The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Estelyn Telcontar]

“What do you mean, they’re gone?!” Sauerkraut’s voice could be heard throughout the whole tower complex.

“Gone: departed, exited, gotten away, left, moved, pulled out, pushed off, quit, taken off, withdrawn,” Snâpp volunteered helpfully. He learned the hard way what the Dork’s handbook How to Win Enemies and Influence Dark Lords teaches in Chapter 2: Being helpful is not appreciated by sinister rulers. Unfortunately, by the time his head had grasped that fact, it had already been severed from his body.

“But how did they pass the Tower without being noticed? One does not simply walk past Dorktank – there are eléktrônik surveillance cameras that never sleep,” the Whiz-hard shouted.

“Well, those have been offline since we lost the connection in Soreham,” Kräkkel stated.

He too learned a lesson the hard way: Dark Lords do not care about facts.

“You mean that still hasn’t been fixed?? What have you all been doing all this time? For what do I pay you exorbitant salaries?!” the Boss roared.

“Umm, you don’t,” Póp piped up quite truthfully.

Lesson 1, Chapter 1: Honesty does not pay. Had he only read it while his eyes and hands were still able to coordinate!

“What have my spies found out?” bellowed Sauerkraut.

Tônithétigr reached out to give him a slip of paper, withdrawing his hand quickly just to be sure. “They found this parking receipt on the GAP parking lot,” he said.

“But it’s DAYS old – they must be far from here by now!” his emp-loyer protested.

There was no answer – those persons whose heads were still attached to their bodies had chosen to prolong that state by removing themselves from his immediate presence.

“I want them followed immediately!” exclaimed the Dark Lord of Dorktank.

“Ummm, before or after we get the surveillance cameras back online?” asked an anonymous Dork, who couldn’t have answered had someone asked him his name afterwards…

[Diamond18]

Lord Etceteron itched his nose and crossed his eyes manfully, then let loose a manful sneeze into his hand. His sinuses thus relieved, he absently wiped his hand upon his sable mantle, and contemplated the ambiguous creature before him. The other members of the LetsGetOuttaThisPlaceShip began to laugh at the absurdity of Leninia’s request, and Merisu sighed delightfully as she wiped tears from her cheeks. Pimpi doubled over, holding her midsection as if she had eaten some bad mushrooms, and guffawed daintily.

Leninia muttered an invective under her breath, but allowed her lower lip to tremble mightily as she clasped her hands to her bosom and looked like the picture of Hurt Feelings.

Earnur coughed. “Nay,” he intoned, “do not laugh at the repentance of the… repentant. Quite. Mayhap her heart has been defrosted by our….”

“Hotness,” Leninia breathed.

“Er… yes.”

“But she deserves to die!” Pimpi exclaimed.

“Deserves death?” Earnur arched a brow at her, with a wise twinkle in his eye. “I daresay. Many that deserve death, live, and many that deserve life, die, and then again, many that deserve death, die, and many that deserve life, lie. So. Can you give it to them, Pimpiowyn Took?”

“What?”

Earnur waved a hand, arched both brows, and began to pontificate on various matters pertaining to life, death, and the meaning of “defenestration”. Leninia, Soregum, and the Dazedship listened in a trance for about five minutes, then Kuruharan interrupted:

“I do believe I’d rather listen to Vogonwë recite poetry.”

“Really?” said Vogonwë (who had been finding the lecture quite informative and engrossing).

“I—“ began Kuruharan, but did not finish his sentence, for Orogarn Two and the Gateskeeper fell upon him with their fists till he was silent and could not give Vogonwë any more bad ideas. Chrysophylax yawned and picked a thighbone from his teeth as he watched his master fall, undefended.

“I say,” Earnur stared blankly at Kuruharan’s insensate body, as Orogarn Two rolled his sleeves back down and the Gateskeeper smoothed his robes. Grrralph would have rolled his eyes, had he eyes to speak of.

“Er,” Lenina said. “Darlings… have we forgotten someone?”

“Oh, right,” Earnur remembered the small, helpless, kneeling figure. “I say, old girl, you’re alright in my book. Come along if you like.” He smiled balmily, and his sword muttered, She’ll be trouble, that one.

“No!” Pimpi exclaimed. “Have you forgotten? She dumped us in a dark, dank, dreary dungeon for days, and threatened to steal our souls!”

“Hiss,” said Leninia airily, smirking.

Earnur looked confused. “Well, I….”

“Ahem!” Merisu said, “have you forgotten why we are on this Quest?”

“Free passage through Muddled-Mirth?” Vogonwë gandered.

“No!” replied Merisu with a hint of impatience. “The Bow!”

“My old hairbow?”

“No, the Entish Bow, haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Well….”

“What I mean,” Merisu smiled sweetly, if a little stiffly, “is that since our reason for questing lies in the Entish Bow, obviously the leadership of the Entourageship should be the one who carries the Bow, namely, me.”

“Your point?” prompted Orogarn Two impatiently.

“Point being, that I believe that I should be consulted on matters of member turnover, that is, who shall stay and who shall go, and who shall join. Stuff like that.”

Leninia rolled her eyes, and shuffled over to Merisu on her knees. “Pretty please with brown sugar and pink frosting on it?” she pleaded.

“Brown and pink,” Pimpi said. “Ug. If you’re going to put pink frosting on something, you should powder it with powdered sugar. And if you like brown sugar, then, well, you use sour cream, not frosting.”

“Hush, I’m thinking,” Merisu said, with the barest, briefest, tiniest hint of exasperation.

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Pimpi brightened. She pulled her dagger, the bejeweled Hush, from its scabbard. “We could carve out her heart with this.”

“Pimpi!” Vogonwë and Merisu exclaimed in unified horror.

“Nobody likes me!” Leninia bewailed prettily.

“Um, I like you…” Earnur essayed from his corner, before blushing and falling silent. He sneezed self-consciously.

Everyone began talking at once, raising their voices in a corpus cacophonous of argument, pontification, and recitation. Merisu finally whistled shrilly, and the Bickership fell silent. “Come now, children, be calm!” she exclaimed.

Kuruharan lifted his bruised head from the ground and slurred, “Don’ worry, be happy….”

“Now,” Merisu huffed. “I think….” She glanced at Leninia, then to Pimpi.

“We could put her head on a platter,” Pimpi suggested. “With her heart in her mouth… like an apple! Kind of like a wild boar!”

Vogonwë picked his jaw up off the floor and spent a moment or two trying to figure out how to reattach it to his skull.

“Pimpi, that’s… why that’s… so unlike you!” Merisu stammered. “Proper, well bred shieldmaidens do not… do not….”

“It’s the aftereffects of the tea,” Leninia sighed. “First, it makes one wimpy, then as it wears off it makes one amorous, and finally the DT’s make one bloodthirsty.”

“Am I ‘one’?” Pimpi asked suspiciously.

Leninia nodded with another sigh. “One of them.” Then she cheered. “But Merisu, the confident, capable, level-headed one, is in charge,” she turned her small, deceivingly sweet face to the Lovely Elf. “What say you?”

“I say,” Merisu began, then wavered. On the one slender hand, putting Leninia’s head on a platter seemed in very bad taste – but on the other well manicured hand, so did sucking the souls of her and her comrades in cluelessness. She was plunged into a quandary. Her generous heart urged her to forgive and forget, but the good sense in her pretty little head told her otherwise. We could always defenestrate her…. she mused.

The tension was so thick, it could be cut with a knife, topped with whipped cream and strawberries, and served as pound cake.

“I have decided,” Merisu said at length, “that… Leninia’s… fate… shall… be…..”

Vogonwë squealed low under his breath, unable to take the suspense. Pimpi elbowed him.

“…Decided by our newest honorary member and the Judge of this competition, Soregum,” Merisu finished, pleased with the way she dealt with the sticky problem. Deferral is a skill taught to Elves in their earliest youth.

Pimpi turned a hopeful face and pretty blue eyes (albeit suspiciously dilated ones) upon Soregum and smiled, holding Hush at the ready. Leninia shuffled over to him on her knees, but found that even then she was at eye level with him, and cursed the fate that made her unable to assume a properly beseeching posture.

“Well… I, um, well…” Soregum said, worrisomely. He tried to think of someone he could defer the situation to, but came up blank. The matter, it seemed, was intent on resting itself squarely on his slightly pudgy shoulders.

[Thenamir]

Ragged grey clouds scudded across the midnight, occasionally obscuring the watery moon that shone its death-pale luminescence over executive parking lot "B" of the Headquarters of the International Brotherhood of Magicians near the center of the Token-Ring of Networkgaard, and the needle-thin office-tower of Dorktank. Exec-B was empty at this hour, the head Uruks and Korprat-Loyers among the privileged few allowed to use it now off in their comfortable suburban bungalows and condominums, dreaming of hostile takeovers.

Yet on one edge of the lot, where the loading dock joined the back entrance, there stirred a lone figure dressed all in white. The figure grumbled to himself as he worked loading a few items into an equally white cart.

"...want something done right...mustard, relish...got to do it yourself...onions, poppy-seed rolls...drat that foolish wight...kosher dills, kielbasa..."

Finally all was loaded. The lone figure turned and whistled, and two H.O.U.S.es (Hyenas of Unusual Size) very poorly disguised as trap-ponies came forth, grumbling in much the same way as their master as they were harnessed to the cart. When all was finally in readiness the figure whipped a white paper hat out of the cart's dashboard, shook it out, cocked it at a dashing angle on his aging head, and took the driver's seat. With another whistle the cart rolled off the loading dock and into the moonlight, revealing the runes deeply graven into the sides of the cart...HOT DOGS...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Soregum felt like a thin piece of metal between two strong magnets; on one side, Pimpiowyn’s big, beautiful blue eyes tugged at his heart-strings (he didn’t even dare to look down at those enticingly downy feet), on the other side, Leninia’s dark, deep eyes invited him to lose his will in hers. Ere he could decide which side would win before he was torn apart, a strangely wooden voice spoke.

“This is not your Quest, Merisuwyniel!” The tone, while polite, was definitely reproachful. All heads turned toward their intrepid leader, and those who had not previously heard the Bow speak wondered if she had ventriloquistic abilities, since the voice seemed to come from her shapely back. However, since it is polite to look at the speaker, she turned to remove the Bow from its position (no, not even the most lithe, supple Elf can turn her head to see her back) and hold it before her.

Finally someone who is willing to speak up and take responsibility for this crazy decision!, Merisu thought with a tiny sigh of relief. “Of course,” she spoke deferentially, “It is your mission that we strive to fulfil. What is it that you wish to be done with her?”

“I have not much hope that Leninia can be cured, even if she goes to the West with us, but there is a chance of it. And she is bound up with the fate of the Ent-That-Was-Sundered. My heart tells me that she has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the indecisiveness of the Fellow-Galship may rule the fate of many – mine not least. Besides, it is obvious that the Guitar is reluctant to leave her. It is hardly possible to separate her from it, even when it is summoned to a secret reunification and she is not.” The Entish Bow wished that it had a throat to clear, since such a long speech dried out whatever speaking mechanism it possessed.

“Well, then, everyone pack up and come along!” Merisu admonished. “The sooner we start, the sooner we get there, if you take my meaning - at least if we do not stray to the Inn in Beer. We can take a shortcut to the Mire.”

“Short cuts make long delays,” Pimpi spoke up.

“But inns make longer ones,” protested Earnur longingly.

And so it came that, by some mysterious mechanism of male orientation and despite the leadership of a female teetotaller Elf, they found themselves standing before the gate of the village of Beer sooner that the reader would have imagined possible.

[Mithadan]

It is said that in the Village of Beer, all roads lead to the Inn. This is, of course, because there is only one road in Beer and it leads unerringly to the front door of the Muddled Mirth-renowned house of quaffing and less savory activities known as the Nancing Bow-ny Inn. Indeed, over its well-used portal is a banner on which is portrayed an Elf with long blonde hair and a bow, who, due to his fine coiffure and painted and manicured nails, could only be described as engaging in the activity of nancing.

The Zagat's guide to northeast Muddled Mirth and places nearby, describes the Nancing Bow-ny as an establishment of awesome gastronomical and epicurean delight, with fabulous decor designed by the dwarves of Hazard-Boom and service that is more than solicitous. Among its specialties are the Lembas-rubbed trout, the leg of lamb slow-cooked in Dwarvish herbs and the almost legendary dessert squirrel. However, what the guide fails to mention is that the Nancing Bow-ny, being located in a... to be polite about matters... low-income neighborhood, serves these savory dishes only in a small penthouse for which reservations are required two years in advance. Thus, the casual traveller and the local rabble are relegated to a pub known as Downstairs at the Nance, where the cuisine, service and atmosphere are more...austere.

As the Itship approached the Inn, its door swung open and three very thoroughly soused Hobbits staggered out. One held a greasy turkey leg (a specialty of Downstairs at the Nance) and another a basket of what appeared to be mostly peanut shells which he was rummaging through in an unsuccessful attempt to locate an uncracked nut. The third held a broken mug which he dropped on the doorstep before he himself dropped into a puddle of mud which lay beside the entryway.

"I thought you researched this place," hissed Pimpi to Vogonwë. The earstwhile Elf waved a copy of the Zagat's guide about while his jaw flapped without emitting a sound.

While the feminine segment of the Itship hesitated, exchanging dubious looks and sniffing doubtfully at the aroma wafting from the door, Earnur decided that the time had come to take a positive outlook on matters (and get his saddle-sore rump off his horse). "Looks swell!" he cried. "Let's go in!"

There being no immediate objection (there being no other viable option) the Itship turned its assortment of steeds and wagon (Leninia had graciously replaced the original cart which had been destroyed in the fall into her dungeon) over to the stablehands and trooped in.

"Quaint," sniffed Kuruharan as he took stock of the straw covered-dirt floor, the rough-hewn wooden furniture and the stuffed elk head (complete with hat hanging on its antlers) which adorned the wall behind the bar. "At least they have beer," he added. The common room was half-empty (or half full) with a motley assortment of Hobbits, Dwarves, seedy-looking Rangers and a couple of down-on-their-luck Elves, none of whom gave the Gallowship a second glance as they entered. They secured a table and sat as a waitress wordlessly tossed a pile of menus upon its surface. She quickly took their drink orders, then after beverages were delivered, disappeared for twenty minutes before returning to inquire whether they wanted "eats" or were they just going to "get bombed"?


"Quaint," repeated Kuruharan, though he did not turn down several helpings of 'taters, stew and several roasted birds loosely described as "chicken".

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisuwyniel tapped one graceful, in a moderately high-heeled boot (feminine, yet practical) clad foot impatiently. (Yes, dear reader, impatience is one of those pardonable faults, more a quirk of personality, that are allowable in shieldmaidens, indeed, that make them all the more endearing, since they are not completely perfect.) Here she stood, at the gate of the village of Beer, which the male majority of the Fellow/Galship had entered, and now this! None of them, whether manly hero, romantic poet, or mythical creature, had thought to hold the door open for her.

She might be emancipated, being a shieldmaiden and the leader of this motley group of questers, but certainly her beauty and grace entitled her to having doors opened for her by gentlemen?! While she waited, her gaze roamed the notices nailed to the gate.

Hobbit rooms re-opening soon
All new beds and bolsters
Secure locks at the doors
Enjoy both comfort and security at the Nancing Bow-ny!

FOR SALE
Sturdy, healthy pony in prime condition
Reasonable price
Contact Bill Fur-Knee

Most of the notices were weather-worn and tattered, but one large, new sheet attracted her attention; it was an invitation to a birthday party in the Shire.

That sounds more interesting than a musty, smoke-filled inn room, she thought. I wonder if ´Shire´is another name for the ´Mire´, where we plan to go next? She decided that the similarity was more than coincidental, definitely close enough for her. Falafel turned her noble head to her mistress, having seen and read the notice as well. In a whispered whinny, she said, "That may be a long journey for a hobbit, but it´s only a quick gallop for a horse."

How unfortunate that Vogonwë was not nearby to overhear her comment - he might have made an immortal quote of it.

Merisu rose in her stirrups and said, "Let´s head for the Mire! If anyone notices that we´re gone, they can follow, and we´ll see who has more fun! I´ll come back to pick up the rest when the Party´s over."

Soon the sound of her horse´s hooves had passed - into the West.

[Mithadan]

Meanwhile, back at the Nance...

Grrralph sat unhappily at the Itship's table, watching Kuruharan, Earnur, Orogarn (Two). the Gateskeeper, Pimpi, Vogonwë, Soregum and Leninia polish off a prodigious quantity of food and drink. The stew and the chickens had been followed by 'taters and mushrooms, grilled duck, leg o' lamb and mixed vegetables. The beer had been followed by more beer (and wine) which was followed by an assortment of libations. Grrralph, however, neither ate nor drank anything, even though he seemed to recall that he had been very fond of duck before he had become a wraith.

During the meal, he had attempted to engage first Pimpiowyn, then Orogarn in conversation. He felt a deep need to voice his reluctance to take ship into the West. He simply felt that, as a wraith, he did not belong in Valleyum. Also, he seemed to recall that he had been rejected by the Velour once before. Further, he really didn't like boats. While he had used them upon occasion to cross rivers, he did not like the effect that rocking and waves had upon him. However, Pimpi had merely said, "Poor Grrralph, everything will be all right." And Orogarn had suggested he consider retiring to a quiet country home as far away as possible. Only Earnur, who despite his teetotaling ways was nonetheless quite in his cups, had been pleasant. He had passed Grrralph a bottle labelled "Old Rotgut" saying that there was nothing like some "home brewed fire" to cure seasickness. Grrralph politely pocketed the bottle, hoping it would not leak on his cloak.

As a result, Grrralph resolved to go to his room and rest early. However, the innkeeper pointed to a sign which read "No wraiths, Black Riders or other dark and shady types allowed in the rooms". So he once again went wandering. Just west of Beer was a hill, known as Fizzlepop. On its summit, he found a natural hotspring which reeked of sulphur. From a nearby fissure, a stream of hot gases was venting. He settled there, over the vent, pleased to have a chance to dry clean his outfit...