted the little group and set off. "Follow them," cried Panakeia.

Follow the Balrog, thought Valde. She must be insane. But at least he's clearing out the traffic. And I suppose we should do our best to help.

He followed, now able to go at great speed through the cleared road. As they went along, Panakeia watched the trio traveling with the bizarre pirate. To her lasting astonishment and relief they seemed to be friendly. However could that have happened. But she wasn't sure what the Balrog would think of her. "Valde, could you arrange to stay clear of that entourage? I'd rather not have a run in with their...um...chauffeur."

"That seems to be a wise plan." He fell back, keeping a respectable distance between the Balrog and Cruiser.

Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the foot of Mount Doom. With a quick, "See you around," to Valde, Panakeia hopped out, searching for a place where she could put her Pearie Ockcide Potion to good use.

[Encaitare]

Wilhelmina stepped out of the car. She was quite shaken, yet miraculously unscathed. And now, she was very, very wet.

“Mr. Swanky!” she called again and again, the sound of her own voice swallowed up by that of the thunder. She could barely make out anything in the darkness, not even the monolithic billboards, let alone a comatose ape.

Lightning flashed, making each pelting raindrop shine brilliantly. She thought she spied something out of the corner of her eye: a large shape on the ground, though it might have been part of the landscape. Thunder crashed once more, and it was followed by another bolt of bright light. Yes, that had to be Queen Quon!

The old woman ran towards the shape, holding her hat firmly by the brim to keep it from flying away in the chill wind. If her pet were dead… she couldn’t bear to think of it.

The giant ape lay upon the muddy ground as desolately as only a furry and possibly deceased animal could. Anxiously, Wilhelmina ran around to Queen Quon’s right fist, where Mr. Swanky had been tenderly nestled. The hand was closed tight, but after all that screaming, Wilhelmina found herself in a logical mood.

“If she’s dead,” she said to herself, “then she can’t have been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in. So I should be able to get this ginormous hand open. I think I can.”

Ten minutes and much more nonstandard English later, the Little Old Lady That Could had pried the fingers apart. Curled up in a little ball was the motionless ferret.

Wilhelmina let out a sob. This little creature had been her friend and companion for many, many years. He was one of the few creatures in the world who didn’t think her to be a complete nutter… and now he was no more.

“Nooooooooo!” she cried, falling to her knees and turning her face to the raging sky in a manner so melodramatic that it would have made Karís Mâtiktwít dance in delight. The orchestra swelled, the choirs sang heart-wrenching minor chords, and tears mingled with the rain.

There was a familiar squeak, and orchestra, choirs, tears, and rain all stopped abruptly.

“Mr. Swanky!” Wilhelmina shouted joyously as he shook himself a bit and then jumped into her hands. “You’re alright!” They both looked solemnly at the corpse of Queen Quon. “Queenie gave her life but saved yours! Isn’t that nice?” She screwed up her face contemplatively. “Perhaps ‘nice’ isn’t the best word. But even so, ‘tis better to have played Scrabble and lost than to never have played Scrabble at all, as they say. Or something like that. Let’s get back to the car and see if nice Mr. Fléin is alright.”

~*~*~*~*~

Nice Mr. Fléin was, in fact, alright, once he had been awakened and told that his beard had suffered no damage. He had a gash on his forehead from hitting the steering wheel, though, and Wilhelmina told him that he was certain to bruise as well.

“A fascinating bruise, probably, with all different colors in it. The rainbow after the storm will manifest itself upon your forehead!” she told him brightly, tearing off a scrap from one of her many petticoats to sop up the blood.

“How wonderful,” Fléin said dazedly.

“And look!” she said, holding up the hideous beaker. “Your free gift wasn’t damaged at all, either!”

“That’s impossible,” the Dwarf said. “That defies the laws of wotsit… fizzix.”

“I’ll bet that Mârtha Stewârt had something to do with it,” Wilhelmina decided. “Unbreakable glass – she’d think it was a good thing.”

“I think she’s right, in this case, at least,” said Fléin. “Even if it is ugly, it’s still a nice bit of glassware.”

“I think I’ll have to drive us to Mount Doom, and pronto,” said the old woman, prodding Fléin so he’d move into the passenger seat, and taking the wheel.

~*~*~*~*~

At this time, some of you may be wondering about the fate of the kamuraorc. Then again, some of you may not be. But if this poor creature is a friend of yours, be comforted to know that he is unconscious, but is currently deep in a very pleasant dream about an Orc-friendly and politically-correct world.

Let us hope he keeps dreaming.

~*~*~*~*~

Wilhelmina’s hat was still dripping water on her, but it didn’t matter – she had just seen a sign that read “OnE mIlE tO tHe BeSt GaMeS aNd EnTeRtAiNmEnT iN MoRdOr: MoUnT dOoM cAsInO aNd ReSoRt!!!!!1one!!!1”. The red glow in the sky gave further sign that they were close.

“HuRrAh!” she said. Then she cleared her throat loudly. “I mean, hurrah!”

In just a minute they passed through a pair of brightly lit gates and underneath a giant flashing marquee, declaring that although they were tired, wet, more than a little shaken, and driving a car with hardly any aesthetic qualities left to speak of, they had made it, and everything was going to be just fine.

Actually, what the sign said was “WeLcOmE tO mOuNt DoOm CaSiNo AnD rEsOrT,” but to them it meant something much different.

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron stood just inside the entrace to the Mount Doom Casino and Resort complex. All of the Offending Party arrived on time. And all managed to breeze through using quite creative means, unforeseen and almost completely avoiding the foibles of the anakronisms thereby. Anakron was impressed. And disappointed.

"Each of you have arrived on time. Congratulations. As for points awarded, subtract one for failure to exhibit road rage; subtract one for failure to tailgate; subtract one for failure to drive through flooded roadway at full speed; subtract one for failure of windshield wipers to streak in the line of vision. Mardil: 6 points; Alli: 6 points; Panakeia: 6 points; Valde: 6 points; Fléin: 6 points; Sai: 6 points; Wilhelmina: 6 points. If you wish to contest your point totals by proving that you indeed performed one of the four anakronisms during the last Test, I will be happy to reconsider.

"You will have a three day rest period, here. You may stay here at the resort if you wish, or you may make forays into Trollywood and Lost Angles. If you go beyond the borders of these three places, you will be disqualified with no recourse. And you will become an orc permanently employed in the Mordorian bureaucracy, so do not trifle with me.

"I expect each of you to be precisely here at dawn, three days hence. Since you all have Trolls aplenty, you will not be financed for your three days."

With that, Anakron turned with an appropriately dramatic billowing of his cloak, and departed from the confines of the resort, heading in the direction of Lost Angles.

[Celuien]

“What a relief.” The Pearie Ockcide Potion had fully restored Panakeia’s hair to a platinum sheen. She smoothed the folds of her dress in preparation to make her appearance in the resort. A last check in her compact mirror showed Panakeia that her right ear was without its proper earring. Must have fallen off in the car with all that orc-transformation business. She headed back to the area where she left the Cruiser. As she drew closer, she thought she heard the sound, not of music, but of sirens. I wonder what that’s all about.

Panakeia rounded a boulder. There was her Cruiser, surrounded by traffic officials, their highway patrol cars’ sirens screaming at full volume. A tow truck was preparing to pull away the Cruiser. She hurried over to a large orc, who stood giving directions. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she said, a note of anger in her voice.

The orc reached into his pocket and whipped out a series of photographs. He handed them to Panakeia, and her mind raced back to the flashing lights from her trip. Dratted traffic cameras, she thought in frustration. “Multiple violations have been recorded for this vehicle. Therefore, we have been delegated the task of confiscating said vehicle and searching for its operator, to whom we shall deliver these violation notices.” He displayed a stack of papers, at least an inch thick. He looked suspiciously at Panakeia, then at one of the photos, then back at Panakeia. He pointed to the picture. “This driver would not happen to be you, would she?”

Panakeia’s heart pounded. Keep your cool, you’ll get out of this. She looked at the picture. What an awful photo this is. You can’t even see my face. Or clothes either. All probably lucky – that orc look is simply not me. And that horrid green hair…Can’t even see my face.

That was the answer. Suddenly, she laughed. “Me? Of course not. Look here. This driver has green hair. Mine is, of course, blonde. How could that possibly be me?”

The orc examined the photos. “I suppose you are correct. I apologize for the inconvenience.” He turned to leave.

“Wait. You aren’t going to take the Cruiser, are you?”

“In fact, we are. The Cruiser must be held in lieu of payment on these tickets.” He tapped the ominously thick sheaf of papers.

“But you can’t do that,” she protested. A clever twinkle came into her eyes. She took the orc confidentially by the arm. “Don’t you know who’s Cruiser that is?”

“No, that information is not available.”

“Well, I can tell you that it belongs to The Grand Anakronist himself. In person. And…” Panakeia decided to play her game to the fullest. “And, I have been sent here by the most illustrious Anakron Istkon Vayor to retrieve this Cruiser, which was stolen. The thief has been found by our staff and is now being properly dealt with.” She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the orc. “You wouldn’t want to interfere, now would you?”

The orc wavered. The normal procedure was clear, but this didn’t seem to be an ordinary situation. “Very well. You may claim the vehicle. But what am I to do about these violations?”

Panakeia put on her best look of exasperation. “That’s not my concern! This matter is being handled at the highest levels. Do not trouble me with such trifles!”

“I am very sorry. Very sorry indeed. We will be on our way.” He called to the rest of the traffic officials. “Let’s go.” They scurried into their cars and roared off.

Panakeia stood for a moment, watching them vanish in a cloud of dust. Then she laughed and laughed again, the loudest, merriest laugh Panakeia had known in ages. She got in to the Cruiser, located her earring on the driver’s seat, and set it on her ear. Then, with a grin reaching from earring to earring, she entered the Mount Doom Casino and Resort in search of a place to spend the next few days.

[the guy who be short]

Fléin lifted his head from the papers in front of him. "Come in," he called in response to the knock at the door, before twisting around in his chair most uncomfortably so as to be able to see whoever had took it upon themselves to disturb him.

The squat figure of Wilhelmina shuffled into view. There followed what many novelists call a Moment, for lack of something more imaginative. A Moment, in any case, is when a series of events happen rather quickly, perhaps in the space of a few seconds. The writer has, then, to produce a large piece of text to cover a tiny period of time. It is conventional for the author to inform the reader before this happens, just to let them know what's what and pressure them to read the next little bit as quickly as possible.

Wilhelmina came into sight. The sun, usually feeble and exhausted in Mordor, sent a powerful beam through the window of the small room to rest upon the woman's face. The light glinted majestically off her whitening hair, reflected from her rosy skin, radiated from her ferrety ferret.

Fléin looked up at Wilhelmina. Their eyes met, hers gleaming and bright in the sun, his still a little red from the conjunctivitis.

Something odd happened to Fléin's stomach. It wasn't a contraction. It wasn't a grumble, a rumble, or any sort of omen of gastronomical problems. It wasn't cramp. Fléin put a hand to his stomach. It was oddly warm and felt sort of - well, the best way to describe it is sort of fuzzy. Yes, that was it. A warm, glowing fuzziness in his stomach.

The Dwarf broke into a fit of coughing.

The reader may note that the Moment is now over.

--------------------------------------------------------

Wilhelmina rushed into the room. "Are you alright, Fléin?" she cried. Due to the size of the room, she stopped rushing very quickly and simply stood awkwardly in front of the still violently erupting Dwarf, now standing upright but almost bent double.

"All... all right," he managed in between a few coughs, to signify his confidence regarding his continued existance. "It feels," cough, "like I," cough, "swallowed," cough, "a cat," he gasped, before falling onto hands and knees and making retching noises.

Wilhelmina watched with startled interest as what appeared to be a small Siamese cat clambered out of the Dwarf's throat and, still a little phlegmy, twitched out of the open door and ran away.

The Dwarf pushed himself to his feet, bright red, to face his visitor, now sitting calmly on his bed. "Whyever did you swallow a cat, Fléin?" she inquired politely, as if this were a regular occurence that people should be discouraged from doing, like smoking.

Fléin muttered something to the effect of "I didn't, must be a ruddy Anakronism, ruddy Mordor," before inquiring about her visit.

"I just popped in to see how you're doing my Dwarf," she said a little dubiously, regarding a little excess phlegm still on the floor where the Dwarf had been.

"I'm fine, I assure you... that was just a sudden thing. I don't know - I can't explain - that is to say, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but it hasn't happened before."

But the old woman was no longer listening. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at the desk where the Dwarf had been working before she came in. Before he could answer, she got up, walked over to the desk and turned to the first page of the book he had there. The title page had many titles on it, crossed out one after another, so:

My Diary. My Unexpected Journey. There and Back Again. Adventures of Seven Miscellaneous People. The Tale of the Great Escape, compiled by Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfoots from his own observations of the nutters around him.

Wilhelmina leafed through the book, seeing that it was barely written in. Next to it was a smaller book, with Diary written across it, also nigh empty.

"I didn't imagine you as the literary type," she looked up at the Dwarf again. "You should talk to that Waldo, he loves this arty sort of stuff, you know."

"I'm not generally a very literary person," he replied to supplement the evidence of his attempts at naming the book. He continued in response to her puzzled expression. "When we're all done and out of Mordor, I can sell this for a fortune. It will be a hit!"

Wilhelmina thought for a second. "I don't see," she began after the pause, "how you can think about money at a time like this."

"Bah! Humbug! You're not one of those communists, are you?"

"No, of course not-"

"Good! Next time that Cahal Mahks hands me a revolutionary leaflet, I'll cleave him in two!"

"- but I do think that, if everybody were a little nicer to one another, and a little less obsessed with Gold, perhaps the world would be a nicer place, and Mordor would stop existing."

There was a silence save for the noise of Wilhelmina plonking herself onto Fléins bed. "That's a nice thought, but you realise there's no logic behind it?" Fléin finally answered.

In response, Wilhelmina stroked Mr Swanky. Fléin watched her on his bed, a scene of tranquility and peace, with a smile on his face. Several seconds passed.

A few seconds later, were one standing outside the room, one would hear the noise of vomiting, following by a small miaow.

[littlemanpoet]

Mount Doom Casino and Resort Celebrity Hunt

Anakron stood at the entrance to the Mount Doom Casino and Resort. The seven members of the Offending Party stood before him, in various states of health, perplexity, excitement, annoyance, and high dudgeon. Wilhelmina's ferret sneezed all over Fléin, who's eyes were watering and turning red with conjunctivitis; and who also seemed to be trying to keep his supper ... or something ... down. Alli, hands on hips, trying to look bored, glanced sidelong at Mardil, trying not to be noticed doing it. Sai kept blinking, trying not to have that "deer in the headlights" look from being new to Mordor - - - and failing; nearby orcs with legal pads and kameras kept nudging each other and pointing rudely in her direction, their yaps flapping and sneers mincing as if they were plannning to take video advantage of her discomfort. Mardil's lids were half closed, his arms folded across his chest, facing Anakron while his eyes darted here and there, taking stock of his surroundings. Valde looked down his tragic nose at the proceedings, trying very hard not to look gratified that Panakeia had attached herself to him, one dainty hand fetchingly inserted in the crook of his elbow; she was, of course, making the most of having been his savior during the last challenge, looking for the first opportunity to use his gratitude to the best advantage.

Anakron sniffed appreciatively at the unspoken goings on amongst the group. Creativity in the face of adversity seemed to be a strong suit for at least six of them. Valde had much to prove yet. It was time to give him in particular, and them in general, a challenge that seemed for all Mordor as if it would be well out of his - or their - comfort zones.

"Greetings," Anakron intoned. "None of you has seen fit to attempt a remonstration with me in regard to your point total from the second challenge. That is well. You would have fared ill.

"The test you will undergo for the third challenge is as follows. You must seek out those who reside in this resort, or in Trollywood, or in Lost Angles, who have been appeared in Mordor anakronistically from the far distant future, where they are apparently known as celebrities (how in Mordor they achieved such a suspicious renown is beyond our ken). You are to find ways, other than theft or murder, to make them part with that which they most hold dear. Let us take, for example, one 'Witless' Spears person. Let us presume that Panakeia manages to persuade said celebrity to part with what she holds most dear. That does not relieve the other six of you of an attempt upon that celebrity, for she will still possess something else which she now holds most dear in the absence of that which Panakeia is presumed to have relieved her.

"I shall not name these so-called celebrities. You are to seek them out by means of your own ingenuity. Anyone who fails to present to me one such most valued item, whatever it may be, will be considered to have failed the challenge.

"You have until sundown. Begin."

The reality show orcs ooh'd and aah'd their effeminate delight and began to name off various celebrities in such a lisping garble that none of the Offending Party could make out a one of them.

[Celuien]

Panakeia listened with delight to Anakron's next challenge. Oh, to visit the City of Lost Angles and Trollywood! To look upon the vast Leaning Tower of Flapjacks that represented the headquarters of the Cap It All Records and House of Pancakes enterprise! She had been fascinated by celebrity for years, and now here was a chance not only to meet the rich and famous, but to claim a token from them. She was eager to be on her way.

But what to select first? Celebrities had so much. And what could they treasure more than their fame and good looks, neither of which Panakeia was likely to bring back with her? She thought hard. Then an inspiration struck her. That's it. He must place great importance in that. After all, he's had it for so long, and he never goes anywhere without it.

"Come on," she said to no one in particular. "Let's go get William Shatner's toupee."

[the guy who be short]

Flein wandered the streets, a little confused. Where would he find a celebrity? What exactly was the point of this? What celebrities did he even know?

He sighed. Society was not his strong point, and idiotic social idols even less so. He looked around miserably.

Why hadn't he just told her?

Look on the bright side, he thought to himself. Conjunctivitis, gone. Anakron, gone. Cat-vomit, gone.

Wilhelmina... gone.

It had been his idea to split up, after all. It would just be too difficult with her. And there were always the moral objections his mind kept throwing up in lieu of those cats. In love with a Woman? How soon would she die? She was too young and frail...

He looked up again. It was no good moaning, no good at all. Be a real Dwarf. That was what he had to do, be a Dwarf. Face the task. Find a celebrity. Bash it over the head a few times. Take whatever it valued most. Easy.

Just as he had resolved to hunt down one of these celebrity things, he looked up and noticed that odd little man who had tried to sell him chocolate in Lûndûn. How on Arda had he got to Lost Angles in a day with no visible means of transport?

The man, arms still full of chocolate, sighted Fléin and approached him with an air of vague recognition. "Hello there! My! I thought you were an Oompa Loompa, don't you know? Well! Still, I'm sure I recognise you..."

Fléin considered for a moment. He didn't much fancy talking to this oddball again, but then again, he had nothing better to do at the moment. "Yes, we met in Lûndûn actually." He hoped the man - what was his name? - wouldn't remember the manner of their parting, and he was lucky.

"Ah, yes... would you like to buy some chocolate, incidentally?"

Fléin decided to ignore this and instead posed his own question. "How did you come to Lost Angles so quickly?"

"Simple, I took the elevator, my dear Dwarf!"

"Elevator?"

"Yes, of course. Anyway, would you buy something? I must be going soon, you know."

"I'm afraid not. Well, it has been pleasant meeting you again," and it will be even more pleasant parting again, he thought, "but I must go and find a celebrity now."

"A celebrity? Why, I am a celebrity! Don't you know?" the man chuckled.

"You're a celebrity?" the Dwarf exclaimed. He surveyed the man. Small, odd top hat, vacant seeming smile. He didn't seem much like celebrity material. Why would anybody idolise him?

"Have you not heard of Johnny Depp?" the chocolatier replied, equally incredulous. "Surely you must know..."

"The name strikes a bell," the Dwarf replied. Where had he heard it before?
Though he was, quite obviously, a rather secluded person, and knowledge of any celebrity was something rather alien to his nature, he knew that name.

"Why, Johnny Depp is the greatest actor that ever lived! He has scores of fangirls!" the man squealed.

Fléin simply looked on, even more incredulous than before. "You... you are the most famous actor of all time?" he asked, surpressing the urge to laugh in the man's pale face. He was obviously delusional. "You?"

"No, of course not! Ha! That would be silly!" The man, evidently not Johnny Depp, stopped there, but then continued after seeing the look on Fléin's face. "I am an incarnation of that great man. You see, when he was sent to Mordor, something odd happened. Mr Depp ceased to be. Instead, all the many forms he had assumed over his life - including that of myself, Willy Wonka - all these, I say, materialised in Mordor." He paused, then went on in a darker voice, "That is, in fact, why I have come to Lost Angles. We're having a convention of sorts."

"Really?" the Dwarf asked, intrigued. "That sounds like immense fun! Why do you look so glum about it?"

The man peered at him a little, then turned around, made a sign indicating his wish that Fléin followed, and led him to a nearby Ma Cuddonelds to sit down.

Once they were both uncomfortably seated, he resumed. "It is less a convention and more of a war plan meeting."

"War?"

"Indeed. You see, Mr Depp, before his assignment, played many varied characters. Some were good. Some were evil. And so, there must be war."

"That sounds perfectly logical," the Dwarf fibbed. "So... then, winning this war is the most important thing in the world to you?"

"No, not quite. Well, I suppose so, but there is a technicality. You see, we, the good incarnations, or G.I.s, are poised to win. But there is one who has not yet chosen a side, and he is the greatest of us all. Whichever side he chooses, victory for them is almost certain. It is imperative that he joins us, or we will lose. That is the reason we have gathered here."

"So he is the most important thing in the world to you?"

"Without a doubt."

"I shall speak freely with you," the Dwarf lowered his voice. "I am a member of the Offending Party. And it my duty to... aid a celebrity. I will find this man for you."

The man looked up, delighted. "Why, that would be wonderful! In fact, we have reason to believe he is in this city at the moment. It would be wonderful if you would help. You could come to the meeting, nobody would mind much-"

"No thank you, I shall start at once. Tell me what the man looks like."

Willy giggled. "He is not a man! He is a sparrow. Cap-tin Jack Sparrow"

"A sparrow? A bird, with wings and such?"

"Of course. It's all this homophone business. He is not allowed to be called Sparrow unless he is a sparrow. You will recognise him by his cap of tin. He is also quite large, for a sparrow. And I really must be going now! Thank you for the help, I shall let the others know. If you find him, we'll be in that large tower to the West"

With that, Willy Wonka left the building, leaving Fléin pondering how he could find this sparrow, and thanking Deus Ex Machina for the unlikely meeting.

[Durelin]

‘Celebrity?’

What in the name of Ilúvatar were celebrities? Valde had felt his body convulse at the sound of the word, and he had felt a sudden rush of sinus pressure that made him clutch his head, trying not to look at Anakron. It was as if he had said a word of the Black Speech, which of course a civilized ear such as Valde’s could not hear. He had quite forgotten that he did indeed dwell in Mordor. Such is a daydreamer’s mind. But for now his mind was actually quite empty, and Anakron’s words bounced around inside his head. He could hear them whizzing around, springing from side to side for several moments, and then all went silent. He never had been very good at pong.

“You are to seek them out by your own ingenuity.”

By their own ingenuity, eh? Now, surely Valde would succeed in this, for he had boasted before that he was as tricky as Ulyssë. But there was a twinge of something in his stomach, suddenly sprinkled there like a bit too much of garlic, and he doubted himself. What was he playing at, in this ‘Offending Party’? Perhaps the trolls had been right in casting him as the tragic hero who lost the contest. Perhaps that was his lot in life, his role on its stage. But wait…life was a stage; life was his stage! And what an excellent tragedy it would make, for he, the great Valde, to play out his role like a true… (Here Valde paused and pictured the litter he had been carried on during his brief but tender moments of glory, licking his lips) Lead Tragic Actor. Yes, a true Lead Tragic Actor: that was Valde Delego.

“Surely I must move on and no more wait,
With courage to face my tragic fate.”

Valde announced his rhyming couplet to no one in particular, and thus ended Act II Scene 2 of his life.* A kamuraman eyed him strangely for a moment, managing for once to peel his eyes away from the strain of catching such an extremity and excess of reality on film to later reel it out.

“That was an aside,” Valde hissed, looking down his nose at the nosy man.

“You mean a real aside?” the man exclaimed, sounding excited, and hoisting his kamura around to face Valde, who only scrunched up his tragic eyebrows and stared broodingly at the electric eye. It always watched him, but surely it could not see into his mind’s eye.

“Are you sure it was real?”

“Errr…” the kamuraman gurgled.

“Am I real?”

“Well, of course.”

“Prove it.”

“Well, you’re standing right there. I can see you. And I can hear you. And if you would let me, I could touch you. I really would like to just touch you…I never do get to touch the actors…”

Valde slapped the kamuraman’s reaching hand away.

“You rely on your senses for determining what is real. But we all know that our senses deceived us. We catch things out of the corner of our eyes, but they’re not there. We mistake words in our speech and hearing and reading due to tricks from the Freud. How do we really know that we see, hear, feel, and taste what we do? How do we know if that even matters? How do you know the ground beneath your feet exists, or if your mind has simply created it because of your natural feel of falling, which is a feeling that your mind creates because you have this predisposed notion of how the world works, which is simply a fabrication of the minds of people, who we are not even sure exist.”

The kamuraman stared at Valde for a moment, his mouth hanging open. “I thought we were talking about reality. Why would I be afraid of falling in reality? There’s a stunt double for that, duh.”

“No, no, not a reality show. You can’t capture everything on that kamura of yours, you know. You see, we are all made of our special play-doh known as our ‘soul.’”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.” Valde sighed and, narrowing his purely physical eyes at the kamura, he turned his back to it and its bearer with a swirl of his cloak, returning his mind to more important things. Celebrities? What did Valde Delego need with celebrities? He was a celebrity. But life was his stage, and his fans were waiting. He had to act, though not too quickly. He was a Lead Tragic Actor, not an Action Hero.

“Come one,” Valde suddenly heard the woman named Panakeia who had helped him in the last challenge say. He turned to her, but she seemed not to be speaking to him; or no one really, for that matter. Valde felt guilty for listening to her, in case she was performing her own aside, but as the Lead he felt he deserved knowing what everyone told the audience behind his back. They always talked behind his back. If he was not such a good stage crier, Valde had no idea how he would ever survive.

“Let’s go get William Shatner’s toupee,” Panakeia finished.

William Shatner? That name sounded so familiar, and yet… Suddenly a pair of pointed ears invaded his third eye’s vision; then a pair of eye brows that might indeed have rivaled his own. An elf? No, William Shatner was not an elf. Then who? Suddenly recognition dawned on him with a searing blue light that appeared to be what he had heard called a ‘laser.’ (Or was it ‘lazer?’ Alternative spellings were surely cursed, particularly in Mordor.) Simultaneously, words such as photon and parsec popped into his head, though he had no idea what they meant. But that was the name that fit the head between those ears, and perhaps the rest of the body, too: Spockú.

Those eyebrows…Valde had examined his own in the mirror enough times that day to know that Spockú’s did indeed come close to being as dominating and brooding as his own. He was sure they were admired, and he did not like that at all. Panakeia was after this William Shatner’s toupee, eh? And everyone knew Spockú was wherever that Shatner person was, most likely a crony who would even follow the toupee wearer to die a sugary death at the floral printed-paper clutches of one known as Dixiel. Those eyebrows were too good for a man who allowed himself to be subordinate to any other. They were alike to a crown, and must be worn like one: by a king, subject to no one, and who was thought to be schizophrenic due to his inbreeding and use of the royal we. The glorious Shadowbrow’s of Spockú would surely be a formidable prize.

“Oh Panakeia…” Valde called out to the woman, walking slowly up to her so as not to ruin the way his cloak slowly glided dramatically behind him. “First, I thank you humbly, out of the humble kindness, graciousness, and compassion of my swollen heart, for your invaluable aid in the last challenge. Would you mind if my tragic lump of flesh did join you once again?”

He peered at her from underneath the shadowy, mysterious, and intimidating brow, and considered where he might find waxing supplies strong enough for his quest.

*(Apologies to Mr. Shakespeare...if he really exists, that is.)

[Encaitare]

Wilhelmina frowned to herself, trying to decide how to handle this next task. It made the first two tasks seem easy -- at least they were a simple matter of getting from Point A to Point B. Now there was actually something she had to do, and it involved these so-called celebrities. One couldn't long be in Mordor without hearing about celebrities; Mordorians seemed to be obsessed with following their every move in the hopes of learning how to be cooler. I'm too old to dabble in that nonsense, Wilhelmina thought, and good thing, too. Honesly, who cared about what brand of dress this one was wearing to the Ozkars, or who that one was marrying (especially since statistically it wouldn't last more than a year)?

No, celebrities certainly weren't the sort of people Wilhelmina wanted to go looking for. That was the problem, though -- she knew there had to be plenty of them about, but how was one to find them? What she'd really love to do was get Pârís Hiltôn's stupid little dog. Of all the celebrities she'd heard about, Pârís Hiltôn was without a doubt the worst. Firstly, she hadn't done anything to attain celebrity status. Secondly, she had a catchphrase which was almost as bad as Mârtha Stewârt's, and equally worthy of boldfaced type. And thirdly, no dog should ever wear clothing that costs more than most people earn in a year. Yet Wilhelmina suspected that no amount of begging, cajoling, or bribery could separate the heiress from her canine companion. So how to do it?

A grin spread across her face as she realized there was a simple solution. Maybe that Panakeia wasn't a total waste of oxygen after all.

"Panakeia!" she called, walking quickly towards the saleswoman. "I need to buy some of your, ahem, products. Namely some Pearie Ockcide Potion and a bunch of cheap perfumes in fancy bottles, if you please."

[Kath]

Sai had wandered around Mount Doom in a daze the last few days, unsure where she could go and what she could do, so she was almost glad to be faced with a new challenge - almost. Where was she going to find a celebrity in this place, and even if she did manage it what could she take from them? She ran through a list of every one of their kind she could think of, but couldn't think of anything to take away from them. She heard her kamura orc, who had been very bored recently, complaining about her again. He'd been doing this a lot the past few days but she couldn't blame him. The most exciting thing he'd seen all week was when Sai had caught that cold and sneezed 10 times straight so hard she'd been unable to see where she was going and had fallen

"Why do we bother with her? She probably won't even be able to think of anyone - let's go walk round the block and see if she's managed anything by the time we get back."

Insulted, though privately thinking his words had some truth to them, Sai opened her mouth to reprimand him for his use of such an Americanism, 'block' indeed. But as she did so, the word conjured up memories of a song, a song that had been played over and over and over, til the words and the tune were so embedded in her head she remembered the lies in them even now. And the memory of the song led to the celebrity that had sung it. Sai grinned at the bemused orc.

"Wrong again Mr, well, whatever your name is, I have thought of someone! Come with me - we're going to remove the backside from one Jennifer Lopez!"

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron was walking through the environs of Mount Doom Casino and Resort, watching the mobs happily being parted from their Trolls, when his mobile phone yapped. The Siamese Cat hissed angrily from its perch atop Anakron's staff.

"Yes?" Anakron listened to an eager voice updating him on recent developments. "Very well. I shall be expecting you by mid-afternoon. Please be sure that all precautions are taken." The voice ranted reassuringly that all was prepared. Anakron rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, just be sure of it. I have an Offending Party to watch, so I would prefer no more than the most necessary of needless distractions, and yours, my dear Bleeter, borders on unnecessary." Bleeter bleeted most piteously into Anakron's annoyed ear. He grimaced at the headache Bleeter was causing. "Yes, yes, very well. I'm hanging you up now, and do not call back unless you have something absolutely essential to tell me. And one last thing. Make sure the two primaries, who will no doubt be quite primed for their roles, are safely contained. There's no telling what might happen if things should get out of hand. And knowing the Dweomer, it does not take much in Mordor. Good-bye."

Anakron put his mobile phone away and looked askance at the remains of Mount Doom, shaking his head.