The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[The Saucepan Man]

And it came to pass that on the Two Hundred and Twenty-Ninth Post of the Sixth Page Melvin Bluenote who was called Môgul Bildûr appeared unto Yawanna who was called Kámomyltî in the Gardens of Kïuw saying unto her the words Hello Princess! And Yawanna was sorely flummoxed and said unto Melvin Mel! You scared the bejeepers outta me! And Melvin did not reply but bestowed upon her a roguish grin. And Yawanna’s heart was sorely moved, for she had known him of old and in sooth he had appeared unto her in a seriously fanciable guise.

What are you doing here, Mel?

Oh I was just passing and I thought I’d look you up.

No, really. How did you get past VIA?

I didn’t. I came by another route. It gave me the chance to catch up with an old friend on the way.

But none can enter Valleyum without passing via VIA.

I can. This place was once my home, remember.

And verily did Yawanna remember. For she and Melvin had been going steady in the Olden Days when the world was young and the living was fast and easy for a free-spirited and nature-loving Velou in the bloom of her youth. Truly had those days been the happiest of her life.

How’s Häulié?

Oh, you know Häulié. Always tinkering in his workshop.

You’re not expecting him back soon, then?

Yes, he’s …

But Yawanna could not tell a lie for she was pure of spirit and had lived all her life in the blissful realm of Valleyum where evil had ne’er till this day penetrated. And Häulié who was called Wèrkâholik was a neglectful husband for in sooth he spent the greater part of his days in his Great Workshop under Mount Tangential.

… No. No, he probably won’t be home for days yet.

I should imagine that you get rather lonely then.

I have my children.

Wherefore Yawanna spread her bounteous arms and, behold, all the flowers, grasses, bushes and trees that grew in her fertile gardens revelled in the glory of her gaze.

Must be a blast!

Why have you come, Mel?

And Melvin did not at first make reply but stood beholding his former sweetheart. And lo his eyes were dark and terrible, but also rather gorgeous. And at length he spake unto her and his voice was grave and serious yet deep and manful.

The Ent must not be re-made.

Of course it must, Mel. It’s all that I have been working towards since first it was disassembled. It is what has kept me going. Do you realise how boring it is for me sitting alone here in my gardens while Häulié’s off creating Emu knows what? I love my children of course, but I crave intelligent conversation. Every Elf that I take into my service conks out at the first whiff of this place. I will simply die of boredom if I don’t have some company soon. And now the shield-maiden Merisuwyniel and her noble companions have arrived on the shores of this land bringing with them the Entish parts. Soon the Ent – my Ent – will be whole again. Someone to be with – to talk to – a companion at last! Surely you cannot deny me that?

And verily had Yawanna worked herself up into a bit of a bother. Yet Melvin remained unmoved.

But it’s your own fault that the accursed thing was broken in the first place. You had Mantoes pronounce my doom upon it just to spite me. All because you made the wrong choice in marrying Häulié.

No. No, it was because you had changed Mel. You had become someone that I no longer recognised. Someone … evil. Someone that I could love no more.

Is that true? You no longer have any love for me?

Yes, I …

But Yawanna could not tell a lie.

Of course I love you Mel! I always have!

And so it came to pass that Yawanna broke down into a weepy fit. And dramatically did the violins play, yea unto a great crescendo.

And you know what will happen to me if the Ent is reunified? Do you want my destruction?

Yes … no … I … oh I don’t know what I want …

There is another way.

Whereupon Yawanna looked long and hard at Melvin. And verily did he perceive a gleam in her eye.

Another way?

Yes. Come with me. Be my consort. Together we can rule the lands of Muddled-mirth and bring to its people bounty and plenty and profit. What need will you have of your Ent then?

But, Mel, you have always destroyed that which I love the most. You lay to waste the meadows and the forests and build in their place monstrosities of stone and iron.

No. You are mistaken. After the rather … erm … unfortunate circumstances that led to the creation of Orcs, I have learned the errors of my ways. I realise now that the denizens of Muddled-mirth cannot live in concrete landscapes alone. They need the beauty of nature to fully realise their potential as efficient and profitable units …ahem … happy and fulfilled spirits.

Wherefore Melvin produced from his dark cloak an ordinance bearing the mighty seal of Môgul Enterprises LLC. And writ upon that very ordinance were the words: A quarter of the lands of Muddled-mirth shall be left in their natural state or given over to parkland and gardens – by order of Môgul Bildûr. And Yawanna, being pure of spirit and unsullied by evil thoughts could not conceive that the ordinance might be a sham, nor did it cross her mind that Melvin might be her spinning her a bit of a yarn. Yet she was not so pure as to abstain from indulging in a little horse trading.

Well … a quarter does not seem very much.

You drive a hard bargain Princess, but so be it. Let’s say a half, shall we?

You mean it? Half of the lands shall be left unsullied?

Yes. And you shall be their Queen.

And I can bring my children?

But of course.

But Yawanna did not perceive that Melvin had his fingers crossed behind his back. And even had she done so, she would not have known their import. And so it came to pass that Yawanna, believing her former beau to be true, surrendered to the feelings that had lain dormant within her for countless millennia. After all, he was a bit of a dude.

Oh Mel! You really have changed.

Come with me, my Princess.

Yes Mel. Yes, I shall. We shall be together at last.

And the Entish parts?

I … I suppose that they shall have to be destroyed. After all, I shall have no need of the Ent if I have you.

Well then, what are we waiting for?

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Merisuwyniel shook the sand out of her skirts and looked around to see if all were unharmed. Reassured of that, she checked the condition of their equine companions, who had spent much of the journey under deck, and of the baggage, most importantly, of all the Entish Parts. She was still counting them when she heard a sharp, unfamiliar voice behind her.

“Who is responsible for this unauthorized landing?” it asked. She turned around and saw a black-cloaked, yet obviously not evil, person (you could tell the latter by the state of his grooming – shining hair, squeaky-clean; pearly white teeth; and a fair, unblemished skin). She pulled herself up to her full height, standing tall and gracefully before him.

“Oh, you are an Elf!” he exclaimed. “You are welcome here, but why in Manuël’s name did you allow these other … creatures … races … persons … to accompany you? Anyway, you must all come with me, for none can enter here without first passing via VIA.”

“And who are you?” she asked, with an eyebrow raised so high that it would have done credit to Mister Neemoi.

“I am Bürôkration, a Toll Maia,” he replied.

“Uh, wots a maiar???” Soregum’s voice could be heard somewhere behind them.

Merisuwyniel was used to ignoring such questions; surely one of the others would be more than happy to increase his knowledge.

“You mean we have to go through formalities?” she asked.

He had taken a roll of a red, sticky substance out of his pocket and began wrapping it around their possessions.

“Look here, what’s this?” O2 strode up to the official and stood before him with all of the authority of the Wight City’s junior ruler. “I am Orogarn Two, son of Orogarn One, third cousin of Isildur, 84 times removed, heir to the Porcelain Throne of Grundor, of Noodleorian heritage, and I demand to know what is going on.”

The Maia answered politely, though coldly, “I’m very sorry, but it is necessary for me to apply this VIA-duct tape to all who desire admittance here. Unless, of course, they have a green vial.”

“What is a green vial?” the Gateskeeper, who recognised the official’s firewalling techniques, asked.

“Is it possible that you do not read your O-mails?” Bürôkration asked. Now it was his eyebrow that was raised to improbable heights.

“Spämfiltér,” Gatesy muttered. “I never look at those offers.”

“Had you a green vial, I could quickly check the viability of a quick entrance via VIA, but since you do not, you must endure the red VIA-duct tape,” came the answer.

“But – I do have a green vial!” Merisu exclaimed.

All spun around to look at her.

“Just a minute,” she said, rummaging through her luggage. She lifted a round object and removed the cloth in which it was wrapped.

Her companions gasped. A shining Cell-antír appeared, with a bright green light glowing from within it.

“The Green Goddess sent me this whilst we were yet upon the shores of our homelands, at the White Towers, and bade me keep it against our coming,” she explained. “I suffered much to attain it.”

“Then that settles things, right?” Pimpiowyn asked cheerfully.

“Wait just one moment,” the Toll Maia said. “Do you have any viands to declare?”

[Mithadan]

While the Itship dealt with the Toll Maia, Captain Cirkdan stood sorrowfully before the wreckage of the Ent's Surprise. Dr. Macaw flapped over to perch on his shoulder and squacked sympathetically. Dim shook his head in grief and wiped tears from his face. Then he spoke.

"My Emu.... Macaw! What... have... I.... done?"

"You've done what you always do, Dim," replied the healer. "You've disregarded all rules, regulations and common sense in favor of imposing your own sense of values, standards and morality upon all you come across, often resulting in a brief and tawdry affair, or, in this case, a moderate fee for your misguided services..."

The Itship, being engrossed in satisfying the inquiries of the Toll Maia, did not notice the loud squack or the flurry of colorful feathers which filled the air behind them. Indeed, all seemed to be going well with the VIA. Each member of the Itship proclaimed, in turn, that they had nothing to declare to the VIA agent. Merisu, Pimpiowyn and Orogarn coveniently became engrossed in examining the scenery when it was Kuruharan's turn to make his declaration, though Soregum and the others covered their grins as the Dwarf proclaimed that he had nothing to declare and was not carrying any contraband, forbidden items or fruits or vegetables. Then the Toll Maia browsed about the wreckage on the beach, occaisionally pausing to brush some blue down which had settled upon his robe. Suddenly, he stopped and prodded a black lump which lay sprawled on the sand.

"A-ha!" he cried.

The Itship rushed over to see what could be the problem. The Toll Maia scowled at them. Then, straightening up to his full height, he proclaimed, "I'm afraid I can't allow you to enter Valleyum."

"Why ever not?" cried Merisu in alarm.

"You are attempting to bring in, over our borders and into our sovereign territory, in violation of Chapter 346275, Subpart 3.27, Paragraph 6(a)(1)(B) of the VIA Code.... a dead Wraith!" he replied.

"What's the matter with a dead Wraith?" inquired Kuruharan. "Just out of curiosity, of course."

The VAI agent took a black manual from a pocket of his robes. He flipped through its pages for a moment, then squinted at its nearly microscopic type before clearing his throat. Then, to the Itship's dismay, he sang, off-key and in a squeeky voice:

"Dead wraiths aren't much fun.
When you call them they don't come.
Dead wraiths aren't much fun.

You can't make them beg for food,
you can try; it's no good.
They won't roll over, won't play ball,
they'll play dead - that's all.

When you pick them up they sag
when you walk them it's a drag.
Yawanna isn't feeling well,
I think she doesn't like the smell.
Dead wraiths aren't much fun.

The Toll Maia straightened his robes and glared at the Itship. "Well, I guess that's all," he said with an officious smile. "Good morning!"

"Wait!" cried Merisu. "He's not dead! He's resting!"

The VAI agent stood still, looking as if he had been slapped. Then, after some hemming and hawing and another glance at Grrralph's unmoving form, he replied, "Look, I know a dead wraith when I see one and I'm looking at one!"

At that moment, a slightly ragged looking parrot flew over. "See Dim," it squacked. "I told you he was dead!"

"You stay out of this!" cried Pimpiowyn as she directed a kick at the parrot's posterior.

"No!" continued Merisu. "He's not dead. He's just resting."

"Resting?" repeated the Maia with a dubious look on his face.

"Yes," continued Merisu. "Remarkable things, wraiths. Lovely cloak..."

"Look," interrupted the now highly disturbed Maia. "His cloak doesn't even come into this. He's stone dead! All right, if he's resting I'll wake him!"

The VIA agent stood over Grrralph, leaned over and shouted into his hood, "HELLO WRAITH. I"VE GOT A NICE ORC FOR YOU. WAKE UP!"

Ever quick on the uptake, Vogonwë sidled over to the prone waraith and nudged it with his foot. "There!" he cried. "See? He moved!"

"No he didn't," hissed the unfortunate civil servant. "You pushed him."

"I did not!" demurred Vogonwë.

"Yes you did!" growled the Maia. His face had turned red and his right eye twitched nervously. Taking a deep breath, he approached Grrralph and, with wild eyes began kicking the wraith while he shouted. "HELLO WRAITH! TESTING. TESTING. THIS IS YOUR NINE O'CLOCK WAKE UP CALL!"

Panting heavily, the Maia turned back to Merisu. "That is what I call dead."

He's not dead," retorted the Shieldmaiden. "You stunned him. Wraiths stun easily you know."

"'Wraiths stun...easily," muttered the VIA agent. "Madam, this wraith is dead, deceased, departed. He has passed on, kicked the bucket. He is pushing up daisies! He is an ex-wraith!"

At that moment, a voice came from the body formerly known as Grrralph. It said, "Hi, hello. Good morning! Thank you for waking me! I'm feeling very rested now."

After a moment's pause Vogonwë and Orogarn (Two) rushed forward and eased Grrralph up from the ground. Propping him up between them, they smiled at the Maia. Kuruharan, sneaking up from behind, lifted the wraith's arm and waved.

The VIA agent became very pale. He took a ragged breath, then sighed, before continuing in an unsteady voice. "Very well. Move along. Enjoy your stay in Valleyum." Muttering under his breath and shaking his head, he stalked off, vowing to seek a position with the Valleyum Organization of Ozone Management ("VOOM").

Merisu waited until the Maia disappeared, then looked about. Behind her, Gateskeeper was putting away his Cell-antir with a toothy grin...

[Kuruharan]

“Now what?” asked Pimpi.

Merisuwyniel drew herself to her full height and her eyes shown with the light of one who is about to achieve a lifelong goal. “Yea verily! We must proceed onward to the Velour and the accomplishment of our Quest!”

“HUZZAH!!” cried the rest of the Gallowship, or some of them anyway.

“But how do we find them?” asked Pimpi.

“For those whose souls are true and strong,” intoned Merisuwyniel, “who are loyal to the Quest…Behold! The light of the Velour will reveal itself and show the way to those who are pure in spirit and…”

“Why don’t we just follow the signs,” interrupted Orogarn Two.

Sure enough, enormous signs proclaiming in sizzling neon pink “VELOUR THIS WAY!!!” lined a gigantic highway meandering through rococco hills off into the distance.

Mounting their horses (and dragon) the entire group began the last stage of their journey.

“I don’t see why you people couldn’t have walked,” said an annoyed Kuruharan to Cirkdan, Neemoi, and Macaw, who shared his perch atop Chrysophylax.

“Physical…ACTIVITY…is not…MY…cup…of tea,” said Cirkdan.

“I can tell,” said Kuruharan, reproachfully jabbing a finger into Cirkdan’s middle.

“Talk to my physician he’s in charge of my diet,” snapped Cirkdan. He turned to look at the parrot.

“Blast it Dim,” Macaw squawked, “I’m a doctor, not a…wait a minute.”

Down on the ground, Merisuwyniel’s ears pricked to a mysterious sound. “What’s that noise?” she asked.

“What noise?” asked Gateskeeper.

“I hear it too,” said Halfemption. “It sounds like the charging of a group of great beasts. How strange, I thought Valleyum was a dull and peaceful land.”

“Let’s climb this hill to get a better view,” said Merisuwyniel.

The group above them already had a better view and whatever they saw seemed to have started an argument. However, the rest of the group took no notice.

“Look,” said Soregum, “there is a great dust cloud to the North.”

“Aha!” cried Reaperneep from his perch on Merisuwyniel’s saddle pommel, “Let them come! I will be able to display my prowess with a blade!”

The harsh sound of shouting fell upon their ears as the quarrel on the dragon grew heated. It seemed Kuruharan and Chrysophylax had some sort of dispute with Cirkdan, Neemoi, and Macaw. The rest of the Gallowship still took no notice.

And, as if in answer to the squabbling, there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns. Across the vapid countryside they dimly echoed. Great horns from the North wildly blowing. With the horns came yet another note. Hounds, hounds, hounds. Great hounds from the North wildly barking.

Suddenly, a great stampede of creatures broke from cover and scattered in all directions. With them ran the usually sedate Elves and mighty Maya, their faces fallen into masks of abject terror.

“Run away!!! Run away!!!” they all screamed.

“Cowards! Poltroons!” shrilled Reaperneep. “Stand and fight you villains!”

Above them, Cirkdan seized hold of Chrysophylax’s tail, trying to steer him in the other direction. Kuruharan hopped up and down, stuck a hand in his robes and pulled out a very small object. He said something strenuously, but the words were lost by the distance.

“What do you suppose all this ruckus is about?” inquired Orogarn Two.

“Ummm,” said Merisuwyniel dubiously.

“Look!” cried Halfemption.

Several hills away a pack of hounds burst into view. They were bigger than houses, much bigger than houses. They were charging due South, but then turned and started charging West. As they vanished behind the next hill the Rider appeared. At this distance it was impossible to see him distinctly but he was dressed in crimson and white and a light seemed to surround him and emanate from him. As he topped the hill he raised a great golden horn to his lips and blew a great merry blast that shook the countryside. Then his great horse leapt down the slope after the hounds. A few seconds later a band of smaller figures, also in scarlet and white, went running over the hill and then vanished.

The noise began to recede.

Above them, the argument had abruptly ceased and Kuruharan resumed his seat with an air of smug and insufferable complacency.

“They seem to be moving off,” noted Gateskeeper dryly.

“Cats!” cursed Reaperneep, “He looked to my eyes to be a worthy foe! After him!”

“No,” said Merisuwyniel, “we must be on our way. However, if that was who I think it was, then you shall see him again.”

And the party resumed its journey.

[Rimbaud]

Shaken, but not stirred, as the great but spittlesome Third Age poet Eean the Phlegming would have had it, they went on through the land; as a stoat pushing through an anti-stoat fence; soon they were, so totally like, near Valleyfornia.

“All the leaves are brown,” said Hal perceptively and pre-emptively, suspecting someone might soon make the same observation.

“And the sky is grey,” mentioned Meri. “Looks like we’re in for a bit of a walk.”

“On a winter’s day,” shivered Hal in return. “I’d be safe and warm, if I was in LA.”

“Where?” asked Meri. Hal said nothing, but at that moment the sun came out from through the clouds, and spread warm light upon the Wellittakesusawhilebutwegetroundtoiteventually-ship.

“Valleyfornia’s beamin’,”said Hal, dreamily. “On such a winter’s day.” And indeed before them, the sunbeams alighted lightly on the City of the West, which the author would love to suggest was gleaming spires, with perhaps the odd minaret thrown in, but was rather some rather pricey looking stuccoed villas, and carefully manicured lawns. It was eerily quiet.

“Quite finished?” asked Orogarn. “We do have work here, not mere idle banter.”

And so they walked down the broad avenue, into the heart of the sun’s final location. They saw a sign for what appeared to be a great high street, or shopping centre, which reminded them of the boutiques of Topfloorien. This place was called Valleyfornication.

“I expect,” mused their fair Elven leader, “that the inhabitants of this wondrous yet curiously deserted place are at the mall.”

If she was honest, the idea of a little boot-shopping in Valleyfornia did also seem pretty righteous. She pushed this pedal-purchase-penchant to the back of her mind and led them on.

Yet the party were hungry, and at a sign saying Mamas and Papas’ Nip-in Nippon Dining, they stopped for refreshment. The tables were terribly low, but they were ravenous enough not to care.

So they stopped into a place, they passed along the way. Well, they got down on their knees, and they began to eat. The Fellowship, they liked the food – thought they were going to stay. Valleyfornia dinin’ – such a winter’s day.

When they were sated, it was time to take stock. Hal took vegetables, and Vogonwe collected up gravy boats. When they had taken stock, it was time to appraise their situation.


“So what’s the gist of what you chaps are up to, anyway?” asked Hal reasonably.

“It’s complicated,” sighed several people.

“…Ents…”

“…broken…collected…reunified…”

“…bosoms…”

“…great quest…very heroic…Elrond…”

“…stockings…”

“…need to find the rest…to be honest…no real idea…”

Eventually, Hal thought he had the story straight. He was stuck in a party of the most ludicrous insanity, with a slim chance of survival, no chance of dignity, and the ominous fear that at any minute his storyline might be corrupted by a veritable gaggle of puns. Unfortunately, he knew not that the correct collective noun for the pun was in fact a ‘punishment’. This, as will be seen, was as apt as one might singularly imagine. And ones were about to become singularly important. Because, as any child worth his salt knows, firstly – salt isn’t worth much, and secondly, if a large group goes shopping together, in no short order separation ensues.

Valleyfornication mall was huge, the size of a small country. And it was teeming, oddly not with teams, but with people. People who liked each other a lot, or rather just liked the word like a lot.

Thus it was, among the shops of Valleyfornia, that the Notagainship was rendered, rent and remaindered.

Hal found himself wandering, if not as lonely as a cloud, then certainly as ambivalent as a mild fog. He trudged through the bright lights and vast crowds. He would have trudged slowly over wet sand, but no one would get that. He ambled through the thickets of bleached blonde baby-faces of this western oddity.

So lost was he in thoughts of this strange place, that he bumped into Merisuwyniel inadvertently.

“Ah,” he said gallantly, feeling more like his brother than normal. “How are you?”

“Fine, Hal, fine,” she said “but we need to get on with finding the Velour.”

At the exact moment she said the word, a giant bubble appeared before them, rotating and blue. It popped, *pop*, and inside sat a small man, no taller than three inches, sitting on a flying carpet.

“Velour?” he squeaked.

“I’m dreaming,” murmured Hal.

“Of genie?” questioned Merisuwyniel. “Let us follow him.”

And follow him they did, for he set off through the shopping district at a ferocious pace. They weaved through the thronging Elves until they came to a great staircase. Before the staircase was a peculiar feature: what appeared to be a water-fountain, but rather than clear water, strange devices tumbled noisily down to smash on the stone base of the thing. They were black or silver, with strange apertures on one side, and blinking red eyes on the top. They clicked and buzzed oddly, and occasionally emitted blinding flashes.

“Fount Olympus,” murmured their guide. “No pictures up here.”

“We must summon the others,” cried Merisu. “Hal, your brother carried a piercing tin-whistle. Do you have a family heirloom of similar use?”

“Sadly,” began Hal, in his doleful voice, “my family left me an actual loom as my heirloom. I suppose it’s what you would call irony. It’s of no use now. However,” he added, brightening and feeling at something tied to his belt, “I do have this trumpet.”

“Then call the others!”

He did, and they arrived all at once, with the convenience of large groups in poorly narrated stories. They stood gazing at the stair, which wound its way up beyond the clouds that formed, oddly, below the ceiling of the great hall. Inscriptions were carved on each step: “All that glitters is gold”, “She knows if the stores are closed”, “A songbird who sings” and so on.

Thus they went on the stairway to heavens higher than the clouds, with feet of lead, but hearts of zeppelins. They were nearly there now.

[Kuruharan]

“Now,” said Merisuwyniel as they ascended up toward the ceiling, “we have the pieces of the Ent that was Broken…”

Kuruharan smacked himself in the forehead. Orogarn Two rolled his eyes at the stupidity of his companions. “The what…?” inquired Halfemption. “Not again,” groaned Vogonwë and Leninia. “We’ve already done this gag,” muttered Chrysophylax.

“Look!” cried Gateskeeper. “A plot hole!!!”

Sure enough, hanging in mid-air right next to the escalator was the biggest, ugliest, most inexplicable plot hole in the history of literature or moviedom.

“HUZZAH!!” cried the Gallowship, or some of them anyway.

“Plot holes of this nature are incredibly dangerous,” intoned Merisuwyniel. “Who now is able to fathom them? Characters, plot elements, even coherence itself have all vanished in such plot holes as these. Conversely, characters, plot elements, and usually more incoherence have emerged from such plot holes. What…”

“If you don’t shut up it’s going to be two stories below us before we can do anything!” snapped Orogarn Two.

“There’s nothing else for it,” said Kuruharan. “Somebody is going to have to jump into the plot hole and return with the Ent that was Broken.”

Everyone glanced at everyone else uneasily.

“I nominate the Captain,” said Soregum.

“I second,” said Pimpi.

“Now, wait just a minute,” said a suddenly ruffled Neemoi.

“But,” said Cirkdan. “We…SHOULD…do our…bit…for the…QUEST.”

“Blast it Dim,” chirped Macaw, “I’m a doctor, not a go-fer.”

“AAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH” screamed Soregum. “GRAB ‘EM!!!”

Quick as thought, a sharp struggle broke out. Cirkdan, Neemoi, and Macaw were tossed over the edge of the escalator and into the waiting maw of the plot hole.

“Don’t forget to toss back the Ent that was Broken!” shouted Orogarn Two after them.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” replied the brave volunteers.

The plot hole emitted a sudden overwhelming cacophony of noises. Great tentacles reached out and seized the three crewmembers and dragged them through the opening. The noises grew louder. The agonized cries of ten thousand souls in torment mingled with a roaring and banging that defied description. Above it all rose a noise that sounded for all the world like the scream of a Thing-wraith.

Grralph stirred uneasily in his slumber.

“What’s taking them so long?” demanded Leninia.

Suddenly, out of the gaping plot hole popped the head of none other than Earnur Etceteron.

“Hullo, there,” he said cheerfully. “I say, one of you wouldn’t happen to have a bit of something to drin….whoops,” and he vanished. “Bonehead pillock!” laughed a metallic voice out of the maw.

The Gallowship stared with their mouths hanging open.

The Balfrog’s head shot out of the hole and took a swipe at Chrysophylax, who bravely tucked his tail between his legs and scrambled out of the way. The Balfrog roared and disappeared.

The plot hole heaved…and belched.

“Eeeeeewwww,” moaned Merisuwyniel and Pimpi together. “How crude!”

Out flew the wagon bearing the Ent that was Broken. It crashed on the escalator a few steps behind them.

The Gallowship breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude, or some of them did anyway.

“Thank you captain, wherever you are,” sighed Merisuwyniel. “And to you my darl…I mean Mr. Neemoi,” she added.

“What?!” bawled Orogarn Two. “They were both pompous a…”

“Watch it!” snapped Merisuwyniel.

“Were here,” said Pimpi.

“Where’s here?” inquired Vogonwë.

That was a question not so easily answered. The Lostship stepped off the escalator (dragging the wagon with them). They could see nothing except white light and a vague outline of the floor beneath them.

Reaperneep sniffed the air and trotted forward. “Are we to be halted here at the completion of our Quest?” he shrilled.

“No,” said Merisuwyniel. “Muddled Mirth is counting on us.”

“The light makes my head hurt,” moaned Chrysophylax.

The Bemused-ship slowly walked forward. They had not gone far before they noticed the Muzak. It was beautiful and strange. It roused a longing that was pain (even worse than lust for Merisuwyniel). Nothing else seemed worthwhile but to listen to that sound forever.

“Come on,” cried Reaperneep, his naturally adventurous nature aroused by his adventurous surroundings. The Brainsnearingthestateofjellyship staggered on.

The music began to call to them. It was a merry bubble and joy, thin, clear, and happy. The call of the music became stronger than the music was sweet. The Brainsreachingthestateofjellyship could not help but move forward now.

They came to a great golden door that was more magnificent than mere words could describe. The liquid of that glad music broke on them like a wave, caught them up, and possessed them utterly. They were conscious that they were nearing The End…whatever that might be.

“We must go in,” whispered Merisuwyniel.

“…just…five more minutes, Mommy,” muttered the Gateskeeper, with his eyes closed.

Kuruharan slowly swayed from side to side. “If I could only make a recording of this stuff and sell it! I’d make a fortune!!!”

Slowly, trembling with doubt and hesitation, Merisuwyniel reached to push open the door.

“Oh, let me do it!” cried Reaperneep, who was beside himself in eagerness and impatience.

He opened the door.

They were filled with the feeling that they were exactly where they were meant to be at that moment in time.

As they passed over the threshold, the music was overwhelmed by a Great Theme of Muzak. It was greater and more wonderful than any yet revealed. The Motleyship were overcome by its glory and splendor. They bowed down inside the door.

The Muzak stopped. They waited.

…and waited.

Finally, Reaperneep dared to look up. He beheld great shining thrones upon a dais on the far side of a pillared hall. He stood and trotted forward.

“Look,” he cried. “I found something.”

The Puzzledship gathered around him.

He had found A Sign. And upon that Sign in glorious letters of fire and ice was writ…

“Next Throne Room Please -->”

They turned and beheld another door, even more magnificent than before. The Muzak swelled again. The Deepship was drawn forward again. The sound of harps and lutes, and pipes and trumpets, and viols and organs, and like unto countless choirs singing with words, began to fashion yet another Theme, like unto the first, only more stirring.

Without haste, they opened the great doors before them and beheld a Great Light. They fell to their faces.

The Great Muzak swelled with great profundity and became triumphant. It achieved a poignancy unutterable in these poor houses of Time.

It ceased and a great silence fell as if the Muzak had never been. And the Upthecreekwithoutapaddleship waited.

…and waited.

Finally, Reaperneep dared to look up. He beheld greater shining thrones upon a greater dais on the far side of a greater pillared hall. He stood and trotted forward. He continued on and on until he vanished in the light.

And lo! Long seemed the time until his return. But, return he did.

He strode up to where the Expectantship lay huddled on the floor.

“I have found a Token upon one of the Thrones,” he announced grandly. He handed something to Merisuwyniel.

Merisuwyniel took it up and looked at it. “It seems to be a sheet of…notebook…paper…”

She opened the sheet and read those words that echo loud through the ages.

“Out to Lunch.”

“WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?!!!” screamed Leninia.

[Diamond18]

Somewhere, out there, in an unidentifiable hall in an unidentifiable palace in Valleyum (that I can identify, thank goodness) someone was having lunch.

That someone was Prada, known by the Elves of Muddled-Mirth as El Beer Breath the Fair Enough, and known to the Hobbits of the Mire as Snow White Applebottom the Plump and Fair Enough. By the Dwarves of Muddled-Mirth she was known and Snow White the Lazyassed. Some also call her Fanny, or She of the Ten Thousand Shoes. She was, at that moment in time, dining on rice and codfish, with a goblet of fine imported Mire beer and a side of lamb liver. This she would follow up with a fine imported chocolate cake with strawberry pie filling on the side.

As she sat on her fanny with her niftily clad feet propped upon a pillow, she called out to her husband, “Manny, stop making that racket and come to lunch, your codfish is getting cold and your ’ard liquor is getting soft.”

Her husband, Manuël Sàntana, Lord of the Breath of ’Ard Liquor, did not cease in his racket, for he knew that ’ard liquor could not get soft. And he preferred his codfish cold. “Coming,” he said insincerely, as he played upon his guitar, known as TícTàc the Magnificently In Tune. TícTàc was renowned throughout Valleyum, and many Elven musicians far away on the shores of Muddled-Mirth swore by the Ever Lovin’ Guitar Strap of Manuël Sàntana and dreamed of one day collaborating with the Master of Muzak. Even in the deepest woods of Workmud, poets dreamed of one day setting their lyrics to the ever lovin’ strummin’ of Manuël Sàntana. Also there was the chance of getting drunk on ’ard liquor, a drink so strong it puts ’Mudwater to shame.

Manuël and Prada were alone in the unidentifiable hall save for the Seven Dwarves, Prada’s special guests from Muddled-Mirth. It was not widely known in Muddled-Mirth that there were actually Dwarves living in Velour, but Manuël had granted them a special status due to some kind of bond they had formed with Prada once upon a time. No one really like to talk about that incident, as how Prada had ended up in Muddled-Mirth, hiding from a wicked witch, and getting kissed by a handsome Elven Prince, was a delicate issue in the Sàntana household. Or rather, Unidentifiable Hallhold.

The Dwarves were dancing and shaking their posteriors to the ever lovin’ racket Manuël made upon his guitar. But I will not elaborate further on that, since no one wants a detailed description of dancing dwarves.

In upon this happy homey scene, burst a messenger. “My Lord, my Lady,” he said, hastily bowing. “There is a bizarre and dangerous looking ragtag bunch of malcontents requesting a conference with you. One of them says he’s a big fan of your muzak, my lord. Will you see them or shall I throw them out on their posteriors?”

“In good time, in good time,” said Manuël. “A fan, eh? Well, we can at least hear what they have to say before we throw them out. Tell them we shall see them after lunch.”

[Estelyn Telcontar]

And so it came to pass that the ceremonial gong was sounded to summon the Kings and Queens of the Velour to a Great Conference. (Yes, though multiple kings and queens of a land are a reason for war in this world, boys and girls, in fantasy stories it works! And amazingly well with brethren and sistern, even… ) And the sound of it was heard throughout Valleyum, and the resounding echo of grumbling, irritation at the interruption of other pleasures, or curious gossip was heard in answer.

And lo! they came from the beaches and bars and there was much stashing away of serf-flets and much tying of diaphanous scarves over itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot bikinis to meet the minimal dress-code and much donning of fishnet muscle shirts likewise. At the entrance of the Great Conference Hall they paused to adorn their feet with the ceremonial flíp-flets, in accordance with the warning runes that were writ above the doorway. (Translator’s note: The ruins of these runes were found in the ruins of Valleyum in recent times; they have been reconstructed and their contents can now be repeated. In the Common Tongue they read: “No shirt, no shoes, no service” )

They took their places at the circular table that signified their equality, though they were fully aware of the fact that some of them were more equal than others. The most equal of them came last – Manuël and Prada ascended the ceremonial staircase at one end of the Hall. While waiting for them, some of the Velour whose physical attributes proclaimed them to be male or a reasonable facsimile thereof began to sing a playful chorus of “We’re Kings of the Round Table”. Interestingly, it blended in perfect counterpoint with the three-part harmony rendering of “Good Vibrations” (the national anthem of Valleyum) from the female side of the table – well, it is to be assumed that it was sung by the females, since no self-respecting, fully-functional male could sing that high.

Manuël winced almost imperceptibly, but his benign expression showed that he could tolerate the musical taste of the lower – um, equal on a different level – colleagues. He stood majestically and patiently, waiting for them to arise for his ceremonial introductory speech. His patience was needed, but after much clearing of throats and some clinking of spoons against glasses, they were finally inclined to give him their only minimally divided attention.

“My brethren and sistern,” he began pompously, “we are assembled here this day to…”

“Aw, come on, Manny,” T-M Ulmo protested. “Speak normally and get down to business. The waves won’t wait all day, you know.”

There were assenting nods all around the table, and much shuffling of feet to indicate the wish to continue proceedings in a sitting position.

“Oh, all right,” he capitulated. Much relieved, they sank into their comfortable lounging chairs and sipped their favourite refreshing Cok-tailz. “Well, like, it’s like this,” he continued. “A bunch of weirdos from Muddled-Mirth has, like, sailed over here, and it looks like they, like, want something from us. I know we have a non-interference policy required of us by the Prime Directive, but we can at least listen to them before, like, sending them back, right?”

“Sounds cool,” “OK with me,” “Yeah,” and some assenting murmurings answered his, like, question. After all, even serf-fletting got boring once in awhile, and new kidz on the block were not an everyday occurrence.

Two lovely young Maya twins, Pollí-Esther and Pollí-Unsaturated, opened the doors and ushered in the Flotsam’nJetsamShip. The Questers hardly dared to look up, fully expecting to be blinded by so much royal brilliance, and when they did, their jaws dropped, for before them was assembled a wealth of suntans and blond-streaked hair and lean-muscled bodies such as had never been seen in eastern lands, yet no shining light surrounded them, though the dark-shaded glasses they wore seemed to have been made for that purpose.

Merisuwyniel stepped forward almost shyly, not quite knowing how to address this awe-inspiring group; yet drawing upon the wisdom and diplomatic skill of generations of Elves, she began. “Four-score and seven years ago- ” Flustered, she stopped. Wrong generation, she admonished her inner Elves. “My Lords and Ladies,” she began anew, fervently hoping that it did not matter to Valleyum etiquette if the males or females were addressed first. “We have come on a quest of great importance to Muddled-Mirth. We wish to remedy an unprecedented cruelty – the hewing and sundering of an Ent! We have done our best to reassemble all the parts that were separated, yet is the reunification beyond our skills, yea, beyond the skills of any who reside in Muddled-Mirth. Nevertheless I had messages from these shores, telling me to ask for aid here.”

She looked around at the ladies, searching for the familiar green face of her visions, but she could not find it. Expectantly, she waited for an answer, and her companions waited, speechless for once, with her.