The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Estelyn Telcontar]

“Go, Questers, go! Go, Entish Bow!” The spirited cries of the Velour cheerleaders were slightly belated, as the AreWeThereYetShip was already rapidly proceeding toward the holy mountain of Tan-Quickly-Hill. And such was the virtue of the hallowed lands of Valleyum that the usual trail of destruction and food wrappers that otherwise followed in their wake was conspicuously absent.

The Velour were lagging behind them, sorely missing the dune buggies with which they normally preferred to travel, but still feeling buoyantly virtuous. Since it looked like there was no further danger to them, nor any activity required of them, they could bask in the glow of seeming to participate without actually doing anything.

The Green Goddess was busy thinking of all that needed to be organized while she walked hand-in-hand with her spouse. She mentally composed an o-mail of condolence to Orogarn’s father:

To the Honourable Lord Denimthor, Proctor of Grundor and Guardian of the Porcelain Throne of Minus Teeth, from Yawanna, greetings!

I have the sad task of informing you as his father that your noble and valiant son Orogarn Two has lost his life in the fulfillment of his duty as a hero of the Questship of the Entish Bow. We now bear his body in great honour; would you like to have it transported back to the city of his ancestors for burial? Please inform us of your wishes and we will provide for carriage worthy of his person and rank.

Unfortunately, the static caused a poor connection between the far Western lands of Valleyum and the kingdom of Grundor in Muddled-Mirth, so that only a truncated message reached the Proctor:

Yawanna have your son’s body back?

Since Denimthor had seen a vision of Orogarn (Two, of course) lying pale beneath the skies of Valleyum, he was not surprised. However, the official news of the death of the Not-Prince, successor to the Not-Throne, caused much weeping and mourning in the city of his origin. Poems were made and sung that were equal at least to Vogonwë’s best efforts, the flags of Minus Teeth flew at half mast, and the elderly wore only the bottom half of their dentures in honour of his memory. The children strewed their toothbrushes with ashes, crying bitterly when they had to use them.

Denimthor wrote a return answer:

No father should have to bury his child! Since he is no longer of use to our country, it matters not where he lies buried. Do as you think.

Alas, even this brief answer suffered from the static, so that Yawanna received the following reply:

No!

Reaperneep considered himself the deceased hero’s guard of honour and walked beside the humble cart which bore his remains, holding his sword high and looking grim, though no one approached them.

Vogonwë had spent the first miles speechless, sucking on throat lozenges to soothe his weary vocal chords. Yet after awhile he could not resist the opportunity offered him by the somber, somewhat festive procession (which moreover provided him with a captive audience) and began chanting a dirge:

His head was higher than the helm of kings
with heathen crowns, his heart keener
and his soul clearer than swords of heroes
polished and proven; than plated gold
his worth was greater. From the world has passed
a prince peerless in peace and war,
just in judgement, generous-handed
as the golden lords of long ago.
He has gone to Emu glory seeking,
Orogarn Two beloved.


“Hush!” Pimpiowyn exclaimed suddenly. The others turned toward her in astonishment, wondering why she would object to Vogonwë’s poem. For he had spoken with authority and great skill, as if with the voice of one who was a master of words, and they would feign have listened longer.

“I’m sorry, darling, I don’t mean you!” she said contritely when she realized that he had taken her outcry personally. “I mean my sword Hush – it’s gone!”

“When do you last remember having it in your hands?” Merisuwyniel asked helpfully.

“Hmm, I don’t know – on the battlefield, I think,” the Half-Halfling answered.

All eyes were on Pimpi, or someone might have noticed that Soregum’s face turned pale, then flushed, and his hand went to his breast pocket. He hesitated, but soon realizing the extent of her distress, edged over alongside the cart. His hands moved with the skill of the Little People, faster than the eye, and then raised the sword triumphantly. “Here it is,” he called out. “It must have been in the cart all the while.”

“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, giving him a kiss on the cheek in reward. And though this history does not tell the tale, it is said that he never after did wash that cheek and became known as Soregum, the Black-Faced.

Watching the cart, Vogonwë continued:

Hey! rattle and bump over rut and boulder!
The roads are rough and rest is short...


but the mood had passed, the mountain was nigh, and his audience was distracted. Eager to reach their goal, they pressed forward. Gateskeeper even pressed fast forward, but nothing happened and he had to content himself with normal speed.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The Very Secret Diary of Falafel (Noble Steed, associated with yet not owned by Merisuwyniel)


Day Umpteenthousand-something-or-other – who really cares?! I don’t suppose anyone will ever read this anyway, because all of the history will come from the Red and Green and Yellow Books that are written from some Elven, Human, or Hobbit point-of-view.

We equine companions (and similar creatures) didn’t have much to do during that ridiculous and confusing battle. There were so many fighters popping up out of nowhere and disappearing again, turning miniature, and whatever (especially whatever!), that our DismountedShip never had time to ride. And where would they have gone if they had? Looks like we’re trapped in this far-away country; the flying vehicle that brought us here is shattered, and what ship would bear us ever back across so wide a Sea?

Anyway, we lounged around on the sidelines, counting the arrows that Vogonwë plucked out of thin air, betting who’d be the next coward to hide behind us, and mesmerized by the rise and fall of Merisuwyniel’s, um – breath. Unfortunately, the farther the battle progressed, the less food and drink were available to us. The grass withered, the flowers faded, because the tainted breath of Mogûl blew upon it, and water was no more.

When we realized that we too would be affected by the outcome of the battle, we finally roused ourselves to action. I wish someone would have taken note of the valiant deeds done by those of us they call animals; those two-legged “fighters” could have learned a thing or two! I put my hooves to very effective use, and the others followed my example. Without our help on the flanks, the Elves, Humans, Hobbits and all mixtures thereof couldn’t have held out long enough for Yawanna to win the day.

I’m not complaining, mind you – I’m just glad it’s over. Of course it’s sad that one of the Questers died at Mogûl’s hands – or head it was – but they were lucky not more lost their lives. I was afraid if the enemy didn’t get them, Chrysophylax’ fire would; he sure had himself a BBQ! But I guess his aim is better than I thought.

Here we are then, on our way upwards, judging from the terrain. Most of our companions are way behind; when I look back to see if they are still following, even my equine eyes cannot discern their faces nor recognize who is still moving. At the beginning my fellow beasts of burden made a show of pulling the cart in honour of Orogarn’s heroic death, but I’m the only one left now. ‘He ain’t heavy’ – hah! Either he is or the wooden artefacts are. Anyway, my mistress and the Green Goddess are walking hand in hand beside me; it’s just the three of us, with that mountain looming large ahead of us.

But though all others forsake Merisu, I will never leave her nor forsake her; whither she goeth I will go. And it may be that I will be her equine companion for many long years, for unto me has been given the lifespan of my foresire Felaróf, which exceeds that of normal horses by far. And it looks like Yawanna will stay with us too, at least as long as we are here in her country; I heard her say, “You’ll always have Paris!” That I didn’t understand, so I pricked my ears (different and less painful than piercing them!) and heard the echo say, “You’ll always have the pair of us!” She means me too! A very insightful goddess.

It looks like we’ve gotten wherever we’re going, at least for now; Yawanna has begun singing a song of worship, apparently. Let me see if I can hear the words; I’m sure the other horses will be jealous when I sing it to them!

She’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes,
she’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes,
she’ll be coming around the mountain, she’ll be coming around the mountain,
she’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes.

later...

We stopped at the foot of the mountain, where there were a number of mounds covered with white flowers. Instinctively I knew that those were not for nibbling and kept to the grass a short distance away.

“Should we not wait for the others to join us for the burial?” Merisu asked.

“Nay,” Yawanna answered. (I would have given the same answer had she asked me!) “For who knoweth how long it will take them nor whether they shall even come to this place, here at the end of all subplots. Besides, my husband would think that he could do it better, and instead of a mound we’d have another chasm. And when it’s broke, who fixes it?!”

With a charming wave of her emerald hands, she beckoned to the vines, bushes, and herbs that surrounded us, and they pushed clear a level space. Then they reached up to the cart and gently lifted Orogarn Two (yes, respect requires the suffix) ’s body and laid it there. His noble sword they placed at his side. Afterwards they piled the earth high above his remains, and within the shortest time flowers were growing on it. Amidst them the green leaves were shaped like unto a funny penguin, though some took the form of a ghastly green something-or-other.

Suddenly I heard Merisuwyniel’s voice begin to sing; I would have recognized its lovely tones anywhere, beautiful enough to melt the hearts of good and evil races, even to touch Mantoes’ compassion on behalf of her beloved, as had been the case long ago. But the words she sang were wonderfully fashioned, more than any of hers had ever been, and I surmised that the creative spirit that pervaded this holy place had suffused her.

Build high the barrow his bones to keep!
For here shall be hid both mouse and keyboard;
and to the ground be given blû dením Djeens,
and green Tê-Shirt with sword gleaming,
wealth unbegrudged for the well-beloved;
of forum admins the first and noblest,
to his moderators help unfailing,
to his members the fairest founder of websites.
Glory loved he; now glory earning
his grave shall be green, while forum or mainsite,
while post or thread in the internet lasteth.

Strange and otherworldly did those words sound to me, as echoes of another age perhaps, and I pondered them without finding meaning. Whether my mistress understood what she sang or not, it was a beautiful and touching moment. Yet our trip up the high mountain of Tan-Quickly-Hill had only begun.

[Kuruharan]

At the sight of Tan-Quickly-Hill, a thought burst into Kuruharan’s brain.

“Wow! Nice digs. This would be an excellent site for a casino!! Surely these Maya and Velour need some way to blow off steam!!”

With that thought echoing in his brain, the enterprising dwarf strolled up to Manuël.

Bowing in the proper dwarven fashion, Kuruharan said, “Please allow me to felicitate Your Majesty on your most recent victory. A triumph of this magnitude will surely awe and keep Muddled-mirth in its place for eons to come.”

“Wha…aaa…” intoned Manuël.

“May it please Your High Majesty,” continued Kuruharan, “to commemorate this splendid occasion, I have come to beg leave to establish a casi…err…erect a memorial…monument, I meant monument (sorry) on Tan-Quickly-Hill, to show forth the glory of your victory for all eternity.”

Manuël stared at the dwarf a moment. “HAAAUUUULLIIIËËËË!!!!”

“Dude?” replied Haulië

“Your creature used big words to me,” said Manuël. “Translate.”

Kuruharan repeated his request. As the dwarf spoke, a thought burst into Haulië’s brain.

“Duuuuuude! This would be an eeexcellent place for a casino!!”

What he said out loud was, “Uhhh…sorry dude! Like, uhh, zoning codes. Yeah, that’s it! The zoning codes don’t allow the building of casinos on Tan-Quickly-Hill.”

“Zoning codes?” said Kuruharan.

“Recently passed,” said Haulië hastily. “We are planning a few renewal projects and all construction has to be…uhhh, like, umm…approved by the Board! Yeah, approved by the Board. Unfortunately, the Board is pretty slow. It generally takes two Ages to process all the paperwork. You’ll probably be long dead before your request came up for review.”

“Curses,” snarled Kuruharan inwardly. Out loud he said, “Please it Your Not Quite As High But Still Pretty Up There Majesty, if I could then present another request?”

“Errr…” said Haulië.

“If Your Majesty would be willing to grant a small license concession to your humble servant, I’d be much obliged,” said Kuruharan.

“What sort of license?” asked Haulië.

“Please it Your Majesty, a gaming and foundation license,” replied Kuruharan. “The sort of license, since Your Majesty is the creator of our race, that King Gaín Lotsamoola would be unable to contest even in his own court. It wouldn’t need to be much of a thing. All it would really need to say is something about how I can have leave to establish my own franchise and not give the king a cut of the take.”

“Sorry, dude,” said Haulië. “I really don’t think…”

“If Your Majesty were able to accommodate your servant in this matter, I would be unable to say anything when I got back about how your wife almost left you (ahem),” said Kuruharan.

“On second thought,” said Haulië abruptly, “in view of your services to, like, the cosmic order, and some junk, I grant your request.”

“My gratitude is inexpressible,” said Kuruharan with another deep bow (in proper dwarven fashion).

“What’s the hold up?” asked Yawanna.

“Huh…hold up,” said Merisuwyniel.

Sure enough, everybody else was at least a quarter mile behind them. Everyone seemed to be watching some sort of discussion taking place between Kuruharan and the Velour.

“Now what’s he doing?” groaned Merisuwyniel. “Can’t I even have my moment of triumph in peace?!”

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisuwyniel, Yawanna, and Falafel had reached the top of Mount Tan-Quickly-Hill with the cart full of Entish pieces. They were alone, for the others of their company had lingered at the base of the mountain with the Velour, held up not only by Kuruharan’s bartering but by the fact that they had found a place of great interest – ‘Sethamir’s Stable, Sun Studio, and Surf Stuff’. There could be found sunglasses of high fashion, colourful apparel suited for water sports, and the boards which were so essential to the Velour for their ritual ceremonies. The LandLubberShip gazed at the various objects in wonder and would feign have been tempted to buy them but for their lack of local currency.

“Hey, doesn’t Merisu have Orogarn’s wallet?” Pimpi asked. “Perhaps we could use his credit card.” That was all the motivation they needed. They proceeded to follow their leader up the steep path with newly revived enthusiasm. In fact, they, unhampered by the cart, arrived at the summit in time to hear Yawanna’s clear voice ringing out with words of great import:

“Ent-That-Was-Broken, why have you come?”

And a voice, nay, several voices were heard, sounding strangely wooden and saying: “To be reunited and have no more pieces!”

Then Yawanna said: “The hour is come at last. You have besought my aid upon Tan-Quickly-Hill in the land of Valleyum, and I am the Maker of this, one of my children. I alone can remake him, that he can again fulfil the purpose for which he was created. Bring forth the Entish pieces!”


And she began to sing a song of great beauty and power:


Dat Wood, Dat Wood, Dat Dry Wood,
Dat Wood, Dat Wood, Dat Dry Wood,
Dat Wood, Dat Wood, Dat Dry Wood,
Now hear the word of Yawanna!

Oh, the leaf wood’s connected to the twig wood,
And the twig wood’s connected to the branch wood,
And the branch wood’s connected to the limb wood,
And the limb wood’s connected to the trunk wood,
And the trunk wood’s connected to the root wood,
Dat Wood is gonna live.

Yawanna connected Dat Dry Wood,
Yawanna connected Dat Dry Wood,
Yawanna connected Dat Dry Wood,
Dat Wood is gonna live!


And lo! as she sang the members of the Fellow/Galship of the Entish Bow came forward, bearing the pieces of Ent that they had brought with them from the long labours of their Quest.

Merisuwyniel laid the Entish Bow down at Yawanna’s feet, then furtively slipped the wooden foot that she had still kept in her pocket to Gravlox, so that he could proffer it as his own.

Kuruharan was so elated over the possibilities of future business in Valleyum that he silently brought forward the Great Foozle (“a shortish, longish, roundish, squareish, thinish, fattish, shapely, shapeless piece of wood”, it had been described) which he had found, not even considering asking for remuneration.

Leninia blinked back tears as she stroked the strings of the Entish Guitar one last time, yet she had learned to think of others instead of herself on this long journey, and gave up her erstwhile musical companion for the greater cause.

Vogonwë, Halfemption, Gateskeeper, and Sueim (the wraith formerly known as Grrralph) valiantly hoisted the Thighs of Soreham, laying (or rather dropping) them on top of the other pieces. There were cries of “Ouch!”, “Watch it, stupid!”, and “Aren’t there enough pieces already?!” from the Rent-Ent, but all was soon forgotten as they were lifted into place by Yawanna’s might.

Pimpiowyn donated the breadbox, since that was the piece nearest and dearest to her heart. And at the very last, Reeperneep came forward, having shouldered the Entish broom like a sword. Bowing down reverently, he gave it to Yawanna, and she smiled upon this small but proud creature, touching his shoulders lightly with the broom in knighthood as it were, before adding it the the assembled pieces.

Then she spoke in great majesty, asking: “Can this wood live?”

And Merisuwyniel answered for them all: “O Yawanna, thou knowest.”

Then the Green Goddess spoke to the wooden pieces, “Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and you shall live. And I will lay vines upon you, and will cause leaves to grow upon your branches, and cover you with bark, and put breath in you, and you shall live.”

And lo! the pieces of wood arose, and were joined to each other like unto a huge tree-shaped Man, and a trembling passed through the branches. And all who were assembled there held their breath in expectancy. Yet nothing happened.

“Can someone fetch water?” the goddess asked.

Soregum, who had kept to the background, still feeling out of sorts and out of place, hurried to the brook which was conveniently located nearby. He doffed his hat and filled it with the clear water (well, it was clear until it was carried in that hat of his). At Yawanna’s command he then poured it on the earth round the Rent-Ent. She then again raised her hands in invocation, but still nothing happened.

Yawanna was troubled in spirit, for she could not imagine what had gone wrong. She ran her lovely green hands over the Ent-That-Was-Still-Broken, gently probing for a crack or some other sign that something was amiss.

“But – a piece is missing!” she cried out in anguish. “The Ent cannot be reunited if even a tiny bit is lacking!”

Merisuwyniel and her companions looked at each other and whispered desperately. ”Have we forgotten a piece somewhere? Can it have gotten lost in one of the continuity gaps? Did the long time of our journey cause us to forget a part? Is our whole Quest in vain?”

Suddenly, in the hour of their greatest need, Merisuwyniel remembered the last words of their valiant companion, Orogarn Two:

“Take this, and check out my lucky nickel! It will help you in your hour of need!”

Hurriedly, she rummaged through the pockets of her divided skirt (which were filled with a good many handy and necessary things, though they were never lumpy nor made her look fat). Finally she found Orogarn’s wallet, bequeathed to her as his last gift. She tossed out various IDs, receipts, and calling cards, including the Gold Tooth Card of Grundor (which Kuruharan helpfully picked up, “forgetting” to give it to her, upon which it mysteriously found its way into his pocket), before discovering some loose change. Puzzled, she searched for a nickel.

“There’s one!” she exclaimed. But it felt much too light for the usual metal coin. And the carving was not right somehow.

“Why, it’s wooden!” she cried out, astonished. She held it to her ear, motioning to her companions for silence, and heard a soft humming sound. “It must be Entish!”

Quickly she gave it to Yawanna, who inserted it into a tiny space, like unto a slot. And it came to pass that the Ent began to stir its branches and limber its limbs. The FinishedAtLastShip watched in amazement as eyes appeared among the leaves, and a mouth that opened to speak.

[Diamond18]

"Did you hear something?" Pimpi asked.

"Hear what?" Vogonwë replied.

"I'm not sure, it sounded like a little voice, far off, saying something."

"I didn't hear anything. Look, the Ent is coming to life."

"Yes, but--"

"Love, if you don't mind, I'm trying to pay attention."

"Well, fine, I just thought it might be Mogul coming back to life."

"Don't be absurd. Like that's ever going to happen."

"It might."

"Not in our lifetime. Now be quiet, the Ent is about to speak." They both fell silent, waiting expectantly.

For a very long time.

At length, Vogonwë added, "Or not."

Pimpi took that opportunity to speak upon the matter she had been stewing over; "You're telling me to be quiet? Oh, that's rich!"

"Pimpi--"

"Oh, look, a biscuit in my pocket...."

With that, she fell to munching quietly, and Vogonwë returned his attention to the fascinating thing that was happening. Or was about to happen. Or may happen somewhere in the near future. Okay, distant future. It might not happen at all, but in case it did, he returned his attention to it. Soon he fell asleep, and Pimpi finished her biscuit. Growing bored, she cut his hair with Hush and wove the shorn locks into a vest-coat the size of which could fit a small dog.

SOMEWHERE IN HAVANA

The night was sultry. An old gringo sat nursing a cup of hot chocolate spiked with cinnamon rum and a slice of lemon. A little dog, no heavier than a bread box, came scampering up and piddled on his shin -- he just grunted and took a sip of sweet, chocolaty lemon goodness.

"Oy," said the little dog. "Can I 'ave some o' that?"

"Get lost," grunted the gringo. "Can’t ye see I’m old and grumpy, wee little pooch?"

The little dog whined and pranced till the old man relented and poured a little puddle of chocolate out on the patio. The little dog lapped it up with its quick pink tongue. It looked up and said, "'At was right good, it 'twas. Now I only wish I 'ad a vest-coat of Elvish hair."

"What would ye want that for?" the gringo asked.

"Why, it's lucky, they say. If ye wear a vest-coat of Elvish hair, ye can fly."

At that moment, the finest vest-coat of soft brown Elvish hair fell from the sky and landed in the old gringo's cup of hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon rum (and a silce of lemon).

"Oy," said the little dog. "Can I 'ave that?"

"What makes ye think ye can 'ave it?" the gringo retorted. "Maybe I want to fly!"

"It won't fit ye! It's exactly the size of a small dog," the dog pointed its paw impatiently.

The gringo nodded, reluctance in his old eyes. "So it 'tis, so it 'tis. 'Ere ye go then, little one." He slipped it over the dog's wee little head, and buttoned the vest up good and proper. Before his wondering eyes, the little dog levitated from the ground, spun around three times, and spat up some pea soup, hot chocolate, two granola bars, a banana, and a twist of lime. Then it flew off into the night, never to be seen in those parts again.

MEANWHILE, BACK IN VALLEYUM

Pimpi awoke with a start and wiped drool from the corner of her mouth. "I had the strangest dream," she remarked, but it fell on deaf ears, for Vogonwë had progressed to snoring.

The Ent was still blinking (as it takes a terribly long time to blink in old Entish) and there was no sign of a certain incredibly hard to kill big baddy anywhere, so she cut off more of Vogonwë's hair and with it made macramé potholders for her trousseau.

[The Saucepan Man]

And still the Ent stood motionless, its mouth open, as if to speak. But the no voice issued forth from it. Instead, it emitted a peculiar gurgling, rattling, wheezing sound.

“Behold! The Ent that was Rent but now fully Extent lives!” cried Yawanna in joy.

“Are you sure, babe?” enquired Manuël Santana. “It doesn’t, like, sound too hot to me.”

“Well, it is bound to experience some shock after all this time,” replied the Green Goddess. “It’s only …”

But as she spoke, the Ent began to shudder and convulse, and the strange sound originating from it grew in intensity. And, just as the noise reached a crescendo, an object the size and shape of a large cucumber, a putrid, glistening pinkish-greenish ochre in colour, emerged from the Ent’s mouth and dropped to the ground, where it lay writhing blindly.

“Ew! Gross!” exclaimed Prada.

“Dude!” cried Mantoes and Tickle-me Ulmo in concert, high-fiving. “Uber-gross, man! Way to reuninfy!”

“Er, is that supposed to happen?” asked Howlie.

But Yawanna did not answer. Instead, maniacal laughter filled the air as, at a point some twenty feet above the stricken Ent, a patch of thick black smog appeared and slowly resolved itself into a recognisable, albeit rather twisted, form.

“You!” uttered Yawanna in disbelief.

“Yes, me,” replied Môgul Bildûr. For it was he.

It is fair to say that defeat on the field of battle had not done the Dread Developer any favours, aesthetically speaking. No longer was he able to assume the drop-dead gorgeous form of a roguish rock star. Rather, his face was misshapen, his eyes dark and sunken and what skin he had left was ashen grey and peeling prodigiously from his skeletal form. He floated there in mid-air, as though seated upon an invisible throne, the mangy white furry - er - thing, Heslob, perched on his bony knee.

“You look awful,” said Yawanna, stating the obvious.

“It is of no concern,” cackled Môgul insanely. “My power is not diminished.”

“But you have lost!” declared Merisuwyniel defiantly. “The Ent has become whole. And according to the ancient tale, you should, by all rights, now be kissing goodbye to your soul.”

“Ah, yes. You refer of course to my little brother’s little rhyming curse. Not one of his best, it has to be said.”

“Hey, dude, cut me a bit of a slack,” muttered an abashed Mantoes. “I was just starting out on the doom pronouncing gig back in those days.”

“No matter. The pertinent point is that the Ent is not whole. For it is unable yet to live and breathe. There are a number of – ah – obstructions within …”

“What do you mean?” ventured Yawanna weakly.

And, of course, Môgul, being the super-villain that he was, could not resist the opportunity to explain his fiendishly cunning scheme.

“Mwahaha!” he gurgled, by way of introduction. “You know, when you are forced to spend some of your time in beetle form, you get to make all kinds of interesting acquaintances. May I introduce you to a friend of mine?"

The ground began to shake and a low rumble, deep within the earth, could be heard. Rather disappointingly for Môgul, no one seemed unduly perturbed by this, as it was a common occurrence when he was around. But what happened next was altogether more disconcerting. Gradually, a pair of enormous, chitinous legs broke the surface of the ground, in front of where the Ent stood. As the shiny black limbs pushed the soil aside, they were followed by a grotesque head bearing a pair of evil-looking mandibles. Then a thorax, followed by a great dark brown abdomen and two more pairs of spindly legs. Eventually, the vile creature had heaved herself out from her tunnel and squatted menacingly before them, regarding the assembled company through two large compound eyes, antennae twitching malevolently.

“Behold Exfoliant!” exclaimed Môgul triumphantly.

None knew whence she had originally come, but some have said that in pages long before she had descended from the vagueness that lay around and about this thread, when Melvin had first dwelt in idle contentment with his breth/sist-ren in Valleyum, and that she had taken rather a shine to him. But he had rejected her, and she had removed herself to the great forests of southern Valleyum. Deep in the gloom she had made her lair, and taken shape as a deathwatch beetle of monstrous form. There she had chewed up all the trees and bushes and plants that lay about her, until the forests were no more and she was famished. And so it was that Môgul had sought her out when first he had escaped from the void. And he had tempted her ravenous hunger with stories of the great woodlands of Muddled-Mirth, and so enlisted her aid in his efforts to destroy the Ent to which his fate was tied.

Môgul turned his attention the Entish Questors.

“My persistent friends, you may be surprised to learn that there is a traitor among you. One who has been travelling with you, but who is in fact an agent in my service.”

The companions stared from one to the other in disbelief - save for one, who was desperately wishing that he was somewhere else entirely, preferably a nice Hobbit hole in the Mire, with a plate of hot crumpets and a pipeful of Mireboro Light.

“Step forward, Windsor Gummidge!” commanded the Dread Developer.

“Who?” enquired the majority of the Gallowship in unison.

“Perhaps he is better known to you as Soregum,” the Dread Developer continued.

“Who?” they all said again.

“Small fellow, so high, bad teeth, enormous belly, smells.”

“Oh him.”

“Soregum, how could you?” said Pimpiowyn, addressing him in a voice which was to him as an arrow through his heart.

“I always knew that he was up to no good,” declared Vogonwë, self-righteously.

Soregum, meanwhile, had turned quite the brightest shade of red that even he had managed yet to achieve and stood, frozen to the spot, overburdened with shame and quite unable to speak.

“You will have noticed that he has quite a fondness for the Halfling leaf,” continued Môgul. “In fact, he cannot do without the foul stuff. So I took the precaution of keeping him fully supplied with stock from Moredough. And I believe that he has been using your charming wagon within which to store it. What a pity that the weed was contaminated with the spawn of my dear friend, Exfoliant. And, of course, when the grubs ran out of pipeweed to feed upon, they moved on to the Entish pieces. They do so love wood, you know.”

All stood dumbfounded, staring at the poor Hobbit, their eyes piercing him like sharp blades.

“And so the accursed Ent is riddled with the writhing spawn of Exfoliant. They lurk within it now, awaiting her command. Just one word from me, and the Ent will be no more.”

“Yawanna!” cried Merisu. “What can we do?”

“Nothing. He has won,” she said bleakly. Then, turning to Môgul, she continued,” Then why not give the word? What is it that you want from us?”

“Simple, my dear. All I require is kingship over the lands of Muddled-Mirth. Valleyum I am content to grant to you, my breth/sistren, as a fiefdom, subject to a suitable tribute payable annually. Oh and I almost forgot. Mantoes must, of course, renounce the doom which he pronounced upon me. If you give me your agreement on this, the Ent will be returned to you, hale and healthy. If you do not, he is maggot fodder.”

There was a moment of silence. And then Manuël Santana, King of the Velour, stepped forth with an air of determination.

“Sounds good to me, man,” he grinned. “I’d say we have a deal.”

“Yeah, it’d, like, avoid a lot of fuss and nastiness,” agreed Prada.

“Melvin’s right, dude. The curse stinks,” said T-M Ulmo to Mantoes.

“Dude!” said Mantoes, high-fiving T-M Ulmo. “That’s harsh, man. But fair. It was, like, pretty lame. I suppose I could cancel it.”

“And you would get to keep the Ent, dear,” ventured Howlie.

“Then we are agreed,” said the Dread Developer smugly.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisuwyniel’s lovely violet eyes filled with tears - very becomingly so, of course. Not for the first time did she wonder if all she had done, all her planning and effort on behalf of the Entish Bow, had been in vain. “It cannot be!” she cried out passionately.

“Hush, my dear,” Yawanna reproached her, causing Pimpiowyn to look up in puzzlement until she realized that, as her knife was not sentient, it could therefore not be the recipient of those words. “The Children should not interrupt when grown-up Velour are speaking among themselves.”

Merisu’s full crimson lips trembled most fetchingly at those harsh-sounding words. How could the Green Goddess turn her back on them? Of course, she cared about the Ent, and it looked like it was to achieve the whole life it had so long desired. But what of Muddled-Mirth? What good was it to save one Ent when all Nature would suffer under the cruel rule of the Dread Developer? “There must be some way to stop him!” she exclaimed.

Mantoes, who had been paging through his battered notebook, looking for the old curse in order to erase it, sighed. Even in speaking, the Elven maiden’s voice could not fail to charm him. He could only hope that she wouldn’t start singing, or he would melt as wax in her shapely hands. “Here it is,” he said to the others. “But – ”

“What’s wrong, dude?” Manuël asked.

“It’s indelible!” Mantoes gasped. “I can’t erase it! You wouldn’t think it now, but I was so brash and arrogant in my youthful days that I wrote everything in ink – crosswords, sudokus, dooms: once they were on paper, there was no turning back.”

“Can’t you cut the page out of your book? I can give you my nail scissors,” Chanessa offered helpfully.

“But there’s something really important on the back side of it,” Mantoes moaned. “My handy-dandy All Ages Chart of the Tides.”

The others nodded sympathetically, recognizing vital information when they heard of it. Môgul tensed, though it went unnoticed, as all were looking at Mantoes.

“Well,” said the ever pragmatic Vairsacë, “you could copy that chart onto a new page, then cut out the old one.”

This brilliant proposal was vigorously approved by the Velour. Estë-Lynn found a pen in her totebag, and Mantoes sat down to begin the task at hand.


Merisu could take it no longer. “What are you all thinking?” she accused. “You can’t give up like that! And even if you do, I won’t let it happen. Môgul must get what he deserves.” With those words, she unsheathed her sword and approached the ghastly figure valiantly. She managed to slash an “M” into his skin before Exfoliant turned to defend him. Before her comrades could come to her aid, she was pinned to the ground by huge mandibles. She gasped in pain as she felt them pierce her delicate skin. Then, as suddenly as the creature had assailed her, it withdrew again.

Yawanna stood there, holding a glowing green gem in her hand. Its rays were directed into the beetle’s eyes, and the foul creature writhed in pain.

“You are not ruler yet, Melvin,” she exclaimed, “and not here! Call your pet back until your time comes.”

Reluctantly, Môgul waved a skeletal hand to motion Exfoliant to his side.

“She looks hungry,” Yawanna mused. “I have a very special pipeweed stashed away here, on the holy mountain – for medicinal purposes only, of course. Perhaps she would like to try some?” She held out several leaves, almost hand-shaped, with long points, to the beetle. Greedily, it grasped the greens and stuffed them into its mouth.


In the meantime, Gravlox had hurried to his beloved’s side. He looked into her anguished eyes and saw the blood drops flowing from the sides of her head. Fortunately he was now in the habit of carrying clean handkerchiefs in his pockets, and he pressed one to each wound. “Your ears, your beautiful pointed Elven ears have been pierced,” he mourned. “Will those wounds ever heal?”


Exfoliant swayed from side to side, a blissfully vacuous look on her face, if insect expression could be interpreted correctly. A strange humming noise emanated from her bloated body, and those listening heard strange words with no context to make them intelligible. “Yellow submarine... four beetles... my friends... must go there...” She turned about as if searching for something, then tumbled down the mountain, into the sea, and was never seen again on the shores of Valleyum nor in Muddled-Mirth.


Yawanna looked at Môgul triumphantly. “That is what happens to those who destroy my children wantonly,” she said.

“Oh, but there are more of them in your wooden corpse,” he sneered. “You cannot rid the world of evil forever.”

“Perhaps not, but I can do more than you think,” she retorted. Leaning down to touch Merisuwyniel’s wounds and stop their bleeding, she picked up one of the improvised, blood-drenched bandages. She waved it at the still motionless Ent, and the wood began to vibrate. Yet alas, it was not a sign of life, but the movement of the foul spawn of Exfoliant. Hosts of beetles emerged from every crack in the wood, drawn by the scent of blood, and began to swarm toward the Paralyzed-in-Terror-Ship.

Yet they were stopped, for Yawanna stood before them, a flashing green gem in each hand. The rays blinded them and seared their flesh; soon they dropped to the ground, lifeless. Môgul watched aghast as he was bereft of the last of his allies. He gathered up the dark mists that surrounded him in an attempt to disappear. Yet the Green Goddess held him fast with the two rays, like unto a tractor beam. She motioned to Merisuwyniel, who arose and came to her side.

“Hold these jewels and make sure he doesn’t get away,” she admonished.

“But am I strong enough?” the Elven maiden hesitated.

“You now bear the marks of the sting of Exfoliant,” Yawanna informed her. “He can no longer harm you. But first, you must give back to me that artefact of mine which you hold in your possession.”

Puzzled, Merisu’s brow furrowed – becomingly, as always. “What on earth do you mean? I have nothing of yours.”

“Remember the white tower on the shores of Muddled-Mirth, and the globe which you took away ere it fell?” the goddess prompted her gently.

The Elven maiden blushed in shame. “Oh, that...” she murmured, rummaging through her pockets till she found the desired object.

Yawanna smiled. “Do not fear, for you did right to bring it here. This is the occasion for which it was created, and its purpose shall be fulfilled this day.”

She raised the glass orb in both hands, and the sun shone on it until it glowed with a fiery warmth in its depths. Mantoes, who had finally finished copying his chart, with many comments from his breth/sistren, ambled over to report, yet they were all stricken with silence as they perceived the import of what was happening. The Hopeful-At-Last-Ship watched with bated breath.

A clear, pulsating light shone from the globe, and as Yawanna turned toward the Ent-That-Was-Reunited-But-Not-Yet-Alive, its gleam seemed to reflect on the wood. Yet it was rather shining into the wood, into every crack that had been defiled by the vile creatures of evil, until all was purified and warmed by its light and its very sinews were knitted together again. A gentle breeze arose from whence none could tell, but it was whispered ever after that it must have been sent by Emu himself, for it caused the branches to shiver and and buds to awaken on its twigs.

With a gasp and a cough, the Ent began to breathe. Its eyes opened to reveal pools of green and golden depths, shining with ages of memory and long, slow, steady thinking, yet their surface was sparkling with the present. It felt as if something that grew in the ground had suddenly waked up. “Hrum, Hoom,” its voice murmured, a deep voice like a very deep woodwind instrument. “That was not hasty, and it was almost not hasty enough for me.”

The animated skeleton amidst the dark mists above their heads rose slowly to a great height like smoke from a fire. For a moment it wavered, then crumbled into a pile o’ bones and faded into a haunting spirit. Drawn inexorably by the force of the glowing globe, the Dread Developer ceased his earthly exploitations and was pulled inside the glass orb.

The holy mountain of Tan-Quickly-Hill trembled and quaked at this monumental event, and its peak did open to reveal fiery depths. In measured steps, the goddess walked to its very brink, holding the globe, then she dropped it into the bottomless chasm. It sank with a series of bubbles and was gone.

“Now, where were we?” Yawanna said brightly.