The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Meanwhile, back in the Great Hall, the Velour sat, still stunned into immobility by the events of the past moments and hours. Not that immobility was unusual for them, unless they were pursuing recreational activities…

“So what do we do now?” Manuël asked. “Everything is so confusing – Yawanna allying herself with Melvin, that bunch of newcomers leaving an audience without so much as a “by your leave”, and Melvin’s demand for the firewood that they are towing with them. There’s an army out there to enforce his message – should we do something about them?”

“I say we fight,” shouted Tulk Hogan. “We haven’t had a good battle in ages. Let’s get ready to rumble!”

“But fighting is so messy,” Prada objected.

“Yes, so hard on the nail polish,” Chanessa agreed.

“Besides, I have absolutely nothing appropriate to wear to a battle,” Vairsacë complained.

“Did you see what that Elven dudette was wearing?” Estë-Lynn asked. “It looked feminine yet practical – I wonder if that’s the style this age in Muddled-Mirth?”

“We haven’t had any new styles here for such a long age,” Nír-Vana sighed. “It would have been fun to, like, ask her who makes her clothes.”

“Why did all this have to happen now, just when the waves are perfect?” TM Ulmo grumbled.

“But a battle would finally get some action into our lives, dudes,” Mantoes protested. “Since the Loyers took so many of my clients, it’s boring at my place.”

And so they sat in the Great Hall, talking without acting, a veritable Committee for Matters of Muddled-Mirth; and the AllOnOurOwnShip stood at the front alone.

[Thenamir]

Kneeling upon the grassy knoll Gateskeeper watched the defiance of Merisu and the gloating of Mogul and his minions. Pimpiowyn, putting her recent shieldmaiden training to use, tended to his wounded arm as best she could. When he was sure no one was looking Gateskeeper leaned in closer to Pimpi (too close for Vogonwe, had he been looking) and whispered, "Shhhh...don't attract attention to yourself...keep working on my arm but listen carefully, we may only have one chance to get this right." Pimpi started, looking up at the face of Gateskeeper, but then obeyed, pretending to be intent on stopping the flow of wizardly lifeblood from the handless arm while actually trying very hard not to be sick. That is until she thought what a waste of food that would be, which settled her stomach immediately.

Gateskeeper continued in a voice strained both by blood loss and dramatic emphasis, "my staff...must restart..." Pimpi nodded surrpetitiously, wondering privately if perhaps Gatesey had been taking lessons in diction from Kirkdan. "take it...and speak...words of the Great Rheeboot...after me." Pimpi feigned looking in her pack for a wound-salve or balm, simultaneously grasping the staff with her other hand. Slowly she repeated the words whispered to her by the bespectacled wizard, "klaatu barada nikto, kontrole alt deleet!" (Of course, everyone knows how hard it is to kontrole alt deleet with only one hand.) Immediately, Pimpi's staff hand began to tingle as the staff was restored to power.

"Now," he went on, "place...staff in my hand...and keep your head down." Pimpi did as she was asked and bent over the severed wrist intent on completing her work. Gateskeeper began manipulating the staff in his one hand, calling up the sound-khaard insert he'd used back at Marrow-Bones. Good, he thought to himself, the recording is still intact. With all the speed he could muster, he began composing an O-mail message.

Dear Yawanna,

Mogul is leading you on. Please listen to the attached em-pethree. And please accept my sincere apologies for that incident at the last Velour Annual Charity Auction and Bazaar. I do hope your hair grew back out OK.

"Andy" Andotiruves

cc: Emu the Flightless

Gateskeeper then edited the recording down to the relevant parts:

"If Emu wills, I may see my beloved again someday. If not, still I will not forsake the Quest that has been entrusted to me. Begone, foul Dwimmerlaik! Go now and never come back!"

“How misguided of you to put your faith in Him, for I am His firstborn and know His mind better than any here. You think that you will be saved by His will? He cares less for your pitiful lives than my sist/breth-ren. No, you will find no succour in Him.”

“It is by Yawanna’s will that the Ent shall be remade, and when it is, vile spirit of greed, you shall be no more.”

“Yawanna is it? You think that she will help you? Well, I’m sorry to disabuse you of that little notion, but the gullible wench thinks she is going to be my Queen. She has no intention of helping you now.”

He attached the recording to the O-mail message, withdrew his injured arm from Pimpi and whispered to her the words of omen, "duck and cover." He rose shakily to his feet, summoned up all his wizardly power, and bellowed a single word-of-command, "SEND!!". There was a blinding flash of light and a wave of power blasted out in all directions from the center which was the Gateskeeper. All who stood nearby were knocked to the ground. There followed a moment of terrible silence, broken only when Gateskeeper fell, unconscious. Followed shortly by the sound of Pimpi asking help to get out from under him.

[Mithadan]

A phalynx of Orcs surrounded Gravlox and bore him away from the Itship and carried him to a nearby hill where they bound the partially reformed Uruk to a tree. Three Loyers stood nearby and leered at him as they sharpened their pencils. But the Itship could draw no nearer to Gravlox, for an army stood between them and the hill. There were Orcs, Uruks, Wargs, Hill Trolls, Valley Trolls, Mountain Trolls, Rock Trolls and many others besides. All had their weapons drawn and stood ready to assail the Itship.

Merisu led her companions to a hillock which was just marginally more defensible than the plain on which they had encountered Mogûl. They stood ready to meet the onslaught of Mogûl's many minions. "Mincemeat!" cried Reaperneep. "We'll make mincemeat of 'em!"

But things did look grim indeed. Kuruharan tested the edge of his axe and pondered their dilemma. "Could we," he said. "Just maybe, have considered negotiating? I mean, it's only a pile of wood after all..."

The Bow twisted and spun in Merisu's hands and, with a whistling rush, smacked the Dwarf upside his pointy head. "I'll remember that!" the bow hummed. The other Entish fragments growled in agreement. Kuruharan took a step back and rubbed his head with his gnarled hand. "Just a thought," he replied. "Ow! I bet I'll have a nasty welt in the morning."

"If you live that long," intoned Orogarn mournfully.

At that moment, a shadow obscured the sun, and the Itship shivered as if they had eaten a pint of rocky road too quickly. They looked up... in the sky... it was a bird... a plane (whatever that is)... no! It's....

"Mogûl!" growled Merisu.

High above flew the Dark Lord himself, perched upon a great black Aerophaunt. The great army cried out and stamped upon the ground until the earth seemed to shake. Then they grew silent. Mogûl swept down over the Itship and his Aerophaunt, Heffalump, trumpeted loudly. He raised a hand and shouted, "Kill them! Kill them all and bring me the fragments of the Ent! Bwah ha ha!"

But at that second, a new voice rang out and it was nearly as loud as Mogûl's. "Wait a minute Bildur!"

Mogûl paused and broght Heffalump to a hover. He looked down, then laughed. "Grrralph?" he snickered. "What are you going to do? Sing at me?"

Grrralph stepped forward. His black robes were ripped and tattered. As he stepped up on the hillock there was a gleam, too quick for certainty, a quick glint of grey, as if some garment shrouded by the black rags had been for an instant revealed. "Well met!" he said. "And what may you be doing in these parts? No doubt there is a tale worth hearing behind it all. Such things are not often seen here."

"And how would the likes of you know what is or is not seen here, Thingwraith?" hissed Mogûl. And with these words, he raised a great black spear and flung it at Grrralph. It flew straight and true. But the Wraith was too quick for him. He sprang away and leaped up onto a large rock. There he stood, grown suddenly tall, or at least taller, towering above the Itship. His hood and his black rags were flung away. His grey three piece suit shone.

Mogûl squinted down at the bright figure. "Do I know you?" he asked.

In response, Grrralph straightened the spectacles on the bridge of his aquiline nose, for indeed, he now had a face! Then he raised a tablet of yellow lined paper and gestured at Mogûl. A bolt of light flew from the paper and struck Mogûl in the chest before it coalesced into a tall stack of paper which wrapped itself around the Dark Lord. "A Summons?" cried Mogûl. "A lawsuit? You're suing me?"

Grrralph nodded. "For injunctive relief and replevin, to compel you to surrender the ELF named Gravlox to the custody of Merisuwyniel, and prohibiting you from attacking the Itship until Gravlox's rights are declared by Mantoes!"

"I do know you," growled Mogûl. "You're Sueim. You were In-house Counsel for the Velour."

"Until you paid off a jury to find you not guilty of anti-trust claims early in the First Page," replied Grrralph... or Sueim. "That got me fired by the Velour and traded to Sourone."

"Very well," growled Mogûl as he attempted unsuccessfully to wiggle out of the clutches of the legal papers. "I'll kill you later. After Greedhog litigates you into the dirt." With that, Heffalump flew off unsteadily. The great army of Orcs groaned and wandered off as Greed hog approached with his team of Loyers.

Orogarn approached the grey-suited figure in wonder. "Grrralph?' he asked.

After a moment's thought, there came the reply. "Grrralph? Yes. I remember now. I was Grrralph."

"Can we call you Grrralph?" asked Pimpiowyn.

"No." replied Sueim as he began passing out his business cards. Then he sat and collected his thoughts. Mantoes would be here soon to oversee the trial...

[The Saucepan Man]

And so Greedhog once more stepped forth from the vast army of Moredough. And lo! His pin-striped suit was cloaked in a gown of black. No longer did he sport a natty polka-dot tie, but a collar of yellowish-white, and a ludicrous grey wig culled from the hide of an ancient Warg sat atop his bald head. As he stood in silent contemplation, studying in detail the labyrinthine Writ that Sueim had conjured forth, numerous minions, the Clerks of his Châmbers, busied themselves arranging immense stacks of paper and vast dusty tomes around him.

Nearby stood Greedhog’s apprentice, Rûmpöll the Scaly, second only in his advocacy skills to the great Senior Loyer himself. And lurking in the shadows sat the Înstrùktïng Sólícïtôrrs, those whose job it was to feed Greedhog with the facts and figures (suitably loyered) to fuel his presentation of his case. Foremost amongst these were Klïffòrd Shànnse the Global, and Slôrrtern Maï, the Butcher of Burnhill. Each of them had played a decisive role in building up the vast and profitable empire of their dread client, and now they were present to take their part in his fate.

As the two parties sat on their opposing hillsides, each preparing their case, a plethora of dusty and bewigged Elven clerks, appointed by the Velour for just such an occasion, readied the clearing that lay between for the forthcoming trial. Which took somewhat longer than either side would have liked since it had been many Pages since a trial had last been convened in Valleyum, and the officials were rather out of practice.

The Trial-ship eyed the preparations that were underway on the hill opposite, fearful that their chamipon, Sueim the Disbarrèd, would be no match for the legal team that had been assembled on behalf of Môgul. Soregum looked plaintively at the Gateskeeper as he helped Pimpiowyn to tend to the Wizard’s arm (much to Vogonwë‘s annoyance).

“Tell me,” he said. “Is there any hope? For this quest - trial - thing, I mean?”

“There never was much hope,” replied the Gateskeeper. “Just a fool’s hope.”

“And it is a fool indeed that puts his fate in the hands of a Loyer,” snorted Kuriharan disdainfully.

“Aye,” chipped in Orogarn Two. “And ’tis grim for us when the only Loyer that we have to plead our case before the Velour is the one Loyer who was banished from Valleyum.”

“Pish and twaddle,” snapped Merisu irritably. “Grrralph - er - Sueim has proved faithful to the Quest. And I, for one, trust in him to see that justice will prevail.”

At that moment, one of the Elven clerks raised his voice so that all present heard his cry.

“Silence in court!”

“And so it begins,” whispered Merisu to her companions, “The great argument of our time.”

As all stood, the Velour entered the clearing with Mantoes at their head. Solemnly, they took the wooden seats appointed for them to one side of the clearing.

“Like, what’s with the upholstery,” complained Prada. “You’d think that they could have done something plush in leather.”

“Hey, get with it dudes,” intoned Mantoes. “This court is, like, in session, man.”

[Mithadan]

Grrralph... er. Sueim rose and walked to the counsel's table which had appeared before the august panel of Velour. On it, he placed his legal pad and quill. Then he motioned lazily with his left hand and a tall stack of scrolls appeared upon the table. Rising to his full (and considerable) height, he addressed the Court.

"My Lord Mantoes," he intoned. "and distinguished Velour. I am here before you today to plead on behalf of Gravlox Uruk and Merisuwyniel the Fair who have had their deep and loving relationship shattered by Môgul Bildûr, formerly known to all here as Melvin Bluenote, who has wrongfully and without right seized and retained in his possession the aforesaid Gravlox..."

"What about his cousins, bagels, capers and cream cheese?" whispered a nearby Elf before he was seized, roundly beaten and dragged off by several bailiffs.

"As I was saying," continued Sueim. "This is a case about love interrupted by the dark and evil deeds of Môgul Bildûr..."

"Sob!" sobbed Howlie. "That's beautiful. Môgul's guilty! Let me execute his sentence!" He raised his hammer and hurled against the nearby mountain from which the reincarnated Orcs had been issuing. The mountain shattered with a flash of light. Moments later, a dull rumble was heard, even as Howlie's hammer spun back to him.

"Duuude," cried Mantoes. "It's not cool to, like, prejudge someone. Keep an open mind. Roll on, Sueim!"

"A case like this arises rarely," said Sueim. "Once a Page, perhaps do events of such great moment arise. And, sadly, I am but recently arisen from the stupor of my curse and am less than fully prepared, through no fault of my own. Therefore, I respectfully request a continuance so that I may adequately present my case. A short adjournment of, say, a decade?"

Greedhog rose to object, but before he could speak, a great clamor arose. A battalion of Orcs marched by singing Louie, Louie at the top of their lungs. Prada winced and conferred quickly with Mantoes who then spoke. "Dude, I feel your pain, but there is, like, no way that we are going to let all these Orcs and Trolls and whatever wander around here for a decade. We've gotta get this gig done so that we can get back to hanging out. Motion denied."

Greedhog snickered none too quietly, but Sueim was undaunted. "Then, I request just five minutes to speak with Gravlox and would like to designate some of these fine people who I quested with to act as my clerks?"

"Whatever," answered Mantoes. "Pick three of them to help you."

Sueim turned to the Itship and considered each in turn.

"He will pick me," thought Merisu. "For I am wise and strong and led this quest for all this time."

"He will pick me," thought Gateskeeper with a grin. "For I am smarter than all the others combined."

"He will pick me," mused Kuruharan. "For I am savvy and a great salesman, and what is a court case if not a sales pitch?"

"I wonder when dinner is?" thought Orogarn.

A ghost of a grin passed over Sueim's face, then he turned back to face the court. "Thank you my Lord Mantoes," he said. "I choose Pimpiowyn, Vogonwë and Leninia."

The audience of Elves that had gathered gasped, then laughed. They pointed and whispered as the three newly designated clerks stepped forward and huddled with the Loyer. After several minutes, including one loud exclamation of "You want me to WHAT?" Sueim nodded and walked towards the hill where Gravlox was bound. Pimpi and Vogonwë accompanied him reluctantly through the ranks of drooling and jeering Orcs. Leninia did not, however, join them. She walked off to the west with a determined look on her face.

Soon, Sueim returned and faced the court. "Where are your clerks?" asked Mantoes.

"They are off doing research, no doubt," answered Sueim.

"Very well," said the chief jurist. "Like, present your case."

"The Orcish Conundrum Concordat clearly and unambiguously provides as follows," said Sueim. "'In order to ease the overcrowding of the Mantoes reclamation facility and to ensure the orderly recirculation of resources, the Velour hereby agree that, upon application by Môgul Bildûr, in writing and upon reasonable advance notice, the Velour will release into his custody all previously slain or otherwise killed, departed, or passed on Orcs from Mantoes, save only that this clause may be invoked only once a Page.' Thus, by the way, Lord Howlie's action in destroying the recirculation portals was quite proper Môgul Bildûr has used his one option for this Page."

He strode over before the panel of Velour and gestured dramatically. "ORCS!" he cried. "This provision applies only to Orcs! Not Trolls, not Dwarves, not wraiths, not wargs, not bunny rabbits, not zerls and, especially NOT Elves! And Gravlox is now an Elf! He is no longer an Orc! He has been redeemed."

Gravlox nodded his head as best he could against his bonds. This was difficult as he remained tied to a stake on the nearby hill. But even as Sueim finished his sentence, a breeze blew, causing Gravlox's golden hair to wave and gleam in the sun. His grey eyes twinkled and shone and his aquiline nose was in stark contrast to the snouts and related bodily accoutrements that his Orcish guards possessed.

"Does an Orc sip tea?" asked Sueim. "With scones, yet? Does an Orc floss his fangs? Does an Orc say please and thank you? My Lord Mantoes, does an Orc use conditioner, pre-shave, post-shave, hair mousse, exfoliating cleansers and astringents? For this ELF does, as this court well knows. But if the court wishes proof, I have the statements, taken by Osanwë, of 100 Orcs from the division Môgul Bildûr assigned Gravlox to, all attesting to these uncontested facts." A large volume of paper appeared suddenly before Mantoes and landed with a THUD upon his table. A number of Elves in the Gallery applauded appreciatively as Sueim swept back dramatically to his table and sat down in his chair.

"He has done it!" thought Merisu with wonder. "He has surely won and Gravlox will be released to me!"

But if so, then why was Greedhog smiling....?

[Kuruharan]

“With the court’s indulgence,” said Greedhog. He walked (not flew, walked) over to the nearby hill where Gravlox was tied up. The Loyer seized the stake and ripped it out of the ground. Then he carried the stake and Gravlox back before the bench…row of stools or whatever it was.

“May it please the court,” Greedhog proclaimed grandly. He thrust the stake into the ground again where everyone in the courtroom…meadow…field…whatever could see Gravlox’s face.

“Open your mouth,” commanded Greedhog.

“Mmm-mmm,” said Gravlox pinching his lips as tightly shut as possible.

“I said open it,” commanded Greedhog.

“Mmm-MMMMM,” said Gravlox turning his head in the other direction.

Greedhog reached forward with his mighty hand…paw…claw…whatever and wrenched Gravlox’s head around. With his other appendage he gripped Gravlox’s jaw and squeezed. Gravlox’s mouth popped open with an unappealing cloud of slobber revealing a hideous mouth of some of the jaggedest most vicious looking orc-fangs you ever saw. (They were, however, immaculately flossed.)

“Redeemed is he,” sneered Greedhog. “Looks to me like somebody skipped out from the program before completion. As the court knows, in order for an elf to be considered redeemed, the spirit must complete the creation of a new Hawaarrrrkk.” Greedhog pointed to Gravlox in some distaste. “This creature clearly has not done so.”

The panel of Velour made vague noises of assent and understanding, or it may have been just them settling down to a more comfortable position to take a nap.

“Your honors,” piped up Kuruharan, “if I may…”

“Shaddup!!” hissed Merisuwyniel.

Kuruharan paid his usual amount of attention to her wishes.

“We have reason to believe that the victim in this case was rippéd untimely from the Halls of Mantoes. Said victim was not given the chance to complete his orals. However, as the court knows, if the spirit is pure, then the flesh can be so too. All it needs is a little help.”

“ZZzzzzZZ…wha…” pontificated Mantoes.

“Exactly,” agreed Kuruharan. “Now, if the court will permit me…” The dwarf strode forward and handed over a card.

Mantoes examined the card and read aloud what it said. “Kuruharan the Longbeard, D.D.S., D.V.M., B.B.C., C.B.S., A.B.C., N.B.C., M.S.N.B.C., F.O.X., C.N.N., N.K.V.D., G.P.U., C.I.A., M.I.5, F.B.I., K.G.B., A.S.A.P., R.S.V.P, D.M.Z., I.I.R.C., L.O.L., I.M.H.O., and B.Y.O.B.”

“Duuuude…” said Manuël.

“I offer my services to the court to test the hypothesis,” said Kuruharan.

“Wha…” said Mantoes.

“Objection!!!” roared Greedhog. “He’s not offered his certification!!”

Kuruharan pulled a rolled scroll out of his sleeve and handed it over.

“The ink’s still wet,” said Mantoes.

“A miracle!” said Kuruharan. “May I begin?”

“Ob…” began Greedhog again when an antennae wrapped itself around his neck and choked him off.

“Council,” hissed the voice of his master, “I think this might be fun to watch.”

And so, Kuruharan was allowed to proceed.

“Nurse,” he called. Chrysophylax thumped down next to Gravlox and set down the most awful lookin’ gas-powered dentist’s drill you never wanted to clap eyes on.

Kuruharan pulled on some rubber gloves with a snap. “Anesthetic!”

Chrysophylax turned around and whalloped Gravlox with his tail. Gravlox slumped over like a boned fish.

*RUM-pa-pa-pa-pa* *RUM-pa-pa-pa-pa* *RUM-pa-pa-pa-pa* went the drill as Kuruharan enthusiastically yanked on the cord trying to start the contraption.

*RUM-RUM-WHIRRRRRRRRRR* went the drill as it spun to life.

“Hold his mouth open,” commanded Kuruharan as he gripped the drill and pulled it toward Gravlox’s mouth.

Who now will save Gravlox from a Dentistry worse than Death?

Mithadan's Post

Sueim stood up so quickly that his chair fell over behind him with a loud crash. The sudden noise fortunately distracted Kuruharan, who was about to begin an excavation of Gravlox's upper frontal... err, fang. Members of the audience alternately sighed with relief or groaned with disappointment depending upon their respective world views. "Before we begin tampering with evidence," interjected Sueim. "May I suggest an more appropriate solution to this issue?"

He adjusted his vest, smoothed his tie and stepped forward. "Counsel's argument presumes that the condition of Gravlox's teeth, other than his tendency toward oral hygeine, is relevant here. I would respectfully contend that it is not. Could we excuse the witness, Lord Mantoes?"

Mantoes, who had been observing the proceedings with a combination of disgust and boredom, nodded. A contingent of Orcs carried Gravlox back to the nearby hill and lashed him to the pole once again. Kuruharan hastily wrote out an invoice for services almost rendered and handed it to the Bailiff before retreating.

"I call to the stand..." cried Sueim dramatically. "SOREGUM!"

Soregum straightened as if a Troll had begun an in-depth exploration of his innards with a knife, then trotted nervously up to the witness stand. Sueim approached the witness with a sly smile.

"Soregum, you are of what race?" he asked.

"I'm a Hobbit, sir," mumbled Soregum.

"A Hobbit?" repeated Sueim. "Are you sure?"

"Uh, yes?" answered the witness.

"You have just seen Greedhog suggest that the nature of Gravlox's teeth may tend to show that he is an Orc," said the Loyer. "What did you think?"

"Pretty nasty, I guess," mumbled Soregum.

"Nasty," repeated Sueim. "Does the nastiness of his teeth establish him to be an Orc?"

"I dunno," answered Soregum nervously, with a quick glance towards Merisu.

"Open your mouth!" instructed Sueim.

Now Soregum looked over to Kuruharan, who had paused in his efforts to repack his dentistry equipment and was now observing the questioning with keen interest, with open terror. But Mantoes leaned forward and nudged the witness. "Come on, little dude," he ordered. "Let's see your choppers."

Soregum reluctantly opened his mouth and displayed his teeth in all their glory... all six of them... the green ones... the brown ones... the black one and the spotted one. A nearby Orc screamed with horror and loped away. Prada lifted a dainty kerchief to her mouth and averted her eyes. Even Greedhog appeared uncomfortable.

"Oh, man," cried Mantoes. "Like, gross. Totally!"

Sueim smiled at Greedhog happily. Then he spoke. "I believe my point is made. The witness is excused."

[Diamond18]

Suddenly, without warning, a burning rock came screaming from the sky and exploded into a million pieces, each one slamming into the ground with collasal force! Death! Destruction! The whole world was engulfed in flames and molten space rock -- people's large and small intestines fried like sausage and their bones disentegrated like tissue paper that's been held over a votive candle too long. Men, orcs, elves and Velour alike, dead, all dead! All dead! O, the carnage! Death to all Hatchlings of Emu Ilovetar!

Dear Gentle Reader,

Wait a gosh darn moment. This is all too final. Some other dues ex machina must be used.

If you find courtroom scenes boring, no matter how farcical the characters or outrageous the events, I apologize, for it is only going to get worse. For let us now turn our attention back to the true events of that fateful day in Valleyum, which cannot be rescued by great balls of fire or blood and destruction.

Well, great balls of fire, anyway.

We are now zooming back down to submerse ourselves in the ofttimes hard to suspend disbelief -- wow, that’s mixing metaphors, is it not, Gentle Reader? It doesn’t even make any sense. However, it is what we are doing. Zooming back down we see where Vogonwë Brownbark and his young love Pimpi are preparing to carry out a mission entrusted to them by the Loyer Formerly Known as Grrralph. But heck, we’re still going to call him Grrralph, Gentle Reader, because we’re just that way.

Hark, action is taking place....

“I don't believe what I'm hearing... Meri-Sue was right. You've changed!”

“I don't want to hear any more about Meri-Sue. The Velour turned against me. Don't you turn against me.”

“I don't know you anymore. Vogonwë, you're breaking my heart. I'll never stop loving you, but you are going down a path I can't follow.”

“Because of Meri-Sue?”

“Because of what you've done... what you plan to do. Stop, stop now. Come back! I love you!”

“Liar!”

Oops, heh heh, sorry, Gentle Reader -- wrong parody. Let me adjust the controls on my Parody-O-Matic here -- indispensable machine but it can be terribly glitchy -- and see if we cannot find the proper tone, this time. Ah yes, here we go:

“I’m hungry.”

“Not now, Pimpi, I’m composing,” Vogonwë replied with a hint of irritation. In fact, he was quite nervous, more nervous than he had been since that incident with the Giant Mutant Neanderthalic Black Skwerlz of Workmud when in the midst of battle he had run out of arrows and been reduced to throwing hair pins. His anxiety put him on edge and thus Pimpi’s tummy rumblings were not a welcome distraction from the task at hand.

Pimpi should have been more nervous than she was, considering what Grrralph had asked of her, but at the moment her task seemed a long time away and the hollowness inside was much more pressing. She looked over Vogonwë’s shoulder with half interest, reading the words he wrote upon paper and thinking that the Diabolical Workmudian Sleep-Well Spell he was crafting didn’t seem all that much different from one of his sonnets.

“You’d better hurry up,” she said languidly, “we have to do this before the trial is over.”

Vogonwë took a breath before replying, “I am hurrying -- and unless you can remember what the fourth line of the third stanza is supposed to be, it would be most helpful if you would refrain from speaking to me.”

“Oooookay,” Pimpi backed away. “Excuse me, your Poet-Laureatness.”

Vogonwë went on muttering snatches of poetry under his breath, scratching out the words on the paper and replacing them countless times, till the paper was a mess of unreadable scratches and half-baked rhymes. “Oh it’s no use, I can’t remember the Spell,” he moaned. “I should have paid more attention in school....”

“All hope is not lost,” Pimpi said bravely, swatting him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you, Vogy -- if you can’t remember the spell thingy, just improvise.”

“Improvise?” he looked at her cross-eyed.

“Yes! Ad lib! Write your own Diabolical Brownbarkian Sleep-Well Spell.”

“But I am a poet, not a spell weaver.”

“Whatever,” Pimpi fluttered one hand dismissively. “Same diff.”

“I protest, there is much--”

“Listen, I’m getting seriously bored out of my mind here, okay?” Pimpi snatched the paper and pen away from him. “Time is of the essence, now get over there and recite something.”

Vogonwë grumbled, and turned reluctantly to where Gravlox was chained to a pole, heavily guarded by minions of the Dark Lord -- who were, at the moment, eyeing Kuruharan intensely, but were sure to come down hard on anyone else who attempted to remove Gravlox from his spot. He cleared his throat and coughed nervously, then stood up and walked hesitantly over to where the Orc/Elf was awaiting his fate.

“Excuse me, tally ho,” Vogonwë said, waving at Orc guards. They snapped their attention away from the trial and menaced their weapons towards him, growling and snarling and saying “get lost” among other, less publishable things.

Vogonwë held his hands up innocently, “I’m so sorry to disturb you gents. But if you have a moment to lend me your incredibly large, misshapen, hairy ears, I have a favor to ask.”

The guards burst out into laughter at the idea of doing a favor, and told Vogonwë again to get lost or feel the wrath of their swords, clubs, and assorted switchblades.

“Okay,” Vogonwë broke out into a sweat -- very unbecoming in even a half-elf -- and tried to smile. He did a quick head count of the Orcs and ruled out the possibility of taking them out with his arrows -- his proximity to them and their number meant that he could hope to skewer only about half a dozen of them before the other dozen made him feel the wrath of their assorted switchblades. And no doubt the clamor would attract the attention of more unsavory types, not to mention the in session court down the hill. No, he had no choice but to go at this in the manner Grrralph had requested.

He took a deep breath. “Section 108 paragraph 5 line 9 in the Valleyum Unsavory Visitors Act states quite clearly that all prisoners being held on the shores of Valleyum by any and all Unsavory Visitors, such as yourselves, are entitled to three things --

1. The presence of an officiary of the religion of his or her choice
2. A root beer flavored lollypop
3. The recitation of a poem by a professional, licensed Poet.”

The Orcs looked at him blankly, wondering if the strange Elf before them was really All There.

“Now,” Vogonwë continued, “I see none of these things, though I do see a prisoner, and this is Valleyum, and you are all unsavory. Therefore you are in serious, er... well you’re all in a lot of trouble because this represents an unlawful something or other. However, this is also your lucky day because it just so happens that I am a licensed Poet and a Priest of the Order of White Rabbits, which is the religion of this Elf/Orc’s choice. Also I have in my possession one root beer lollypop, slightly sticky with a coating of pocket lint.”

The Orcs exchanged befuddled glances. Then one took a menacing step forward. “Look, chump--”

“The name is Brownbark. Vogonwë Brownbark.”

“Whatever, Chump. We don’t want any of your pansy Elf poetry around here, you got me?”

Vogonwë nodded understandingly, then said, “I thrill at the trilling hill of daffodils.”

The Orcs recoiled, expressions of pain contorting their already contorted features.

“Hey, I said none of that now!”

“Little Mincy-Mee of Shmee danced the Tootlefree in the land of Hannalee.”

“Argh!” The Orcs tried to charge Vogonwë, but were brought to their knees by --

“I went to the fair
I went to the fair,
I went to the fair
To see a bear,
And the bear was there,
At the fair.”

“You’ll never get away with this!” gasped one Orc.

Vogonwë smiled with a hint of sadistic pleasure and replied,

“The drooping fronds of pond leaves left scars
Day is night and night is day
Morning shadows drift down the wet dog nose of love
Rolling in the sand is a pinecone.
Of desire.”

No reply came from the Orcs this time -- they had all fallen face down and were lying motionless on the hill.

Pimpi came creeping up behind Vogonwë and asked, “Are they sleeping? Why have you stopped reciting?”

“I think they’re dead,” Vogonwë said, nudging one prostrate Orc with his foot. “I was experimenting to see what would happen if you mixed two napping spells with a traditional drinking song of Chippendale. And that last one was just something I was working on for social occasions. The effect has succeeded beyond my wildest expectations, the guards are out of commission permanently, which makes your task much easier.”

“I’m going to go untie him.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t mention it. No really, it was nothing...” Vogonwë said dryly, but his complaint was completely lost on Pimpi, who advanced upon the tethered Elf/Orc, and said, “Gravlox? Hello? D’you remember me?”

Gravlox mumbled something around his gag, and Pimpi reached to remove it.

“Be careful, he might bite,” said Vogonwë, hanging back.

Once the gag was free, Gravlox said irritably, “I do not bite and yes, I remember the both of you, to my regret. What have you come to do to me now? Is it not enough that you killed me, you must now come to gloat over me in my hour of subjugation?”

“No, we’ve come to rescue you!” Pimpi said earnestly, tearing away at the knots securing the ropes around his nicely manicured hands. “We’re going to take you away and hide you! Come along now, before anyone notices!”

Gravlox looked between Pimpi and Vogonwë suspiciously. “Is this some kind of trap?”

“Yes,” Vogonwë replied, “we’re going to chop you up and eat you with a side of lembas, that’s why we’ve gone to all this trouble to rescue you from certain death at the hands of Mogul.”

“You’ve become very sarcastic since I last knew you,” Gravlox observed.

“We don’t have time for this, come!” Pimpi urged, and the three of them hastened away, darting glances over their shoulders at the trial which proceeded merrily along, oblivious to the absence of its subject.