Assigned to Mordor RPG

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli glared down at the map with what could only be called total disdain. Of course there are erroneous names on the maps, she thought, because who in this dratted place ever gets anybody's name right without a good scolding? With hardly a second thought, she binned the map and hoisted her bag on her shoulders. Looking around, she had to stifle a laugh... city life, she thought amusedly... She looked at her boot-clad feet and groaned. Not here too! Painted upon the very stones of the roadway were small images and writing in what looked like a Jamesian dialect of English. What does that say? She knelt, taking a closer look.

"Buyeth thineself one Razr phone? What in the...? Must be an advertisement for some oddly shaped new form of palantir." Laughing at the pitiable state of the road, she walked off down it, oblivious to the many stares she accumulated from young men that thought she was stupid because she was pretty. They took in her slim frame as it appeared clad in her usual outfit: she had come straight to Caer Pairadocks from work, and she looked remarkably good in her uniform. She donned soft flame-retardant leather breeches tucked into sturdy boots with strong leg guards fastened above. There were a few singed spots on the sleeves of her white blouse, but the shirt was mostly protected by the fitted leather jerkin she wore laced over it. Gauntlets kept her forearms protected, and leather gloves protected the tender skin of her burned hands from the chill in the air. Being a balrog-winger was tough and she had to dress for the working hazards. Her pin-straight hair was pulled away from her face and fastened into a messy chignon. A few stray locks had slipped into her face but she ignored them, glancing about Lûndûn.

A few chavs loitered near an almost unidentifiable shop that seemed to carry overpriced smoothies by the looks of the disgruntled public who had waiting for quite some time in an unmoving queue to get them. On the other side of the road stood a marketer shouting his wares. Alli walked over and smoothly purchased one of his magazines, flipping through it as she walked.

Without consideration, Alli sauntered down the center of the road. A rude driver gave her the finger as he drove by yelling something to the point of "Get out of the road! Sidewalks are made so that you don't have to get in my way!" Realizing that there was indeed a sidewalk, also covered in luridly colored advertisements, Alli shifted there and walked a bit more with her nose stuck in the publication.

An article about a hobbit named Màrîo had caught her attention. The illustration showed the small fellow clad in red... a most unhobbitly shade. Apparently he'd been beaten unconscious by an unidentified kilt-clad Scotsman. The culprit was on the loose and the writer of the article passively voiced that Màrîo was on the mend, that if anybody spotted someone tall, dark, handsome, and flanked by screaming fangirls, they should keep their distance and report him to an official. She closed the magazine, disappointed that the other article that had caught her interest, "101 Ways to Escape Mordor", was nothing more than a lot of bologna that added up to nothing more than many variations of the phrase "smooth-talk the bureaucrats".

She wondered if she would have any company on her trip to Edge-Where. That Lord Mardil, perhaps... she could discuss politics with him. After all, surely as a lord, he would have many opinions on the government of Gondor. Or even that girl. What was her name? Sai? She seemed like she'd be a fun travelling companion. Who knew what would happen though. She had to get to Edge-Where before she could think about the rest of the trip out of Mordor. As she'd tossed her map, Alli began to look around in search of a friendly face that she could ask for directions.

[Celuien]

The stench of White-All struck Panakeia's nostrils like the blow of a nagging conscience (if she had ever known the twinges of such a thing in her long years of scamming). She coughed into her bright orange scarf, dropping the ten Trolls she had wrapped in its corner into a puddle of mud on the ground. As she stooped to retrieve the money, Panakeia was nearly run down by an SUV whose driver had been too busy chatting on a cell-phone while eating fast food to notice that his vehicle was now on the sidewalk. As she leapt backward, Trolls securely clenched in her hand, the rude driver blared his horn and shouted something incoherent in her direction. Panakeia would have gestured back in return, had a yellow PT Cruiser not come between her and the first driver, splashing her gown with filthy water from a pothole in the road.

All currency shall be taken from you now. Lûgnût's words passed through Panakeia's head. Robbery plain and simple. Not a tenth of what I turned in given back. At last count, she had managed to save 150 Trolls and one each of a Warg, Crow and Goblin from her sales. The measly 10 Trolls she had been handed in return did little to replace the convenient cache she had created. It all seemed terribly unfair. But she had to swallow her fury. There was a job to be done.

Panakeia forced her way out of the hurrying crowd, stepping on several sets of toes in the process. Huddling in the doorway of a nondescript shop, she unfolded the maps of Lûndûn. A frown passed over her face. After staring at the map for several minutes, she turned it in one direction, then twisted it in another. Disgusted, she crumpled the map into a ball. She started to toss it into the litter already on the street, then thought better of it and stuffed the page into her pocket.

Stupid thing makes no sense at all. But what else should I have expected? There had to be another way to find Edge-Where, or whatever it was called. Perhaps if she followed another member of the Offending Party, at least until she could find her way to a public transport system station to ask directions?

Panakeia realized in a panic that she had become separated from the rest of the group. Her eyes darted about frantically, searching for a familiar face. She had never been quite so relieved in her life as when she spotted Alli's chignon weaving through the crowd ahead. Pushing back into the crowd, she scrambled to catch up, all the while keeping a sharp eye out for other members of the Offending Party.

[Kath]

Sai stood staring in confusion at the map she had been given. The words on it were like a foreign language that she had never learned, and she couldn’t understand a word. She was a little more pleased with the other gift the man named Anakron had given her – 10 Trolls. By the look of their worth she now had more money in her hands than she had ever had in her life! Glancing around warily she made sure no one could see as she put the money into a hidden pocket of her jacket. She knew she was being paranoid but it was still better to be safe than sorry, especially in Mordor! The map she quickly made into a boat to soothe her nerves, and then she looked up to see where the others had got to.

She was a little startled to see that they had all headed off in different directions and that she was now quite alone. Not wanting to try and find her way through this strange place on her own she tried to catch up to the old hag, the only member of the Offending Party she could still see. But she had taken only a few steps when a man leapt out at her from nowhere yelling

“Buy the Small Tissue! Just one left! But it now and I’ll be able to buy a mansion and live in Maì Fàyre!”

Jumping backwards in shock Sai tried to avoid the salesman, but her way was blocked by a group of people who seemed to have simply stopped in the middle of the street. They were all staring up at something and chattering excitedly, though Sai couldn’t make out the words. She joined them for a moment to escape the seller and find out what was going on, but it seemed that they planned to stay this way for a good while, and she couldn’t see the attraction of it, so began to push her way back out again. As she did so there was a sudden flash of light, and for a moment all she could see was yellow spots in front of her eyes. Cursing people who blinded others with their flash cameras, Sai stumbled into a wall and leant against it.

When her vision cleared she found that she now had no idea where she was at all, and couldn’t see anyone from her group. Desperate she grabbed a passing stranger and shakily demanded to know where she was. Unfortunately he turned out to be an English teacher, and simply began to pick apart the holes in the sentences she had just uttered. This at least turned her fear into anger, and she stormed off, purposely going in the opposite direction to everyone else to be irritating.

Not looking where she was going, she suddenly thumped into the back of someone else. Used now to the inconsiderate people here she mumbled a quick apology and made to move on, before realising she’d walked straight into the other girl from the group, Alli. This wasn’t a great comfort, however, as she’d already seen how touchy the girl had been about her name, what would she be like after nearly being shoved over!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli stood with her hands perched prettily on her hips, taking in the sight of a valley girl talking too loudly on her cellphone.

"Omigod, like... it's so totally not rocket science." she mimicked sarcastically. Suddenly she was hit from behind. She went to turn and sprawled clumsily on the ground, scraping her knee through her breeches. She rolled over and sprang to her feet, ready for a fight. Her brother Enaichel had taught her all about throwing punches after little provocation: it was frowned upon, but it happened... and it got your point across quickly. Seeing Sai, she dropped her hands unhesitantly, pretending sweetly that she hadn't been about to smack the girl.

"Hello." she said with a smile. Now this has to be fate... I was just thinking about her. "Lost?"

The girl nodded with a little hesitation. Had this moody teenager been about to hit her? She looked perfectly sweet now...

"Me too." Alli said with a grimace. "The map didn't help me at all. Confusing thing... must have been created by a bunch of men that never bothered to ask for directions. And the names were all wrong on it. I binned it a few blocks back. What do you say we ask someone if they know how to get to Edge-Where?"

[the guy who be short]

The Dwarf, lingering at the back of the group, waited for the others to rush off. He wasn't feeling very sociable at all, and hardly wanted to get to know six new people at once. Six not-all too-pleasant people, by the looks of them. He slowed his pace, waiting for the others to outstrip him and leave him in peace.

A few moments later, he was alone, except for the hundreds of people milling about him in the crowded, alien city. Well... how hard could it be to find this... Where was he going? The Edge? Where-on-the-Edge, that was it, wasn't it? Or Where... where something.

He stopped at the side of the pavement, and looked down at his map.

He looked up in dismay.

He rushed forwards, trying in vain to see the group in front of him. What were their names? Oh, why was he cursed with such a poor memory?

A scrap of orange! There, in front of him! That old hag... the nutty one... Brokenback! That was her name! The Woman Of The Hideous Scarf... The rest of the group had to be with her... there was no way they'd get to Whereington-upon-Edgehaven individually.

"Brokenback! Brokenback!" he mispronounced, bumping into the crowds of people. "Wilhelmina! Wait!" But the scarf continued onwards, oblivious. Why wasn't she waiting for him? Was she deaf or something?

He started running - she was only a few metres off now - regardless of the rushing traffic around him.

"Wilhelmina!"

No reply.

Finally he caught up with the old woman, patting her on the arm, and turned her around. He had found her! He was alone no longer!

But why weren't the others with her?

[littlemanpoet]

Three yellow vans pulled up to the side of the road, and out came a small horde of people carrying equipment that looked as if it must have been extracted from somebody's paranoid brain. The first van wore a big sign on its side, Blimmin' Barblecashing Corpulation. I man with bad teeth, messy greasy, slicked back hair, and a bulbous device in his hand, came up to Wilhelmina and Fléin and stuck the device to his mouth. Behind him was a one-eyed monster with a glass eye stuck on the shoulder of a Uruk-hai.

"Action, Roll!" said the man with bad teeth. "Welcome to 'Escape from Mordor', the reality program that features the Offending Party attempting to pass the impossible tests to defeat the anakronisms. What is your name?" The man stuck the bulbous thing in Wilhelmina's face; she gave her name, but protested that she had no time to be distracted by a reality show. The man shook his head gravely and produced an official looking document from his inner pocket, and wagged it in front of her face. It bore the seal of Anakron Istkon Vayor. "Sorry, deary, but we've a contract from the guv'ment saying that we have the right to film you. You're our star! Now come this way so we can get better lighting." The man with the bad teeth grabbed her arm and began forcibly escorting her away from the Dwarf.

The second van bore a sign reading Ridiculously Cacophonous Arsininity. From this van issued forth an individual that could only be understood to be a dude who thought more highly of himself than was warranted. He made a bee-line for Lord Mardil II.

"Hey dude, you wit' de chillin' name! Lord Mardil II! We got a contract all lined up for you to be de nex' rap star. You got de name and we got de fame!" The dude produced an official looking document, bearing the seal of Anakron Istkon Vayor. "Dis gives us de right to bring you straight to de studio an' get you goin' to stardom! Follow me!"

The third van, a very large one, with a sign reading Pretentious Blimcasting Corruption, vomited forth a party of menacing Trolls that quickly surrounded Valde Delego. "Greetings, good sir," said the lead Troll. "We are given to understand that thou art amongst those known as the Offending Party. Thou art our choice to take the lead role in our new play, Spamlet, about the tragedy of a failed attempt to escape from Mordor."

Valde tried to protest.

"Tut tut," said the troll in charge. "We are vested with full right and legality to apprehend thy great talent and produce this wonderful play." He produced an official looking document that bore the seal of Anakorn Istkon Vayor. "Thou wilt help us in the writing. Stage hands, apprehend our lead man!"

Valde was picked up by two trolls and deposited onto a fine litter before which was scrawled Lead Tragic Actor, and was carried into the van.

[the phantom]

As Anakron led the Offending Party off the platform, Mardil turned and called an errand boy out onto the balcony on which he was standing. "Two men should be arriving soon. Their names are Bregor and Gundor. You are to give them this." Mardil pressed an envelope into the boy's hands.

"Yessir, I'll give it to them as soon as they arrive!"

Mardil nodded and tossed a rope over the side of the ornate railing rimming the balcony. The end of the rope slapped the platform lightly as Mardil tied the other end around one of the posts on the rail. After making sure his twin swords and assorted knives were securely sheathed and checking the straps holding his bow and quiver to his back, Mardil grabbed the rope firmly with his gloved hands and leaped over the side and then slid down to the platform. Then, the errand boy untied the rope and tossed it down along with Mardil's short spear.

Without further delay, Mardil sprinted off after the Offending Party. He could see them up ahead, entering a building with bad architecture. It looked as if the members of the party were shoving and jostling in order to be next in line after the Grand Anakronist. Mardil rolled his eyes. "What fools," he thought. "The positions of honor are first and last. The first leads the way, but the one in the rear can watch everyone and cannot be watched himself, and he always has early warning about nasty surprises that are ahead."

As Mardil approached the door into which the party had disappeared, two officious looking orcs stepped forward and leveled their spears at him. "What is your business here?" asked one of them.

"I'm with the Offending Party, now move!" said Mardil, who was beginning to lose sight of the party in the corridor up ahead. He watched closely in case they turned to either side.

"I'm going to have to confirm that," said the orc, dropping the point of his spear and reaching for his walkie-talkie. At the same time, the other orc turned towards the door and looked down the corridor to see if he could see whatever it was Mardil was staring at so intently.

Mardil took full advantage of this lapse. He rammed the butt of his spear forcefully into the first orc's jaw, and as the second orc turned around, Mardil winded him with a blow to the gut and then gave him a solid rap on the top of the head with his spear butt. Before the orc hit the ground, Mardil was off down the musty corridor.

"Cheap shot," muttered the second orc after he recovered his breath.

----------

Mardil watched as the Offending Party dispersed into the crowded street, each one going a slightly different direction.

"Well, Mardil, are you ready to get out of Mordor?" asked the Grand Anakronist.

Mardil turned and looked at Anakron's feet. "I guess."

"You're never going to make it out of Mordor with that sort of half-hearted attitude. Now, are there things outside of Mordor that you would like to do? Tasks you wish to complete?"

"Yes," answered Mardil, though not very convincingly.

"You really are pitiful, Mardil. You are afraid of going back because things won't be as nice and rosy as they used to be. That's an immature attitude. Be a man, Mardil! I know you're angry about the way things turned out. Use that anger! You'll be able to make it through this first challenge fairly easily, but you had better find some passion at some point during your escape, for you will need it to go up against the things you will encounter during your escape."

"I will try," said Mardil.

Anakron leaned in close to Mardil. "And if you manage to escape, Mardil, I assume you will not forget a certain person who gave you the opportunity," he whispered.

Mardil smiled and nodded. "I will not forget."

"Good!" said Anakron. "Now, get going! You know how to read a map, so I'm confident I will see you at the next challenge- that is if you can manage to stay out of trouble on your way through the city. It is fraught with many perils, such as Easily Offended People and Stupid People."

Mardil assured Anakron he would stay out of trouble and began weaving his way quickly down the crowded street.

----------

It wasn't long before Mardil spotted Alli and Sai up ahead. "My my, how fortunate. The two young ladies happen to be taking the best route. They must be good with maps. I will join them."

As he approached, he listened to their conversation and discovered that they had only taken the correct way by chance. "They will certainly be glad to be joined by someone who knows precisely where to go."

[Durelin]

The city was always full of orcs, and in his brief scan of his surroundings, Valde of course found nothing to redeem the sordid reputation of the place. There were some very colorful posters with pictures on them that were…interesting, even to him, but he was skilled at finding something wrong with them. They ruined the atmosphere. No, they only added to its horridness. They were too loud, just like everything else. Then, something so terrifying and so revolting hit him that he immediately spun around on his heel and began looking for a way to leave. What if this was the kind of place that he would escape from Mordor to?

But there was Anakron, with his staff, seemingly stroking the ghastly Siamese cat on the top of it, looking at them all pointedly. He seemed amused; Valde scowled. “Well, don't just stand there, gawking and procrastinating, you fools!” he exclaimed, shooing them, “Get on with it! Your future depends on it!”

“I do not have a future,” he muttered in a practical moan, turning back around and beginning to trudge slowly down the side of the street. “The ‘Grand Anakronist’ thinks he knows everything. Then why is he in Mordor?” He bumped into an orc who growled something about the decency and respect. But Valde was in a city, and he knew cities were full of rude people. He would just be another one to add to the mix, and the only one who had a right to be rude. No one had as much reason to dislike people so greatly. Life had treated him very poorly, and people were only worse. So with a very miserable sigh, he all but went out of his way to more than rub shoulders with everyone who walked by him.

Another orc, this one in a car, rode up on the curb and would have hit Valde had he not quickly put down his cell phone and used both hands on the wheel, and possibly his foot. “Don’t walk on the sidewalk!” he shouted in a screechy voice that resembled a knife on slate. Valde cringed, but managed to shout, “Well, don’t drive on the street!”

He was just recovering from his trauma at almost being hit when another vehicle came dangerously close to the curb, though this one stopped beside him. He froze, examining it, which he soon realized was a deadly move. A group of Trolls exploded from the large, obnoxiously yellow van, and hurried over to him. Pretentious Blimcasting Corruption? he barely had time to wonder before they crowded around him and one of the Trolls began speaking. He only half listened, spending more time perfecting a downtrodden but defiant appearance in the face of a looming crowd. But after only a moment he heard something about a ‘lead role,’ and perked up his ears. And after the words ‘failed attempt to escape from Mordor,’ his mouth was hanging open.

“I will nev-” he began with indignation, but he was cut off by the Troll, and left to smolder in anger, considering how such an obviously educated being could be so rude. “We are vested with full right and legality to apprehend thy great talent and produce this wonderful play.” Valde looked smug for a moment, liking the sound of ‘they great talent.’ He even almost forgot that the Troll had ‘tutted’ him. But the sight of the official looking document made him scowl again. “Thou wilt help us in the writing. Stage hands, apprehend our lead man!”

He was smacked in the face by pure shock as the Trolls began bodily placing him on a litter, and though it was quite comfortable, and he was getting a lead role, Valde made a show of struggling. “No! O untimely official looking document, I never once did know thy bitter taste till now!”

“He is good, isn’t he?” the Troll carrying the back of the litter said to the one in front.

“Why thank you,” Valde said before he could think. The next thing he knew, he was tossed with the litter into the back of the van, and with a squeal of tires, the van drove off even before the last Troll could get into it. “It seems we will have to recast Trollonius after all,” one of the litter bearers said as he closed the back doors of the van, blocking the flailing, left behind Troll from Valde’s view. How tragic… He snickered. But such tragedy shall not befall me! I will make it out of Mordor, and I would swear it on my great grandfather’s skull! Realizing what a good scene could be made if they used a skull, he began sharing his ideas with the Trolls. If only he knew who his great grandfather was.

[Celuien]

Panakeia watched from behind as Sai collided with Alli. A stifled laugh escaped her lips as the girl toppled to the ground. Good. That silly child seems a bit full of herself. That'll take some of the wind out of her sails. Panakeia doubled her pace, struggling to make her way through the crowd. She reached an intersection where an Orc, dressed in full crossing guard regalia, stood directing the heavy rush-hour traffic. He held up his clawed hand as a signal to stop. But he unfortunately failed to notice a pick-up truck attempting to turn against traffic while he stopped the pedestrians. It smashed into one of Lûndûn's ubiquitious yellow PT cruisers. The Orcs immediately exited their automobiles and proceeded to scream at each other in a fit of road rage. They were, of course, quickly joined by all of the other drivers in view. The crossing-guard pulled out his whistle began to blow, bringing in several other uniformed guards. Rather than breaking up the chaos that had erupted, they pulled out several copies of the Lûndûn Traffic Manual to find the proper regulation for dealing with accidents complicated by non-involved angry drivers to determine the proper fines to levy.

Panakeia hurried into the now stopped traffic in the street, trying to avoid the fray. Weaving between the abandoned cars, she made her way to the other side of the street. Congratulating herself on escaping the melee, she was about to head off in the direction she had seen Alli and Sai moving toward when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to face an enormous uniformed Orc. His badge read Lûndûn Traffic Safety Division.

"I beg your pardon, madam. It is my most humble obligation to inform you that you are in violation of Section 5.2 of the Lûndûn Traffic Manual. To whit, or perhaps to most, you have crossed the main thoroughfare improperly, and must therefore pay a penalty of 1 Troll. Or, if it does not please you to most graciously comply with my request, I shall be forced to place you under arrest."

Panakeia's face turned bright red. She sputtered. "This is ridiculous!" But she handed over the Troll.

"Thank you." The Orc deposited the Troll in a box marked "Paid" and handed Panakeia a receipt. As he turned and walked back into the crowd, he called out "Have a nice day, and remember, a frown is just a smile turned upside down." Panakeia gaped at the Orc. Could he possibly be any more absurd?

The scene over, Panakeia scanned the crowd ahead for Alli and Sai. But she had lost them. She would have to think of something else.

****

Panakeia wandered the streets of Lûndûn, hoping to find some way of reaching her destination. She was hopelessly lost in the City's endless labyrinth of alleyways, streets and snarling lines of cars. She stumbled over a grating in the sidewalk, breaking off the heel of her shoe. The heel dropped far below into the darkness. A strange roar came from the chasm, followed by the fading blare of a train whistle. At last she had found something! Here was part of the vast BliddyUnnerground, legendary for delayed travel and hopelessly confusing routes that never seemed to end. As bad as the BU was reputed to be, it had to be better than wandering through Lûndûn without a guide. Whirling on her broken shoe, Panakeia searched for the entrance. And there it was, just a few blocks ahead, a set of forbiddingly littered and cracked concrete steps descending far below the pavement. A black sign, hanging crookedly from its post above the steps proclaimed Rût's Lip Garden Station in faded red letters. Doesn't look much like a garden to me, she thought to herself, unless it's trash they're growing.

Taking a deep breath, Panakeia limped off to the station entrance and vanished into the darkness of the gaping portal.