Assigned to Mordor RPG

[the guy who be short]

"So, Fléin, do sit down. I'm sure you know my job, eh?"

Fléin nodded. He took his place on the couch, but kept his eyes on the window to his left incase another bird came.

"So, how close were you to your father as a child?"

Fléin sighed inwardly. This was not going to be an easy session. He tried to explain, as well as possible, the complexities of Dwarf families and their differences from Men. "You see, we don't display our gender so flagrantly as you humans," he had finished.

All the time, Freud had been taking notes. He looked up into Fléin's eyes, then smiled wryly. "I'm afraid this doesn't bode well. No father figure... Yes... most damaging. Tell me, how old are you?"

"A hundred and a bit," he said.

"And in all this time you've felt no desire to marry?"

Again, Fléin tried to explain the Dwarf customs, but he suspected Freud was only hearing what he wanted to hear.

"Do you feel attracted to anybody?"

Fléin stuttered. He didn't feel like telling this man about Wilhelmina. But then, it was for his mental good. He spilt the beans.

"Wilhelmina? I think I saw her enter the building. Small, squat, wrinkly?"

"Hmm."

Freud sighed, snapped his notebook shut and looked directly at Fléin. "I'm afraid you are a homosexual," he said.

Fléin snapped his head away from the window and glared at the man. "How on Arda did you come to that conclusion? What about Wilhelmina!"

Freud smiled softly. "She's no more a womanly woman than I am."

Fléin felt himself boiling, but restrained himself. Let the imbecile believe what he wanted, if he could leave more quickly. "Actually, now that you mention it, I do find Anakron quite appealing. What's the cure?"

Freud shrugged. "Homosexuality isn't actually a disorder, you know. As such, I can't treat it. You'll have to get used to it."

"What do you mean it's not a disorder! It's abominable!"

"See, you need to get past all these feelings of yours. Learn to accept yourself for who you are, Fléin. Tell me, why do you keep looking out of that window?"

"A Slan is on the move," Fléin replied without thinking, immediately regretting it.

"A Slan? A "sine loco, anno, vel nomine?" Some nameless, placeless, timeless thing is moving?" He scribbled frantically. "I'm afraid you're delusional, my dear Dwarf.

"Delusional? The Birds told me!"

"Completely nutty! No wonder with such poor parenting."

Fléin suddenly felt a deep hatred of the man. "What did you say about my parents?" he demanded through his teeth.

"Poor parenting. No common sense. Gender Ambiguous."

"They were NOT!" Fléin raged at him. His scar burnt, far worse than the dull pain of his bruises, and suddenly...

Freud swelled up. Like a balloon, he swelled bigger and bigger. Fléin watched in amazement, anger gone, as he ballooned out into a sphere and floated to the ceiling.

Fléin jumped out of the couch, opened the door and bellowed down the corridor: "Somebody fetch Doctor Hookbill!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Door opened dramatically and the nurse stepped into the room. "Doctor, you are needed." Hookbill laughed, for the first time in a while. He plodded out, following the nurse down the corridor as someone was shouting 'someone get Doctor Hookbill'.

"What is going on?" asked the Doctor, "Is it another bit of surgery?"

"Not yet," replied the nurse, "go in there," she pushed open Freud's door. There they beheld the man floating at the top of the room with his face a vision of rage and confusion. Almost without thinking, Hookbill took a pin from his coat pocket tred to burst Freud. However, he couldn't quite reach and had to stand on a chair.

"Doctor," warned Félin, "I don't think this will work."

"Nonsense, my dear boy," said Hookbill wildly stabbing the pin here and there, not really looking at what he was doing, "I'm a doctor... apparently. I'm sure everything will be alright in the e-"

BANG

[the guy who be short]

After Hookbill's treatment of Mr Freud, Fléin had been ushered away by a nurse. She kept stepping on his feet, which was quite a feat in itself, considering he was walking behind her. Behind him, he heard weeping, then frantic mumbling, before Doctor Hookbill was out of sight.

The nurse informed him that until Freud was reassembled from his many pieces, Fléin would have to wait in this here waiting room. She apologised for the inconvenience and assured him that, as soon as Freud was remade, his appointment would resume. She made to leave.

"Wait a second! Didn't that explosion kill Freud?" Fléin asked.

"Of course not. Why would it?"

"Well," Fléin assumed the air of one in deep thought, "one would presume the distribution of his innards over his office would be detrimental to his general health," he finished drily.

The nurse laughed at him. "Oh, don't be so silly! Deus ex machina!" she giggled mystically before shoving him into the waiting room and wandering off.

Fléin closed the door behind him, apprehensive of what appeared to be a chance of peace in this lunatic hospital.

"Speaking of Deus..." a voice boomed behind him, and he swivelled around immediately. There, in the centre of the violent pink room, was a huge shadow in the shape of a great lion. Black wisps of smoke were wreathed around it like mist, obscuring it somewhat, but there was no mistaking its shape. For a long moment, Fléin believed Freud was right about his delusions - this couldn't be real!

The antilion bowed. "Fléin son of Fréin. Hail. I am A Slan."

"A Slan?! But you're on the move!"

"Not anymore," the beast rumbled. "I have found my quarry."

Fléin felt choked. "But... A Slan... Why have you been searching for me?"

A Slan laughed, and his rumbling was so deep the floor shook. "You are not my quarry, Fléin Fréinson. I come merely to ask you, for you have not yet replied to my agents: Do you stand with me or against me?"

Fléin pondered the situation before replying, "I hope you don't mind, A Slan, but I have no idea what's going on. Your agents weren't very helpful. If you could summarise the situation, perhaps I could make a decision."

"There is no time to explain."

"Then I must remain neutral, your Slanness."

The antilion bowed once more, a most curious sight, then stood up proudly. "I must find Anakron!" he roared, and bounded off, the door of the waiting room mysteriously opening itself for him.

"Wait!" Fléin cried. "Anakron is your quarry?"

A Slan looked back over his shoulder at the dwarf, smiled, and said "Of course." He bounded off once again, but this time with Fléin at his heels, struggling and failing to keep up.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli woke up tied to a chair in the theatre. Her knuckles were bruised and throbbing. Her head was bruised and throbbing. It took several seconds of hard thought to remember that first she had been hit on the head. Bruise one explained. Then she had woken up en route to the theatre. Knowing that there was nothing wrong with her, as far as her slightly inebriated pseudo-doctor could tell, and that she was about to experience a pointless and forcibly performed surgery, fists flew.

The nurse's perfect blonde hair was now disarrayed. Her perfectly placed eyeshadow had smudged. Her perfectly pouty lips now actually pouted as her perfectly broken nose was jammed back into place by a real physician (with the appropriate non-levels of bedside manner) with a crunch of shifting cartelage. Bruise two explained.

Once Alli had managed to break the nose of her captor, she had been knocked out once more. Her head was really starting to hurt. The split from several days ago had reopened, oozing slightly. She looked down and admired her hands. They hurt, but Alli was willing to bet that the pretty blonde nurse, Meriseowyn, was hurting more. It made her smile in a cruel sort of way.

After all, being tied tightly to a chair with a scalpel coming closer every second gave Alli little reason to smile in a sweet sort of way. She was dead curious about just what these people planned to do to her.

Illamatar spoke.

"Use the force, Alli."

"Pardon?"

"The force."

"I'm slightly unaware of your meaning. What, if you don't mind my asking, is the force?"

"Ah, my mistake. Wrong dimension. Mumble mumble parallel universe mumble mumble Obi Wan mumble. Sorry about that. Baa."

Alli looked worriedly between the orcs that played nearby with knives and the quiet place in her head where these words echoed like thunder in the hills. Illamatar appeared, standing before her, his golden fleece glimmering in the stage-lights.

"What do I do, Illamatar? They're going to cut me open!"

"Grin an bare it."

"Bare what?!" Alli shrieked, blushing. "I'm not baring a single thing on stage in front of all of these people."

"Ah, my mistake again. Most sorry... misused homophone. This is really not my day. Baa. I meant to say grin and bear it." With that, Illamatar disappeared and Alli looked more nervous than ever. The surgical staff was getting closer and not even Doctor Hookbill seemed to be around. While she had little faith in his medical expertise, she at least applauded his ability to forget reality for a short time through "reading". That was what escapism was really about. When in doubt of the world around, take a good "read". That was a good life lesson. She grimaced and waited, hoping that something would happen.

Suddenly she heard mysterious song lyrics that had nothing to do with the story. Smiling, she bobbed her head to the tune. As she grinned, a bear appeared. She stopped grinning and it disappeared. She tried again, thinking this too good to be true. Surely enough, it came back. She happily thought how great it would be to be untied and, whaddaya know, here came the bear and untied her.

As orc security guards came closer, Alli enthusiastically smiled about how great it would be for them to be tied up instead. Whodathunkit, but wouldn't you guess that the next thing she knew, the bear was tying up the orcs?

Within a short amount of time, every orc in the theatre was fastened to a large and unmovable object. Alli grinned a lot and walked with the bear out the door.

As she passed through the open portal, a completely unexpected piece of Freud hit her in the already very sore head. Down she went and Doctor Hookbill looked at her.

"Oh dear..." he murmered, holding back sobs. "I believe there's a bone splinter. We'll have to operate."

[the phantom]

Mardil waved goodbye to his shapely TA, closed the door of his University dorm room, and fell back onto the couch. "Well, that's one task taken care of."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Anakron as he entered from the kitchen munching on potato chips.

Mardil jumped up in surprise. "When did you get here?"

"Oh, a couple minutes ago, but you didn't answer my question, Mardil. What do you mean when you say that one of your tasks is taken care of?"

Mardil winked and drew a certificate from a hidden pocket. There was a lot of typical legal and official babble scattered about the small scroll, but the important bit read ...Mardil II has completed his course in Approaches to Rulership at the University of Mordor.

"That's an amazing accomplishment considering you never went to class," observed Anakron.

"Well, Katie gave me the complete notes for the class so I just studied those and took my test," explained Mardil.

"And Katie is?"

"The TA."

"But didn't you lose attendance points for not going to class?"

"No, no," said Mardil, "Katie marked me present at every meeting."

"And your paper?" asked Anakron.

"Oh, that didn't take any time at all. Katie gave me a heads up on all the stuff the professor wanted to see, and told me some things to put in my paper that would rub the prof the right way."

"And how in the world did you manage to convince Katie to do all of this for you?" asked Anakron.

"You already know the answer, I'm sure," remarked Mardil as he grinned and sat back down on the couch.

Anakron rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I suppose I do know the answer, Mister Bond."

"Mister who?"

"Never mind."

Mardil reached down and grabbed a bag of beef jerky from beside the couch and ripped it open. "Sit down, Anakron, and tell me why you're here."

Anakron did not sit, but he did lean against the wall. "I came to ask why you've been at the hospital just about every day but have not taken your physical."

"I've just been getting to know all the nurses," replied Mardil.

"And what purpose does that serve?" asked Anakron.

"Well, seeing as I have to have some sort of surgery, it will be to my advantage if the entire surgical staff is fond of me."

"In other words," said Anakron, "You are insuring that nothing major is done to you?"

"Correct. No matter what the doctor recommends, that surgical staff won't take a scalpel to me for a million dollars. The most they will do is snip off a hang nail, or perhaps give my hair a trim," laughed Mardil.

"Well then, it appears you have that situation under control. When are you going in for your physical?"

"Right now. After that I'll hop over for my psych evaluation."

Anakron walked over to the closet door and opened it. "What if your physical takes too long and doesn't allow you time to go for your psych eval?"

"I'll make sure the doctor administering the physical keeps it short," said Mardil with a twirl of his favorite knife.

Anakron nodded and turned towards the closet. "I'll see you later, Mardil." And with that, he stepped into the closet and shut the door. Mardil crossed the room and opened the door, but Anakron was nowhere to be seen.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hookbill lifted himself out of the sludge left by Freud and wandered down the corridor, following Félin until he was forced into the operating theatre. On the floor, he saw Alli with bone splinter. "We'll have to operate," he said, and then added, "What am I saying? I need to get out of here! My wife’s going to kill me!"

"You have a wife?" asked the nurse, bandaging herself up.

"It's a figure of speech." Hookbill followed the nurse to the operating theatre, mainly because two Orcs with swords were guarding the exit. The nurse began to snigger, "What's so funny? I, personally, cannot see anything funny about the last few days!"

"Oh its just..." she laughed again, "Well, the idea of you having a wife, its quite amusing." Hookbill sulked. She was right, of course, but he didn't like being made fun of.

"What's so amusing?" he asked angrily.

"Well, you don't strike me as the..." she sniggered again, "Well, the 'attractive' type."

"Look," shouted Hookbill, thumping his fist on the table, "I've taken abuse, injury, threats, and even a knife or two, but this is really going too far!" The burse rolled her eyes and threw Hookbill towards the operating table. Slowly, he got up and looked to see Panakeia already prepared for the operation.

"Severe arctic Heartic," said one of the Orcs, "I had that once. I think I may be the cause."

"I heard that rumour," said another,

"I know, I started It." sniggered the Orc. Hookbill hushed them with a wave of his hand and looked at the instruments again. When he looked back, an Orc had made the first incision, again.

"Hay!" cried Hookbill, "Stop doing that! Its not nice!" the Orcs howled with laughter, Hookbill swore at them, that only increased their laughter, even Panakeia began to chuckle. "Just stop it!" shouted Hookbill, feeling really dejected, but they only laughed more, pointing at him and rolling around. Panakeia began to laugh heartily, so much so that the second heart flew out and hit Hookbill square in the face and splattered him with more blood.

Three of the Orcs passed out.

Hookbill got up and closed up the wound and lead Panakeia back to the Offending Party. Mardil was walking towards him with a grinning face. "What are you so happy about?" snapped Hookbill.

"Oh nothing." he replied, "You've got something on your face there. Down a bit, left, in the sort of all over your face vicinity." Hookbill groaned and slumped in the corner and looked at his blood covered hands.

"So much blood!" he sobbed, "I can't go on! My hands are shaking like a leaf!"

"Who are you?" asked Mardil

"I'm the Doctor," he moaned and Mardil felt a weight of foreboding fall upon him. All that blood, although he wasn't the sort to faint at the sight, made him feel uneasy. "Any way, I must dash, I'll diagnose you on the way." he only said this because three Orcs with swords came around the corner. Mardil reluctantly followed. What had this person been doing? There was blood on his back! Suddenly, the prospect of a simple clip of the toenails seemed less likely. He gulped.

Hookbill was shoed into the theatre where Alli was all set up. The crab's claw was sticking out of her leg. He hadn't remembered it being that bad. "It attacked again," explained the nurse. Her injuries really began to disturb Mardil. This hospital was insane.

[the guy who be short]

Fléin followed A Slan, or tried to. The Great Antilion did not wait for him, and he fell behind quickly, though the creature was always in view in front of Fléin.

Fléin rounded a corner, scared that A Slan would be out of sight, but as he did so, he saw the lion standing calmly in front of him.

"You must not follow me further than the door, Fléin," He said sombrely. "Be strong, and comfort her."

Before he could ask what this meant, the Antilion was loping off down the corridor again. He turned into a room on his right, and was gone. Fléin ran to the door, only just ajar, and peered into the room. What he saw awed him.

There, in the centre of the room, dominating it, was a raised stretcher. A Slan flung himself upon this, dark strands of vapour flowing behind him. And at the head of the Stretcher was - Anakron. Fléin had never liked the man, but now... he was struck to the bone as never before. The glint in Anakron's eyes was not pleasant.

And all around the stretcher, filling the room, were hordes of... what were they? Horrible beasts of all shapes and sizes, evil creatures that moved upon their hind legs, creatures half cat and half bug, creatures half lemming and half snake, the likes of which Fléin had never seen before. The room was lit by flickering torches mounted upon the walls, and shadows cast themselves everywhere.

"Fléin!" the Dwarf heard a voice cry, and turned his face away to look down the corridor - it was startling how normal the world outside that room still seemed - and saw Sai. "I couldn't find the registr-"

But the Dwarf cut her off with hushing noises and a waving of the arms, and beckoned her to come. Together, they watched, collective breath drawn, as the scene unfolded.

Anakron brought a razor out from his pocket - it was one of those fancy electric ones - and cursed. "The batteries have gone!" he exclaimed to the room in general, to boos and disappointed groans. But he plugged the razor into a wall socket, and turned it on to produce a buzzing noise, soon drowned out by the cheer of the crowd.

"Just a quick trim today, please, Anakron," A Slan said. "Two inches thick would be good."

Anakron nodded, and brought the razor up to A Slan's vapourous neck. The creatures all around roared with laughter as swathes of his mane were cut off, only to vaporise. In a few minutes that seemed to Fléin and Sai like an eternity of torture, it was done. Anakron moved back, and they could see A Slan, his mane gone, and the crowds jeering at him.

"Bind him!" Anakron cried, and the creatures rushed forward with cords, and he was tied to the stretcher, and his muzzle bound. As soon as this was done, Anakron stepped forward. "Fool!" he cried, and cackled such as they had never heard before. "Fool! Great Fool! Die now, and know you have given me Nurnia forever! For tonight, I will kill you, as you have agreed, and who then will stand in my way? Who then will resist Anakron's - and the Dweomer's - rule over Mordor?"

The creatures started up their jeering once more. A Slan turned his head to look at the door, at Fléin and Sai, and there was a loving smile in his eye. Then Anakron called for silence, and all noise save the spluttering of the torches distinguished itself.

Anakron spoke in a quiet voice that was nevertheless clearly audible, and carried over the room and to the door unhindered. "No doubt, Antilion, you revel in your idiocy. How many worlds have you seen? How many times have you offered yourself, and risen, and conquered? How long have you relied on the Deeper Magic from before the Dawn of Time?"

Fléin saw A Slan's eyes widen in shock. Next to him, he was aware of Sai quietly sobbing.

"Old Fool! Do you not know this World is not as Those? In this World, in Arda, there is no magic from before the dawn of time! The writer, the father of this world, is different to all those you have seen! There is no Deeper Magic in Middle-Earth! None! You die, and I rule!" His voice rose to a crescendo.

The crowd cheered again, more frenzied than before; they roared and headbanged and lolled their heads. Finally, the noise died out again at Anakron's bidding, and he spoke once more.

"And do you know the funniest thing of all, A Slan?" he whispered again, almost without moving his lips, into the creature's wispy ear. "I don't even rule here. I'm just a marionette."

A Slan said something, but the cord around his muzzle obscured his words. It sounded like "Bah Gah."

There was the greatest, most frenzied uproar yet, and the creatures all gathered around the helpless nameless shapeless timeless thing, poking it jabbing at it, tormenting it. A Slan wept.

Fléin took his eye off the scene for the first time and looked to Sai, remembering A Slan's final words. She was heaving, heavy sobs racking her body. He put her hand around her, trying to comfort her.

She slapped him. "What the Angband is wrong with you? What are you, a pervert?" But tears rolled down her face, and her words were but a squeal, a cry for comfort.

Then Fléin realised that tears were running down his face too, saturating his beard, and his sight was bleared. They embraced, both sobbing silently.

They could bear to watch no more, nor hear the hideous mocking of the beast any longer. Together, they turned and left and wept.