The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[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...

[The Saucepan Man]

When the party had left the Marrow Bones Studios, Soregum had been delighted to find Twinkle nibbling nonchalantly (and daintily, of course) on a few blades of grass outside. He had also been surprised to find that his delight stemmed not just from his reunion with the pipeweed-stuffed saddlebags which she bore, but that he was also actually quite pleased to see her. Twinkle, for her part, had been delighted at the presence of a cart within which the aforementioned saddlebags could be stowed, and also at the prospect of some equine company at last, and a cut above those dark dreary Moredough stallions at that, not to mention an adorably angst-ridden Dragon. Despite being the cutest little dark steed in Muddled-Mirth (or perhaps because of it), she was most certainly not above a little bit of flirtation. And suitably stabled at the Nancing Bow-ny Inn, she took the opportunity to get to know her new companions a little better.

Soregum, meanwhile, was in his element Downstairs at the Nance. A veteran of Uruk mess halls (a most fitting term), he felt quite at home in the quintessential atmosphere of squalor and dilapidation that characterised the place, and amongst its (variously) scabrous, seedy, boisterous, dishevelled and brawling clientele. In no time, he was sinking his decaying teeth into enormous helpings of the (alternately) undercooked and overcooked meat and vegetables, quaffing pint after pint of ale and (between mouthfuls) puffing away on his pipe.

Much to Vogonwë’s consternation, Soregum’s increasingly bleary eyes rarely left Pimpi (which unfortunately served only to further diminish his already shocking table-manners), although she was far too engrossed in the food-fest herself to notice. Eventually Vogonwë could take no more and he nudged her pointedly in the ribs (her own that is, rather than those that she was at that moment picking clean).

“Would you care to take the air, my darling Pimpi?” he said, forgetting to emphasise the “my” in his delight at having unexpectedly rhymed his hastily formulated question.

“Don’t be silly, Vogie, my sweet,” she replied. “We haven’t had dessert yet. And then there’s second dessert to consider. And perhaps we might then start again back at the top of the menu.”

Orogarn Two glanced up in alarm and reached for the menu while simultaneously selecting the calculator function on his Parma Palantir.

“Well, I didn’t have a starter, or wine, and I shared my rabbit stew with …” he began.

“Darling, let’s not split hares,” interrupted Leninia.

“I have a feeling that it will be on the house,” muttered Kuruharan darkly.

“You’re my besshtesht pal, you are,” added Earnur, wrapping his arms around a startled Gateskeeper with not the vaguest idea who he was addressing.

As the discombobulated Wizard pushed him away, the Lord of Dun-Sobrin unexpectedly jumped up onto the table (with surprising agility) and began to sing a traditional anthem from his Hero Academy days.

I've been a brave warrior for many a year,
Mighty and honest and knowing no fear.
Despatching my enemies in blood, guts and gore,
Each foe I will slay – that’s what warriors are for.

And it's hack, slash, sever,
Hack, slash, sever once more,
I will slay like a warrior,
Forever and more.

In causes most noble I’ve offered my sword,
As chances for glory just can’t be ignored.
To win great renown is a worthy pursuit,
So when slaughter’s involved I’m a willing recruit.

And it's hack, slash, sever,
Hack, slash, sever once more,
I will play the brave warrior,
Forever and more.

When brigands and bandits come raiding for gold,
The edge of my sword they will find sharp and cold.
And when Ladies from Dragons need liberating,
I’m first in the queue – it’s a warrior thing.

And it's hack, slash, sever,
Hack, slash, sever once more,
I’m not fey, I’m a warrior,
Forever and more.

So Trolls, Orcs and Goblins, yes let’ em all come,
In fifties and hundreds, I’ll fight every one.
I’ll shout “Day will come!” as I chop off their limbs,
And toast their remains with a measure of Pimms.

And it's hack, slash, sever,
Hack, slash, sever once more,
I will stay a brave warrior,
Forever and more.

There was a smattering of half-hearted applause as Earnur leapt into the air with a flourish. Much too vigorously, for he missed the table entirely on his way down and instead landed with a crash and a clatter and much cursing on a passing waitress bearing a tray full of mugs. The assembled guests all opened their mouths wide for laughter and stopped short in gaping silence, for the singer had disappeared. Everyone stared in amazement as the Gallowship exchanged mystified glances.

“Where’s ‘e gone?” shouted a squint-eyed fellow (who may or may not have hailed from the south).

“It’s not natural!” squeaked one of the local Hobbits in alarm.

“There’s some mistake somewhere,” exclaimed the landlord, an enormous ruddy-cheeked balloon of a man by the name of Lardiman Butterball. “There was too much manfulness about that Lord Etceteron to go vanishing into thin air.”

“It’s okay. He’s under here,” piped up Kuruharan, who had located Earnur under a nearby table where he had rolled and promptly fallen asleep.

Soon relative calm descended once again on the common room and the Gallowship returned to quibbling over the bill. After a short while, Lardiman Butterball approached their table, breathing heavily and perspiring profusely. Leninia wrinkled her nose in disdain.

“Beggin’ your pardon, good sirs … er … and madams,” he wheezed. “Excuse me interruptin’ you and all, but wasn’t there a Hobbit gentleman with you earlier? A fellow with a rather interestin’ dental arrangement, if you take my meaning?”

The Gallowship stared at each other blankly.

“Oh, you must mean Soregum,” remarked Pimpi at length. Vogonwë bristled in irritation that she should be the one to identify the subject of the landlord’s enquiry.

“It’s just that Dobby, the House Hobbit that is, noticed a fellow matchin’ that description lyin’ in the street outside,” continued Mr Butterball. “With a rather sinister figure, black cloak an’ all, stoopin’ over him.”

No one moved.

“Aren’t you goin’ … um … don’t you want to make sure that nothin’ queer’s happened to him, like?” ventured the innkeeper.

Still no movement.

“Well, I suppose we ought to check that he’s alright,” said Pimpi finally, as Vogonwë glowered silently.

With not the least hint of urgency, the group slowly made their way out to the front of the inn, Pimpi dragging a protesting Vogonwë and Orogarn Two dragging a snoring Earnur. When they reached Soregum’s prone body, the black figure was still crouched over it.

“He’s completely hammered,” Grrralph said, turning to them and standing up.

[Thenamir]

With the exception of Vogonwë the rest of the Food-N-Drinkship roundly rejected Gateskeeper's suggestion that they leave Soregum (and Earnur for that matter) in the busy lane where he lay until morning, so Gatesy grumblingly helped the others lug the insensate hobbit and the comatose Warden of the Oddly-Shaped Disputed Bit back into the Nancing Bow-ny and up to their second-floor rooms. Since the drunken Soregum would probably be sleeping off his cups for at least 12 hours, Gateskeeper volunteered to share the room with Soregum and "take care" of him through the night. Unlike his former proposal, this suggestion was quickly accepted by the group -- the women gaining yet another measure of esteem for Gateskeeper for appearing to be a caring soul, and the men glad to not have to sleep with the customary clothespin over their noses to block the black breath of the inebriated shorty. Gateskeeper valued only the fact that his movements and conversations later on would be noticed by no one. And that he'd save half on the room.

Once the soused had been put to bed, the remainder of the lets-make-the-best-of-it-ship returned to their table refreshed and in a much better mood, having settled their meal-tab arguments by relieving Earnur's pockets of the costs of the evening's repast. After an hour of stories and songs (during which Orogarn Two reprised his Marrow-Bones performance for the locals) the exhausted travelers walked, slogged, and crawled away to their rooms for the night, grateful for a chance to rest. Except for Gateskeeper who just waited for everything to grow still from his berth next to Soregum. And while he passed the time he began thinking, never a safe thing to do for an evil character battling with his good side.

"We must have the Entish Bow! Victory over the Pea Sea depends on it!"
"But if we steal the Bow, we lose all our friends in the whatever-ship!"
"You don't *have* any friends! No one likes *you*..."
"No one?"
"Well, maybe Mogul..."
"Really??"
"No, I'm lying to you. Mogul would skin a flea for it's hide and tallow."
"I'm not listening! I'm not listening!"
"You're a liar, and a thief!"
"Everyone has his idiosyncracies..."
"Murrrderrrerrr..."
"Why are you talking like that?"
"Like what"
"Come on, you sound like you've lost your voice whispering like that."
"It's part of the U.E.C. requirements."
"U.E.C.?"
"Union of Evil Consciences, local 1626, charter member, have you forgotten?"
"Oh, that."
"Anyway, there's one thing you know you can't escape."
"SPAM o-mails? I invented them, you know..."
"NO, you goody-goody twit! The Mark of Mogul, the Clozd-dheal!"
"Oops I see we've gone over-time, we have to wrap up this scene. Leave now, and never come back."
"GRRR!! Stop changing the subject!"
"Leave! Now! And never...come...back!"
"OK, OK, I'm going already."
"Really?"
"No, I lied again. But I'll be quiet for a bit, as long as I'm still in charge."
"That'll do for now."

Fortuitously for Gateskeeper, the sounds of preparation-for-sleep (and a small argument between Vogie and Pimpi) had died away, and it was time for Gateskeeper to slip out into the night. Once he was comfortably out of earshot of the Nance, he fired up his cell-antir, as he was long overdue for a report to Mogul. He was just about to hit the send button when he tripped over a slightly-less-dark form in the surrounding blackness.

"Hi, now guv'nor," said the small, sleepy whatever-it-was, "make way for a poor 'alfling amputee.." Gateskeeper, stepping back, saw a hobbit, apparantly on crutches. "Who are you, and why are you out on the streets so late?" Gateskeeper demanded, brushing the detritus of the street off himself and hiding his cell-antir from curious eyes. He noted that the hobbit seemed much shorter than the average hobbit, and indeed had had both legs cut off at the knees , which now grew fur as if they were hobbit feet.

"Bill Fur-Knee, at yer service. I was just comin back 'ome after a a midnight snack. There's quite the 'ot dog vender at the edge of town, most popular thing since Lardiman's lamb stews."

Gateskeeper was instantly alert at the mention of "'ot dogs" "This vendor, was he dressed all in white?"

"Aye, that 'ee was, and 'ee 'ad two of the worst lookin' trap ponies i'd ever seen. I got one 'ee could 'ave 'ad for a reasonable price, but 'ee wouldn't 'ave nothin ter do with it. 'Ee was just lookin' fer a talkin' bow and a group o' low-lifes, if yer take me meanin', guv'nor...hi! where ye goin' so quick?"

But Gateskeeper had heard enough and was fleeing back to the Nance as quickly as his skinny legs and flowing robe would carry him. Whichever side of his personality won the battle, he had to keep that Bow (and all the other Entish parts for that matter) out of the hands of Sauerkraut at all costs...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

A slight smile played around the corners of Merisuwyniel’s rosy lips as she rode through the village of Beer toward the Inn. She had enjoyed the party in the Mire – or was it ‘Shire’? – and been reassured by the eclectic mixture of guests that her motley crew would certainly find a welcome amongst that hospitable folk. Now she was anxious to get back to the Slow-Ship-to-China, hoping that the others had not missed her too much or found it difficult to manage without her expert leadership.

Her worst fears seemed justified as she entered the rooms where her companions had slept. The windows had been opened and were swinging, and the curtains were flapping; the beds were tossed about, and the bolsters slashed and flung upon the floor; and the ‘welcome’ mat was torn to pieces.

“AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!” she cried, blowing on her harmonica for lack of a horn. Then, as it occurred to her that she had seen scenes like this before without enemy intervention, she called out, “Chrysophylax?” Still no answer. “Well, I’m back,” she stated to no one in particular.

“Oh, it’s you,” Leninia said, looking around the corner. “Were you gone?”

“What’s going on here?” Merisu asked in consternation.

“We have, uh, decided to carry on our journey with no further delay,” Gateskeeper informed her, coming around another corner with his hands full of baggage. He hurried off to the stall before she could ask any more questions.

“Did someone attack?” she queried.

“No,” Vogonwë said, carrying a big bag that sent out enticing smells of food. “Pimpi was trying to find the package of cookies she’d stashed in the room for emergencies, and didn’t remember where she’d put them.”

Orogarn Two and Kuruharan came from the stall. “We’ve heaved Soregum and Earnur into the cart,” the Dwarf said. “That will help us to get moving faster – is everyone else ready?”

The first grey light of day entered the windows, and cold air was coming through the open door as they left the Nancing Bow-ny Inn and headed westwards again. Pimpiowyn shivered as they passed through the gate and into Ye Aulde Foreste, a scenic park that lay between them and their next goal. Were the rumours told by her mother’s people true, that the Forest was haunted?

Merisuwyniel rode at the head of the Gallop-Ship; the others stayed well behind her, remembering the stories they had heard at the Inn last evening. “The Forest is queer,” one of the Hobbits, a very merry fellow, had told them. “Everything in it is very much alive, more aware of what is going on, so to speak, than elsewhere. And the trees do not like strangers. They watch you, whispering to each other, and the branches sway and grope without any wind. They do say the trees actually move, and can surround strangers…”

The trees grew taller as they rode on, and closer on both sides, and the day seemed to become darker instead of lighter as the hours passed. Vogonwë tried to sing a song to encourage them, but his voice sank to a murmur.

O! Questers in the tree-ed land
Despair not! For though trunks do stand,
All branches here must end at last
And see the axe go cutting past:
The hewing Dwarf, the hacking Man,
The campfire site for mealtime plan.
For Elf or Hobbit, all must cook…

Just then a branch crashed down in their path, narrowly missing the heads of those behind the Elven maiden. She turned around and smiled triumphantly. “Mealtime!” she exclaimed. And lo! the branch bore apples, and they plucked them and found them to be wonderfully crisp, juicy, and sweet.

Bushes seemed to grow nearer and they shrank together, feeling hemmed in and breathless as the air got hot and stuffy. But Merisu gathered berries from them with nary a scratch on her pale, graceful hands and distributed them to her comrades.

“Ow!! Ow!!” Soregum cried out, wakened from his stupor by a missile from above. It seemed to them that hail fell all around them, but when they looked, they perceived that nuts were lying on the ground, ripe and tasty.

When they had eaten enough to satisfy even Pimpi, they sat down to stretch their weary legs. Their eyes dropped shut from drowsiness, and none of them noticed that the roots of the surrounding trees moved toward their feet. But they sighed blissfully in their sleep as they dreamt of a wonderful, relaxing massage.

When they awoke later, the trees had moved apart just enough to let speckled sunlight through their green leaves. They mounted their horses refreshed and followed the path ahead of them. None noticed that it seemed to shift away from the direction they thought they were going, moving ever upwards and to the left.

After an hour or two they lost all clear sense of direction, though they knew well enough that they had long ceased to go westwards at all. They were being headed off, and were simply following a course chosen for them – into the heart of the Forest and not out of it. The afternoon was wearing away when they suddenly reached a clearing. There they saw – the strangest little man, dancing the strangest little dance! He had saucepans and kettles hung all over him, he wore a saucepan for a hat, and he crashed two saucepans together as he danced!

Ooops – sorry! Wrong story…

But just what did they see on the clearing??

[Thenamir]

"So close," Sauerkraut grumbled to himself, "almost within my grasp...no matter. The fools have fled into Ye Auld Foreste. The trees there will hold them until I arrive, I and my new 'hot dog friends'."

He permitted himself a single evil chuckle as he drove his hot dog cart down the road that left Beer at a leisurely pace, followed on foot by almost the entire population of Beer. Their eyes were glazed, their movements mechanical, their foreheads emblazoned with the emblem of the white bratwurst, their lips synchronized and softly chanting "IM...HO...TEP...(oops, wrong movie) SA...UER...KRAUT...SA...UER...KRAUT..."