Assigned to Mordor RPG

[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.

[Celuien]

Panakeia stumbled out of the theatre, hand over an aching wound in her chest. How she had managed to laugh during surgery was beyond her. Laughing gas, one of the Orcs explained, but Panakeia was not convinced. The mysterious materialization of the extra heart stumped her as well. Did its removal mean that her conscience was gone, vanished with the blue tray that had borne her second heart out of the operating room?

Hello? Are you still there? Silence. Was she gone? Panakeia decided to make a test. She retrieved her sample case, stowed carelessly at the theatre door by the Orcs, and set it up in the hallway. She tried to call out "Age Reducing Serum! Fountain of Youth in a Bottle!" But the words died in her throat.

Don't you see? I told you the extra heart was just a metaphor. The symbol of my return, if you will. I'm not located in your heart, but rather in your head. If anything, the surgery has brought us closer together. One heart will do for the both of us now.

"Time for your psychological testing! Here we go." An Orc caught her by the arm and led her away to an office and ushered inside. As she entered, she noted an odd sludge and a spot on the ceiling.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Jung."

"Wait. I thought I was supposed to see Dr. Sigmund."

"He is indisposed at the moment. Please, have a seat." Panakeia sat down.

"Tell me, do you dream?"

That was a dangerous question. It would lead straight to the voice that still echoed in her head if she wasn't careful.

"No. I never dream at all. Ow!" Panakeia had kicked her ankle. "Well, sometimes."

"What you do dream about."

"Oh, not much. Ouch!" She had kicked herself again.

Stop that. You'll get us committed.

Stop lying.

What do you expect me to do? Say that I carry on running conversations in my head? And that I've now started to assault myself? Her hand flew at her wrist and slapped it, leaving the red imprint of five fingers behind.

Jung watched Panakeia, eyebrows arched. "You seem evasive. But I think you want to tell me something. You're fighting yourself. Why is that?"

"Don't (ouch) be ridiculous (ouch)." Panakeia was pulling her hair.

"We are getting nowhere. If you want help, you must be willing to talk to me."

Help? Maybe she did want help. If it would make the voice go away and let her return to her old ways. So close to leaving Mordor, Panakeia had started to think about her future. Scamming was the only way she knew to support herself, and her new friend would make that difficult. She told her story, beginning with her dream on the BilddyUnnergrind and ending in the office (what was that slimy mess everywhere?). All the while, Jung nodded and made notes in a black binder.

"Yes, yes. It is very clear. You dream of archetypes. You see a ruined house in the dark. You are hiding from something in your past, now it manifests in this new personality that torments you and these strange delusions. The haunted village…”

“Werewolves. Not ghosts.”

“Yes, werewolves. Interesting delusions. A very interesting case. I'm afraid you will need inpatient care until we get to the bottom of this."

"Inpatient care? For how long?"

"6 months, a year? Who can say? But we have made progress. At least now you will speak of these things. And so there is hope for your recovery." He pushed a button on an intercom. Several Orcs in white jackets appeared. "This lady will need to stay with us for a while."

"Wait, I don't like this at all. It's worse than surgery."

Neither do I. Get us out of this!

Me? You do it. This is your fault!

The psychiatrist shook his head. "You must be well before we can let you go." He nodded, and the Orcs took her off to the next room. A stack of papers sat on a table.

"Now then, we may begin. The Doctor said that you'll be with us for sometime."

"But I don't want to stay!"

"Involuntary?" The Orc shook his head. "Please don't say that. It's such a nuisance. All these papers need to be filled out, then we have to go to see a judge all the time, and, well, it gets complicated." Panakeia was shocked. She seemed to have found the one Orc in Mordor with a distaste for paperwork. "But look here!" He pulled out a single sheet and handed it to her. "If you'll just sign yourself into the hospital, it's just one page to copy and file. It would make me so much happier. Please, think it over."

Panakeia skimmed the document. Patient may leave at any time by giving 72 hours notice. Beautiful. That's our ticket out of here.

"Alright, I'll do it."

The Orc beamed and handed her a pen. "I knew you'd see the light."

Panakeia quickly edited the 72 hours notice line. With a swift stroke of the pen, it read 0.12 hours.

What are you doing?

Do you want me to get us out of this or not?

A smile spread over Panakeia's face. "Okay. I'm giving notice that I'll be leaving now. Which means I'll be going in approximately 7 minutes."

"What? No, you mean 72 hours."

"Think again. Look at the papers." Panakeia pointed to her editing job. "There you have it."

"But that's a mistake!" The Orc's eyes went wide.

"Even if it is, think of all the paperwork you'll have to go through to correct it. Besides, do I look dangerous? Just let me go."

The Orc stared at the pile of commitment papers, then at another pile of administrative procedure manuals titled "Correction of Official Document Errors - Volumes 1 to 15" and rubbed his eyes. "You got me. Just go." He opened the door.

"Thanks. See you around - not!" Panakeia was off like a bolt. Only a throbbing pain in her chest, the reminder of her recent surgery, stopped her from running all the way to the registrar’s office.

[Encaitare]

In which Wilhelmina gets her psychoanalysis... oh dear.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

SAVE: in which Alli is psycho-babbled at and registers for classes.