The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Alcarillo]

On Minas Soar-gul

The flying city of Minas Mor-go offered a much smoother ride than was expected, though at times it got a bit windy out. By now the city had reached the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The High Pass could be seen in the distance.

The Witch-king sat back in his leather armchair, chatting amiably with Khamûl over piña coladas. The other Ringwraiths were elsewhere, having been sent off on errands across the city.

"Hah! I sent #4 to scrub the toilets!" boasted the Witch-king.

"Well, I sent #3 to go make us more piña coladas!" said Khamûl.

The two threw back their heads and laughed. But their laughter did not last long. Suddenly, Minas Mor-go (or Minas Soar-gul, as it was called while in flight) halted in mid-air. The city slumped to one side, but did not fall to the ground. The flying beasts screamed and became tangled in dozens of white, taut strands. The city was ensnared. It bounced up and down a few times before coming to a rest. The other Ringwraiths ran up to the gate to see what had happened. King Eänur's ghost had drifted up, too.

"I felt us stop. Are we there yet?"

"No, idiot!" said the Witch-king. "We're caught in what looks like a giant spider's web."

And sure enough, they were captured in a giant web, spanning the distance between two great pinnacles of rock.

"Where's the spider?" asked #4. His knees started to shake and knock together. It was no secret that he was afraid of spiders.

"There!" shouted #9, pointing to a corner of the web. And there, curled up, lay the fearsome spider, poking one of the flying beasts with a leg to see how tender it was. The spider's eyes were as large as watermelons, and its fangs were as long as a man is tall. Its legs were covered by bristly black hairs. #4 fainted. The Witch-king kicked him and #4 came to, but still had to avert his eyes so he wouldn’t feel faint.

"How are we going to get out of this web?" asked #3.

"Easily, idiot. We cut ourselves out," said Khamûl.

"Exactly," said the Witch-king, "But we need to distract the spider while we cut. And I have a plan. #s 7-9, go find enough wood for a catapult. #5 and #6, go find nails, ropes and hammers. I have a plan."

"Wh-what's that?" asked #4, dreading the answer.

"We build a catapult, idiot," said the Witch-king, "And we launch you near the spider! While the spider's busy wrapping you up in its threads, we cut ourselves out and voila! we're freed."

"Me? And the spider? But-but how are you going to get me back once you've launched me?"

The Witch-king shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now go make yourself useful!"

And #s 5-9 ran off to find the proper construction materials, while #4 ran away sobbing to contemplate his fate. #3 followed him to provide emotional support.

[The Saucepan Man]

Over Hill and Under the Influence

Bag-Endless-Fuel was almost though the Misty Mountains. The journey over the High Pass had proved uneventful so far and the little burrow-buggy was fast approaching Rivendell.

All of a sudden, a helmeted figure in overalls stepped out into the path of the mobile hobbit-home, brandishing what appeared to be a lollipop with the word ‘STOP!’ emblazoned on it. As Bag-Endless-Fuel obligingly came to a halt, it was immediately surrounded by a crew of similarly attired fellows, who promptly set about, variously, jacking, changing, tightening, adjusting, hammering and polishing.

“Ah. It looks like Elrond has laid on a much-needed pit-stop for us,” remarked Bilbo.

Behind him, unnoticed where it hung on the wall, the Elven blade Sting began to glow a pale blue.

As they worked, the mechanics started to sing.

Pack! Stack! The black track!
Grip, crank! Wrench, yank!
We’ll fit from Goblin-pits
New tyres, my lads!

“New tyres!” exclaimed Frodo joyfully. “Rad’s magic was good while it lasted, but we could certainly do with some fresh rubber.”

“Did they say ‘Goblin-pits’?” enquired Pippin, anxiously munching on a chicken wing.

“Don’t be silly, Pip,” relied Merry. “Elrond wouldn’t employ Goblins in his pit-crew.”

Nuts, bolts! From Goblin vaults!
Spanner and drill! Hammer at will!
Polish, shine, More streamline!
It's fine, my lads!

“Good. They’re adjusting the front wing,” noted Bilbo. “That should give us better down force.”

“You know, I’m sure I heard the word ‘Goblin’,” piped up Pippin again.

“Nonsense, my lad,” Bilbo reassured him. “Look. They’re handing out drinks now.”

Thirsty from their endeavours in the race, the Hobbits gratefully took the proffered bottles, as the mechanics continued their song.

Sup, swig! Quaff, drink!
Swagger and sway! Stagger and stray!
Glug, glug! The grog is drugged,
While Bag-End gleams, we Goblins scheme,
To take it by force way off course
It’s dire, my lads!

“Phew! Thatsh strong shtuff!” declared Bilbo, swaying unsteadily.

“Cshertainly putsh bire in yer felly, as gy Maffer would shay,” remarked Samwise.

“Feeling … shleepy …” murmured Frodo.

“Mmm. Not bad,” Pippin added, and promptly fell over - swiftly followed by his companions and the remainder of Bag-Endless Fuel’s crew.

***********************************
“Ouch! My head!” groaned Bilbo, as he slowly came round.

“Feels like the room’s spinning,” said Frodo, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s because it is,” observed Merry.

“Eh? That’s not right,” said Bilbo. “It’s not designed to spin.”

“And I wonder why it is so misty outside?” added Frodo, peering through the window at the white mist which appeared to be obscuring the view. “I know they’re called the Misty Mountains, but …”

“We’re not in the Misty Mountains any more,” interrupted Merry, from his post at the navigational sideboard. “We appear to be some 500 miles south-west of the High Pass, in the Drúwaith Iaur, and some 50 feet above the ground.”

“I don’t think that we’re supposed to be here,” remarked Sam.

“And I don’t think we want to be, either,” said Pippin, appearing at the hearth, his face white as a sheet. He had awoken first and, finding the door jammed, had climbed up to the thrush’s nest to take his bearings. “We appear to be caught in a giant spider’s web,” he continued. “The chimney’s clear of it, but not much else.”

“How do you know it’s a spider’s web?” asked Merry.

“Because I saw the spider!” he wailed, reason surrendering to fear. “It’s big and it’s hairy and it’s got nasty great fangs and …”

He broke off, gibbering.

“Quick, to the library! There’s not a moment to lose!” ordered Bilbo, taking Sting down from the wall. “I believe that I have just the thing.”

For what seemed like ages, the Hobbits stood watching Bilbo searching among the great, dusty tomes of his library.

“Found it!” he suddenly cried, taking down a slim packet from one of the shelves.

“What is it, Uncle Bilbo?” asked Frodo.

“This, my boy,” replied Bilbo, removing a shiny, silver disc from the packet. “Is the File of Galadriel!”

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:



The beast started climbing down the net, and a few meters above the Gondorians' heads it halted and let out a shriek:

"Don't just stand there, let's get to it, strike a pose, there's nothing to it. Vogue!"

During the last sentence, it leaped in the air and landed in a way that she, no doubt, considered to be a graceful pose.

"I take back what I said earlier", Denethor muttered glowering the spread-eagle spider. "Now I've seen everything."

"It's going to eat us all alive", whimpered Faramir.

"Yo! Eat ya?" the arachnid piped up. "You gotta be kiddin'! You have- what, 15% fat? And da old man's even more" she wagged her hairy leg at Denethor. "Nah, I ain't gonna eat you. Yet" she added and winked three of her eight eyes impishly.

"It's this fur coat", Denethor whispered defensively to Faramir and Húrin. "Inside it I'm still firm and tough as young beech!"

"And as flammable, too", remarked Faramir.

"Let's dance!", the spider hissed.

"Right. Húrin!" Denethor said hurriedly. "Gather a group of guerillas and find out how we can get off of this dratted web. And Faramir, we'd better obey that morbid creature and keep it in a good mood until Húrin gets back."

"But... I can't dance!" Faramir cried anxiously.

"You can't?" Denethor frowned. "What do they teach in the army!"

"C'mon, shake it!" the arachnid bellowed, and its massive body trembled like jelly.

"If only my firstborn was here", sighed Denethor.

"Oh, you wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had stayed at home and Boromir had joined the race instead!"

"Well, he's the Disco King, isn't he?"

"Yes, but-"

"And what are you, eh?"

"A polka prince", Faramir said and blushed.

"That's right, my son. But don't worry. As it happens, I can remember some moves from my youth. Now, pay attention and follow my lead."

And Denethor started spinning around and waving his arms as though he had been swimming. Then he started moonwalking around the stony yard. The spider blinked all her eyes and stared at Denethor and Faramir who tried to mimic his father as well as he could. She let out a little snort, but politely covered her mouth with her front legs.

"Wave your arms, son! Faster!" exclaimed Denethor.

"That's the chicken dance, dad" Faramir said in disbelief.

"So, you know the moves then", Denethor yelled back grinning wildly.

Soon the spider couldn't be bothered to hide her amusement, and it gargled and hiccoughed hysterically pointing at Denethor and Faramir. The gargling changed into outright guffawing and the whole web shook as the gigantic beast rolled around in spasms of laughter. She couldn't keep her grip of the web anymore and with a loud thud she fell on the ground. Far below Denethor and Faramir could hear hollow heehawing and they caught a sight of a mess of hairy legs wriggling towards the skies.

"It couldn't be that bad", Denethor said worriedly.

"I don't think it matters very much", panted Faramir. "Now it's our chance to escape! Where's Húrin?"

[Maeggaladiel]

Spidery Doom


"What IS that thing?" Mouth asked. A strand of the great white rope was attached to a nearby rock. Mouth grabbed it in an attempt to climb up and free the mountain. His fingers wrapped around the rope... and his mouth curved into a grimace.

"Yeeachh!" he said. "It's slimy!" He tried to let go, but found that he couldn't. "And sticky!! Gack! My lord, give me a hand here!"

"MAYBE IF YOU PULL REALLY HARD," Sauron suggested, not moving from where he stood. "REALLY SHAKE IT."

So Mouth did. He shook the rope. And shook the rope. And then... The rope shook back.

"Bwuaazzuh?" Mouth asked, confused. He looked up. A long stick had fallen into the net. Odd...

And then the stick moved. It was joined by another stick, and another, and suddenly Mouth noticed that the sticks were all joined to what looked like a rock. But it wasn't a rock. It was moving. And it was--

"WELL WHADDAYA KNOW!" Sauron said, rubbing his chin and inspecting the rope. "YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS, MOUTH?"

"Giant spider web?" Mouth guessed. Saruon looked deflated.

"HOW DID YOU GUESS?" he asked.

"Oh... Just a hint," Mouth said, staring up at the giant spider that was getting ever closer. "Look, could you please help me here?"

"I KNOW JUST WHAT TO DO," Sauron said. Mouth moved over so Sauron could pull him off the web, but to his suprise, the Dark Lord ran off.

"MY LORD!" Mouth yelled. The spider drew closer.

"JUST A MINUTE." Sauron returned with an axe. "THIS'LL HELP."

"Where did you get-- Nevermind. Just get me down."

Saruon walked right past him and went into a clump of trees. Several trees were chopped down. The spider came closer.

"Sauron!"

"GIMMIE A SEC."

Wood chips flew. A tub of water was brought out. The spider examined Mouth with its insectoid eyes, choosing the tastiest place to bite.

"MY LORD!!"

"HOLD ON."

A typewriter was produced. The spider started wrapping Mouth's arm in webs.

"MY LOOOORRRD!!!!"

"DONE."

Saruon emerged, with something hidden behind his back.

"HEY MOUTH," he said. "HOW DO YOU STOP A GIANT SPIDER?"

Mouth grit his teeth.

"I was hoping YOU'D know that," he said. "Seeing as how I'm the one in danger of being eaten."

"IT'S A JOKE, MOUTH. YOU HAVE TO ASK ME HOW."

Mouth sighed as the giant spider started planning what vegetables would go well with Mouth of Sauron Stew.

"Fine," he said. "How do you stop a giant spider?"

"WITH A GIANT ROLLED-UP NEWSPAPER!" Sauron replied, producing a giant rolled-up newspaper from behind his back. "I MADE IT MYSELF. SOME QUALITY JOURNALISM."

THWACK! Sauron hit the spider, and it fell to the ground. It lay on its back, its legs flailing wildly about for a moment.

"NEVER FAILS," Sauron said.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Whilst Denethor and Faramir made fools of themselves distracting the dancing spawn of Ungoliant, Húrin and the rest of the support staff had drawn axes, and were doing their best to hack through the wide, sticky, very strong ropes that bound Minas Tirith in place.

They had made some progress by the time that Denethor and Faramir sought them out, having perhaps freed the city 50%. Faramir seemed to have been shaking his head in disbelief for some time, to judge by the "I still don't believe it..."s he was muttering under his breath, and the irritable look on Denethor's face.

"Where do you think Boromir got his talent from, eh?" Denethor finally burst out as they had nearly reached Húrin. "It wasn't from your mother... those Dol Amrothians haven't a clue how to dance. Prim, proper, and stiff... not a disc jockey among them."

Húrin did his best to look nonchalant, for Denethor was turning to him. Faramir could be heard to croak:

"Talent? He calls that talent! He's as bad as I, only more practised at it!"

Denethor ignored his son. There were more important matters at hand.

"Report," he addressed Húrin.

"Milord, we have freed approximately half the city, at various locations. It is possible that we can put the city in reverse, and pull free of the cords. Cutting the remaining threats, which are generally harder to reach, could take several hours."

"Hmm..." growled Denethor. "We've had such miserable luck thus far: trolls, rats, porcupines, and now this spider. I can't imagine how far we've fallen behind. Let's try reversing. What's the worst that can happen?"

"We'll blow the engine," said Húrin, "thus setting off the nuclear powering device, destroying half the city, and leave us still stuck in the web."

"What are our odds?" asked Faramir.

"About 50/50," said Húrin, still calm.

"Let's do it!" said Denethor. "Those are the best life-and-death, seat-of-your-pants, heroic episodes odds I've ever heard. Húrin: start the engine!"

Húrin and his men returned to the engine room, while Denethor and Faramir headed for the Tower. Soon Húrin sent up the signal.

"We're smoking!" Faramir told Denethor. "Húrin's ready!"

Denethor grabbed the gear-shifter, and put Minas Tirith in reverse. He put his foot to the gas pedal. Minas Tirith's engine revved loudly.

"We're straining at the net!" Faramir reported, "but I don't think we'll manage it. We're stuck good!"

"Pride and despair!" Denethor cried. "Didst thou think the tyres of the White Tower were bald? Nay, they can grip more than thou knowest, young fool. For thy fear is but ignorance. We go then, and labour not in vain! Go forth and cut! Flippery! For a little struggle you may triumph on that field, after a day. But against the power that now arises, there is no victory. To this web only the first finger of its hand has yet been stretched. All the city is moving. And even now the wind of the West aids us and wafts over the mountains a force of great strenght. The web has failed. It is time for us to depart who would not be caught."

"Such counsels will make the spider's victory certain indeed," moaned Faramir.

"Fear on then!" laughed Denethor. "But I say to thee, Faramir Denethorion, I will not be thy coward! I am the Steward of the House of Anárion. I will not step down to admit defeat to this spider. Even were her web proved too strong for me, still she is but a spider. I will not bow to such a one, last of a ragged house, ever bereft of lordship and dignity!"

"To me it would not seem that a Driver who faithfully saves his vehicle is diminished in love or in honour," said Faramir, and fear was in his eyes. "And at least you would not rob your son of his choice while his death is still in doubt!"

Now the wheels of Minas Tirith were spinning in the rocky ground, and the web had been pulled its tightest. It must now either snap, or the city must fail. Faramir collapsed from the tension.

Meanwhile, the spider, regaining control of itself, decided that not only were the humans unfit to eat, the city was definitely too stony to be tasty, and she clamboured up the mountainside, and plucked loose one of her threads.

Minas Tirith zoomed away at full power, its passengers knocked against its wall, temporarily careening out of control.

"So goes Denethor, son of Ecthelion," murmured the spider. "And so pass all the days of this web that I have known; for good or for evil they are ended."

And, with the infinite patience that spiders seem to possess, the great dancing spawn of Ungoliant set about repairing her web.

Meanwhile, Denethor had slowed down the city, and Faramir had been shaken awake by the jolt.

"Where to now?" he asked his father, a bit apprehensively.

"WEST, past the mountains," said Denethor. "But by a route other than the one that spider guards!"

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

It had happened again. Minas Tirith was no longer moving. This time, fortunately, it wasn't Denethor's fault. He had not fallen asleep at the wheel. In fact, he was wide awake, steering the city, when it suddenly began to slow down. A mysterious dark smoke began to rise from the lower levels of the city, issuing from houses whose basements connected to the Engine Room.

It wasn't long after when Húrin and the rest of his staff fled the Engine Room in terror. They made their way straight to the Tower, where Denethor was about to send Faramir to see what had happened.

"An evil of the ancient world, it seemed!" Húrin reported in terror, "such as I have never seen before. It was both a Shadow and a Flame, strong and terrible!"

"It was a Balrog of Morgoth," agreed Ioreth. "Of all the engine-banes most deadly, save the One who drives the Fiery Mount!"

"Indeed, I saw within that Engine Room that which haunts our darkest dreams. I saw Taxi's Bane," said Beregond in a low voice, and dread was in his eyes.

"Alas!" said Faramir. "We long have feared that under Rath Dínen a terror slept. But had I known that the mechanics had stirred up this evil in the Engine Room again, I would have forbidden us to enter this race, us and all that would join us. And, if it were possible, one would say that at the last Dwarfy fell from wisdom into folly, sending us needlessly into the net of the Engine Room."

"He would be wise indeed that said that," said Denethor gravely. "Needless were all of the deeds of Gandalf in life. Those that followed him knew not his mind and cannot report his full purpose. But however it may be with the guide, the followers are blameless. Do not repent our our entry into the Race. If our folk had been stranded long and far from Gondor, who of the Dúnedain, even Faramir the Foolish, would pass nigh and not wish to restart their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons?"

"Erm, Father..." said Faramir. "We weren't talking about Gandalf... We were talking about Dwarfy."

"Oh. Right. Húrin, please continue. Can you tell me once and for all: are Balrogs wingéd?"

Húrin gulped really hard. "Well, uh... my lord... It's, ah, difficult to say... You see, it's shadow stretched across the Engine Room like two great wings... but I'm not sure if they WERE two great wings... Why don't we pass by Rivendell and ask Glorfindel? He fought one, after all, and ought to know if anybody does."

"And just how are we going to get to Rivendell if we can't move?" demanded Denethor. "The Engine appears to be completely inert at the moment, and may well be in a state of destruction, for all we know, and short of entering the Engine Room and confronting the foul demon, we have no way of assessing the damage or repairing it."

"I don't suppose we could lure it out?" suggested Faramir.

"What do Balrogs find alluring, I wonder?" said Denethor skeptically.

"I've heard they come flying if you're under attack by giant spiders," said Faramir.

"That's helpful," said Denethor sarcastically. "If we had known, we could have called on their aid at our last problem. What else?"

"Well, they are known to fly from the destruction of giant landmasses, so I imagine any sort of earthquake, flood, cataclysm, or something of that sort might drive it out."

"Oh yes, and we can definitely produce a cataclysm on demand," Denethor rolled his eyes.

"I didn't say this was going to be easy..." said Faramir.

"Milords, I've heard that Balrogs can be dropped off pinnacles to their deaths," said Beregond respectfully. "If we could lure the Balrog up the tower..."

"And then have to clean him off the fourth circle when we're done?" Denethor scoffed.

"How would we lure him up there anyway?" asked Faramir.

They sat glumly in silence for several minutes. Finally, Faramir took a deep breath, and turned to Denethor.

"Father, I know that you've always deeply regreted my association with Mithrandir, but I think being a Wizard's Pupil may come in handy here."

"Why? Are wizards known to be able to defeat Balrogs?" asked Denethor. Faramir nodded.

"Mithrandir defeated and killed the Balrog of Moria," nodded Faramir. "It just so happens that he taught me the basic skills that he used in doing so."

"And?" Denethor demanded. "What are they?"

"Well, to defeat the Balrog..." Faramir hesitated. "Mithrandir had to uncloak his native power as a Maia."

"You mean he was Mithrandir... Uncloaked?" Denethor's eyes bulged. Faramir nodded glumly.

"It is a dangerous ploy," he agreed. "But what options have we?"

"We could always abandon the city, get lost in the wilds of Angmar, lose our minds and join an ancient clan devoted to hedonistic worship of the Witchking," said Denethor.

"I'd rather do that one, milord," said Beregond.

"We cannot!" cried Faramir. "We have our honour as Men of Gondor, and to all those for whom we stand! We are charged with the keeping of the city until the King should return!"

"You don't need to remind me of my oaths," growled Denethor. "Fine. If you think you can do it... go do it... It is not enough, I deem. Go and rest as you may. Tonight's need will be greater."

[The Saucepan Man]

The Bridge of Camshaft-Doom!

Ted Handyman's horn sounded once more, more urgent than before.

Gandalf and the Hobbits dashed down the stairs to the engine-room, hurtling through a wall of thick black smoke. There they found Ted gibbering uncontrollably in a corner.

"Ai! Ai!" he wailed.

"Aye aye," replied Sam, nodding to him in greeting.

"No! Ai! Ai!" Ted persisted.

"Ai?" enquired Sam, blinking in confusion.

"Aye!" confirmed Ted.

"Eh? Ai?"

"Eh? Aye!"

"Oh!"

"If you're both quite finished, I suggest we get down to business," said Gandalf impatiently.

Cautiously, they advanced along the great camshaft that ran almost the full length of the unfeasibly large chamber which housed the engine of Bag-Endless-Fuel. The shaft bridged a vast chasm below them, over which the vehicle had conveniently come to rest. Thick smog obscured the far end of the chamber. Beyond it, a fiery light glowed and an ominous clanking and grinding could be heard, a sound which suggested that the Burrow-Buggy's delicate mechanical parts were being put to a use other than that for which they were designed.

As they reached the far end of the shaft, the black cloud parted to reveal a sight which filled them with dread. A demon of smoke and fire stood amidst the wreck of the engine, munching on what looked to be a piston. It was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it. As they watched, it wrenched a series of gears from the guts of the engine and, with sparks flying about it, set about chewing on them. Then it caught sight of them and with a rush it leaped towards them. Flames poured from the stricken engine and wreathed about it, and the black, oily smoke swirled in the air. In its right hand was a blow-torch and in its left it held a chain of many links.

“A Balrog,” muttered Gandalf. “Now I understand. What an evil fortune! Deep indeed did the Dwarves of Khazad-Zoom delve.”

"Ai!" wailed Ted

"Eh?" questioned Sam.

"Don't start that again!" said Merry.

The dark figure streaming with fire rushed towards them.

"Back over the shaft!" cried Gandalf. "Fly!"

"But Gandalf ...!" objected Frodo.

"This is a foe beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!"

“Fine by me,” said Frodo. “I just wanted to point out that we cannot fly, as we do not have wings.”

“I meant fly in the figurative sense of moving with great speed, rather than in the literal sense of travelling through the air,” observed Gandalf.

“Right you are!” replied the Hobbits, turning and flying figuratively back towards the stairs. On reaching them, they turned to watch in horror, as the Balrog reached the camshaft. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on his staff. His enemy halted, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. Sparks flew from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm.

"You cannot parse!" he said.

The Balrog paused and considered this for a moment.

“Cannot what?” it asked.

"Parse. As in to break something down into its constituent parts. You cannot do that to the engine. I will not let you. I have a lot riding on this. I am a servant of the secret bet, wielder of the odds of favour. This engine will not satiate you, devourer of turbine. Go back to the scrapyard! You cannot parse!"

A terrible, crackling roar came from the Balrog's fiery maw, and the Hobbits realised that it was laughing.

"Oh yeah, old man? Whaddya going to do about it? Uncloak?"

"Don't tempt me!"

The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly on to the shaft, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall. But still Gandalf could be seen, glimmering in the gloom. He seemed small, and altogether alone: grey and bent, like a penniless debtor before the onset of bankruptcy.

'You cannot parse!' Gandalf insisted.

With a bound the Balrog leaped full upon the camshaft. Its blow-torch sprang into flame and its chain whirled and clinked.

At that moment Gandalf lifted his staff, and crying aloud he smote the shaft before him. The staff broke asunder and fell from his hand. Sparks flew and the camshaft cracked. Right at the Balrog's feet it broke, and the section upon which it stood dropped into the chasm below. With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward, and its shadow plunged down and vanished. But even as it fell it swung its chain, and the links lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink. He staggered, and fell, grasped vainly at the shaft, and slid into the abyss.

“Fly, you fools!” he cried, and was gone.

"Gandalf!" cried Frodo and Bilbo in unison.

"Fly?" mused Sam aloud. "And just how does he expect us to do that, either literally or figuratively, with the engine being such a wreck and all?"

"Look!" cried Merry, pointing to the shadows which still hung about the ceiling above. "The Balrog's wings are still there. They must have torn from it when it fell into the chasm."

“But they’re not real wings,” pointed out Frodo. “The shadow just looks like two vast wings. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” said Bilbo. “They look real enough to me, spreading as they do from wall to wall. You think that you can fix them up to what’s left of the engine, Ted?"

"Quite frankly, Mister Baggins, nothing would surprise me at this stage. I’ll do my best. They may not last us long, but I may be able to make running repairs to the rest of the engine on the way."

And so it was that, before long, Bag-Endless-Fuel took to the air powered by the two mighty, shadowy Balrog wings which might or might not have been real, but which were real enough for present purposes to convey it Due North.

[Boromir88]

Medel-zoom, of Dwarfbots and the Balrog Bagman (cont.)

Sometime later....

With Theoden on the roof dressed like Gandalf and two Bots on each side of the roof hidden with rope in hand to trip the Balrog, the plan was almost ready.

Eowyn heads inside with the last two Bots, taller than her now and dressed up like Gandalf in a tattered white robe and matching hat (left over from Halloween) and sheep wool formed as a beard and to top it all off, a large stick to serve as a staff. Eowyn directs the Bots to the basement hatch and has them stand in front of it. She runs over to the fire and pulls out a large coal and places it infront of the Bots/Gandalf. She leans in and gives the Bots a brief run through off the plan, then she flings open the door and hides herself.

The Balrog was having fun reeking havock in the basement, when he became aware of a light coming from above...with a figure standing there..

DwarfBots: *in a thunderous Gandalf/Computerized voice* "YOU SHALL NOT COME TO THE TOP OF THE ROOF!" Then the Bot lifted his "staff" and brought it smashing down onto the coal, creating sparks and the effect of wizardry.

Eowyn: *smacks her forehead and rolls her eyes*

Infuriated by the challenge?...the Balrog roars and begins to climb out after the figure.

In the meantime the Gandalf Bots took off out the doors, just as the Balrog was emerging. As he made it outside the bots had stripped off their Gandalf facade and shreeking, pointed to the roof. There stood Theoden/Gandalf and he shouts down : "Wow what took you so long? First day with your new legs?"

Balrog: *roars* and heads up the roof towards Theoden.

In the meantime........One of the Bots manning the ropes, notices that he is standing on gold.....he pulls out a little pick and begins pinking away....

Theoden: * walks a bit towards the Balrog making a taunting motion* "Come on you panzy!"

Balrog: *roars again; picks up speed and nears the rope*

The three DwarfBots did their job, they pulled the rope and it caught the Balrog, just above the ankles, but with the missing Bot the rope was not tight enough to bring down the beast. Teetering at an awkward angle, swinging his arms back and forth, the Balrog tried to regain his footing on the edge.
Noticing the problem Theoden walks a safe distance towards the Balrog, raises his stick and pokes him right in the shoulder, sending him toppling head over heels down the roof and into a pre-readied mud puddle with a steaming hiss and a sickening, crunching snap!!!
The beast was smotten.

Theoden grabbed the mining DwarfBot and clambered down off the roof towards Eowyn and the other Bots.

Professor: *runs over to the huge hissing mud puddle* "What have you done? You've killed Rocky! You bastards!.......Oh I mean Yay!! you killed the Balrog! *grumbles* My wife is going to kill me!" *He lets out a long whistle* "One hour up now! Thank you come again!" and he sped off with his six DwarfBots in tow.

Theoden: *Looks at Eowyn* "Did you see that?! He was like AAAAAHHHH, and then I was like POKE.... and then he was like ...PSHSHSHSHAAAAHHHH!!!" *making a falling gesture with his hands*

Eowyn: "Yes Uncle you got rid of the Balrog! All by yourself, you did!" *rolls eyes and thinks I will never hear the end of this*

Theoden: *looks smug* "You better believe it. But, you know, I'm gonna miss those little dwarf buggers."

Eowyn: *rolls eyes again* "So, will I uncle. We'll have plenty of time to talk about your heroic fight to the death with the Balrog, but right now we have to figure out which way we want to go."

Theoden: "I say we head North, North West, towards the finish line.."

Eowyn: "Ok lets! I will be in my room, changing if you need me....."

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank, Grima, use the Force!

As Saruman sat in his study busily studying maps, calculating distances, figuring out what happened to the seven dwarven rings, eating chocolate fudge and all those other things geniuses do he began to ponder on what exactly those screams from down below were. Of course, he could always go and check but whats the point, Grima would burst into the room in a bit and tell him about it anyway. In fact, that should happen in...

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

Right about now, Grima burst into the room panting heavily. He ran up to Saruman and fell before his feet. Saruman smirked and said, "Come now Grima, I know you love me and hold me in the highest respect but there is no need to bow before me." "I tripped." muttered Grima, getting back to his feet which earned him a bonk on the head from the staff of Saruman. "Now fool, speak! Why are you here?" "Well you see sir... theres a... a... ba..bu..bar.." Stammered the frightened Grima. "A burgular? This is grave news indeed." Said Saruman stroking his beard.

Grima looked at Saruman and took in a deep breath, "No sir, its a balrog!" After saying so he began to run round and round in circles for no apparent reasons. "A balrog? 'Tis gave news indeed..." Muttered Saruman. "Come Grima, we must head to the Weapons Hangar... we have preperations to make!"

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Denethor and Húrin met Faramir at the entrance to the Engine Room. Faramir was clad in a long, white robe.

"Is it not enough that you are a wizard's pupil?" scoffed Denethor. "Or do you think yourself the equal of the head of the Istari?"

"It's the colour of the Stewards, Father," explained Faramir. "I thought it would be appropriate. Besides, if the Balrog thinks I'm that powerful, so much the better."

"So it's not enough to shame us by Uncloaking in the first place," bemoaned Denethor, "you also have to deliberately tie it to my office!"

"Well, it's too late now," said Faramir. "We have a job to do."

"No, you have a job to do."

They entered the Engine Room, and a terrifying sight met their eyes. The once clean and well-ordered Engine Room was dark, lit only by the fiery light of the Balrog. Machinery littered the floor, torn from the walls, mishapen and bent. The Balrog was twisting a long rod into a pretzel as they entered.

Faramir drew himself up. He spoke sternly. "You will be a fool if you continue, Balrog! You make that clearer with every piece you break. It has got far too much danger for you. Let it go! And then you can go and be free."

"Wot's that?" the Balrog blinked, shadowy eyelids temporarily obscuring his fiery eyes. "I'll do as I choose and go as I please."

"Now, now, my dear Balrog!" said Faramir. "All your long life you have been careful, and you owe yourself something. Come, do as is safest: stop it."

"Well, if you want my Engine Room for yourself, say so!" said the Balrog. "But you won't get it. I won't give my Engine Room away, I tell you." His hand strayed to the handle of his fiery whip.

Faramir's adam's apple gulped. "It will be my turn to get angry soon," he said. "If you say that again. Then you will see Faramir the White Uncloaked!" He took a step towards the Balrog; and he seemed to grow tall and menacing; his shadow filled the room.

"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of shadows! Leave the Engine Room in peace!"

The Balrog backed away to the wall, looking wary, his hand clutching at his whip. He answered in a cold (for such a hot being, it was quite cold indeed) voice: "Come not between the Balrog and his lair! Or he will slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, why thy flesh shall be rended, and thy shrivelled corpse be left naked to Flaming Whip."

"Do what you will, but being Uncloaked was my plan!"

"Uncloak at me? Thou fool. No living (or dead) wizard may Uncloak at me!"

Then Denethor heard of all the sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Faramir laughted, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel. "But no living wizard am I! You look up a man. Faramir, I am, Denethor's son. You stand between us and our race. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will Uncloak at you, if you do not depart!"

Then apparently winged creature screamed at here, and yet the Balrog made no answer, and was silent, as if in sudden doubt. He approached Faramir, tall and threatening, towering above him. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears, Faramir let fall his cloak.

The Balrog shrieked in horror and pain, and Denethor and the others saw the room lit up with a pasty whiteness. The Balrog began to contort and twist, losing his form, becoming a mere swirling mass of shadow and flame. Then all was silent. For a second.

"Faramir! Put that cloak back on right now!"

"Yes, Father!" Faramir, somewhat stunned looking, hastily donned the cloak. "Well, it seems that the foul beast is defeated... Now what? He has wrecked our Engine Room."

"Sirs," interjected Húrin, "the swirling mass of shadow and flame is still there. I bet you that my men could jury-rig a way to harness it's energy to power the city, at least until we can get the engine repaired."

"Make it so," said Denethor. "Faramir, go get changed into something decenty and un-wizardy. I shall be in the Control Room. We make WEST-SOUTH-WEST"

[Gurthang]

South of the Isen

Ringwraith #4 woke up and looked around. He had no idea where he was. Furthermore, he had no idea how long he had been out. *Crap* he thought, *I bet I've been out for weeks and the race is over already. He slowly got up. *Man, my head hurts! I thought those Goblins would jump at the chance of joining us, but instead they jumped us!* He started to wobble around a bit. After a short time, he was able to stand up straight and move around without any trouble.

Soon he found the Witch-King, who was still knocked out. *Best let sleeping dogs lie* he thought to himself. He headed up towards the steering platform, and when he got there he tried to figure out where they were.

It was fairly cool out, so he guessed it was morning. By looking at the sun, he figured out which way East was. Minas Mor-go was sitting on a decent sized plain. Just a few miles to the North was a good sized River. He followed it with his eyes as far as he could to the West, and could just see that it emptied into the sea. *Ah, so we're fairly close to the Sundering Sea. Whoa! How'd we get over here!* He looked down to the South and he could see some mountains in the distance, and away to the West... there nothing but the river and plains.

At that moment the Witch-King came up, still slightly wobbling.

"What day is it? And where are we?" he mumbled.

"Well, I'm not sure about the date, but I've figured out where we are. We're just South of the Isen. See, that's the Sundering Sea over there, and those are the Western end of the Ered Nimrais." #4 replied, very satisfied by his deductive capabilities. Not to mention his geographic knowledge.

"Well that sucks." the Witch-King exclaimed, "But it looks like we've just been out for a couple days."

"How do you know that?"

"Simple." the Witch-King stated, "See that ham sandwhich I left by my chair? If we'd been out for more than 72 hours, that would be all shriveled up and moldy."**

Ringwraith #4 rolled his invisible eyes. It was true, though. "So what are we going to do? I guess head north?"

At that moment there was a commotion down on one of the lower levels of the city. Looking over the edge, #4 could see a chaotic mass of orcs rushing out of one of the first few floors of the castle. They appeared to be running for their lives. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a firey strand came out of the doorway and took of one of the orc's heads. The other orcs ran faster, but a couple more did not get away. Suddenly, an orc captain stepped onto the steering platform.

"What do you want?" demanded the Witch-King.

"Wee hafe eh probum!" the captain replied. "Thur's eh Balrog in thi city!"

"Oh, just what we needed. Another thing to slow us down!"

"Sir, it shouldn't be too much of a problem." #4 said patiently.

"What?! How can this not 'be too much of a problem'!"

"Well, we have the River Isen right there at our disposal. Here's what I say..."


**No, I do not know if this is scientifically correct, but it doens't matter. It's just a story.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

The Chronicler of this portion of the tale is believed, from evidence in the manuscript to have been a Burrahobbit. One will note the characteristic brevity.

It was most easy for Denethor and Faramir to defeat the Silly Singing Sindar: they cut through their bonds by rubbing them on the sharp machinery. They stuffed earplugs in their ears to blunt the horrid noise. They scared the Elves out of the city by pretending to be 13 Dwarves and a Hobbit crashing a hunting party. They restarted the city and headed West-Southwest. They did so with an abundance of anakronistic humour.

[Alcarillo]

Minas Mor-go is freed

The Ringwraiths worked furiously to build the catapult. The spider was slowly approaching, but was repelled away from the city by several well-thrown rocks. The spider retreated back to its corner of the web, and the Ringwraiths were able to finish their catapult.

It was soon finished. The Witch-king walked around it, surveying it from every angle.

"These beams aren't exactly even, and the ropes are fraying in a few places, but it'll do," he said. "Now, I want this thing aimed near that spider! #4'll distract it while we cut the city free."

The catapult was aimed and #4, whimpering, crawled in.

"Cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it," said the Witch-king, quipping a particular insult he had been dying to say for ages. "Now, #5, ready your sword, and when I say NOW, cut the rope that'll launch #4 at the spider."

#5 unsheathed his sword and stood at the ready. "Now!" said the Witch-king, and #5 chopped through a rope, sending the catapult's arm swinging, launching poor #4 through the air. He landed on the web, and stuck there, bobbing slowly up and down until the web came to a rest. And then the spider noticed him. It crawled over and poked him with one large, hairy leg. #4 screamed. He was too scared to faint.

"Now, boy, unsheathe your swords, cut the city loose while we have a chance!" shouted the Witch-king.

With a mighty SHHHINNNNG their swords were out and they started chopping away at the threads tangled around the flying steeds of the Ringwraiths. They were freed, and the great monsters beat their wings, and tried to pull the city out of the web. They strained with all their strength, and after a great sucking *pop*, the city was pulled free. It swung dangerously in the air, but the flying steeds were able to level the city.

"Look at #4!" shouted #3, and all eyes were turned onto the web. #4, still screaming his head off, was being wrapped head to foot in the spider's sticky thread. "We have to save him!"

"Alright, then," said the Witch-king, "Once we're lowered onto the ground you and a few others can untie a few of the flying steeds and rescue him."

By now poor #4 was completely coated in webbing. The giant spider tucked him under its hairy arm and began to climb one of the giant stone pinnacles to either side of the web. #s 3, 5, 6, and 7 leapt upon their fell, flying monsters once Minas Mor-go was safely on the ground, and they flew up to where the spider climbed up the rock pinnacle. They swooped close, reaching out with their swords, trying to stab the gigantic spider. But none could get close enough to give the spider more than a scratch.

The spider kept climbing, until it reached the very top of the pinnacle. It set poor #4 down on top. He was still screaming, but had managed to cut apart a few threads of his cocoon with a convenient Khand-army knife. The spider reared up on its hind legs, and beat its forelegs against its chest and roared in triumph. But the fight had just begun. The Ringwraiths swooped closer, and then again, trying to topple the giant spider. And all the while, #4 struggled to free himself. The Ringwraiths swooped around once more, and the spider reached into the air and whacked #7's flying steed to the ground. The spider roared once more, but as it did so the flying monsters of the Ringwraiths soared near, and #3 leant far out with his sword and stabbed it deep into the beast's shoulder. The spider howled in pain. And then again, and again – another sword and then another hit the spider. It began slipping from its high perch. Another stab, and it was clawing at the rock face in desperation. Its end was near.

By now #4 had freed himself, and he stood feebly upon the pinnacle. The spider was hanging on by a single leg, and #4 still had the strength to stab it with his knife. The spider fell from the pinnacle, roaring in anger all the way down, and it hit the ground dead. All of the Ringwraiths rejoiced. #4 fainted.

"The flying Ringwraiths got it! Haha!" shouted Khamûl.

"No," muttered the Witch-king. He peered over the walls of the city at the spider's body. "It was #4 killed the beast."

#4 was rescued, the spider was dead, and Minas Mor-go was freed from the spider web. They were soon airborne again, and the Witch-king called all of the Ringwraiths to the gates.

"Now, my friends," he said from his armchair, "we must resolve an urgent piece of business: in what direction will we fly next?"

"To the High Pass!" cried Khamûl.

"Amen!" cried everybody else, and Minas Mor-go, or Minas Soar-gul as it was now called, soared away into the west.

[Valier]

Medul-zoom "The curse"


Eowyn: "Dang this stupid brush! My hair will be ruined if I don't get this out soon!" *pulls uselessly at the brush tangled in her hair*

All of a sudden the great Medul-zoom gave a lurch and came to a jolting stop. The brush that was tangled now was held freely in the hand of Eowyn.

Eowyn: "Well that solves one problem,but why have we stopped?" *leaves her room to see what's going on*

Theoden: "What now? Hama go have a look and see why we have stopped, we must be far behind the other racers and the shame of it is driving me insane!"

Hama cautiously opens the doors and steps outside.

Hama: "my Lord! We seem to be caught in a web of some sort!"

Theoden:"A web?

Hama: "Yes me Lord a web!"

Theoden: "A web dear Hama?"

Eowyn: "Let's not start this again!! Is there a spider present Hama?"

Hama: "ummmmm I think that lump over there is the spider." *points to a large greenish lump*

Theoden: "well what is it doing? Does it not know who I am? Go Hama and tell him to release us at once!"

Hama: "Sir I don't think we should get too close.."

Eowyn: "I say we poke it with a stick from here."

Theoden: "good idea! Sticks!! We need sticks!"

Hama: " Sticks! Get us some sticks!"

After many sticks were retrieved they tied them all together and made one long giant spider pokin' stick

They inched the stick towards the spider, little by little.

*Poke, Poke, Poke*

Eowyn: " Hey! Spider! Hey!"

Spider: *barely lifting it's head* " Dave? Dave's not here man!" *goes back to doing whatever it was it was doing*

Theoden: "Dave? Who is this Dave?"

Eowyn: *Pokes the spider again* "Umm Dave is it? Can you please let little old me pass through your web?"

Spider: "I said Dave's not here man, now get lost! Your ruining my buzz"

Theoden: "buzz? I thought it was a spider?"

Eowyn: *sighs* Ok then spider we will just cut through your web here and be on our way!"

Spider: *rolls towards them and lets out a huge cloud of smoke? from his mouth* No way dudes! I can not allow you to do that! I've got it exactly the way I want it! You'll just have to rot there....I am a vegan and your smell is revolting, so stay over there!"

Theoden: " Well I never! I will not stay here and rot! *turns to Hama and Eowyn* We must come up with a plan to distract that, there spider before we fall into last place!"

Hama: " Well me Lord what do you have in mind?"

The three put their heads together (literally) and came up with a plan.

A SHORT TIME LATER

Eowyn: "Yoohooo Dave!"

Spider: *rolls to face the group* What do you want? I told you to just stay there and not make any noise"

Eowyn: " Well we have decided if you do not set us free, we will put a curse on you!"

Spider: " A curse eh?...what kinda curse?"

Eowyn: " The worse curse ever! The shinning! Every time you look over here at us poor stranded people you will see nothing but blood!"

Spider: "Hee hee hee Blood eh? right.....*turns over and goes back to sleep*

Eowyn: "Alright but don't say we did not warn you!"

Theoden gave a sign and the Eorlingas began to cut through the web, while Theoden, Eowyn, and Hama began to odulate their arms in the air, yelling deedledoo, deedledoo, deedledoo!

The spider began to become annoyed with all the noise, so he turned himself to face the three again. As he rolled his massive self to look at the Hall a horrific sight began to take shape before his eyes. The spider began to sweat and shake with fear. The great doors to Medul-zoom began to open....wave upon wave of crimson blood began to pour out, heading towards where the spider lay.

Eowyn:"It is working! I think all that smoke is affecting his brain!"

Spider: "EEEWWWWWW there's blood everywhere!!! You know I am a vegan! This will never come out of my web now! (gag) The smell!!! (gag,gag) I can not possibly live here now dudes! I'm outta here! You can stay here you dang murderers!"

*The three look at each other and giggled.*


With a sad little hop the spider was over the edge of the web and was floating away on the wind, never to be seen again

With one last cut of a sword, The great Medul-Zoom fell the short distance to the ground and was once again on their way.

Eowyn: " I wonder what will be next? stray cats? Well upon every great success I must return to my chambers and change my attire...tootles..."

Theoden: How does she own that many clothes? I only own four outfits...*turns to Hama and says in a whiney voice* Hammmmaaaaa....I want more clothes than Eowyn has....I am the King you know....

Hama: "Yes me lord I will see what I can do.."

Theoden: "But I want them now...."

Hama: " I said I will see what I can do Lord, now which way are we to be heading?"

Theoden: *pouting* I say we head again for the HIGH PASS, we may still be in this!"

[Caranlondien]

Files and Spiders

“The File of Galadriel?” asked Frodo skeptically. “Don’t you mean via-”

“No,” broke in Bilbo. “It’s the File of Galadriel. The Lady sent it to us when she heard how much Elrond had bet on us. Mentioned something in the letter about no-good son-in-laws... But, in any case, she said it should be used in times of great need, and this is a time of great need if I’ve ever seen one.”

He showed the disc to the others. On one side was a short inscription:

Greetings and congratulations on your purchase of the File of Galadriel, version 3.8. This latest model has the most up-to-date features of any system in Middle Earth, providing fast and easy access to the Arda-wide-web.

With that, Bilbo looked purposefully at the disc. Then he paused, looking closely at the silvery object.

“Well, go on, then,” urged Pippin.

“Yes, well, erm, I’m not precisely sure what to do with it,” replied Bilbo. “There were three or four manuals that came with it. They’re somewhere about here...” He trailed off, looking about helplessly.

After a bit of searching, the hobbits managed to find two manuals. One appeared to be written in some sort of Orcish language (“Why would the Orcs need to know how to use it?” demanded Frodo in frustration). The other booklet, much to their vexation, was written in Khuzdûl, the language of the dwarves.

“Now what?” asked Sam.

“Well, I do have a Dwarvish dictionary,” said Bilbo. “Gandalf gave it to me some time ago.” Bilbo walked to a shelf and pulled off a large volume. He blew some dust off the cover, revealing the label “Khuzdûl for Dûmmies”.

“Doesn’t ‘dûm’ mean ‘hall’?” asked Merry.

“Shh!” responded Frodo. “Don’t ruin the cheap jokes!”

The hobbits crowded behind Bilbo as he opened the tome and laid it next to the manual. Together they began to decipher the instructions.

After some time, they had managed to translate the Table of Contents, which consisted of such items as “Get Underway Guide” and “Quandary Solutions”.

“ ‘Get Underway Guide’, that’s what we want,” said Bilbo.

Fifteen minutes later, they had gotten:

To instigate, confiscate disc from holder. Introduce disc in vacant manuscript or bulletin. Close manuscript. Tolerate ten minutes for setting up. Reopen manuscript and Skrêen appears. Enter authority with pen and ink.

“ ‘Confiscate disc from holder.’ Right. We’ve already taken it out,” murmered Frodo. “ ‘Introduce disc in vacant manuscript or bulletin.’ What does that mean?”

“Put it in a blank book?” suggested Pippin.

Bilbo fetched an empty journal from his shelf. “So, my lads, do we just put it in?” he asked.

“It can’t hurt,” replied Frodo.

Bilbo took the disc in hand and slid it between two pages of the journal. Immediately the hobbits could hear whirring sound, and the book began to emit faint crackles.

“What’s it doing?” asked Sam.

“Dunno,” replied Pippin. But it says to ‘tolerate ten minutes for setting up’. Who’s for luncheon?”

When the hobbits returned from their meal-break, they found that the book was laying quietly on the desk where they had left it. They approached it cautiously. It remained inanimate.

Frodo summoned his courage and opened the journal to the first page. A beam of light streamed upward from the page, creating a rectangular image in mid-air. For a moment the image looked dark, but then a logo appeared: “Portholes 3000”. The book once again began to emit crackling sounds.

The Skrêen went dark again for a moment, and then a lovely image of a forest appeared. Smaller images appeared on top of it, with words beneath them.

“What did it say after the thing about setting up?” he asked. “Something about ink?”

Sam looked at their notes. “It says ‘Reopen manuscript and enter authority with pen and ink’.”

Frodo picked up one of Bilbo’s pens. “Does it say what to write?” he asked.

“Wait a minute,” said Pippin, consulting the dictionary. “Oh, wow, you can change the background. Here, let me see...”

Pippin grabbed the pen out of Frodo’s hand and began to move the stylus about on the book. It left no trace of ink, but a small image of an arrow appeared on the Skrêen and moved in accordance with the motion of the pen. Pippin tapped the pen stylus on the book, and a Porthole opened on the Skrêen.

“Neat,” he said. “Look, you can have a picture of a horse of Rohan, or the White Tree of Gondor. Oh, I’ll put up a picture of the Brandywine.”

“Pippin, that’s quite nice, but do you think you might be able to help us figure out how to get out of this spiderweb?” asked Merry through clenched teeth.

[Caranlondien]

Files and Spiders, continued

“Oh, right,” Pippin replied to Merry’s query. “Here, I’ll just click on this Îcon, and we’ll be on the Arda-wide-web.”

Another Porthole appeared. Pippin continued to move the pen, occasionally tapping it. Every so often, he would consult the manual and dictionary, and then return to the Skrêen.

“I think I actually have a plan,” said Pippin, his eyes growing large with surprise. The others looked around a bit anxiously. Plans were not Pippin’s strongpoint. “Really,” he added. “Look.” He pulled up a Porthole labeled Google. “You see, this is a Search Enghîne. It can find anything on the Arda-wide-web! And it uses Spiderbots.”

“Spiders?” exclaimed Sam. “That’s just what we don’t need more of right now!”

“But there are good spiders and bad spiders,” replied Pippin. “The one whose web we’re trapped in right now is a bad one, because it wants to eat us. But with the Spiderbots, we can tell them what to do.”

“Well, what can we tell them to do?” asked Frodo.

**********

“Is Sam ready?” asked Pippin. Frodo called up to Sam, who was up in the thrush’s nest. Sam shouted back that he was in position. Pippin turned back to the Skrêen. The Google porthole was up. Taking the pen in his hand, he wrote “Bag-Endless-Fuel”, then moved the arrow to the Enter button.

“Quick, Pippin, I think the spider is waking up!” he heard Sam shout from above.

The arrow hovered over the button. Pippin tapped it.

For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had happened. Sam was still shouting about the other spider. “It’s seen us! It’s moving towards us!”

“Come back down, Sam!” cried Frodo. “It’s safer in here!”

Several seconds later, Sam emerged from the hearth. “It’s coming fast, Mr Frodo!” he gasped. The vehicle shook as if it had been hit by something large and, perhaps, fanged. The hobbits waited.

“Look!” shouted Pippin. He was pointing out a window. The others rushed to where he stood and peered out. They could see another spider, and yet it seemed to them that “spider” was hardly a fitting word to describe it. This Googlebot spider was huge. It was wearing a beige Safari Hat (at rather a jaunty angle) and had a utility belt slung around its abdomen. It was scurrying down the web as quickly as it could, towards the hobbits, but was still much farther away than the original spider, which they could now see was fast approaching.

It seemed that the Googlespider could see this too, and it increased its speed. Still, it seemed it would not reach them. The first spider was almost upon them now, and was about to sink its fangs into the side of Bag End.

At the last moment, the Googlespider shot a stream of web behind it, latching onto the main web. It leapt off of the web, swung down, and grabbed a hold of Bag-Endless-Fuel, pulling it way from its sticky prison. On the upswing, it released its hold on the web, and the hobbits fell over as the Googlespider and Bag-Endless-Fuel tumbled through the air. Frodo felt sure they were all about to die. But the Googlespider shot another stream of web out, secured a hold on an overhanging branch, and stopped their descent a few feet above the ground. He then released them and they landed, rather ungracefully, but intact.

The Googlespider took out a map and made a notation on it, marking the location of the Bag-Endless-Fuel. He then rushed off in another direction, presumably having received instructions to seek out the location of some other unlucky web-resident.

“That was rather remarkable,” remarked Bilbo. He turned to the others. “North by Northwest!” he cried.

“Yes, the spider did look rather like Cary Grant, didn’t he?” said Pippin.

Bilbo stared at him. “What are you talking about? Who’s Cary Grant? I was saying, we head north by northwest! We must press onward! Gandalf keeps reminding me how much he has riding on this.”

[Maeggaladiel]

"PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT, MOUTH," Sauron called from the ground, casually reading the giant newspaper. "I AM NOT PAYING YOU TO LAZE ABOUT ALL DAY, YOU KNOW."

Mouth, halfway stuck on the spider web, hacking away at the ropes holding Mount Zoom, wondered what would happen if the mountain just HAPPENED to fall while Sauron was standing underneath it...

"This would be a lot faster if you helped, My Lord," Mouth grumbled. "Or at least if the Rat Wraiths helped." Sauron gave a snort and turned the page.

"I'M WATCHING THE SPIDER," he said. "THAT WAY IT WON'T RETURN FROM THE GRAVE AND EAT US WHILE WE'RE UNAWARE. AND THE RAT WRAITHS CAN'T DO THIS KIND OF MANUAL LABOR. IT'S IN THEIR CONTRACTS."

Mouth, muttering to himself, gave the mountain an angry kick. SNAP!! The last of the web broke loose, and Mouth and the Mountain fell straight down and landed on the ground with a loud THUD!! Sauron looked up from his paper at the giant racing machine that had impacted with the ground a mere four feet away.

"I HOPE YOU DIDN'T SCRATCH THE PAINT, MOUTH," Sauron warned. Mouth just sort of whimperd from the place he had fallen, halfway trapped in a thorn bush. "AH WELL. NOW THAT WE HAVE THE MOUNTAIN, I SAY WE HEAD NORTHWEST FROM HERE."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Barrad Dash freed.

While the other vehicles zipped along, Barrad Dash hung in the spider web helplessly. Gothmog had fallen asleep and his Orc assistant was jabbering in the corner. The other Orcs had decided to make a meal of the Spider that was asleep some feet away, but they were so stuffed that they couldn't move to free the vehicle

Suddenly, Dwafry the Dwarf flew down in the Eyrie copter with three of his best Dragons. In no time flat, the web was burned off and Barrad Dash zoomed off into the distance, although it was a little behind now.

"Don't let it happen again!" Cried Dwarfy.