ATM II RPG

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Barrow Wight stood atop the tomb of some great king of Mordor. It was tall and made of black stone, smooth to the touch and smelled of beans. His long black cloak swirled uncontrollably about him as he peered into the darkness where the great army was mustering. Smilog and Tollin were sitting on the edge of the tomb roof, throwing stones at passing birds and grumbling about the ill treatment Wizards had given them.

A fire leaped up somewhere in the distance; yet it was in the opposite direction to the army of the blue Istari. The Barrow Wight swung around to look at the new thing that was approaching. He gave a slight gasp.

"What is it?" asked Smilog, standing up

"It looks like..." replied the Wight, straining his eyes, "the casino staff from Mount Zoom. They are wearing armour made out of gold and bear swords made from what looks like beaten snooker tables."

Tollin picked up the telescope and looked out, "There are," he mused, "five hundred of them. Men and Orks." The new army filed into the Grave yard and began forming ranks in a circle about the great Barrow in the centre. The three oddlings (as they were later called) clambered down from the large tomb and made their way towards the centre of the Grave yard. Atop the hill they could see the flame that The Barrow Wight had spotted. It seemed to be burning bright, as if it were a challenge to the Wizards.

There was a large Orc holding a large stick that was on fire. He made a great cry and began to beat his chest. The rest of the army joined in until the noise was unbearable. Smilog leaped behind a tombstone.

"Gosh" said the Barrow Wight.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli stumbled over herself yet again, uncertain of the alcohol content of her blood. She blinked a vision of Illamatar surrounded by stars from her tired eyes. Let this end, she thought wearily. Just let me end.

She thought of Mardil, married in Gondor, and the frequency with which he had saved her life once upon a time. She thought she had been in love. Falling in with Aimè had changed nothing, though she would never have said it aloud. She thought of Roggie ruling Mordor without the aid of his best friend.

Who would spend lazy nights curled before blazing fires if not those two?

Alli missed her private home in Ithilien, but she thrived on her position as official know-it-all. She missed relaxed mornings spent writing in bed, snuggling, and playing with a cat she may never before have mentioned. But now she too missed her drafty office with Lola and her three-pile paper sorting system. She missed the castle and casino gossip.

The weather waged on in its own private battle for good (warm front) and evil (cold front). The werecreatures gathered (with conviction). The subplots combined into one large climax (with the hesitation the werecreatures lack).

When Alli stumbled, Tom caught her and she met his eyes and saw in them mixed emotions. Gravity and a random edge or two of her gauntlets pulled the Inaudibility Cloak completely from his person and life was suddenly a bit more verbal.

Seeing the silvery folds of Inaudibility fall about him, Tom realised that his entire, vital, speech had gone entirely to waste. He ran his hand through his gorgeously pale locks and then said, rapidly:

"Alli, there are werewolves coming, as you can hear. Despite my best efforts, we are quite doomed."

"Totallement!" barked Fenrir Greyback as he hoved into view, still happily mauling the French language.

"I passed through the fire and the chasm," the beast growled, "and am Fenrir Greyback no longer! Now I am Fenrir Whiteback!"

"Actually, since the thunderbolt singed off your fur, you're more a sort of pinkish-brown," Tom commented, stepping straight towards the wolf.

"You'll regret this, Mudblood, renouncing your destiny as a Malfoy and a Werewolf..." the creature spat. It now became clear that he had a cohort; a smaller wolf, with an unpleasant red cap and a long-chewed cigarette in its mouth, had approached from another direction. Alli looked not so much frightened as exasperated at the sight of him, but, taken up with Fenrir, Tom did not spare the newcomer a thought.

Alli gasped at Tom's until-now-unknown identity. She wondered suddenly if he'd known she was the Seer. She wondered how the quiet meeting of friends that had never occured would have gone if it had ever managed to happen before now. She wondered if Mardil knew. She nearly sizzled with rage. And Mario. Mario! How bliddy many times was she going to have to kill the little monster?

She screamed frustration and yelled for Aimè. If Mario spoke, Tom could turn on her. Incredible and attractive fighter though she was, three werewolves jumping her was not her top choice of ways to spend her evening or die. She wanted to fall asleep one night in the unforeseeable future and never wake up.

As for Tom, he continued to concentrate fiercely on Fenrir Pinkback. "Come and eat me," he said nonchalantly.

"If you insist," Fenrir leered. He sprang forward, clasped the Kensington lad in his claws and lurched his head forward for the final, decapitatory bite.

"Fenrir," Tom observed, "haven't you noticed that I have long, blond, hair? Golden house of Finrod, anyone?" Then he shrugged and plunged his fairly pitiful body weight into the bald wolf's mass, appearing to feel no pain as the wolf's paws slashed at his back. The werewolf, on the other hand, writhed and recoiled and steamed and melted, in accordance to the Oldest Cop Out that Goodies Melt Baddies.

Tom turned to Alli, a horrendous mess, blood and ex-wolf slime smeared all over him.

"Thus," he said weakly, "has Tom Feltonagund redeemed his oath."

"You didn't swear any oath! And you're covered with slime! Don't come near me, wolf! Aimè, where are you!?"

"Don't worry...about...me," Tom gasped out. "My...agent...will...cast me...new role...thinking...about...stage acting..."

Then he collapsed and his spirit departed from Arda, but probably returned to Kensington. Wolf-Mario stood by watching the proceedings, smoking boredly.

"Alli, Alli, you have to see this" whispered Aimé loudly. Scurrying through the maze of the crypt, he felt like he was trapped inside somewhere that only closely resembled reality. And he had a strange, unrealistic prize to show for it—a huge slab of gold.

He ran towards the flickering candlelight, but tiptoed the last few steps: an eerie atmosphere was all around. Plus, there were loud shouts and screaming coming from just around the corner. Aimé peered round.

"Aimé!" yelled Alli.

"You!" yelped a wolf wearing a red cap and smoking a cigar (probably the strangest wolf Aimé had ever seen).

"...urgh..." gurgled what appeared to be corpse, somewhat familiar-looking...

"Yeah, uh, hi" offered Aimé, too puzzled to be confused.

The wolf did a bizarre little agitated jig on the spot. "I will have my vengeance!" it hollered with a slightly spoof-Italian accented howl (probably the strangest wolf Aimé had ever heard).

Who is this freak? wondered Aimé. "Alli, I'm glad to see you! Look what I found!" He held up his golden prize.

"What is....is that?....MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!" bellowed the wolf. "What fortune! What wonder! It is the Golden Coin! It is the Sixth Golden Coin!" He chuckled manically.

"All, please tell me what this... creature is" said Aimé, very slow on the uptake.

"I am Mario!" And with that, the wolf suddenly grew to four times his original size. Then seven seconds later, he returned to normal, apparently unchanged. What a lame superpower.

Alli stopped short and looked at Mario quizzically. For somebody with such impressive longevity, he was boring.

He suddenly darted and she cried out, never expecting him to answer, "What are you doing?"

And he called out, "Taking a shortcut."

"A shortcut to where?"

"To the mushrooms!"

And with that, Mario took advantage of the darkly moist soil of the cemetery and grabbed a handful of 'shrooms of all colors, as well as an herb or two. He chomped away at them, wolf-drooling spittle and Alli and Aime watched in horror as multiple tranformations took his already lupine shape and distorted it more.

Their longest lasting enemy grew to twice his former height and changed color schemes. He grew the tail of a raccoon and felt suddenly much warmer.

Alli dove on instinct as a fireball destroyed the patch of ground on which she'd been standing.

Mario was a flamethrower.

He suddenly spun his tale quickly and levitated. She swore.

Mario could also fly.

"Aime, we have to get to the mushrooms!" she screamed.

He said, "Okay."

Veering on impulse and ducking highly heated air, Alli began to sweat attractively. Her pale skin took on a dewy glow and her outfit (mostly leather, all custum-made) made men swear many oaths. She tucked and rolled, wincing as her own gauntletted wrist and fist crushed into her stomach.

She grabbed the only mushroom left behind and laughed as Mario froze in midair, his tail spinning, a fireball forming between his jaws.

"Look what I found, buddy. Bet you thought I didn't know!"

"Not the poison mushrooms!" he shrieked.

"Aime, now we know how he kept coming back. He had a secret supply of 1-up mushrooms. Extra lives! And he's a thief, we knew he was a thief in the prequel! He's been pillaging places for gold coins! For every hundred, he gets another life. It's why we can't kill him. He gets another replay every time!"

She turned on him, throwing the rarer fungus at him. He tried to incinerate it and missed. When it hit him, his tail disappeared and he fell to the wet ground. The rain had stopped. The world was oddly quiet.

She plucked several more and shouted, "It's time for GAME OVER!"

And so it was that, with the help of her perfect aim, Alli Umfuil, Spymaster of Mordor finally took down Mario-wolf. She pegged him with poison 'shrooms until every superpower disappeared and he lay snivelling before them. She considered calling Hookbill the Goomba to touch him... she knew Mario would die on contact. She decided it wasn't worth the effort. It would require a save and a conversation she was too lazy to have.

"Aime? Would you like the honor? You are the hunter."

And so Mario died.

Alli heard a gentle baa of approval in her non-corporeal ear.

Suddenly Alli and Aime were in a different part of the graveyard. Smilog and Co. stood beside them, and the Blue Wizards were towering ominously.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Who the Morgoth are you?" yelped The Barrow Wight as Alli and Aime stood blinking in the pail green corpse light. Tollin gripped Smilog by the shoulder and pointed to the north where two points of blue light could be seen getting closer.

Smilog swore and took out his axe, "It's those Wizards," he said, "what do they want now? Why doesnt their army attack?" A laugh leaped up from the Wizards as they drew nearer and before long, the towering forms of Alatar and Palando were before them as menacing as fire mountains.

"I'm telling you, rice salad exists and can be a great help!" Alatar was saying, Pallando punched him and stepped forward.

"We do not attack because we do not need to," snickered Palando, "do you see our army, Aime?" Alli and Aime quickly turned to look at the wizards, slightly shocked that they had even noticed them. They had been more interested in why The Barrow Wight was emitting such an odd glow. Palando laughed again, "where is the King of Mordor?"

"He is not here," said Alli, "so why don't you all go somewhere else and bother some other people?"

"Do not cross me!" boomed Alatar, raising his staff, "Canst thou not see I am mightier than thee?" blue clouds swirled around him and Alatar's eyes became like a raging inferno of blue fire. He raised his staff and began chanting strange words. But he stopped. He looked down and saw that a long, golden hilted sword had passed through his stomach.

The Barrow Wight trembled as he removed his blade and watched as Alatar struggled to maintain his balance. "I say," said the Wight, "sorry old chap." The Wizard made a loud cry of anguish before falling down to the ground, face first. Palando knelt beside him and placed his hand on his assistant's head.

Thunder boomed from withing Palando. "You!" he roared, "You are a dead man!"

"Well spotted," said the Wight before Pallando struck him in the chest with the staff. The flailing body of The Barrow Wight flew through the air until it was out of sight. The remaining blue Wizard took his sword in one hand and his staff in the other, raising both hands, thunder and lightning surrounded him. Smilog gripped Alli and Aime by the arms.

"Run!" said the Dwarf. No one dared argue with his logic. The roar of anger from Palando was heard in Gondor. Roggie, wherever he was, sensed a change in the winds. Elrogorn and the others stopped what they were doing for a moment. All the other characters looked towards the sound of the enraged Wizard and the tornado of blue fire that surrounded him.

Palando sent forth a beam of blue light towards Smilog and the others. Fortunately, he missed and succeeded only in unburying some corpses. The Wizard looked down at his fallen comrade and Lo! He was not there. The winds stopped, the magic stopped. Palando turned this way and that looking for Alatar's body but it was no where to be seen. He ran towards a large stone pillar and climbed up it. He saw, in the south, a strange light growing.

Smilog tripped over a tree root and fell upon his face. Tollin picked him up and carried him on his back. Alli and Aime didn't think to ask why Tollin, a minotaur, was helping. Quite frankly, they didn't care. "Look," said Aime, "some stone steps. We can get a better vantage point from up there!" Not bothering to ask what they wanted vantage on, they began to climb.

At the top, they found a shelf with several small pillars dotted around. They came at length to the edge of the shelf and turned around to look out over the grave yard. They could see clearly the army that had gathered in the centre, minuscule in comparison to the massive were army the Wizards had gathered. "Look!" cried Alli, pointing down the steps into the over growth bellow.

Smilog looked and beheld a figure, like an old beggar man, bent over a staff, wearing a long brimmed pointed hat. In other lands they would have greeted him with kind words, but here they stood silent, each feeling a strange expectancy. Something was approaching that held a great power or menace.

No longer able to contain himself, Smilog yelped, "Your bow, Alli, shoot him quick! It's Palando!"

"Hail and well met!" came the voice from the old man, "may I come up that we may talk more easily?" without waiting for an answer, the old man leaped up the steps and before they knew it, he stood before them. An old man, dressed in brown with a long thorny staff. "Well met, I say again, friends." The man stepped up towards Aime and said, "do you not know who I am?"

"Erm..." said Aime, "Radagast the brown?"

"No!" cried the Old man, leaping back and lifting his hat.

"Alatar!" shrieked Smilog,

"Alatar..." mused the Wizard, "Alatar the blue, that was what they used to call me. I am Alatar the brown. I come back to you now, at the... erm... something of the tide." He looked out over the grave yard, "See, Palando! I told you rice salad could help!"

"So..." hummed Alli, "are you going to kill us?"

"Yes." replied Alatar.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The wind stirred about the shelf as Alatar the Brown stood as menacingly as he could before the group of odd individuals. Alli picked up a sword that was lying on the floor as a writer's convenience. Smilog drew his axe and Tollin his Morning star. Alatar raised his staff and laughed.

"Dost thou think that mortal blade canst harm me?" he cried, "thou fool! Thou FOOL! Do you not know death when you see it?" The earth trembled slightly as Alatar approached them. His brown robes began to whirl around as his wizardry began to take shape and his eyes blazed like a fire. Smilog lapped forward and swung his axe, but the Wizard moved his staff slightly and the dwarf was sent back down to the ground with a thud.

Alli held her sword up and said, "Before you kill us," she coughed, "I just need to know one thing. Why are you doing all this? Why Mordor?"

"It is coming!" replied the Wizard, "the battle."

"Yes," said Aime, "we can see that. There is that big army of yours over there."

"No," laughed Alatar, "the battle. The Dagor Dagroth. The end of the age. It is coming. Did you not hear the words of the seer?

'When the grey Wizard sheds his cloak
And the mountain is moved by dwarven folk
When the Black land is left abandoned
then the door of night will be opened.
War is begun by two powerful Mage
And thus will fall, the end of the age!'"

"Yes," coughed Aime, "but those are the words of Mal beer eth, the false seer. The only visions he had were from getting blind drunk."

"His methods were unusual," admitted Alatar, "but you cannot deny that some of it has come true. The wizard has shed his cloak... on many occasions. The dwarves have moved the mountain. War is begun by two powerful mage. Can you not see it is all coming true. The Dagroth is coming. We'd just like to be on the winning side."

"You're a loony," pointed out Smilog, "and your friend agrees does he?"

"Well..." Alatar thought for a moment, "why not? I think he does." The brown Wizard raised both his hands and grinned. " But now," he said, shaking his head, "Here we all end!"

"You first, old chap!" came a familiar voice, as a gold blade passed through Alatar's leg. The Wizard shrieked and fell down to his knees. The Barrow Wight crawled across the shelf to the other side, leaving a trail of blood as he went. Smilog stood up and kicked the Wizard in the face.

Alatar laughed, deeply and horribly. His face beamed brown light and his arms grasped his staff. The Wizard raised himself up and pointed his staff towards The Barrow Wight, saying, "You won't survive this time!" But at that moment, the sound of trumpets resounded around the grave yard. They were not the Wizards war horns. These were Gondorian horns.

The Wizard leaped off the shelf and ran as fast as he could back towards his army. Alli peered out in the direction the horn had come from and there she saw a group of nine riders, all dressed in purple with hoods over their faces. Their horses were jet purple with what she swore were yellow spots.

"What are they?" asked Smilog

"The farsegul," replied Alli,

"Gosh," said The Barrow Wight.

[littlemanpoet]

Elempí had ducked behind a rock. Lûgnût was huddled beneath Elempí.

"What're you doing there, Lug?"

"It's safe by you, oh Grand Anakronist."

"But I'm not-"

A forlorn yet angry howl cut Elempí off in mid-denial.

Panakeia looked at them both, hands on hips and shaking her head. "Some warriors you two make."

"I'm not a warrior, I'm a lover."

"Shut up, Lûgnût," said Elempí, "and don't mimic my voice."

"What should we do?" Lûgnût whined.

"Stay out of the way of werewolves, sword wielding madmen, angry balrogs, and all-knowing omnipotent types. Not to mention armies."

"And watch out for Alatar the Brown and his purple riders," Panakeia said, pointing.

"But what should we dooooooo?" Lûgnût pleaded with irritating vehemence.

"Oh go snarl at somebody!" Elempí yelled dismissively.

Lûgnût pouted.

"Oh knock it off, Luggy, you're hopeless when it comes to battle and so am I. I belong in an ivory tower in Umbar. Or at least a jet black one, so long as it has books and scrolls and students that think my every word is golden gossamer lore. And you," he said to Panakeia, "quit standing there like you're disappointed that I'm not some kind of hero and come here out of the line of fire!" Elempí grasped her hand and pulled her beneath the rock. At least now the ugly Luggy cowering beneath him was offset by the winsome Panakeia beside him. He smiled.

[Celuien]

There were many unpleasant places in Middle-earth: the Dead Marshes, Barad-Dur before its fall (or so Panakeia had been told), a little tavern in anakronistic Mordor where men with unruly beards and strange devices drawn upon their arms wore black leather jackets and spoke of something called a Harr-Lee.

Panakeia would have preferred any of them to her present location. She had been standing in the midst of the battle, irritated by the absurdity of her companions. To start, Alli and company (Panakeia had not seen who was with the head spy) had slipped out a back door before she even had a chance to say hello. In Ego Toyota was continually shouting his name and announcing his fencing strategies to his opponents, giving them time to create a defense against his attack. The Blue Istari had mysteriously eschewed their usual colors for drab brown. And worst of all, Elempí was hiding under a rock with Lûgnût. Undoubtedly, under a rock was the safest place to be in all the mêlée, but oh! Wouldn't Anakron have been at the head of the battle putting these purple riders and whatever else turned up in their places, all the while with his black robes fluttering magnificently in the breeze?

A volley of flaming Crêpes Suzette flew at Panakeia's head, and Elempí snatched her hand to pull her behind the rock. There was an odd smile on his face.

Panakeia sighed. This was all still terribly confusing. Anakron. Elempí. They were one, and yet so different. Anakron had, of course, been her One True Love. But he was gone forever, replaced by his grinning alter-ego.

The battle grew. Arrows began to land around the stone and an ominous brown light flashed all around.

She had to tell him. Now. Before it was too late.

"Elempí...I...I..." Words failed her.

"What's the matter?"

"I...You asked me before if I was glad to see you." She looked down at the ground. "The answer is...Oh, Elempí! How could I be anything but glad to see you? It was you I loved all the time - you were the part of Anakron I always struggled to bring out. I don't know if we'll ever make it out of here, but I wanted you to know that. I love you."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The purple riders were at the head of the great army, Pallando the Blue and Alatar the brown were stood somewhere in the midst of things, grinning like mad-men. A horn sounded, then another, and another until the whole land was filled with the ringing noise. The army began to move; rank upon rank, battalion upon battalion, an endless sea of foes. Drums boomed and fell voices cried out. Banners were unfurled and swords were drawn. The Were creatures howled.

The Dwarf and his little band of odd folk stood atop the central hill in the graveyard. The leader of the Mordorian army that were alone here to defend them shivered in his armour. Alli gulped deeply and Aime took hold of a sword. Tollin finished putting The Barrow Wight back together and then drew his Morning Star.

"So," he sighed, "here at last is the end." Tollin breathed deep and looked out over the grave yard.

This was the fashion of the graveyard before the beginning of the battle: it was about a half mile in diameter, circular (almost) and containing many tombs. Grave stones were dotted all about the hillside and atop the great hill was a flattened slab, under which was buried some significant person who probably appeared in ATM 1. There were four gates; North, South, East and West. A fence of iron surrounded the place and spikes of steel had been forced into them.

The army of the Istari was surrounding the Graveyard; the noise of their trampling shook the bones of all who heard it. One of the Farsegul stood at each of the entrances, their purple robes looking like they had been preserved for years just for this moment. But so vast was that force that it was unlikely that they would be finished soon.

All of a sudden, there was a commotion below the hill. Smilog looked down and saw a strange figure forcing his way through the army of Mordor. It was a man who looked battle worn and swamp ridden. He fell at the feet of the Dwarf and panted like a dog who has swum the Anduin lengthwise... against the current.

"Andvari!" cried Smilog, "I thought you were dead."

"Nay, not so," he replied, raising to his knees, "but come, I have found the final clue. The greatest Gold hoard is in our grasp! Come away from this place and have gold a plenty!" The man's eyes seemed to be full of tears and desperation. He panted more and laid a hand on Smilog's shoulder, "We can escape through the tunnels and come to the hoard in a day or two. Shall we leave now?"

The Barrow Wight pointed out over the graveyard and said, "Sorry, Old bean, but can't you see we're a bit busy?"

"And can't you see that I am trying to save your friend from death?" Andvari shook his fists. But then, as if catching himself, he turned back to Smilog and smiled hopefully. "The gold is beyond count, sir."

Smilog stroked his beard and then turned his gaze all about. He looked at the forces of Mordor, gathered against all hope to fight to the death. Tollin, who, until recently, had spent his life in a labyrinth, now ready to die for the same lord who made him live there. The Barrow Wight who... Actually, he wasn't sure why he was here, but it was probably for some knobel and interesting cause.

"I'm sorry," said Smilog, "I have a thing to do here. It may be that I shall die here, this day. But this doom I take. Keep your gold, I do not want it." The eyes of Andvari widened in horror. He turned his head right and left, whimpering.

"You must come!" he cried, "they'll kill me it you-" he stopped and looked away, biting his lip.

"Who?" asked Alli, "who will kill you?"

Andavri made no answer, but stared at the ground. Eventually, he looked up and laughed a deep and haunting laugh. "My masters ordered it!" he cried, "Allatar told me, 'Take the Dwarf far away! He will get in our way. Tempt him with visions of gold and take him away and kill him.' So it was that I have followed you since the beginning. Oh, yes! But if you will not come away..." he sprang forward and landed upon Smilog. There was a yelp of pain and then Tollin tore the man away from the Dwarf. In his hand, Andvari held a knife, now stained with blood.

Smilog cried out in pain and Aime picked him up. The man laughed as the Mordorians pointed their spears at him. "Fools!" cried Andvari, "Fools! You cannot see it can you? Now there is no hope. The Dwarven army will not come for one of their kin shall not be in the battle."

"Yes they shall," cried the leader of the Mordorians, "We saw them mustering not one night ago. They will march with war against the Were creatures. They will be here before dawn."

Andvari twitched in Tollin's grasp. His plans were failing. But then, it seemed, that he laughed, or a voice from within him laughed. He raised his face and they saw that it was white and that his eyes were gone. Then, slowly, he began to chant:

The Great Hound Barked and the world turned white,
The Great Hound Sighed and the forest died,
The Wizard Blew His Horn. The Wizard Blew His Horn.
The snow snake hissed and the world turned round,
The snow snake grinned in his fine cold sin,
When The Wizard Blew His Horn. The Wizard Blew His Horn.
The horse wept blood and the earth did groan,
The tall horse reared from a lake of tears,
To seek a Champion. To seek a Champion.
The world was bleak and the Earth did fear,
The Wizard's Horn, the magic Horn.
So it screamed for a champion! It screamed for a champion!
The eagle laughed and the world grew black,
It stretched giant claws and it snatched the Law!
And the Champion stirred in his sleep! The Champion stirred in his sleep!

Andvari laughed and it seemed that a shadow grew about him.

"Look!" cried Alli, pointing to the North Gate. There stood Pallando with a great horn in his hand. He placed it to his lips and blew. The sound was like a thousand war drums and a thousand screams of terror. Andavri seemed to grow in stature, his face becoming like a hound. He was a Were wolf!

Thus began the Great Battle of the Grave Yard, of which many songs are sung. Few, correctly.
Will our heroes survive until dawn?