The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Rats in the Air?

Dwarfy flew somewhere between Mount Zoom and Minas Taxi. All of a sudden, Mount Zoom let fly from small black things that screeched with a terrible noise. With not a second to spare, Dwarfy pulled a small baby Dragon from a secret compartment in the Eyrie copter and pulled its stomach. The Dragon let forth a stream of fire that consumed the RatWraiths.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank A little big problem

"Rats, rats, rats!" Cried Saruman. "And you say we feed them to get rid of them? What sort of idiot makes a plan like that?" Saruman shouted at his servant. Grima cowered and replied, "But sir..." "No buts, shut up and allow me to think you incompetent fool!" Said Saruman. So there they sat and they thought as Saruman stroked his beard. Rats in Orth-Tank, terrible, terrible, they'd need to get rid of them but how? All of a sudden Saruman smiled and raised his hand, he had an idea!

"Grima! Why do we not coax them out with their favorite food?" Said Saruman, Grima nodded, it was best to agree with him, "Yes, sire, brilliant plan! Shall we go and talk to our mad Uruk-Hai scientist about this?" "Very well, lead the way you wretched turkey." Saruman said lazily looking at his nails. So as Saruman commanded Grima led the way to the secret laboratory situated within Orth-Tank. There they found the mad Uruk-Hai scientist experimenting on nothing in particular. Saruman shoved Grima out off his way and went up to the Uruk-Hai.

"Ah! Mad scientist, have you any idea how to get rid of these rats that have decided to set up their base here?" Saruman asked him. "what? What? WHAT?" He screamed looking around aimlessly. Saruman bonked him on the head with his head as Grima winced, "You incompetent fool! I asked you if you know how to terminate a bunch of pests!" "Tests? I hate them!" Protested the Uruk-Hai which earned him another bonk in the head. "RATS YOU FOOL! WE NEED YOU TO ERADICATE SOME RATS!" Shouted Saruman impatiently and then bonked Grima on the head. "What was that for?" Whined Grima. "I'm relieving stress." Stated the wizard. "Uh... sir I may be able to come up with something, see me after an hour!" Said the Uruk-Hai gladly.

Now obviously Grima and Saruman do not know how to keep track of time because they returned in fifteen minutes. "So mad scientist, have you found anything?" Asked Saruman. "Why, yes indeed! I have discovered that these aren't ordinary rats! They are... ent-rats! They have been sent by Treebeard to hinder us!" Said the Uruk-Hai. "Oh I see! Grima round up an angry mob of orcs with axes and fire." Said the wizard. "No your sire!" The Uruk-Hai suddenly said. "We must coax them out with berry-cheese and then we grab them!" He said and added, "With this net!" He held up a huge net, big enough to net a troll. "Perfect! What do you say Grima?" Saruman asked, smirking.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:


At the gate of the fifth circle, Faramir turned down to the lower levels of the city whereas Denethor and Húrin headed for the engine room.

On the first circle Faramir found Beregond and Bergil. They knew nothing of the matter, so Faramir kept on walking from level to level questioning everyone who passed on his way, except on the fifth circle (his cheeck was still red from all the pinching), but no one seemed to know where the rats had come.

Tired and with his feet aching, Faramir finally dragged himself on the top of the city. "What's this?" he muttered to himself and stooped to pick up a scorched tiny cloak on the ground. Other than that, Faramir found nothing suspicious up there and returned to the engine room inside the hill.

"Have you found the traitor?" Denethor asked as Faramir stepped over the threshold.

"Not exactly", Faramir said, "but I found this", and he held the minuscule piece of cloth on his palm. It was black, but in the hem there was an embroided lidless eye and a little white tag.

"100% nylon, dry-cleaning only, keep off from fire", Faramir read out aloud.

"That's so low even from the baddies! Mount Zoom is sending us their laundry. Don't they have any idea how expensive dry-cleaning is?" Denethor snarled.

"Hold on a second", Faramir mused.

"There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand..."

"If Mount Doom can afford to ship their dirty clothes here, it really can't be very far off! We must get the rats out of the pipes immediately and-"

"AAIEEEEEEHHHHHH!" yelped Faramir shaking his right foot with a mousetrap clenched tightly around his toes.

"Careful now!" Denethor growled. "Húrin and I spent the whole afternoon setting those up, and the last thing we need is you to break them all."

Indeed, when Faramir looked around in the engine room, he discovered that the floor was coated with traps and each of them had a different bait. There were traps with marmalade and cheese, turnips and even Aragorn's gym socks, as Faramir noted as he wiped liverwurst off of his boot.

"Well, we didn't know what could lure the rats out, so we had to try a little everything", Denethor replied defensively to Faramir's sarcastic look.

"MWHAHAHAHA!" wheezed a voice in a corner behind the nuclear reactor. "You will never find the proper way to get rid of the little rodents", said a man stepping out of the shadows. He sounded and looked like a chainsmoker, and truly he smelled like one, too.

"Who are you?" winced Faramir stepping on a few more mousetraps (custard and sherry)

"I am Vérmïndil, son of Vérmïndur, from the House of Pár-Asitë. I am your nuclear technician", he explained as Denethor, Faramir and Húrin stared at him clearly confused.

"I smell a rat!" Húrin snorted. "He's not a member of my technician team. I haven't hired him, I assure you, my lords."

"Huh? What have I been doing here for the last three years then?" Vérmïndil exclaimed. "Oh well, no matter, I have reached my goal."

"I take it that you had your hands in this. Speak up", Denethor demanded.

"Why yes. It was my brilliant plan. Say no to nuclear power! Vote the Communists! Become a vegetarian! Never wear a yellow shirt on Monday!" the man chuckled and got an impressive fit of coughing.

"I think he might have got an overdose of radiation down here", Faramir whispered.

"No kidding", Denethor said glumly as Vérmïndil started picking his third ear while humming Happy Birthday to himself.

Faramir looked distressed. "What shall we do now, Father?"

[Glirdan]

Evil Sickness

Mouth looked up just in time to see the Rat Wraiths flying towards Minas Taxi. Just the, Dwarfy flew by and took out a baby dragon and made him shoot a fireball towards the Rat Wraiths. Unfortunately, it engulfed all the Rats that were flying. Their clothes however weer still flying towards Minas Taki and actually landed on it.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

"Because that wasn't our intention. Sheez!! We are bad guys after all!!" Mouth cried in exaspaeration(sp?). Out of no where, a shower of green smoke came tumbling down from the sky. Mouth and the Trolls saw this time and leapt out of the way. Sauron, on the other hand, was too busy gloating over his evil idea of using the Rats that he didn't see the smoke until it was over top of him. "YES!! EAT OUR LAUNDRY MINAS TAXI!! MWHAHAHA!! WAIT! WHAT IS- HACK HACK!! THAT STUFF!? COUGH!! IT'S-IT'S HACK COUGH VEGETABLES!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo........." he trailed off as he started to faint and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Master!!' Mouth cried and he rushed forward to his Master's side.

"Sire!?" Mouth cried. "Please my lord! Wake up!" And as he spoke, Sauron stirred.

"My Mouth," he whispered (which Mouth was grateful for). "Get me to my room. You will probably have to take over for the next few days. Lead us on cough cough to victory. I know you can hack cough do it." With that he slumped over.

"Master? MASTER!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" Mouth cried in pain. "How shall I go on without you?? Wait.. No more screaming? Yes!!! My ears are free from pain!! Finally!! Go Mouth! Go Mou-" he got cut off as he saw that his master was starring at him evily.

"I said get me to my room. NOW!!!"

"Errr...Yes my lord. Right away my lord."

__________________________________________________ _______________

Mouth sat at the steering wheel debating with him on which way he should take. "Hmmm, I could go North-West away from civilization, but that would lead me further away from the Grey-Havens. I could go West but I think post people will be travelling in that direction. Soooo... Rat-Wraiths!" Mouth screamed.

"Squeeeaaak?"

"Take us South-West, immeadiately!!"

"Squeeeeaaak!"

"Excellent!! I'm liking this head-honcho position. Wierd green smoke should fall from the sky more often!!! Mwha! Mwahaha! MWHAHAHAH- COUGH COUGH!! I wonder how master can laugh like that??...."

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Denethor paused for a moment to consider Faramir's question. What SHOULD they do with the traitor.

"Burn him!" said Denethor, following his first instinct. Faramir, Húrin, and everyone else in the engine room- except Vérmïndil- looked at each other uneasily.

"Unfortunately," said Faramir. "We can't. Or rather, we can't do it legally. The Steward of Gondor doesn't have the authority to order executions outside the Realm of Gondor, nor can he order them there without the King's permission, save at times when the King is in Arnor, or outside of his realms."

"Besides," interjected Húrin, "we need him alive to find out what will lure the rats out!"

"Burn it all!" swore Denethor. "You: Vérmïndil! Tell me, what is your deepest, worst fear?"

"You don't actually expect him to tell you?" exclaimed Faramir.

"Why not?" said Denethor. "I am the Steward of Gondor. He is honour-bound to obey my direct command."

"Then ask him what will lure the rats out," said Faramir. "Either way, he's not going to you."

"Says who?" piped up Vérmïndil. "I'll do what I like. My deepest fear is... is... is... is...."

"Well?" said Faramir impatiently, "what IS it?"

"I cannot speak his name!" Vérmïndil shuddered.

"It's a person!" exclaimed Faramir. "I know: Sauron."

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Aragorn! Gandalf! Elrond!" said Denethor. Again, Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Gothmog? The Witchking? Saruman?" Faramir questioned.

Vérmïndil continued to shake his head.

"Is he tall?" asked Denethor.

"Is he Gondorian?" asked Faramir.

"No and no," replied Vérmïndil.

"Rohirric?" asked Denethor.

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Is he Human?" asked Faramir.

Vérmïndil paused a moment, then said: "sort of."

"Sort of?" said Denethor. "How can one be sort of human?"

"I know!" said Faramir. "A hobbit!"

Vérmïndil nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Frodo! Bilbo! Sam! Merry! Pippin!" Denethor ran off the names of the famous hobbits. Vérmïndil shook his head to each.

"Sméagol! Gollum! Stinker! Slinker!" said Faramir. Vérmïndil and Denethor both looked at him strangely. Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Well, that's all the Hobbits I know the names of!" said Denethor.

"Me too," said Faramir.

"Can't you just tell us?" demanded Denethor. Vérmïndil shook his head in terror.

"Why not just tell us what will lure the rats out?" said Faramir. "Then we'll drop this whole line of enquiry."

"Never!" cackled Vérmïndil. "Never!!!"

"Húrin," said Denethor, "go to the Archives, and get me the Red Book. I'll run through every name in the Geneologies if I have to."

And so they did.

"The Gaffer!"

"Old Noakes!"

"Ted Sandyman!"

"Old Rory!"

"Fatty Bolger!"

"Folco Boffin!"

"Wait!" said Faramir. "He's shaking! Go back to Fatty Bolger!"

But on the second mention of the name, Vérmïndil began to shake uncontrollably.

"Fatty Bolger!" roared Denethor. "Fatty Bolger!!!"

"Yes, yes, it's him!" squeaked Vérmïndil. "Now PLEASE stop saying the name!"

"Not until you tell us how to lure the rats out!" Denethor told him.

"N-n-n-never," said Vérmïndil, biting his lip.

"Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger!" Denethor, Faramir, and the support staff began to sing.

"All right!" wailed Vérmïndil, big fat tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you! It's marmite."

"Marmite!!!" said Denethor in disgust. "Are you completely insane, man?"

"Oh come on, Father," said Faramir. "It's not that bad. It's especially good on toast."

Denethor gave his son a vile look.

"I swear to the Valar that it's true!" pleaded Vérmïndil. "Try it! You'll see. Just don't say... HIS name again."

"What? You mean 'Fatty Bolger'?" asked Denethor cruelly. Vérmïndil lost complete control of himself. Denethor turned to Faramir. "Find us some marmite!"

So, while the support staff cleaned out the engine room of banana peels, perfumes, liverwurst, Aragorn's gym socks, and other smelly miscellany, Faramir set off to retrieve his marmite. As soon as he'd opened it, rats began to pour out of the pipes.

"Quick!" cried Denethor. "Lead them out of the city."

"What do I look like?" asked Faramir. "A pied piper?"

"Do you want my honest answer?" said Denethor.

"Okay, okay! I'm going."

Faramir took off at a sprint for the gates, an army of rats streaming after him. The lead rats were drawing closer and closer, and Faramir was in a mortal panic that they would catch him and swarm him. In the nick of time, he reached the gates, which he burst through, tossing the marmite as hard as he could away from him.

The rats streamed past, dead set on reaching the marmite.

Faramir returned to the engine room weak-kneed, only to find Denethor gone back to the tower, and Húrin's team revving up the engine.

"Due WEST!" called Denethor from the tower. "We make for Mt. Gundabad!"

[Caranlondien]

"But how did we get rats?" Frodo asked, exasperated. After telling them about the problem, Ted Sandyman had gone back to the engine room to see what he could do.

"I don't rightly know, Mister Frodo," replied Sam. "Could be as we're leavin' too much food about." At this, Pippin coughed.

"Not in the engine room, Sam. Besides, we're moving too quickly for rats to climb on-board, and I know there were none when we left - Bilbo had the whole place cleaned when we installed the fireworks. The only thing left to think is that someone purposefully brought them."

Frodo rose and began to walk towards the engine room, the others close behind him. When they came to the stairway that led down to it, they found the way barred by a great spiked gate, which looked to have been gnawed out of wood. Frodo banged at the gate. After a time, one of the mechanics came up.

"Mister Frodo," he whispered. "The rats have taken over everything! There's a great big one, a wizard rat, by the looks of him, and he's their leader, it seems. He's got all the little furry things rushing around, destroying the fireworks and generally frightening us all into doing whatever he says."

The mechanic seemed frightened, but after a bit of reasoning with him, Frodo managed to gain admittance. As soon as he entered the engine room, he could see why it had stopped working. The engine was quite intricate, and worked in harmony with the roots of the plants which grew outside of Bag End. When the engine had been working, these roots hung down from the ceiling and the walls and were braided and woven to make bits of machinery. Now, though, most of the roots had been cut and gnawed into far more elaborate machines. What they did, Frodo knew not.

Ted Sandyman came running over to them. "It wasn't me, this time!" he said hurriedly. "Not my fault. Well, it was a bit my fault, perhaps, yes, but I swear I didn't know what would happen. When I let him aboard, Ratsey promised me-"

"Ratsey? Is that their leader?" asked Frodo.

"Yes, that's what they call him."

Frodo turned and looked around.

"Ratsey!" he called. "Show yourself!"

"I am here," spoke a deep voice. Frodo looked behind him. "No, no, in front of you. Yes, there, now look down a little."

Finally Frodo laid eyes on the rat. Ratsey was perhaps slightly larger than usual, but otherwise much as one would expect a rat to be. His coat shimmered a dark grey, his tail was pale pink, and his nose quivered ever which way. His eyes gleamed with malice and amusement.

“This is what you were afraid of?” Frodo demanded of Ted.

“I never liked rodents, sir.”

“Yes, well. Ratsey, I’ll have no more of this foolishness. Begone!”

“No!” cried Ratsey. “We shall not leave, not until we’ve gotten… SOME CHEESE!” He laughed diabolically.

“Right then, Sam, go get some cheese.”

“And-” Ratsey interjected, “we must have water.”

“Okay,” said Frodo. The requested comestibles were brought to the rat, who set upon the cheese with a fury.

“Worm!” he cried, when he had finished. Another rat came scurrying to his master’s side. This rat had a very long, bright pink tail.

“Wormtail!” said Ratsey. “We leave now, you rat! I tire of this place.”

“Why do you always call me a rat?” asked Wormtail.

“You are one! Is it really any more insulting than being called ‘Wormtail’? Or ‘Ratsey’, for that matter?”

“Hmm, guess not. I was going to leap at your back with a knife and kill you, but on second thought, let’s go see if they still have Gorgonzola at Minas Taxi.”

With that, the two rats scampered off, their tails waving ridiculously after them. The hobbits searched Bag-Endless-Fuel from top to bottom, but could find no sign of other rodents.

“That was unexpectedly easy,” said Frodo. “Let’s go West.”

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

*BUMP!*

"What in blazes was that!" roared Denethor. Something had just caused Minas Tirith to careen to one side.

"Slow down!" cried Faramir. "We've popped a tire!"

"Did we drive over a sword or something!" replied Denethor. "It'd take something long, hard, and sharp indeed to puncture tires that can hold up a city!"

"I'm not sure!" said Faramir. "But we'd better stop anyway."

Denethor eased Minas Tirith into a park. With one tire punctured, the city was set on a somewhat crooked angle. Denethor and Faramir quickly descended to the citadel. Húrin of the Keys was running up to meet them.

"Milords!" he gasped. "Milords, it is terrible!"

"What is terrible?" demanded Denethor.

"Porcupines, Milord!" replied Húrin, still gasping for breath. "They've attacked our tires!"

Even as Húrin said this, explosive noises could be heard as the other tires were blown open by the porcupines. Minas Tirith rocked unsteadily, then settled to the ground, all its tires popped.

"Porcupines?" said Faramir, raising an eyebrow.

"Dreadful porcupines!" replied Húrin. "Porcupine guerillas of doom! Worse, they invaded the city and stolen our only spare!"

"Sirs!" Beregond came running up. "We've managed to drive the porcupines away, but they stole one of our tires, as well as the spare. They were giggling something awful as they made away."

"What do we do?" asked Faramir.

"Beregond, order a watch," was Denethor's first command. "If any porcupine shows its face within sight of the city, I want it captured or shot. Húrin, see if you can patch and re-pump the tires we still have. Faramir, you and I shall see what we can do about procuring another tire."

"We could hunt down these porcupines and steal them back," suggested Faramir.

"No," said Denethor. "It's too dangerous. We don't know the terrain, and we don't know how dangerous an enemy we're facing. No, we must create a new tire."

"But Father!" protested Faramir. "That's more rubber than we have in the city! We're talking about enough rubber to put the Gondorian army in sneakers for two years!"

"My decision is final," said Denethor. "Or least until I change my mind. What other options have we?"

[Glirdan]

Operation: Porcupine Tyre

"Tighten your belts ye yellow-bellied wimps!! Argh!! I shall whip ye all with the flat of me blade! Argh!" a sound of applause erupted around Mouth. "Thank you! Thank you!" he yelled. "So, now that I've won the competition, where's my prize mone?" The trolls around him looked at each other, dumbfounded by the simple question. "Well!? Where is it!?" Mouth began to get angry. "You DON'T want me to turn into master do you? After all, I AM his Mouth and can talk a LOT higher then he!!"

"Um, sir?" one of the trolls cried.

"What!? Can't you see that I'm venting here!?"

"Umm......I don't know how to tell you this, but..."

"Spit it out you confounded troll!!" Mouth yelled.

"Porcupines ran off with our front tire and made flat's out of the other three..."

"Well, replace the one in the front with-

"-the spare tire got stollen to..."

"That explains why we haven't been moving for the past five hours...Umm....hmmmm...This is predicament...Hmmm....It's times like these when I wish master WASN'T sick!" Mouth cried in despair. "Send me a sign from above!! Wait!! I mean below. Ya, below!!" Just then, a RatWraith spirit (one of the one's that Dwarfy's dragon killed[poor, poor RatWraiths..]) arose from the ground. "Ahh! It's a spirit from below!! Wait! It's a spirit from below!! We're saved!!"

"Squeak!!"

"You have a plan?"

"Squeakity squeak!"

"A wonderful plan?'

"Squeaken squeak"

"An awful plan?"

"Squeakity squeaken squeak!"

"An awfully wonderful plan?"

"SQUEAK!!"

"Oh!! A wonderfully awful plan! I get it! Well come in here and we shall converse."

[The Saucepan Man]

Pippin and the Porcupines

“Porcupines!” said Merry, gazing into the distance. “Hundreds of them.”

“Where?” asked Pippin.

“Just beyond that meadow,” replied Merry. “Er, Pippin, where are you going? Pip?”

But it was too late. The young Took was haring off in the direction that Merry had indicated.

“I wonder where he’s off to?” mused Merry.

“More to the point,” said Bilbo, staring glumly at the lacerated strips of rubber that now adorned Bag-Endless-Fuel’s empty axles. “What are we going to do about these tyres?”

“They got the spare too,” said Samwise, ambling up disconsolately.

“There must be something inside that we can use,” offered Frodo in an effort to lift their spirits. “Hobbit-holes are veritable treasure troves of mathoms and the like. You must have something hidden away in there that will serve us as makeshift wheels, Uncle Bilbo.”

The Hobbits fell silent as each tried to think what might best fit the bill. But it was not long before their thoughts were rudely interrupted.

“Ow! Ouch! Ooh! Eek! Wa-hey! Ow!” grumbled a pin-cushion as it stumbled delicately towards them.

“Well there’s something you don’t see every day, and no mistake,” observed Sam.

“Ouch!” said the pin-cushion, pulling a handful of quills from its body.

“Pippin!” cried Merry. “Where have you been? And why did you go off chasing after the porcupines?”

“Well I was hungry!” wailed Pippin. “But I couldn’t see any Porky-pies. Just a load of big rats covered in these nasty spines.”

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Try as they might, Faramir and Denethor were having virtually no success in coming up with an alternative tire strategy.

"We haven't got enough rubber in the city. I've already said that!" said Faramir. "Not if we melted down ever shoe, rubber band, and rubber duck in the city."

"Don't be silly!" scoffed Denethor. "We couldn't melt down the rubber ducks anyway. The support staff would revolt."

"What about a wooden wheel?" said Faramir. "Like a waggon?"

"It wouldn't give us a decent ride at all," objected Denethor. "No traction either. It'd probably break down in the mountains."

"What about canvas?" said Faramir.

"What, are you going to paint us a tire?"

"No, I meant that we could wrap a wooden wheel in canvas- or any kind of cloth. Pad it down, so to speak."

"That'd really slow us down," said Denethor, shaking his head. "Who knows where the other racers are at? No, we can't afford to be slowed down."

"But we can't replace the wheel with one equally efficient!" said Faramir.

"Well, how else can we move the city?"

"I can't think of a thing," said Faramir. "There's no one or nothing big enough to carry the city."

"What about Balrogs?" interjected Denethor. "They're big and strong- and they certainly were cheering us on at the starting line. I've heard that they can fly, too."

"I'm pretty sure they mean 'fly' in the 'rush' sense," said Faramir. "Besides, where are we going to find a bevy of Balrogs around here?"

"We could summon them."

"I don't think that Balrogs are the answer anyway," said Faramir. "What have we got to offer them?"

"I'd give them Mithrandir if I could lay hands on him!" said Denethor. "I've heard they have a bounty on him."

"Well we don't have Mithrandir and I don't think we're going to be able to get him," said Faramir. "What other options are there?"

"Well, speaking of flying..." Denethor's speech trailed off as he thought. "What could we do to get the city airborne?"

"I don't think it's even possible," said Faramir. "The Fellbeasts are Minas Morgûl-exclusive, the eagles are working for Dwarfy, and good luck trying to get a seven-tiered city off the ground using thrushes and ravens."

"At least we know that old goat Saruman's crebain won't be able to help him," said Denethor. "Say! I've got an idea! How about we ditch the city, and continue the race in the Houses of Healing? They put that thing on wheels too, didn't they?"

"I don't think the Houses of Healing could handle a long distance trip over rough terrain," said Faramir. "I'm also quite sure that we have to have the city, or the majority of it, when we cross the finish line."

"Burn it!" swore Denethor. "So basically what it comes down to is that we have to find ourselves a way to make this city run without a wheel?"

"Not necessarily..." said Faramir. "There is one plan we haven't considered. But I hesitate even to mention it."

"What is that?" Denethor raised an eyebrow.

"We could go after the porcupines and steal back either the spare tire or the stolen wheel," said Faramir in a low voice. "It's dangerous, to be sure, but I'm beginning to think we have no other options."

"Go after the porcupines!" Denethor's eyes were popping out his head. "You must be mad! They'll kill us all! What's more, they know the terrain, and their base is in the northern eaves of Mirkwood- the dread forest!"

"I know, Father," said Faramir, "but Mirkwood isn't really all that different from Ithilien. Black Squirrels, black Kingfishers, poncy Elves... all the big dangers of Mirkwood have moved into Ithilien."

"What about the spiders?" asked Denethor.

"I don't think there are any this far north," said Faramir. "And if they're are... well, I'm not too worried. Elempë's Who's Who in Middle-Earth says that Hobbits are generally more dangerous than them."

"Maybe so," said Denethor, "but still... to fight against the Porcupines themselves! It's practically suicide! We'd have to take almost the entire support staff with us just to have a chance, and I don't mind saying that I don't like the idea of leaving the city virtually abandoned."

"Ioreth and Bergil can watch it," said Faramir confidently. "I've shown them how to work the trebuchets, should they need it."

"Very well..." sighed Denethor. "Call Húrin, Damrod, and Mablung to a council of war. Once we have a plan, have Beregond summon the rest. If we must fight these dreaded Porcupines, let us employ every bit of cunning we possess, so that we might, hopefully survive."

[Caranlondien]

Fog on the Stove-top

Frodo fingered the ring that hung from a chain around his neck. He had been scouring Bag End for hours, searching for anything that could be used as a replacement wheel. He felt tired, weary.

"Any luck, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, entering the room Frodo had been searching.

"No, Sam," replied Frodo.

"Well, Mister Bilbo's asking for you. I've a feeling he has something up his sleeve, yet."

Frodo followed Sam down the corridor towards Bilbo's study. They both stopped, though, when they came to the kitchen doorway, out of which a steady stream of smoke was pouring forth.

Frodo waved his hand in front of his face and coughed. "What's going on in here?" he called. He could see a figure moving towards him through the cloud of soot, and was not surprised to discover it was Pippin, looking a bit ashen-faced.

"I wanted to help out," he explained. "So I went to the pantry for a bit of a snack, to help me think, but all I could find were those biscuits - you know, Sam's recipe, they're always hard as a rock. And then I thought, you know, they're round, too! So I measured one of the other wheels, and baked an enormous biscuit. I did the math, and everything. It's an hour for 6 servings, and as this was at least 30 servings, I did it for five hours." Here he paused to rub some soot out of his eye. "Did I count wrong?"