Assigned to Mordor RPG

[Durelin]

Still confounded as to how exactly Panakeia had managed to get the two of them in the presence of the most honored Captain and his Spockú, Valde did not waste time considering the possibilities. He approached Spockú and flourished a bow. “I am a great admirer of your work. Never have I seen a mind more large and swollen with brilliance than yours, particularly between a pair of pointed ears.” He knew flattery was the best way to get someone to trust you. It was only logical. And of course it was only logical for everyone to simply be in awe of this ultimate Vulcan.

“Thank you…?”

“Valde,” he said, supplying the Lord of the Brow with his name. He was mesmerized by those dark streaks, twisting up and ending in a slight point. He knew they were not natural. He knew they were a fabrication of dark forces. They irked him so much that he barely saw Spockú reach out with his hand, moving it slowly toward Valde’s shoulder. But his reflexes were quick, and Valde removed the Vulcan hand from anywhere near him.

“You have passed my test. It is logical to assume that you if you admire me, you k now my ways. And since it seems that you know my ways, then you must admire me.”

Of course. It made perfect sense. Valde wasn’t about to tell him otherwise, anyway. Instead, having gained his trust, he made his move.

“Oh my goodness!” he shouted, springing toward Spockú. “Sir, there are a pair of tribbles on your forehead!”

“Great Scotty! Where?!” The Vulcan shouted, flailing.

“On your forehead, sir.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” The pointy-eared man reached up to his face.

“Here, let me pluck them off of you, sir. Just relax. I happen to have the tribble removal kit you used in episode 74.”

Spockú dropped his arms. “I had a special kit for that? Well aren’t I clever.”

“Quick, close your eyes, sir, before their hair particles get in them.”

Valde then turned searchingly to see if he could acquire some kind of help. Dr. McBones approached him, seeing the look of inquiry on his face. “How can I heat this up?” he hissed.

“Here, let me nuke it,” McBones replied. Valde handed over the container of wax with an incredulous look on his face.

“Nuke it?”

“Scotty has a microwave.”

“Ah.”

He turned back to Spockú, who still had his eyes shut. It seemed Valde had made a logical enough argument concerning the tribbles, though logic of course came in many forms across the galaxies. For now, Valde decided to keep himself busy and his victim convinced that there were indeed two small furry animals on his forehead by using the tweasers. How that would do the latter he was not sure, but he began to pluck away at the Vulcan’s eyebrows, anyway.

“Ow!” Spockú exclaimed befittingly. “Hurry up! Those things always did have a nasty bite. That was a bite, wasn’t it?”

“Quite. No blood yet, though, sir. And we’re getting there. Everything’s almost set up for their sticky gooey fate.”

“Sticky gooey? I seem to recall using something like grains…”

“You used a number of preserves, as well, though.”

Valde felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Dr. McBones holding out the container of wax. He couldn’t help himself, and he beamed at him very unlike a Lead Tragic Actor. After taking the wax from him, though, he furrowed his brow in a deep concentration that was much more suitable to his role, and scowled slightly at recalling the smile. He wondered what Panakeia would think of him is she had seen that – she probably would have thought he was a joke. She’d think he was just another silly man who found joy in love and life and food and cute fuzzy little animals and pretty faces. The thought was horrifying.

“Goodness, that is gooey. And how warm. You really didn’t have to go and cook them fresh for me.”

Valde snapped out of his thoughts and realized that he had put quite enough wax on the left furry arch. Grabbing a conveniently pre-cut cloth strip from the kit, he pressed it firmly on the waxed area.

“There, all set for getting the first one. Ah, and he’s gone for it!” Valde commentated, and then pulled ‘in the direction opposite the hair growth’ as instructed.

“By the Borg! Are you sure that wasn’t a furry leech?!”

Valde peered at the cloth he had ripped off Spockú’s face and snickered. Looking at the Vulcan he had to stifle a stream of giggles. He looked lopsided. But quickly any humour Valde found in the situation turned to pure horror. He had reached up to clutch the left side of his face at the stinging pain. It was a natural reaction, of course, as Valde had failed to place any pressure on the area after he pulled the strip off. Perhaps he should have read the directions more carefully.

“What in the Enterprise…?” Spockú questioned while feeling the obvious hairlessness of his left brow. “What have you done?!”

“Run!” Valde heard Panakeia shout, and he silently agreed, racing after her with the conveniently pre-cut strip of cloth dangling from his hand, now stuck to it quite firmly. At least he would get half his points, even if Anakron was not feeling understanding. After a daring escape, the two contestants were on their way back to the Mount Doom Casino and Resort. Both their kamuramen had somehow escaped with them. Valde was disappointed, and questioned them as to whether they had simply stayed in the car the entire time. But, of course, they claimed to have gotten Valde and Panakeia’s entire escapade on their kamuras. Valde scowled as he carefully pried the hair-infested piece of cloth off his hand.

[Encaitare]

With the huge Star Map clutched in her wrinkled hands, Wilhelmina walked down the street, scanning it for Club Pârís. "Let's see," she said as the bottles in her pockets clanked. "The Opposite of Soft Stone Restaurant? No... Hemisemidemi Moore? No... Planet Trollywood? No... aha! There it is!" To her dismay, the club was on the other side of the resort. Glancing at a conveniently placed scrolling sign which displayed the time, temperature, and velocity of an unladen sparrow, she realized that she probably couldn't make it if she walked... and she didn't feel like driving again. Ever.

So what to do?

"Move it, lady!" someone said loudly, bustling past her. Apparently she had stopped right in the middle of the busy sidewalk while lost in thought. 'I'm behaving like a ruddy tourist with this map and just stopping short in the middle of the sidewalk... how foolish of me,' she thought, and then realized that could work, too.

~*~*~*~*~

Wilhelmina had decided not to sit on the top level of the double-decker tour bus, but was now regretting it. Rabid tourists with flashing cameras, sunglasses, and too much sunscreen were pressed up against the windows. They kept turning to her and exclaiming "Isn't that something!" and "We'll have to remember to tell the kids about that!" One man actually kept poking her and pointing to various buildings and nondescript lamp-posts in his excitement. "You know," she said severely, "I went to Nü Yawk once. And if you stop to point at things there, you get trampled. Do you know there's a huge glob of sunscreen on your nose? Oh, you did. Never mind, then."

Finally, she could take it no more, and she climbed the narrow stairs up to the top, where there were just as many rabid tourists, but a bit more fresh air. The kamura-orc, which had been goodnaturedly braving the tourists, seemed relieved. A bored-sounding orc was pointing out the sights, and for once Wilhelmina was glad she was going a bit deaf.

She pulled the brim of her hat down over her ears and kept a lookout for the club. Around her, people shouted and carried on and hurried down the street to their various destinations. She should have felt lucky she had the opportunity to get out of Mordor, and yet she felt rather lonely amidst all these rushing, insufferable people. She found herself missing Fléin, in fact. The cat-upchucking Dwarf had a certain charm.

She felt someone prodding her, and was about to whack the offending tourist with her walking stick. But it was only the kamuraorc. "Cwub Pâwís! It's wight thewe!" he was saying. Wilhelmina grinned, and the two of them grabbed the leash that an anxious mother was using to tether her child, and heroically swung off the top of the bus, both hoping they'd never have to experience such a wretched form of travel again.

"So now what?" asked the kamuraorc.

"Now," said Wilhelmina mysteriously, "we set the bait." All aura of mystery vanished as she produced a package of dog biscuits from her pocket. Carefully, she laid them on the ground in a trail from the door. She then took Panakeia's perfumes and did the same thing in the opposite direction.

"Woo awe going to wuwe hew out?"

"Yes... but first we're going to lure her dog out."

"How do woo know it wiww wowk?" the orc asked doubtfully.

"The dog'll smell the treats and come out, and she'll come chasing after it. Plus, you've got a kamura. People like her are complete kamurahôres. Most celebrities are." Wilhelmina hoped very much that she sounded like she knew what she was talking about. She didn't want to blow it and get no points... whatever the points meant, anyway.

~*~*~*~*~

After a duration of time which shall remain undefined so as to maintain some small aura of mystery, an obnoxious yapping sound was heard. And just a few moments after that, a rat in GooChee clothing burst out of a doggie door, having smelled the treats.

"Tinkerbell! Tinkerbell!" a woman cried, tripping along in gleaming pink heels. "Tinkerbell, come back to Mommy!" Then the shiny baubles caught her eye, and the pair were like kids in a candy shop, or happy anime characters with sparkles the size of galaxies in their eyes. "That's hot, said Pârís Hiltôn as she picked up the shinies one by one.

Wilhelmina gestured to the kamuraorc, who hastily ran to the end of the perfume trail, film rolling. Pârís Hiltôn looked up at the lens, said "Hi," and continued to smile vaguely in that direction like someone who has too much money and not enough purpose in life. And while Tinkerbell gobbled up the last of the treats, Wilhelmina unscrewed the cap of the Pearie Ockcide Potion and poured the contents on the dog's tail. She then proceeded to shout in horror.

"Oh! Oh! Ms. Hiltôn! Your dog!"

"She's adorable," Pârís Hiltôn said serenely, as though she were in her own little sunshine-and-rainbow world and the rest of them weren't allowed in.

"But she's sick!"

Immediately she was at the dog's side. "My Tink? My Tinky-Winky? What's the matter with my puppy-wuppy?"

"Her tail's gone blonde!" Wilhelmina fussed. "She must have... er... dog flu," she concluded lamely. Dog flu? Wherever did she come up with that? Now she had to go with it, though. "Yes, the dog flu can be fatal! I'd better take her to a doctor!"

"I thought you were a doctor," said Pârís Hiltôn.

"What?" Wilhelmina said confusedly.

"You must be a doctor... you know about diseases. That's what doctors do, right?"

"Sweetie," said Wilhelmina as kindly as she could, "I'm no doctor. I'm sure we all know about a good number of diseases."

"Maybe I should go with Tinkerbell..."

"No! That's just fine!" Wilhelmina dug in her pocket and drew out the mirror she had purchased. "Here! Occupy yourself with this!"

"That's hot," said Pârís Hiltôn as she vapidly stared at her own reflection.

"How shouwd we get back to the hotew?" asked the orc.

Wilhelmina looked around, and her eyes settled on something that was black, shiny, and at least three times longer than it really needed to be. "How about by limo?"

[Kath]

Sai had not minded that Alli wouldn’t be very sociable throughout the flight. She had always enjoyed being able to sit by a window and watch as the world went by beneath her, and a lack of distractions would make that easier. So she sat in a window seat (for once blessedly empty), pressed her nose against the glass and remained happily amused that way for a good few hours.

She was so enthralled that she started when Alli spoke, not having realised that she was awake. She looked over and noted that the girl seemed worried about something, but by this time knew better than to ask what it was.

“Not long.” She replied. “We’ve been getting lower for a while now so . . .”

Her words were interrupted as the wheels of the plane suddenly hit the ground without warning. Sai and Alli were thrown forward but managed to catch themselves before they fell out of their chairs. From the screams coming through the floor, those below in the cargo hold weren’t so lucky. The plane came to stop a few minutes later, and Sai finally stopped clutching the arms of her seat. She saw Alli release her equally white-knuckled grip and the two of them slowly stood up, hoping their shaky legs would hold them up.

“I’ll go get the others out of the hold.” Sai offered, needing to get onto stable earth as quickly as possible (or at least as stable as was possible in Mordor). “You can go ‘thank’ our pilot.”

Alli nodded and headed towards the front of the plane. Sai climbed down the stairs that must either have travelled with them the entire journey or had just mysteriously appeared out of thin air, as there was no one around who could have put them there. She opened the door to the hold and as she did she was knocked over backwards as a body fell on top of her. Scrambling out from underneath Sai laughed as she realised it was Tom. The poor boy had been sitting with his back right up against the door so he could escape as quickly as possible. Hauling him to his feet she began to lead him away from the plane and his new fangirls followed right behind.

They made their way to the specified meeting point, Alli joining them about halfway through the journey. Depositing Tom, the fangirls and the box in front of Anakron, Sai and Alli waited for the rest of the group to arrive.

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron almost smiled. Alli and Sai had returned early, with their most valuables and more to boot. Very good.

"I see you have Rowling's bad-boy (but no Rowling which doesn't matter as how could you since she is otherwise occupied) and Bloom's fangirls, Alli. Well done. And without Mardil's help. More than enough. Certainly more than one, or three. Not to mention your extra curricular activities. Ten points." Sai was casting her glance between Alli and Anakron, mystified as to what extra curricular activities Anakron referred to.

"Never you mind, my dear Sai; you have more than enough to concern yourself with, let me assure you." So speaking, he lifted his staff. "Let the Dweomer be activated as is most appropriate at this time in the case of Sai."

Suddenly Sai's kamuraorc stepped up beside her, staring at her with his big, bloodshot eyes all soft and gooey (well, ***** actually), grinning stupidly. "I've been meaning to tell woo, that woo awe the howse-apple -" Suddenly his eyes went big and his greenish face went completely green. "Ulp!" he said, and hurled all over Sai.

"Yuck!" Sai yelled.

The kamuraorc's eyes widened. "How did woo know the mating call of the female owc!?" He grinned and retched again.

Anakron clicked his tongue. "Control yourself, Lurge!"

"Sowwy, siw."

"Some of these anakronisms are just so appealing," Anakron murmured. "At least, Sai, you have done most admirably in disabusing JLo of her - ahem - slightly overabundant assets. Ten points."

Anakron turned to the Siamese Cat atop his staff. "Tell me, Sylvester, how do Panakeia and Valde fare? And don't spit while you talk."

The cat became furry and black and white with an oversized nose and eyes and couldn't keep his tongue in his cheeks. "She's falling for him but thtaying on her own two feet. He's getting all fowled up-" here Sylvester grinned.

"I said, don't spit when you speak."

"Thorry."

"There you go again."

"Thorry again," Sylvester grimaced. "Anyway, he's getting all fowled up with Drekkies."

"No doubt Panakeia will rescue him somehow, as he will no doubt need it once he has disabused Spockú of his Lord Foul Brow. Ah, I feel another dweomer coming on. Cat, return to your former state."

"Awww!" Sylvester bawled, and became part of the staff again.

"Panakeia shall try to flirt and thus hurl."

Alli's hand went to her hip. "Is that it?! How unoriginal!"

"Do not speak of unoriginal, as very soon, once Mardil can be found, I foresee you relinquishing Balrog fur through your food orifice."

Her eyes went wide with horror. "No! Not that! Anything but that! You're so cruel!"

"But of course. I taught the likes of you before I was ensconced in my current disposition. Now go distract yourselves with your ill-gotten most valuables. I promise you, Orlando and JLo are not happy and are hot on your tails. So tuck them and run. And Lurge, don't drool.

"One last thing, Alli and Sai, after you've taken care of Tom, Orlando, JLo, Lurge, and assorted mindless twits of the female gender, be back here spot on sundown. Kapiche?"

Off they ran. Not a moment too soon, as up came an entire crew of Trollywood sets, actors, kamuraorcs, and all assorted hangers-on thereof. And Bleater Quackson, of course.

"We're ready for the big scene!" Bleater said.

"Have all the bureaucratic red tape and actors' contracts been completed?

"Yes!"

"Roggie's and Queen Quon's as well?"

"Of course!"

"And J.K.'s?"

But of course! I never overlook any detail, even if it doesn't belong."

"Well then, get on with it."

Bleater turned to his crew and gave the order, then pointed at what was left of Mount Doom. "Roll!" he shouted.

On the southern slope was Queen Quon, using two clawed feet and one hand to climb while holding something in the other.... which happened to be gesticulating madly and screaming at the top of its lungs.

"Rowling, I presume?" asked Anakron.

"But of course! They wouldn't let me direct her films, so this is turn about fair play!"

On the north face climbed Roggie, also holding something in his fist. Only, this particular 'thing' was watching everything that happened with a bored look in his eyes, his chin resting on his elbow, disdaining to show the least bit of excitement regarding his predicament.

"Mardil, I presume?" asked Anakron.

"Yes! And thanks!"

"He agreed?"

"He said he always wanted to be an actor in a movie. Now he gets his chance."

"He doesn't seem to be enjoying it."

"That's the way he's supposed to play it."

Anakron shrugged and waited for the moment when the two monsters would see each other over the crest of what was left of Mount Doom; not to mention, what would happen when Mardil was confronted with Rowling.

[Encaitare]

“How do I know you’re not a pair of dognappers,” the driver asked suspiciously.

Wilhelmina held up the yapping dog, displaying its bleached tail. “Tinkerbell has the dog flu!” she told him. “I’m Miss Hiltôn’s spiritual advisor, dearie; we’re very close, and she’s given me special instructions to take the poor puppy to the resort hotel where she can see a doctor friend of ours. I knew this would happen, of course,” she added. “It’s been in the stars for months.”

“And who are you?” the driver asked the kamuraorc.

“Uh… just fiwming, siw. Hewe to make suwe Tinkewbeww is tweated pwopewwy.” The orc glanced nervously at Wilhelmina and she nodded ever so slightly. Maybe the orc wasn’t a complete loss.

“Okay, then. I’ll take you to the hotel.” The driver opened the door, and Wilhelmina, the kamuraorc, and Tinkerbell (and Mr. Swanky, deep in the recesses of Wilhelmina’s hat) got inside.

“Thank you, young man.”

“No problem,” he said, getting into the front seat and promptly changing into an orc. “I’ll get you there in no time – I drive fast.”

[the guy who be short]

Fléin emerged, or so it seemed to the baffled orc, from nowhere. In one hand, at arm's length, he held a net with something large and round within. In the other arm, shoved against his chest and pressed to his body as well as held in his hands, was... gold. Lots of gold. The orc felt something wet splat on his foot, only to find that he had started drooling.

"Oi, you sod! Get over here!" the Dwarf bellowed across the field at him. All the birds around the park took off in fright, and the bandy-legged little creature snuffled across the grass to him. He noticed that the round thing-in-the-bag had started wriggling around at the noise, and approached with not a little apprehension.

"Carry all this, will you?" Fléin shouted at him over the twittering of Sparrow, and dropped all the gold on the ground. "And don't try and steal any... I've counted it all up.

The orc took possession of the gold - in the form of sceptres, crowns and necklaces, mostly - while Fléin bashed the Sparrow on the head to render it unconscious once more, shutting it up. He could feel the orc's curiosity, but decided to ignore it in the hope that the orc would know better than to disturb him.

"What'th that thpar-"

"WHY?"

"What?"

"Why, why, my orc, do you insist on bantering?" The Dwarf shook his head so ferociously that Sparrow woke up again, and added his twittering to Fléin's frustration, forcing him to shout. "Why must you speak? Just act. Your purpose is not to speak."

He threw a disgusted look at the orc, who duly started picking up the gold, and then turned it to the squeaky Sparrow. "And if you don't shut up, Jack, I'll bash your head it and spit roast you. Bringing you back alive wasn't part of my contract." The bird too shut up, and Fléin suddenly felt a lot happier.

Five hours later (he had had to wait for a bus, after all) he was back at the resort, a bird in the hand, and showing it to Anakron.