The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Alcarillo]

The Witch-king has an Idea

The Witch-king gave a dreary sigh. "Alright, Ringwraith #4, tell me your crazy plan."

"Well, sir, you see those bean plants over there? In the field?"

"Those weeds? How do you know they're bean plants?"

"Because I like plants."

"Nerd."

"Anyways, as I was saying, we can harvest the beans of those plants and feed them to the orcs, making gas. If we can collect this lighter-than-air gas, we can fill a balloon with it, tie it to the city, and we can float over the mountains. Why need tyres, when we can float in the air?"

"That's a stupid plan, and needlessly gassy. And why did you say tires with a Y instead of an I?"

"I did not."

"Yes you did, I heard you myself."

"Well whatever I said, what do you think we should do, if you are so disapproving of my plan?"

"I think we need help from the other seven."

'The other Ringwraiths?"

"No, the seven Fathers of the Dwarves," said the Witch-king. He rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Of course I mean the other Ringwraiths, idiot. Just let me summon them. Stay here and don't touch my chair."

The Witch-king entered the highest tower, and climbed up the spiral staircase up to the chamber of the Ithil-stone, and from there he used a ladder to crawl through a trapdoor in the ceiling. And once through that trapdoor, he was on the roof of the highest tower.

"GET OUT OF MY CHAIR!" he shouted at Ringwraith #4 far below. Ringwraith #4 sprang out of the armchair as though he had sat on an iron spike.

"Better!" shouted the Witch-king. Now he got back to the task at hand. On the roof was a great read lever, labeled Only Pull in Emergencies in four languages. He pulled this lever, and instantly a great roaring and shaking was heard and felt. Out of the highest tower burst a great pillar of roaring green flame, visible as far away as Erebor. "Mwahahahaha!" the Witch-king shouted. He hurried back down the tower.

"They're bound to see that beacon!" he said.

"But wh-why are you summoning the other Ringwraiths?"

"For their wingéd steeds, of course, you idiot! With all nine tethered to the city, they can lift us into the air and we can fly to our destination!"

"Isn't the city too heavy to be carried by our flying beasts?"

"Pfffffffff, no, as long as we lighten it a bit. We just throw the ugly furniture overboard, toss a few orcs over the sides, and voila! We're airborne. And we can always replenish our orc supply once we're in the mountains."

"Great plan, but how long will it take for the others to arrive?"

"Why do you ask so many questions? They'll be here in no time flat. In the meantime, you can go down to my chocolate vault and grab me a Khît-Khât bar." The Witch-king leaped into his armchair and shooed away Ringwraith #4, who glumly marched down to the dungeons and cellars to get the Witch-king his chocolate bar.

[Gurthang]

Confessions of a Forgotten Ringwraith

Originally Posted by Alcarillo

"Why do you ask so many questions? They'll be here in no time flat. In the meantime, you can go down to my chocolate vault and grab me a Khît-Khât bar." The Witch-king leaped into his armchair and shooed away Ringwraith #4, who glumly marched down to the dungeons and cellars to get the Witch-king his chocolate bar.

After arriving at the lower levels, Ringwraith #4 suddenly remembered that he didn't even know where the chocolate vault was. After all, he had not even known about it until a few days ago.

"Drat, him, he always gives me tasks he knows I'm going to fail!" he said to himself. Looking left and right, he thought about what to do. Drudgingly, he started off in one direction in search of the chocolate vault.

A few hours later, he had still not located the room where the sweet safe was located. He had grown more and more depressed as the time went on. Not only was he given this menial task, but soon the other Ringwraiths would arrive. With the rest of them here, he would just be forgotten again. It always happened that way; he was always left out. In fact, he had found out that he had been the last choice for side-driver of Minas Mor-go for the race. The only reason he was here was that all the other Ringwraiths had previous engagements on the day the race started. Furthermore, the only reason that the Witch-King had chosen him over his highest ranking orc was the fact that the orc had gotten skewered in a riot before the race had started. It was all very depressing to think about.

Suddenly, he looked up and saw a room that he had never noticed before. Pushing the door open, he knew he had found the right place. Crates upon crates of tongue-numbing sweetness were stacked in the gigantic storeroom. Taking a quick glance back in the hall, he walked over to the nearest crate, filled with Twîks, and began munching on a few. After all, he had been gone so long, a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. So, a couple dozen chocolate bars later, he walked down the aisle to the Khît-Khâts and, grabbing one, made his way back up to the Witch-King.

"What took you so long?!" said the Witch-King gruffly.

"Well, I didn't actually know where the chocolate vault was, so I had to find it. Anyway, here's your Khît-Khât."

"Idiot, why didn't you just admit you didn't know up front and ask where it was. Now you've taken so long that I've changed my mind. Go back and get me a Schnîkûrz. And you better hurry back, because you'll be taking candy orders from the other Wraiths as they arrive."

Ringwraith #4 looked at him blankly. *Jerk* he though. He turned and started back down to the vault. *Oh, well, more Twîks for me* he though with a quiet laugh.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:



Five tall figures stood in the throne room of Minas Taxi and looked as glum as though they would have just lost all their tyres in the middle of nowhere which, in fact, was the situation.

"A war is now ahead of us", Denethor said and sat down on his throne. "As we speak our spare tyre rolls closer and closer to Mirkwood in the hands of porcupines. I'm afraid we must raid their camp to get our tyre back."

A little chaos occurred from hearing the words "raid" and "porcupine" in the same sentence as Mablung tried to jump out of a window, Damrod hide behind a statue and Húrin who valiantly attempted to slip out of the room unnoticed, bumped into an armor that fell on the floor with great clattering.

"But my lord! That's madness!" Húrin exclaimed shuddering as he picked up a gauntlet. "No offense, of course", he added quickly.

"None taken, it was Faramir's idea, anyway", grunted Denethor.

"But it is the only way", Faramir said clearly offended. "Or do you have any better ideas?"

"Maybe lord Denethor could challenge the leader of the porcupines for a duel, and the winner would get the tyre", Mablung suggested dangling on a window sill.

"Yes", Damrod agreed behind the statue. "Or maybe the loser should have the tyre. Then we could have better chances to get it ba-"

"Right, any other ideas then?" Denethor interrupted loudly.

"What about an undercover operation?" Damrod asked.

"I don't think any of us looks like a porcupine enough to make it work", mused Faramir.

"Hear me out, my lords", Húrin cried. "I think I've got an idea."

And Húrin of the Keys explained his plan to the rest of the men. After a few ooohs and aaahs, they had agreed on a scheme.

"Now, this is still dangerous", Húrin warned, "and all of us won't probably return. I suggest that we take the Houses of Healing and drive as near to the porcupine camp as we can get in secret. Then we shall start Mission Cone Cow."

***

When Denethor, Faramir and a handful of trusty Gondorians marched towards the Houses of Healing, they spotted Ioreth pottering in the garden in a plaid apron and dotted rubber boots.

"I wonder if the porcupines will take us seriously if they see her with us", one of the soldiers muttered.

"I see your point", Denethor nodded glancing Ioreth's everything else but modest straw hat. "Faramir, go tell Ioreth that we will borrow the Houses of Healing and there's no need for her to come along."

Faramir looked slightly distressed, but he took a deep breath and strode after Ioreth who had just disappeared inside.

Outside Denethor's group waited. Nothing could be heard from the Houses, and after a while the soldiers started growing restless.

"Mablung! Go to look what is taking so long there and return to give us a report", Denethor commanded, but after Mablung had gone, it fell silent again, and there was no sign of anyone coming back to crouch behind a fence where they were hiding from Ioreth. Finally Denethor sent Damrod after Mablung to find out what was going on, but after an hour when their knees crunched from all the squatting, Denethor cried: "That's it! We're going in."

Húrin of the Keys kicked the door in, and Denethor and the soldiers rushed into a cozy lobby. On a bench there sat in a row Faramir, Mablung and Damrod, each of them holding a big glass of milk, and a cookie tray was set in a little table in front of them.

"Lord Denethor, what a marvellous surprise!" Ioreth beamed. "I was just about to tell these young lads a story of my cousin's neighbour, a horrible incident it was, now she's moved, naturally, after such inconvenience that the neighbour caused - I still feel bad for her peonies although I, of course, told her that she should have planted daffodils in the first place..."

Faramir looked at his father and shrugged apologetically while Mablung and Damrod looked seriously agitated.

"Uhm", Húrin hesitated, "excuse us, but we would like to borrow the Houses of Healing for a military mission."

"Oh, that's right, these dearies here already told me", Ioreth said and leaned forward to pinch Mablung on the cheek. "Shall we go then", she said briskly, wrapped a scarf around her neck, placed goggles on her forehead and sat in a fluffy easy chair behind a wheel. "Well, lads, to the pedals, march!" Ioreth smiled and gestured to the back of the room.

The colour escaped from the Gondorians' faces when they slowly understood what Ioreth meant.

"Now hold on a moment!" Denethor rasped. "Is the Houses of Healing a pedal car!"

"Do you have any idea what exhaust fumes do to convalescents? No, my dear Denethor, I couldn't risk a healing process with pollutants. My cousin had once a terrible case of coughing, and I told her, mark my words, a cough and pollutions go together like mustard and strawberries-"

"Mustard and strawberries?" Faramir couldn't restrain himself.

"Yes, my dear, meaning, of course, that it is a horrible combination, that's one of my own proverbs - now where was I..."

"Ioreth!" interrupted Denethor. "I sure do hope that my men pedal as quickly as your tongue goes for every lost moment weakens our chances to get our tyre back. Let's go!"

"Very well, very well, although you must know what they say about wise men and rushing although my cousin-", but seeing the interesting shade of red upon Denethor's face made the woman hush up. "Right, take your seats, dearies. Remember seatbelts, everyone. Here we go."

And with that the knights of Gondor started pedalling, and afterwards when the whole race was over, songs were made of the Houses of Healing zooming down the circles of the White City with a woman in dotted rubber boots behind the wheel.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Dusk was falling as the Houses of Healing approached the edge of Mirkwood. Ahead, Denethor could see a great bonfire, with the shapes of dancing porcupines flitting in and out of sight in front of the flames.

"One good thing about these burned pedal-contraptions," he grumbled to himself. "They hardly make any noise."

"Halt!" he gave the order, his men stopped pedalling. The House coasted several feet before Ioreth hit the breaks.

"Okay, men," said Denethor. "We're ready to commence Operation Cone Cow. Faramir will lead the archers in drawing their attention away on the left. Once the porcupines join battle, Beregond will lead the strike team into the heart of their camp, find either the spare tire or the stolen wheel, or both, and signal the Houses of Healing. I will remain here with a select team of pedallers. We will then charge the porcupines with the House and rendezvous with Beregond's men, who will have the tire or wheel ready to lash onto the roof. Faramir and his men will move closer to our position to give us some protective fire. Once the tire is mounted, Beregond's men will join the pedalling team, and we will retreat at once to the city. Faramir and his men will follow on foot to give us time to install the tire. Any questions?"

"Just one, sir," said Damrod, raising his hand, "where do the Cone Cows come in?"

"They don't," said Denethor.

"But why is it called Operation Cone Cow, then?" asked Mablung.

"Because all successful military operations need to have cryptic and distinctive code names," replied Denethor. "Do you know what Erkenbrand's return to Helm's Deep was known as? Operation Chicken Fingers. Do you know what the Ents' assault on Isengard was called? Mission Plausible. Do you know what Thorongil's up-the-Anduin-in-black-sailed-boats was called? Operation Pipeweed. Understand?"

The soldiers nodded silently.

"Good," said Denethor approvingly. "Then man your stations, and may the Valar be with us."

Night had completely fallen as Faramir and the archers left the Houses of Healing and made their way to the Porcupines' right flank, where they began to open fire- literally.

"Fire!" squealed the porcupines, as flaming arrows came swooping down out of the night at them.

"Sir," said Mablung to Faramir, as he lit another arrow, "why are we using flaming arrows? Is it just because Lord Denethor likes fire?"

"I think so," said Faramir. "The signal Beregond's going to send up will also be fire. That's why we made him stay in command of the Houses of Healing detachment."

Meanwhile, as the enraged Porcupines were being drawn off to face Faramir and his men, Beregond's footmen attacked from the Porcupines' left, cutting down the few who had been left to keep watch, and soon catching sight of the stolen wheel at the centre of the camp.

"Light the purple flame!" ordered Beregond. One of the men hastened to light a quick fire, adding powder to colour the flames a bright purple.

"That's the signal!" Denethor told his men, from his vantage point on the roof of the House. "Full ahead! Pedal!

"Well! What are you waiting for!"

"Just a minute, dearie," said Ioreth, at the wheel. "The boys need to stretch first."

"We're in the middle of a military campaign!" Denethor growled.

"Yes, I know that," said Ioreth. "But you can really damage your tendons if you don't stretch. My uncle Baragundiliondil-"

"Never mind your uncle! We've got work to do!"

A moment later, when the men had finished stretching, the Houses of Healing surged forward, jumping the enemy lines, and zooming the centre of the Porcupine camp, where Beregond and his men were ready with the tire.

"Can the Houses support its weight?" worried Húrin. "That's a HUGE tire!"

"They better," said Denethor. "Or we'll be peddling all the way to the Grey Havens."

"Hurry!" said Beregond. "The Porcupines have caught sight of us! They're sending a force back from the battle with Faramir's men!"

The tire, larger around than the House was wide, was only just affixed to the roof, and Beregond's men aboard when the Porcupines reached them.

"All hands: pedal!" ordered Denethor. Ignoring Ioreth's warnings to stretch, the terrified men began to pedal with all their might, but weighed down by the tire, they were barely able to move at all.

"Beregond, Húrin, and Mablung!" shouted Denethor. "Stand by to assist me in repelling boarders! The rest of you: pedal!"

So as the Houses of Healing slowly lurched away, picking up but a little speed as it went, Denethor and his three companions drew swords and stood in the doorways, to fight off the swarming porcupines.

"Faramir and his men are giving us what cover they can," reported Mablung, who's door opened to the right. "But he's hard-pressed indeed. It looks like he's withdrawing to the city. Correction- they've just started running flat out towards the city."

"Burn it!" swore Denethor.

"More trouble!" cried Beregond. "There's a giant picnic table on wheels advancing at us, almost directly head-on!"

"A giant picnic table?" said Denethor.

"Yes, sir!" replied Beregond. "Everyone knows that Porcupines and picnic tables go together. Anyway, it doesn't appear to have an engine of any sort. Several Porcupines are pushing it. However, they appear to be intent on ramming us!"

"I guess we're going to see just how much a beating this baby can take!" said Denethor. "Full speed ahead! Let's bounce them off our sides!''

"This House isn't made like the walls of Minas Tirith!" warned Beregond.

"Never mind that!" said Denethor. "It's all or nothing now!"

Slowly, inexorably, the House and the giant picnic table lunged at each other. But both were moving too slowly to truly cause a crash. Instead, there was a momentary deadlock, as the peddlar's power was nullified by the opposing, pushing porcupines headed in the other direction hit them head-on.

"PEDAL!" roared Denethor. But both sides tried harder, and both sides couldn't move.

"Sir, if we were to reverse a bit," Húrin began to suggest, but Denethor frowned.

"And give them the victory! We shall never back down! Never!"

Things went on in much the same way for several minutes, with both sides straining to move. Then a loud "MOO" sounded in the night.

"What the-!" cried Denethor. "Cows!"

"MOOOOOOOOO!" sounded the deep, booming sound again. The Porcupines began to scurry towards the sound, which was coming from the north. As they drew nearer with torches, the shape a vast, vengeful cow became visible. Again, the night was shattered with a booming "MOOOOOO!!!"

The Porcupines' nerve broke, and they began to flee back to the safety of their camp, abandoning the giant picnic table.

"Do we advance?" questioned Húrin.

"That cow might not like us any more than it likes Porcupines," said Beregond.

"Advance," said Denethor. "Perhaps it can be persuaded to let us pass."

So they advanced. However, before they had quite reached the dreadful cow, Faramir and his men appeared out of the woods.

"Faramir! You coward!" cried Denethor. "Fleeing the middle of battle! And with a giant cow menacing both Man and Porcupine alike! You ought to-"

"Excuse me, Father," interrupted Faramir. "But you. should be moving. This giant Cone Cow won't fool the Porcupines for long."

"Giant Cone Cow..." Denethor spluttered. "But, the mooing!"

Faramir held up a horn.

"The Horn of Anórien!" he said proudly. "Passed from Uncle to Nephew since Moronwë, the Second Son of Pelendur the Steward, butchered a great domesticated cow of Dorwinion. It has been carried by the second son of the Stewards ever since, and it is said that if it is blown anywhere in the Realm of Gondor as it was of old, the blower shall find a dairy cow!"

"But we are not in the Realm of Gondor as it was of old," pointed out Denethor.

"That's just as well," said Faramir. "Ioreth's already got a dairy cow, should we want milk."

"The Porcupines seem to have got over their fear of the cow!" announced Beregond. "They're regrouping!"

"Quick, get your men aboard!" Denethor ordered Faramir. "We need all the pedalling power we can get!"

Leading his men to pedalling stations, Faramir raised the Horn of Moronwë to his lips, and let loose one last MOOOOOOOO!!!!

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Axles buckling under the weight of the wheel, pedallers starting to drop from fatigue, and its walls battered from Porcupine attacks, the Houses of Healing barely made it back to Minas Tirith before the Porcupines caught them.

"Ioreth!" ordered Denethor. "Take Minya Squad, and get the House into the City. Beregond, I then want you and Minya Squad to man the trebuchets! Húrin, take Tatya Squad, and get to repairing that punctured tire, and get it back on the city! Faramir, Nelya Squad, you're with me. We fight off the Porcupines!"

MOOOOOOOOO!!!!! blared the Horn of Moronwë.

But the dread cow-horn no longer held any fear for the Porcupines, who were becoming ever more numerous as the van was joined by the main body of their host, and eventually by the rear stragglers.

"Where did the Porcupines get a van?" demanded Denethor.

"I think the narrator means the giant wheeled picnic table," replied Faramir, as he struck at a Porcupine.

The Porcupines' numbers were swelling, and the Gondorians were fatigued, and Denethor was beginning to fear that they would never escaped the dreaded quilled creatures, when suddenly a great stone troll fell out of the sky into the mass of the Porcupines, crushing several beneath its awesome weight.

"My hood ornament!" cried Denethor.

Soon, other statues came soaring down on the Porcupine horde. Their spirit broken, the Porcupines fled. Denethor turned to yell at Beregond, who had descended back to the gates, the trebuchet fire having been successful.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing, throwing these statues out of the city?" he demanded to know. "These are priceless works of art, some of them thousands of years old!'

"I am sorry, milord," said Beregond. "But we used up all of the random chunks of buildings and such in the Siege, and we had to use whatever came to hand. The statues weren't parts of buildings, and they were large and stone, so we used them."

"But... my troll!"

"I don't think it's damaged, Father," said Faramir, examining the troll. "In fact, I think they're all fine- except for that statue of Grandmother that used to be in the courtyard on the the north side of the Fourth Circle- it blew apart completely."

"The one with me as a dashing seven-year-old?" Denethor's eyes narrowed.

"We can commission a new statue..." Faramir began.

"Yes, the square is going to need a new one," said Denethor. "I think the Hero of Porcupine Ridge would be a suitable subject."

"Surely you don't mean Ioreth!" blurted out Faramir.

"Why in blazes would I mean Ioreth?" demanded Denethor. "I meant me!"

"But you barely DID anything!" protested Faramir.

"Who's plan was it?" Denethor narrowed his eyes.

"I seem to remember Damrod and Mablung proposing most of it," said Faramir.

"I seem to recall them seconding everything I said," said Denethor.

"Are sure?" said Faramir. "I have the minutes here somewhere..."

"You can't trust those," said Denethor. "The secretary was suspect."

"But I was the secretary!" protested Faramir.

"Exactly!"

"Milords, I hate to interrupt," interrupted Húrin, "but we've repaired and reaffixed the tire. My men are preparing the engine as we speak."

"Order the rest of the men to bring the undamaged statues back into the city," said Denethor. "I will be in the Tower. We make Due West, to pass the Misty Mountains by at Gundabad."

[Glirdan]

Devloppment

Just then, Sauron entered the room. "MY MOUTH! WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!? WHY HAVE WE STOPPED!?" he yelled. Even though he was disappointed that his master had regained his voice, Mouth was exstatic(sp?) that his master had returned.

"Master! You have returned! Thank Er...I mean Morgoth!! But may I ask how you recovered so quickly?"

"WELL, YOU SEE MY MOUTH, REST WAS ALL THAT I NEEDED! I THINK I JUST CAME DOWN WITH A BIT OF SCURVY-GRUNGE."

"Why, that's...wait...what in Morgoth's name is 'Scurvy-grunge'? Wait...don't answer that."

"OK. SO, YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION. WHY HAVE WE STOPPED!?" Sauron asked.

-10 Minutes-

"So you see master, this Rat Wraith spirit was just about to tell me about his wonderfully awful plan." Mouth stated.

"WELL, WE DON'T NEED HIS HELP ANYMORE!" and turning to the Rat Wraith he yelled "BEGONE YOU BEGOTTEN SPIRIT! WE DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"

"SQUEEAAK!!" the spirit yelled in fright and vanished in a purple cloud of green smoke.

"NOW THAT THAT NUISSANCE IS GONE, I SHALL TELL YOU MY PLAN MY MOUTH."

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

"Milord!" Húrin of the Keys gestured wildly for Denethor's attention. "There's a problem! We have-"

Denethor raised a hand brusquely, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

"What now? Haven't we had enough problems thus far? Be gone, and let me drive in peace!"

"But what if it affects the city?" asked Faramir. "Surely, we cannot drive if the Engine Room is damaged!"

"Is the Engine Room damaged?" Denethor snapped to Húrin.

"N-n-n-no," said Húrin, "but-"

"There, see?" Denethor retorted to Faramir.

"Well, other parts of the city-" Faramir began, but Denethor swung back to Húrin.

"Is the movement of the city in any way impeded?" he demanded.

"N-n-n-no..." Húrin began.

"Then forget the whining, and let's get on with this job! We have a race to win!"

"But the wights, milord!" Húrin finally broke through his stuttering. "They're drinking the Royal Cellar dry!"

"Whites? The laundry has got into the cellar?" Faramir was puzzled.

"No, Wights! Barrow-wights!" Húrin persisted. "There's a whole clan of them in the wine-cellars, and they're drinking us dry!"

"Is that it?" Denethor scoffed. "What do I care? It's not even my cellar! What do I care if they drink Thorongil's wine? In fact... we are being unmannerly! Faramir, go down to the cellars, and keep our guests company. We may need their help if we encounter any more disturbances before the Grey Havens. Oh, and the key to Thorongil's private brandy cupboard is under the doormat to his rooms."

"But... but..." Faramir began.

"No buts!" Denethor insisted. "I've got a city to drive! West-South-West!"

[Meneltarmacil]

Grima, bored half to death by the lack of action, waited until Saruman dozed off, then crept downstairs to the food storage areas, intent on getting some of that wine Saruman had been refusing to let him try. He opened the door and...

"AAAAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

This was answered by an equally loud "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!" from upstairs as Saruman charged downstairs.

"Snooping around in my private wine pantry, Grima? I should have guessed," the wizard remarked, and started bonking Grima on the head with his staff again.

"Master, I (OUCH!) think you should (OUCH!) look at those (OUCH!) ghost things!" Wormtongue explained.

There was, however, nothing to worry about. Saruman's wine had been some of the truly strong stuff, and the Barrow-Wights were passed out on the floor and snoring loudly.

"Get the big vacuum cleaner, Grima," Saruman commanded as he took one of the bottles of wine, chugged the entire thing in one gulp, and tossed the empty bottle out the window.

Grima brought the vacuum cleaner, and Orth-Tank set off Northwest after the Wights had been vacuumed up and dumped outside.

[Alcarillo]

Behold! The Flying City of Minas Mor-go!

"#4, get out here!" shouted the Witch-king. In the distance seven black shapes fluttered, growing larger by the moment. Ringwraith #4 hurried out of the tower, with chocolate smeared all over his face. The Witch-king just rolled his eyes.

"The other Ringwraiths are coming! And make sure to be on your best behavior," said the Witch-king. He straightened the fancy battle-helm he always wore since Pelennor and strode forwards. The other Ringwraiths swooped near, and landed upon the battlements. The wind from the wings of their great, flying beasts lifted and fluttered Ringwraith #4's robes most embarrassingly.

"Stop playing with your robes, #4. The other Ringwraiths have arrived," said the Witch-king. "Greetings, comrades!" he shouted to the others as they climbed off their high mounts, "I welcome you to Minas Mor-go! Come, come!"

The other Ringwraiths leapt to the ground, gazing all around them, admiring Minas Mor-go's axles, but…

"Where are the wheels?" asked Ringwraith #3.

"Shut up," said Khamûl, or Ringwraith #2 as he is sometimes called, "What did I tell you about your manners before we arrived? Idiot." He strode over to the Witch-king, and gave him a huge embrace. "Brother! It's been too long! How are you? How are you?"

"I'm doin' great! Wonderful to see you again! How do you like what I've done with the place?"

"Amazing! How does this thing move, orcs? Wow." Khamûl ran over to the walls to see what the view was like, and then hurried back to the Witch-king. "And hello there," he said to #4, "Great to see you again, … you."

The Witch-king coughed. "Ahem, #4."

"Ah, yes! Now I remember you! Great times we had! Great times! So, Witch-king, for what reason have you called us?"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, we're in a little race."

"Mhmmm, mhmmm."

"But porcupines have punctured the wheels and stolen the spare."

"Mhmmm, mhmmm."

"So my idea was that, if we lighten the load a bit, we can get this thing airborne with our great flying beasts!"

"Wow! Amazing idea, Witch-king. So what sort of things do you want us to help throw overboard?"

"Well, as you guessed, we're orc-powered, and orcs are pretty useless when it comes to flying. I'd kill and throw overboard about half, which is, say, 500."

"I see, I see. Go on."

"And then there is the ugly furniture vault. We need to clear that out."

"Hmmm. Okay."

"And once we've lightened this place a bit, we can tie our flying beasts to the walls, and we're flying!"

"Sounds like a plan to me! I'll get on it." Khamûl called over the other Ringwraiths and began handing out tasks. "#5 and #6, head down to the orcs and kill about half. #7, #8, and #9, start tethering the flying beasts to the city walls. And #3, I want you to go empty out the ugly furniture vault!"

"Why me?" asked #3.

"Because I said so, idiot."

"And take #4 with you!" said the Witch-king, shoving #4 in #3's direction. The two shuffled off to the tower, following #5 and #6, who were already with swords unsheathed.

"Well, Khamûl," said the Witch-king, "Let's grab the lawn chairs and reminisce about the good ol' days. Hey, #4! Bring up some lawn chairs while you're down there!" And Khamûl and the Witch-king began chatting about the days they used to swoop into battle and slaughter hordes of foes on the battlefield.

* * * * *

An hour later, the Witch-king and Khamûl were still chatting, stretched out on lawn chairs #4 had brought up from the cellars. #7, #8, and #9 had only one more flying steed to tether to the city's walls, and the sounds of blood-curdling massacre could be heard drifting out of the dungeons as #5 killed hundreds of orcs and #6 tossed their bodies out the window. And occasionally a large thump was heard as #3 and #4 tossed another paisley sofa to the ground far below.

Soon all of the flying beasts were tied to the walls of Minas Mor-go, half of the orcs were lying on the ground below, and every single paisley sofa had been ejected. The Ringwraiths gathered on top of the gate for what came next.

The Witch-king and Khamûl stood from their lawn chairs, pleased that they lightening of the city and the tethering of the beasts had finished so quickly.

"Attention, Ringwraiths!" said the Witch-king, "You shall now behold the first flying city in all of Arda!" He raised his hands to the heavans triumphantly, and laughed a deep, evil laugh. "Mwahahahahahahahaha!"

The flying beasts began to flap their great wings, and the city lurched to the side. The Ringwraiths hit the floor or grabbed onto whatever solid bit of the city they could find, as Minas Mor-go lurched and wobbled. The punctured tires left the ground. The city raised into the air. Behold! The flying city of Minas Mor-go!

The city righted itself and drifted away westwards. "Khamûl and I have decided," said the Witch-king, as the other Ringwraiths stood from their crouched positions, that Minas Mor-go, headed towards the High pass, will move in a southwest-ish direction, but a little more west than south. The important thing is that we are headed for the High Pass."

[Maeggaladiel]

Punchline!

"WELL, THAT WENT BETTER THAN EXPECTED," Sauron said. Mouth raised an eyebrow.

"Better than expected?" he sputtered. "We angered the ghost of a troll! We have cursed body parts floating around our ceiling! The Rat Wraiths you tied to the front of the mountain to pull us along are now dangling by their harnesses, seven feet off the ground!"

"YES," the dark lord agreed. "BUT LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE: WE JUST INVENTED THE HOVERCRAFT... OR THE ZEPPELIN; YOUR CHOICE."