ATM II RPG

[Hookbill the Goomba]

So they were then left in the middle of the corridor leading from the main Casino area. Smilog scratched his head as Skittles dashed away wither unusual outfit and even more unusual wooden contraption. "It'll never catch on," muttered Smilog, "where are we anyway?"

"Its a horror worse than even the deepest pits of Mordor!" cried Roggie, as he leant out of the window and screamed, "worse even than staring into the depths of the great eye itself!"

"Speak sense, man!" cried Tollin, "where in Middle Earth are we?" the Minotaur looked out of the window for himself. He stepped back, "I don't see what’s so bad."

"Its..." shivered Roggie, "s-s-s"

"You sound like Tollin with his lisp," mocked Smilog, "speak with words not nonsense. This isn't the house of Tom Bombadill." The Balrogian figure burst into a torrent of fire and shadow, filling the corridor with flame. All about him the shadow gathered and then he drew himself up and the shadow about him seemed to stretch forth like two great wings.

"Mock me not!" bellowed Roggie, his voice becoming as deep as the abysses and as terrible as the wroth of Sauron himself, "Foul smelling bearded creature! I am Roggie! Master of the Casino!" then the fire seemed to dye and he returned to his abnormal self, still scowling at the Dwarf. "A beach!" he said plainly.

"What?" Smilog said with a start, "Never heard of it."

"Its terrible!" cried Roggie, "at least, if the stories are true."

"Oh, be quiet," said Tollin, "you know as well as I do that they are. But it doesn’t look so bad. See, there’s an ice cream stand!"

"What's ice cream?" queried Smilog,

"No idea," replied the Minotaur, "but it looks tasty. Lets go and explore."

"I've got a better idea!" shouted the Dwarf, "lets find out who is driving this mountain first! We need to get to the crack of Doom as quick as possible. Who knows if the Mountain might drive off again while we're all outside drinking..." he peered out and read the firs sign he saw, "Nike shoes? Besides, it shouldn't take long. I have the blue prints here..."

[Celuien]

Anakron doing what he was meant to do? Horror and despair filled Panakeia's heart. He was wrong. Cruelty and evil could not be Anakron's fate. Of that she was certain. She thought of the words he had spoken to her when he told her how she fared in the Offending Party's tests.

"Panakeia, you would see past the Anakron to the Elempí...It is so long ago. Too long! I've worn these robes and this face of authority for so long that I had forgotten that there was anyone in here but the austere Anakronist. You have helped me remember who I am. Thank you."

Oh! If only she could help him remember now instead of blundering about provoking the worst in him by her foolishness! There had to be some way. Pity seemed an unlikely path. Had his heart been open to it, he would have responded to her frantic appearance. Anakron had not. Whatever darkness had taken him closed that part of his mind too. But if Panakeia could find some spark of the Anakron she knew, maybe she could bring him back. Or so she hoped.

Panakeia steeled herself. She would need every bit of her wits and cunning for her task. Irrationality would be no help. Her hysterical behavior earlier was responsible for Anakron's current state and letting it control her again could only make things worse.

"What do you mean, this is what you were meant to do? Anakron, listen to me! Please. You aren't yourself. The Anakron I know would never do anything like this." She faltered, nearly tearing up again, but quickly resumed her resolve. "I have a feeling that it's my fault. I behaved horribly earlier. And I'm sorry. More sorry than you can know. Please forgive me, and don't let my foolishness destroy you. Because this cruelty will destroy you. If you let it happen. I know it, and so do you." She stopped again, struggling to see if her words had any effect. But she couldn't read Anakron's expression. Then another idea occurred to her. A risky tactic, but Panakeia was desperate. She lowered her voice. "Anakron, you once said that I saw past the Anakron to the Elempí. That you had forgotten the Elempí. And you thanked me for helping you remember who you were. Won't you let me help you again?"

Anakron began to reply, but at this most inopportune moment, Lûgnût jerked toward the door. "I go to spread the word," he hissed.

In a sudden moment of unexpected courage, Panakeia stood between Lûgnût and his exit. "No," she said. In a quiet, deliberate voice she continued, "You will not. This must end here. Now."

Lûgnût hovered over Panakeia. She stared up at him defiantly, her heart pounding, waiting in a near panic for Anakron to say something. Anything.

Lûgnût stepped closer. His body cast a shadow over her slight frame. The players in the scene froze.

[littlemanpoet]

"Excuse me, Lûgnût," Anakron said.

"What?" Lûgnût appeared ready to consume Panakeia, head, arms, legs, feet and all, right to the marrow; or tear her limb from limb to get her out of his way.

"I say, Lûgnût, do nothing. I will take care of this minor distraction. Step aside."

Lûgnût stepped aside. Anakron approached Panakeia and laid his hands on her shoulders. He met her eyes, and glared at her. "You. Will. Move." She stared back at him and shook her head, her eyes tearing and her face contorting with fear - and something else he could not read. He laid hands on her upper arms, and pushed her bodily out of the doorway. He made sure not to harm her, but did not suffer her to stay his purpose.

"Do not think that you can stop me with such puny attempts, Panakeia of Harad. I am not so easily swayed; certainly not by the likes of you. Lûgnût! Get you gone!"

The orc darted through the door and down the hall. Anakron released her. Now there was outrage in her tear begrimed face. Anakron clicked his tongue and folded his arms.

"Little fool. Now, what were these persuasive arguments that you had so hoped to sway my soul with? Do humor me while you have the chance."

[Celuien]

Anakron was being cruel. Nothing more or less. But he had saved her from Lûgnût's clutches. That, at least, was hopeful. But he called her a fool, and pushed her aside as a 'minor distraction.' Panakeia's pride was hurt. She had thought to make some impact. But there was no progress...and Anakron was patronizing her. She started to remember her anger, but forced it back, remembering that Anakron was, indeed, not himself.

At any rate, Panakeia didn't appreciate being manhandled. Nor did she appreciate his tone of voice. Most uncalled for, she thought. She looked at him sullenly. "I told you my arguments. This isn't you. The Anakron I love - love enough to make a ridiculous spectacle of myself over - knows better. Don't you remember? You sacrificed yourself to save Mardil. You taught the Offending Party a lesson in kindness and brotherhood in Dol Gaurgauroth. You gave me back my conscience. Have you forgotten?"

Silence. Anakron was sneering at her. She rubbed her arm where he had pulled her out of Lûgnût's path. Panakeia wasn't hurt, but the indignity of being brushed aside for an idiot Orc grated at her. And against her better judgment, she snapped.

"What's the matter with you, anyway? Whatever I did wasn't bad enough to turn you into this raging monster. You're being a fool. A downright, deliberate fool. Walking right into trouble and turning your back on whatever good you stood for. You're throwing everything away for no good reason. And now you won't even listen to good advice. I don't know why I'm wasting my time on you."

Panakeia feared that she had gone too far. But she stood her ground, eyes flashing with fury. If kindness didn't work, maybe anger would. Or so she hoped. It was too late to retract her words.

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron's mouth spread in a slow grin.

"You have no idea what I am," he said. "Your anger is refreshing. Almost it makes me want to make you my abbettor in ill doings. But no. Your pride is hurt, that is all. You are right-" At this, Panakeia looked up hopefully, for perhaps she had gotten through to him? "-right that you are wasting your time on me. Go to Ithilien while you still can. Leave Mordor before the gate is closed."

With that, he turned from her and followed the way the orc had run.

He cared not what she said to him. Not at all. She had become a gnat, a fly the buzz of which was a mere nuisance. Better to slap her out of existence. No. He did not fool himself. He wanted no harm to come to her, for she was not the cause of any of the evil in him or around him. She did not deserve-" he stopped his thoughts cold, for such thoughts threatened to soften his heart, and he could not afford that. Better to concentrate on what new false religion to engender, and how to make it violent.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Not content with being mean, evil and a walking inferno, thought Smilog, it turns out that Roggie is also a stingy moneygrubber.

Psamothos was grilling the Balrog verbally and Roggie merely sat on the floor moping and mumbling. All the while Tollin and Smilog walked off to see if they could find the way up to the Crack of Doom and try and get the Mountain Back to Mordor. "What shall we do about Roggie?" asked Tollin.

"Him?" Smilog cried with a laugh, "bother him! Or, rather, don't bother him! Lets leave him to his... erm... sandy fate. Its more than he deserves." The dwarf produced an apple from his pack and began eating it with loud deliberate noises. "I've worked for him for so long," continued the Dwarf, "and all he remembers was the one time I passed him the salt."

There was the sound of a large explosion from down the corridor behind them, and Tollin dashed back to see what it was. Smilog groaned and followed on, throwing his apple out of the window. Unfortunately, the apple sailed down and hit a beach bather on the head. The man got up and began to shake with fury, turning purest red in the face and his arms bulging like a squeezed tube of toothpaste with the lid still on. "I will destroy whoever did this!" he cried, shaking his fist and throwing the apple into the sea. The apple then hit a shark on the head and bounced off a surfboard before being thrown by a great wave back into the mountain.

Roggie lay on the floor holding his left knee and saying "Aaaagghh!" over and over again. Psamothos was in front of him, holding a bag of gold and looking rather disturbed. Smilog and Tollin walked over and saw that there was a great hole in the corridor and much of the carpet had been burned.

"Did you see that?" asked Psamothos, with a worried face, "it looked like... Well... you know... Him!"

"Who?" asked Smilog, before the apple hit him on the back of the head; he threw it out of the window again.

"Well, like Gandalf," Psamothos said, "only... fatter. And clothed in robes as red as blood. He ploughed through the wall, laughing like a maniac, threw a bag of gold at me and then went off though the other side of the wall." Roggie was trying to crawl away, but Psamothos put his foot on the Balrog's left leg. "Very odd indeed. Well Roggie, you'd better pay up."

At that moment, the whole ground began to shake once more, not as violently as the first time, but still quite horridly. Smilog dashed to the window only to see a few fires breaking out all over the beach, (incidentally, a long series of events caused by Smilog throwing out the apple; one clown was hit on the head by it and ended up throwing a cigarette at a donkey who threw off his rider into a pile of manure, the rider then threw the manure at the donkey, missed and hit a fire extinguisher. The fire extinguisher had then fallen down and rolled to a barbeque and knocked it into a man who ran screaming into a tent).

The Mountain began to shudder some more, and the now sand covered wheels slowly rotated, letting the sand fall off. Tollin watched as Psamothos stole Roggie's money and then leaped out of the Mountain with a "Wooop!" and was lost in the hurricane of sand that was blowing around. Smilog turned this way and that before finally seeing a concealed doorway being forced open by the shaking. It hid some stairs and so he quickly grabbed Tollin and indicated that they should go that way.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Certainly, neither Smilog nor Tollin had expected that. They stood bemused for a few seconds while Roggie stood looking smug and very pleased with himself. Eventually, Tollin pointed to the Door ladled Doom, "I say we see what is in there." he said.

"Smilog!" cried the dwarf, "My name is Smilog!"

"Door of Doom, eh?" said Roggie, ignoring the dwarf who then went on a mumbling rant that lasted a good few minuets. Slowly, they climbed the stairs towards the mysterious door, seeing as they had little other option; Santar had destroyed most of the stairs with his walking. "I wonder if this is the 'crack of Doom,’" mused Roggie, examining the plaque.

"Only one way to find out," said Tollin, pushing the door open and entering. They all followed and found that it was a large perfectly circular room. The door closed behind them with a click. Smilog gripped his axe and looked nervously around the odd room, wondering what to do and where to find an escape rout. There was no sound in the room and the floor felt strangely wet for something inside a volcano.

The floor was smooth and varnished, decorated with many images of Roggie dressed as a kingly figure. Yet, the floor was covered in a thin layer of water that seemed to have no right to be there at all. Suddenly, they heard a sound from above, an odd sort of sound, "What's that?" asked Smilog,

"What's what?" replied Roggie, examining the picture of himself on the floor.

"That 'waaaaaaarrrreeeeggg' sort of noise," the dwarf tried to listen carefully as the noise got louder. They all looked around to see where the sound was coming from, but Tollin guessed correctly, as he looked upwards and saw the plain ceiling open up and a torrent of water gushed out along with a strange man covered in meat. They were all swooped to the sides of the chamber by the flowing water and tried to hang on to anything they could.

Smilog coughed and spluttered as the waters settled, it seemed that there was another person in the centre of the room. "You!" cried the dwarf, "I thought you were dead!" for there in the room, stood, or rather lay, Andvarri, keeper (or seeker) of the legendary Gold.

"Roggie," said the man, "I need to use your mountain for a while." Andvarri struggled to his feet and wobbled a bit. "The gold is hidden under Mount Zoom itself, but we need to get back to Mordor. There we can use Roggie's peg leg to open the gates!"

"Look," said Tollin, "we're not interested in gold at the moment. We do, however, need to get back to Mordor." Roggie regarded the man with disgust as he tried to rid himself of the stench of pork. Smilog seemed strangely interested in the ground.

The Dwarf scratched the surface and began flapping his arms towards the others, indicating that he wanted them to be quiet. They were for a moment and could then hear a strange rumbling that was coming from below. All of a sudden, the Floor opened like a trap door and they all fell down with a "Waaaaaaaarrrreeegggg!"

Skittles had just sent the robot on its way and she was now rubbing her hands with glee, and grinning an almost evil grin. Igör was trying to slink away, but they all stopped as they could hear a strange noise coming from above. "What’s that?" asked Igör.

"What's what?"

"That sort of, 'Waaaaaaarrrrrreeeegggg!' noise?"

[Celuien]

Anakron was off at his usual brisk, elegantly robe-flapping stride. Panakeia gave herself a split-second to wonder (for what must have been the thousandth time) how Anakron always managed to maintain the regality of his billowing fabric before springing after him most unelegantly. She was tangled in her long gown, her heels were making her feet ache, and she found it difficult to keep up with Anakron's swift pace.

Despite being out of breath from running, hopping, and otherwise hurrying through Mount Doom, Panakeia continued to lecture Anakron. "What do you mean by false religion?" she demanded huffily. "It isn't false. I have seen the Captain with the great Spockú and McBones. How would the battle with A Slan have ended if not for their intervention?" The memory that Illamatar, not the Captain, had been responsible for the battle's end briefly came to her, but she pushed it aside, willing to adopt the Captain's delusional belief that his presence was enough to solve any and all problems. The Dweomer's hold on her was deepening.

"Much as it did, I suppose." Anakron's eyes were laughing, though he suppressed the audible manifestations of his mirth.

Panakeia scowled.

They reached a door marked Top Secret. Various security devices - a keypad, a retina scanner and a fingerprint reader - guarded the door. Anakron reached past them for the doorknob. The door opened.

The technologically advanced, if faulty, security system fascinated Panakeia. It wasn't completely dissimilar to the devices she knew from her visions of the ship. Did Anakron know the way to Kirk?

Her voice quivered in excitement. "Where are we going?" she asked while Anakron opened the next door by knocking on it.

"To find Skittles." Panakeia would have preferred Kirk. But though disappointed, she didn't object. Finding Kirk was her job, after all.

They reached the third door.

All must know the truth of the Federation. Panakeia stopped Anakron as he started to open the door.

"Yes, you said my religion was false. But I say to you, Anakron, that you cannot believe this. You said you were going to give Skittles religion. We are going to give Skittles religion. She will learn the way of the Captain. We will show her. We will show them all. Because if they don't join, they will be doomed as enemies of the Federation. And our enemies..." Panakeia's face was almost wild "...must be destroyed. For the sake of peace in the Federation." Her face was wild.

A still amused Anakron merely stared before giving the door a shove with his pinky. It swung on creaking hinges to reveal a laboratory. Skittles and Igör stood inside, watching robot-Skittles attempt to pull open a door marked push.

[Anguirel]

Dracomir was certainly having some difficulty resisting his baser smirking urges. Now, if and when they found Roggie, and during the interim, Maika would be silenced, correspondingly increasing his own influence over the embassy. But what made the affair still more satisfying was that he had found a use for one of the apparently preposterous Malfoy Relics. Maybe he would yet be able to decipher the Mordorers' Map...in the meantime, exultation was the name of the game.

Now Tom only needed to triumph over Lola...which, he imagined, was a rather trickier proposition. He considered her in his mind's eye. Alright, fine, his eye, as his mind was rather disarmed in close proximity to this particular problem. Perhaps, he decided, it was time for a completely egregious insult. Judging by his experiences at Hogwarts, women just lapped that up.

"Aren't you a bit domineering for a chorus-girl?" he objected. "It doesn't suit you, m'dear. What you need is some old-fashioned patriarchal treatment-someone should, oh, I don't know, carry you off on horseback and imprison you on some desolate farm, guarded by a wise-cracking cynic and a gentle giant. That ought to drill some winsome submission into you..."

[Lhunardawen]

"You're sure that's Roggie's warlordess, eh?" Maika remarked breathlessly. Then she swooned a bit and fell slowly, hoping someone - even Dracomir, who was still mesmerized by the Skittles's flying kiss - would catch her ere she hit the floor. No such luck. But touching the ground was a relief; the awful movement of the Mountain left her carsick. Had it been just minutes ago? It seemed hours to her. Moving on (and how), she glanced back at those events in distant memory...

"Wha-a-at i-i-is go-o-i-ing o-o-n?!" Lola had blurted out in fearful surprise. Maika could only grin in spite of her own rocking self.

"I-i-i ha-a-ave no-o-o i-i-ide-e-a-a. Ma-a-y-y-b-e-e," this is getting tiresome, and their voices did not really shake like that, anyway, "we should go back to the room. We'll be safer there, in case this is an earthquake."

Of course Lola should have known better than to believe her, but Maika had ingeniously taken advantage of her initial surprise to let the witch of a girl do what she wanted her to do. Quickly regaining her "I'm in charge" look, Lola turned around and walked briskly; Maika followed behind her. She felt a bit dizzy after a while and realized that they were against the direction of the mountain's movement. Before long the movement had stopped and they were back in the hallway towards the room, but how they got there Maika did not know because she was too busy trying to keep herself from throwing up. And that was when she heard Dracomir's voice and her own gasped reply and the rest became yellow polka dots...

"Uhh...now what?" Igör said.

[Diamond18]

"Surf's up!" Skittles cried, hitting the beach. Not literally, of course, as she held no particular animosity for the beach. She hit it at a run and skipped along the hot sand, kicking off her flip-flops and dropping her iPod as she went.

Being generally a nuisance wherever she went, Skittles rather predictably disturbed her fellow beach bums. She scattered sand onto beach blankets and startled topless sunbathers. She knocked over sandcastles and stole candy from babies. She kicked beach balls into the water and interfered in a volleyball game. Chaos was King and Skittles his Queen.

Eventually, all the ruckus awoke Psamothos Psamathides, who was napping nearby in the sand, and he rose from the sand (naturally) to see what all the ruckus was about (naturally). But by that time, Skittles had abandoned the beach with a cry of, "Cowabunga!" and ran into the water with her surfboard. Psamothos Psamathides looked around and saw the havoc she had wreaked, but could not ascertain to whom the wreakage could be attributed. This made him very grumpy. Very grumpy indeed.

Now, insert various surfer slang and jargon into this section and you will know pretty much how Skittles spent the next vaguely stated period of time.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Who put that there?" cried Psamothos Psamathides, "a mountain, on my beach? I'll soon sort this out. You up there!" He had spotted Smilog hanging out of a window by his head as Roggie threatened to drop him after his blueprints had got them lost, found, lost again, almost dropped into lava and now back where they had started.

"Help!" cried Smilog, "I can't fly!" He struggled as Roggie blurted out the most awful language Psamothos had ever heard in his life. That was the last straw! He got up out of the sand and started jumping around on his little rabbit feet, his pointy ears going red to the tip and his long nose blowing sand everywhere.

"Is that you, Roggie?" cried the sand sorcerer, "I'd recognise that anger anywhere. Pot and Jam him. Let that poor fellow go this instant, or I'll have your wings for breakfast!"

"But I don't have-" began Roggie, before he turned and fled with screams and shouts of "that sand man again! He's come for me!" while Smilog tumbled down the Mountain, but landed neatly in a large pile of sand that Psamothos had put there. But it didn't break his fall as much as he would have liked and he crawled out with his arm feeling like it had been hit with... well... a mountain. The Sand sorcerer picked Smilog up by his beard and stared at him for a moment.

"Is this your mountain?" he asked accusingly, "If it is..."

"No, not at all, mr... erm..." stuttered the Dwarf, trying not to rip his beard.

"Psamothos Psamathides!" he said, emphasising the 'P's very distinctly. "And you'd better not forget it! Who was that mad woman who went destroying my beach? A friend of yours?"

"Well, no, not really," squirmed Smilog as Psamothos put him down again, "she's this Roggie's affair, I believe."

"So, Roggies having an affair?" said Psamothos, not paying any real attention to the dwarf, "well, come on, we'd better go and find him. He'll be curled up in a corner if I know him." And with that, the old sand sorcerer leaped up the mountain quite quickly, with Smilog tucked under his arm and bounded in through the window, much to the surprise of Tollin who stood near by.

Roggie was hidden behind a corner and was panting heavily, old Psamothos Psamathides walked briskly up to him and took him by the ear. "You owe me, Balrog," he cried in a deep and threatening voice, "You owe me five hundred gold coins!" So this was why he was so afraid of sand.

[Celuien]

Panakeia watched Anakron's robes flutter down the hall. She was fuming. She had no idea what Anakron was? Panakeia thought she did. He was a pouting child, determined to wreak havoc and let slip the dogs of war on an unsuspecting world merely because...she didn't know why. If this wasn't a reaction to her earlier (admittedly bad) behavior, she didn't know what else it could be, unless Mount Doom really did retain some of its prior evil. That thought had not occurred to Panakeia. Womb of the Ring. Anakron was right, though Panakeia would have preferred the word tomb. The Ring was dead. Sauron was gone. And yet, she supposed it was possible that some of their evil lived still. Perhaps that, coupled with irritation with her, was why Anakron now behaved so badly.

Stop trying to figure him out. The reason behind Anakron's sudden change in character did not matter. What mattered was that a man in control of a powerful force was now behaving in a most out-of-control fashion. Panakeia had to stop him. It was her duty, not only because she cared about Anakron, but also because the planet was in danger of annihilation. Panakeia's thoughts hiccupped. Planet? What an odd word. She'd heard someone use it before. But who? She shrugged to herself.

Anakron's robes floated around a corner. He was leaving. No! He can't get away! The thought, urgent and frantic, screamed in her mind's ear. She had to stop him. She had to bring him to his senses, or at least pose a roadblock to his more malevolent behaviors. Yes. That was what she would do. Anakron had given her back her conscience. He now seemed to have lost his own. Panakeia couldn't convey the Dweomer and give it back to him, but she could serve in its stead until he found it himself. She chuckled grimly. Anakron would know what she had gone through when her own conscience took form and spoke to her. Only this time, Anakron's replacement nagging conscience would have both physical and mental form. Panakeia.

She was off in a flash. Racing down the hall, she caught up to Anakron and tapped him on the shoulder, a stubborn glint in her eye.

"Excuse me. You seem to have lost something."

Anakron looked her over, contempt in his expression. "Lost something?" he mocked. "You could not possibly refer to yourself, could you? I have the distinct impression I decided to be rid of you quite intentionally. No accident or mistake was involved."

Panakeia gritted her teeth. Anakron was going out of his way to hurt her. But she had a mission. Personal feelings were irrelevant.

"Not me. Yourself. Your conscience. You said I could leave. Well, I might. I'll admit the thought had occurred to me. But not yet. You see, Anakron, you gave me back my conscience. Now that you appear to have lost your own, I thought I'd repay the favor by being your conscience for you. At least until you come to your senses. After that...after that, we'll see. And you said it was only my pride speaking when I tried to help you. I won't reply to that. But whether I'm acting out of pride or love doesn't matter. It's your well-being that's at stake."

She stopped, more determined about this than anything in her life, past, present, or future. Yes, this was her mission. Of that she was certain.