The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

The Chronicler of this portion of the tale is believed, from evidence in the manuscript to have been a Burrahobbit. One will note the characteristic brevity.

It was most easy for Denethor and Faramir to defeat the Silly Singing Sindar: they cut through their bonds by rubbing them on the sharp machinery. They stuffed earplugs in their ears to blunt the horrid noise. They scared the Elves out of the city by pretending to be 13 Dwarves and a Hobbit crashing a hunting party. They restarted the city and headed West-Southwest. They did so with an abundance of anakronistic humour.

[The Saucepan Man]

Tra-la-la-lally-ho!

The loss of Gandalf had been hard enough for the Hobbits to bear. But all hope seemed to fade when the Balrog’s wings finally gave out some 300 miles short of the Shire. Trailing the shadowy remants of the great wings, Bag-Endless-Fuel suddenly lurched into a dive and began to plummet towards the earth below. Straining with all his might, Merry was able to pull the vehicle into a glide and it hit the ground with relatively little damage. Sadly, however, the havoc wreaked by the Balrog on the little Hobbit hole’s delicate machinery had taken its toll. Ted Sandyman had done what he could with the few spare parts available to him, but the motorised Burrow was now running at less than half capacity.

“Well, that’s it I’m afraid,” Bilbo remarked ruefully. “The game’s up. We have no chance of taking the chequered flag now.”

“But surely we can … uhhhn!” replied Frodo, sliding gracelessly to the floor. Still wondering how they might uhhn and why they would want to, his companions promptly followed suit.

************************************************
When they came round, the Hobbits found themselves sitting in the engine room, bound and gagged. But that was not the worst of it. The unmistakeable sound of Elven voices tra-la-la-lallying in unison could be heard ringing out from above. And the very quaintness of it filled them with despair.

O! What are you doing, and where are you going?
Your engine needs tending! The brakes need a-mending!
O! tra-la-la-lally! Here down in the rally!

The owners of the voices suddenly appeared in the engine room and began to circle the stricken Hobbits, singing at them mercilessly.

O! Why are you dawdling, when the race needs a-winning?
The cylinder‘s shaking! The dynamo‘s breaking!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly! The rally is jolly!
Ha! ha!

But, as they sang their quaint song, the Elves began to attend to the engine, hammering here and cranking there, uniting the broken mass of metal with their shockingly twee melody.

O! Where are you going, with gears all a-grinding?
No knowing, no knowing what makes Mister Baggins,
And Frodo go so slow,
No time now to tarry, here down in the rally
Ha! ha!

And, as the Hobbits watched, the engine began to pull itself back together, brought back to life by the woefully whimsical song. Before long, it was as good as new, gleaming and sparkling under the glow of Elven faces.

O! Will you be winners, or will you be losers?
Your chances decreasing, your lead disappearing!
To lose would be folly, to win would be jolly,
So hurry and hasten! Now suitably chastened,
By our tune
Ha! ha!

The gags and ropes were removed from the Hobbits and one of the Elves addressed them.

“Quick now, my little friends,” he said in a voice so light and airy that was almost too much to bear. “You must be on your way.”

“But … why …?” spluttered Bilbo.

“Elrond sent us,” the Elf replied, forestalling Bilbo’s confused questions. “He has a lot of money riding on this, you know. So come now, make haste and don’t disappoint him.”

“But why did you bind and gag us?” asked Frodo.

“Ha! Ha!” the Elf cried, and the Hobbits steeled themselves, fearing another distressingly droll song. “Would you have let us anywhere near the engine if you had heard us singing first?”

“Point taken,” nodded Bilbo.

“Now be off with you,” laughed the Elf. “You have a race to win!”

And with that, the Elven host departed, leaving the mobile Hobbit home to trundle on North West towards the Havens.

[Gurthang]

Some Idol Noise

Ringwraith #4's invisible eyes fluttered open. His head hurt again. Hadn't he just been through all this? His ears were ringing, too. Wait, not ringing, but singing... or at least he was hearing some singing. It sounded awfully merry and nonsensical. It was strange, though,... because somehow... it brought back memories...

*Picture blurs out for flashback sequence*

King Gnick (the previous persona of Ringwraith #4) stood in his throne room, his loyal subjects standing all around him. The people's garb and the arichtecture tell that it is far to the East of Middle Earth. The room is large, with a high ceiling, as well as the usual four walls and a floor, and large stone pillars at regular intervals. Tapestries depicting hunts and victories at war adorn the walls and low tables and cushions are scattered everywhere. The guests have long finished eating, and servants are just finishing removing the remains of the feast.

The King stands. Everyone turns and looks at him. He speaks:

"Truly this is a grand day. I am so happy to have so many fine subjects to fill my hall with gladness on this feastday. It is very nice that I have such servants and a palace to hold so grand a party." (A band in the background begins playing softly) "It is very nice that we have this time of peace to enjoy such festivites." (Music picks up) "It is so nice that I am king of our fair land." (Music swells) "It is so nice... to be... King!"

And with that King Gnick launches into a rather long musical number titled So Nice To Be King. The lyrics are not recited due to the sheer length of the song, and in fact were written down only once and kept by the King. He did not want others to be able to sing his song.

But, as the King sang, much did happen. The crowd joined in chorus as the King strutted down the aisle in front of them. A few fell in behind and formed a V shaped following that perfectly mirrored Gnick's sweeping motions and graceful dancing. The music rose and fell, and then rose higher again. Around the hall the procession went, the King swinging himself around a column here, dancing atop a table there, all the while releasing his every gladness through his song. Once around they went, then the King stood atop his throne and was regally silent as the chorus rose around him. The crowd split, and dancers emerged in the center. Singing and swaying to the tempo, they sang their (short) verse, and the crowd closed around them again, only to part once more for the King. He made a few more rounds around the room before beginning the emotional finale where the music swelled and the crowd lifted him up on their shoulders and strained their voices to hold that last note of joy. And then...

*ZZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPPP*

"Number 4? What are you doing?"

"Er... um.... ow my head...?"

"You lazy bum! The rest of us woke up hours ago. Lucky we decided to untie you. Come. We have another problem."

Number 4 got up unsteadily and followed after the Witch King. Not until then did he notice Khamûl, Number 3, and Number 5 were also there. He followed them down the hallways, up the stairs, and through many rooms before they stopped. Even after walking all that way, Number 4 could still hear that blastedly blissful singing. They were in a conference room. The rest of the Nine were there, acting as if they had been waiting forever. Shaking himself to ward off another flashback, Number 4 went over and poured himself a cup of coffee while he listened to the Witch King explain the problem.

"Elves." he started, "about 12 stinking elves somehow managed to get here on Minas Morgo. We must have picked them up when we were on the ground after getting attacked by those Goblins. Well, they've occupied the driving tower and won't stop singing for anything. We need a way to get them off this ship."

"Why don't we just kill them?" asked Number 7.

"If we attack, they might damage the driving mechanism, or more importantly my chair, so we need to get rid of them without making them mad."

"Can't we just sneak up and knock them out?" questioned Number 3.

"You're gonna knock out 12 elves, all at once, without any of them seeing you first? Good luck." the Witch King scoffed in response.

Khamûl interjected, "I have a plan. We make them think it's a contest. A singing contest, they'll love that. Anyway, we say we'll pick them off one by one, an elf per round we'll say, 'worst' singer leaves the platform."

"Okay, and then what? We stuff them in a room?" interrupted Number 9.

"No, once we have each by themselves, we'll knock them out and drop them off the edge. So it'll take a little time, but we can get them out without any hassle this way."

"Great," exclaimed the Witch King, "We'll name this contest Minas Morgo Idol. Khamûl, it's your idea, you'll be the host. Numbers 3, 4, and 5, you guys are judges."

"But how are we going to stand that blasted singing! And they shine so brightly when we look at them." complained Number 5.

"Here, take these." The Witch King tossed Khamûl, 3, 4, and 5 a few sets of earplugs and a pair of sunglasses for each.

"But with earplugs we won't be able to hear them." Number 4 noted.

"Well, duh!" retorted the Witch King, looking at him strangely, "Now get up there and get started. I'll be in my chocolate vault if you need me."

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

"Welcome contestants!" shouted Khamûl as he jumped out of the doorway. "Congratulations on making it here!"

The elves stopped singing for a second and looked at him confused. They had no idea why he was wearing sunglasses. Then they shrugged and continued singing. Khamûl continued unhindered... after all, he couldn't hear them.

"Welcome to Minas Morgo Idol! Today one of you will be the next big star! How will we find out which one? Well let's meet our judges!" And with a sweeping motion of his arm he brought out Numbers 3, 4, and 5. They sat down behind a table that just happened to be right there. "Let's just call them Number 3, Number 4, and Number 5... and now that that's done, let's get this show going! First contestant."

And so the show started. But something was amiss. Unknown to any of them, Ringwraith Number 4 sneakily dislodged his left earplug. He actually wanted to hear the elves sing! The result was that he randomly flashed back to his 'younger days' and didn't have his head in the contest at all. The other two Ringwraiths had their earplugs firmly in place, and so the contest did not go over exactly as planned. The last two contestants were actually the best and the worst singers of all the elves.

The two, named Katharine and Taylor(), came up and sang their numbers. The judges looked at each other. Well, Number 3 and Number 5 looked at each other; Number 4 was off in flashback-land. Number 3 voted for Taylor (who was the better singer) and Number 5 voted the opposite way like they had done for every round. Number 4 did nothing. He just sat there, still in his flashback. Number 3 gave him a sharp jab in the ribs and he jerked back into real life. He looked around dumbfounded for a second until his eyes fell upon the two finalists. Strangely, he had actually heard the two during some of the previous rounds, and knew Taylor was better. So he picked him for the win. Katharine left the room in tears, that is, until she was knocked out and tossed down to earth.

"Congratulations Taylor! You are Minas Morgo's Idol!"

Suddenly the three judging Ringwraiths gasped. They all just realized a shortcoming to the plan. There was this one last elf, but no way to get rid of him! But Khamûl just looked at them and smiled an invisible, understanding smile.

"Now Taylor, I know this is a big deal for you, and it will mean great fame and fortune in your near future. But for now, I've got something else to give you." And with that he opened a nearby doorway.

No more had he turned the handle than a stream of overly eager record label spokespersons rushed out. They all set their eyes on Taylor, intent on having him sign with them and only them. Out the door they ran, like a streaming tide, and rampaged across the platform. Taylor turned to run in terror, but there was nowhere to go! Before he could think of anything to do the wave of spokespersons hit him, and he was swept over the edge by the rushing mob, never to be heard from again.

The Ringwraith's took out their earplugs and breathed a sigh of relief. No more singing! The Witch King emerged from one of the stairways, having been alerted by the lack of singing that the elves were gone.

"Great work fellows. Now, let's get this city moving again. On to the North-West!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Pit Stop

The Vehicles were battered and bruised after so many challenges and interruptions. Some of the Drivers were getting over worked with all the repairs, it was getting silly. Bereft of ideas, Dwarfy took up the palantir and called all the vehicles...

"Alright, you lot," he said, "We're going to have a little break now. I'm sending some repair houses to your locations to fix up your vehicles. You won't lose your position in the race, I won't let anyone go until I say so!"

All the vehicles slowed down and stopped, except Mount Zoom. Dwarfy could hear Sauron's evil laughter from a mile in the air. He sent the baby dragon down to burst his tyres.

So, the race stood still. Here, then, are the positions so far...

1st place: Bag Endless fuel
2nd Place: Mount Zoom
3rd Place: Medel zoom
4th Place: Barad Dash
5th Place: Minas Taxi
6th place: Minas Mor-go
7th place: Orth Tank

[Hookbill the Goomba]

End of the Rest

The tires were repaired, the fuel tanks filled up, the windows patched, suspension un-rusted, the engines all working a little better and the Mount Zoom Challenge was ready to continue! All at once, the vehicles zoomed off towards their goal.

They road along quite nicely for a good while, but then, as was becoming usual, something was slowing the vehicles down and yet another challenge was up ahead!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Man-eating Horses horror!

You are going well towards the grey Heavens after your nice long pit stop, yet your engineers stop working and are filled with fear. The driver sees a whole group of horses stood outside the Vehicle. "Drive over them!" says Sauron, But when he looks back at them they are inside the vehicle!

These are Man-eating Horses! (They even like Orcs and Miar with a side order of Hobbits).

Get rid of the horses some how

[The Saucepan Man]

Crazy Horses! Wah! Wah!

“Man eating horses!”

The cry cam from Sam, who had taken the wheel while the other Hobbits relaxed in the parlour.

“Gosh!” said Pippin, munching lazily on a chicken leg. “He must be hungry. I wonder whether he might prefer chicken instead.”

"Who?" asked Merry.

"The man eating the horses," replied Pippin. "I've heard of being hungry enough to eat a horse, but I don't think that even I could manage more than one."

“Er – I don’t think Sam is referring to a man dining on horse meat, Pip,” said Merry. “I think he means horses that eat men.”

“Well, we should be fine then,” said Pippin. “We are Hobbits, not Men.”

“Actually, many scholars hold that Hobbits are a sub-branch of Man,” pointed out Merry. “In which case …”

“Well, that’s all very well,” interrupted Frodo. “But we really could do without a herd of equine carnivores running about the place.”

“Nonsense!” said Bilbo, as he roused himself and headed for the door to the living room. “There’s no such thing as man-eating ho … Ulp!”

The other Hobbits rushed to join him. And sure enough, there in the living room, half a dozen evil-looking, sharp-fanged horses were advancing menacingly on Sam.

“Grammercy! Lawks a lordy!” cried Sam. “They’re after having me for their dinner, Master Frodo sir! Help me!”

“Well, whether Hobbits be Men or not,” observed Frodo. “They don’t look particularly choosy to me. What are we going to do?”

[Alcarillo]

Auughhh!!! The Horses!!!

#9 ran panicked to the Witch-king. "We've been boarded, lord!" he said. "By man-eating horses! They're threatening to devour the orcs and flying beasts if we don't hand over the city!"

"Why on earth would man-eating horses want a flying city?"

"Beats me, lord, but we'd better hurry! They've taken #3 hostage!"

"#3… nearly as useless as #4... I declare an emergency Ringwraith meeting. Gather all the Ringwraiths you can and bring them to me. I'll be on top of the gates, by the helm."

"Aye, lord!" #9 said and ran off to collect the others. Some minutes later they had gathered around a conveniently located table near the steering wheel.

"Listen here, comrades!" the Witch-king said, strutting around the table. "We are faced by a ruthless band of man-eating horses, and they have already captured one of our own! We need a plan!"

"Can't we just attack them?" asked #7.

The Witch-king rolled his eyes. Were they always so simple? "To attack them would be utter tomfoolery. Does anybody have any smarter ideas?"

"Can we…ask them to leave?" said #4.

"No! Nobody ever drove a band of merciless horses from their vessel by asking them to leave! What's gotten into that head of yours?" #4 slumped lower in his chair and his head drooped. "Well, if nobody has any good ideas, I suppose we must use mine. #5 and #6! Tell the horses to meet Khamûl and me up here in an hour for 'negotiations'. #7 and #8! Prepare this table for a tea-party! #9 and #4! Round up all the butterknives, toothpicks, pins, and needles you can find! My brilliant plan will become apparent soon!"

The Ringwraiths split up to complete their tasks. #5 and #6 ventured deep into the heart of Minas Mor-go to deliver their message to the horses, #7 and #8 searched high and low the finest silverware and china, and #9 and #4 raided every chest, desk, and cabinet for all the pointy items they could find. A pile of pointed objects soon accumulated at the table.

#5 and #6 soon returned to tell the Witch-king they had delivered their message, and he told them to begin putting a Morgul pin/toothpick/butterknife under each cushion of each chair.

"But why, lord?"

"Don't you see? The moment the horses sit down for negotiations, each shall be pierced by a Morgul blade (or point), and they shall be transformed into harmless wraiths!"

"But what if we create wraith-eating horses?"

The Witch-king rolled his eyes again. "You can't eat wraiths."

Soon everything was ready: the table was set, the cushions were booby-trapped, and soon the man-eating horses would emerge from their hiding place to negotiate with the Witch-king.

The hour came and emerging from the shadows of Minas Mor-go came a great band of horses. In their train they dragged a bound and gagged #3. The horses' leader came forward and neighed to the Witch-king. The horses were about to take their seats when the Witch-king shouted "Wait! Listen, horses! We will be negotiating over tea, and so, this being a tea party, there will also be party games. The first shall be musical chairs."

"What are you doing, lord?" whispered Khamûl. "Why are we playing party games?"

"Because if each horse sits one at a time, they'll realize what we've done with the cushions! Then there'll be no hope of turning them into wraiths! They need to sit all at once, so none will know before what we've done before he sits." The Witch-king now turned to #4. "#4, please supply us with music from your clarinet."

#4 ran downstairs to fetch his instrument and assembled it as quickly as he could. Unfortunately he was fresh out of cork grease, and had to run into basements for some more. And when he found that his reed was torn, he had to go back downstairs for another. The chief horse stamped his hooves in impatience.

"Don't worry, my guests! #4 is a musical virtuoso. Just wait until you hear him play!"

Finally #4 began to play a meaningless tune, along the lines of pop-goes-the-weasel. The horses pranced around the table, and when they could feel the music was ending, each positioned himself above a chair, and when #4's tune ended, they all sat down as one. But instantly they rose up again, having pierced their horsie bottoms on the pointed objects hidden under the cushions.

"Haha!" The Witch-king taunted. "You've been hurt by Morgul blades! Now you'll all become shadowy wraith-horses!"

The angry horses stamped their hooves wildly and trampled the chairs and the table and the china, but by the Witch-king's dark arts, they became wraiths within the hour, and from that day forward, Minas Mor-go was known throughout the world for the ghosts of horses that haunted its halls.

After untying #3, the Witch-king proclaimed that Minas Mor-go would be headed north-west.

[Maeggaladiel]

Sauron slammed a gauntleted fist down on the dashboard, causing the Morgoth dashboard bobblehead to shake violently.

"MOUTH!!" Sauron bellowed. "I DISTINCTLY REMEMBER TELLING YOU TO RUN THE HORSES OVER!!"

Mouth cringed at the noise.

"I tried to, O Evil One," Mouth said through clenched teeth. "But somehow they got inside."

"I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW SO MANY CREATURES CAN WEASEL THEIR WAY INTO MY IMPREGNABLE MOUNTAIN FORTRESS OF DOOM!!!" Sauron complained, resting his elbows on the dash and cradling his helmeted head in his hands. "I SWEAR, SOMETIMES IT'S ENOUGH TO MAKE ONE GO MAD." He sighed haggardly and looked at a security screen, seeing the horses chase down and devour random orcs and the occasional Rat Wraith that was too slow to get out of their way. He frowned, although Mouth couldn't tell because he was still wearing the helmet. "AND ANYWAY, AREN'T HORSES SUPPOSED TO BE VEGETARIANS?"

"It would appear that these are man-eating horses, My Lord," Mouth remarked casually.

Sauron nodded, as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

"THEN IT IS SIMPLE," he said. "ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS INVENT THE BAZOOKA AND DISPOSE OF THEM."

"I don't think so, My Lord."

"YOU ARE RIGHT. IT WOULD BE MUCH BETTER TO INVENT THE GUIDED MISSILE LAUNCHER."

Mouth sighed.

"NO, My Most Evil and Highly Audible Master."

Saruon's eye sockets glowed dangerously.

"WHY NOT?" he demanded.

"The horses have just eaten our Invention Department." Mouth tapped the monitor, where a series of lab coats lay on the ground, with bits of orc scattered around them. "We can't invent things ourselves anymore due to labor union issues."

"BLAST," cursed Sauron. "OH WELL. I HAVE A BETTER IDEA. COME ALONG, MOUTH."

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

A few moments later, Sauron and Mouth were standing in the engine room. A small, terrified orc lay before them. The creature was bound and had an apple shoved in its mouth, and Sauron and Mouth had placed him on a large silver platter and surrounded him with a delectable-looking vegetable medley.

"Tell me again why we're serving up our engine crew," Mouth asked. He picked up a large red bottle that was next to the orc. "And why we're giving them our best wine."

"SIMPLE," Sauron said. "WE'VE CREATED A VERY FORMAL DINING EXPERIENCE HERE."

"Yes, I noticed you've set out a tablecloth and have added a candelabra."

"AND NATURALLY, YOU CAN'T EXPECT TO HAVE A NICE ROAST WITHOUT A GLASS OF WINE TO ACCOMPANY IT." The orc looked ill.

"I'VE POISONED THE WINE, YOU SEE," Sauron continued. "WHEN THE HORSE COMES UP TO EAT... UM... WHAT DID YOU SAY YOUR NAME WAS?"

He took the apple out of the orc's mouth.

"Waturs, sir!" the orc squeaked. Saruon shoved the apple back in.

"WHEN THE HORSES COME TO EAT MR. WATURS HERE, THEY'LL HELP THEMSELVES TO THE WINE. VIOLA! NO MORE HORSES!" He puffed himself up proudly. "SOMETIMES I'M SO BRILLIANT I SCARE MYSELF."

Thus saying, Sauron shoved the wine, the orc-roast, and a pair of wine glasses out into the room where the horses were feasting. He and Mouth hid behind an overturned table and watched.

The horse walked up to Waturs. It sniffed him. Waturs looked terrified.

"YEEESSSS," Sauron whispered, or at least yelled slightly less loudly. "GO ON..."

The horse sniffed the wine.

"THAT'S RIGHT..."

The horse ate up Mr. Waturs and left.

"CONFOUND IT!! HAVE YOU NO MANNERS AT ALL!?! I OFFER YOU WINE AND YOU REJECT IT!!" Sauron jumped up and down furiously. Mouth patted him on the shoulder.

"Well sir," he said. "You know what they say. You can lead a horse to Waturs, but you can't make him drink."

"MOUTH."

"Yes my lord?"

"SHUT UP."

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

Ten minutes later, Saruon and Mouth had concocted Plan C.

"Hey horses!" Yelled Mouth. "Look what we've got!" He pointed to the large wooden crate next to him. The horses walked forwards curiously.

"VIOLA! THE ONLY THING CAPABLE OF TAMING UNRULY HORSES!" Saruon opened the crate. Ten creatures walked out and reached for the horses.

Fifteen minutes later, the beasts were harnessed and were pulling Mount Zoom along.

"Wow," Mouth said. "It actually worked."

"YEP," Sauron replied. "IN EVERY HORSE MOVIE I'VE EVER SEEN, ALL IT TAKES TO CALM THEM DOWN IS TO GET AN EMOTIONALLY-DISTURBED TEENAGE OR PRE-TEEN GIRL ON THE SCENE. WE HAVE SOME BONDING MOMENTS, SOME ANGST, SOME EMOTIONAL RIDING SEQUENCES, AND PRESTO! GRAND FINALE! NICE HORSIES!!"

"Except, what are we going to do with all these teenagers?" Mouth asked warily, as a handful of said teens were now setting up makeover stations around the volcano.

"THE HORSES ARE STILL MANEATERS, AND WE'LL HAVE TO FEED THEM EVENTUALLY!" Sauron replied cheerfully. "AND NOW, WE HEAD NORTHWEST!!"

[Gil-Galad]

Montague was looking around... it was really quiet... the screams of the slaves used as wheels can't be heard, only the few groans and "i'm not dead yet!" but he'll be along shortly now...

Gothmog was still sleeping in the back, on top of his pile of Cosmo's magazines, snoring quite loudly.

Then Barrad-Dash came to a big halt as they crashed into what they assumed was a tree... but it was in fact OLD MAN WILLOW, Montague was terrified as Gothmog still slept away. Then OLD MAN WILLOW awoke and started swinging like crazy, having a temper tantrum. Montague, as the different orc he is, tried to calm him down, and they became friends over time, always playing, then one day Gothmog got up and saw Montague having fun, he charged over, with chocolate ice cream dripping from his shirt, and yelled at montague to get back in the veichle, Montague stated that he did not know where they were and be best they sit tight for dwarfy. Gothmog was furious, and also threw a fit like a little girl. Right then OLD MAN WILLOW came back from picking flowers, he though Montague was in danger so he decided to throw some sort of moving hting with dead wheels that screams of tormented souls that starts with a B...


So he threw that Buick, but he missed terribly, so he tried again with Barrad-Dash, it hit Gothmog right as he decided to calm down, but it still rolling and going after Montague, then OLD MAN WILLOW realized this and activated his super-powers, he was infact Manwe the Benevolent-ish ruler! and long story short, Montague was able to fly, Gothmog was now apart of the barrowdowns and OLD MAN WILLOW went to sleep


oh and Montague has lazer-eye beams... and a sword of fire...yeah...fire...blue fire... cause hes awesome... and he'll help anyone too if they sing a song, the Montague song

"Oh Montague your so fine, your so fine you blow my mind hey Monty! *clap* Hey Monty! *clap*"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Eighth Challenge - Tea Time of Terror

As the vehicles drive along, it comes to around 6 o'clock. Tea time is comming fast, but it seems that a group of Barrow Wights have haunted the food storage areas and are drinking all the wine (or whatever).

Deal with them!

YOU HAVE UNTILL WEDNESDAY 19th JULY