lanfear – Realm of Nienna

The twelve-foot-high Black Gates of Mordor squeaked open (the Trolls never remembered to grease them before visitors arrived) and Pippin, who was riding behind Prince Imrahil because nobody else could cope with the biscuit crumbs the Hobbit always left behind in their golf-carts, turned to Gimli in awe “This should be evil. Look at the size of those gates!” Gimli being the only one who was small enough to have the same opinion instead adopted a look of scorn in order to compete with Legolas who stood nearby looking willing and able to jump the Gates. Legolas was thinking no such thing of course. He was actually wondering if he could somehow manage to steal the decorative fretwork along the top of the Gate because it was prettier than the one on the gate back at home.

The Gates finally screeched to a halt and a man rode forth on a mule clad in a grey robe. The man was also wearing a grey robe but as it turned out the mule was not and was a little sensitive about being prematurely grey. At least it looked like a man but due to the large imitation Viking-horn helm complete with two blonde pig-tails and the fact that it was drinking out of an oversized novelty mug with “Come for the weather, stay for the torture!” on it made identification extremely difficult for the Captains of the West who all squinted or put on their bi-focals for a better look.

He eventually lowered his mug, stopped, looked up in surprise at the host before him and fell of his mule. After getting back on his mule he fell twice more before eventually deciding to lean on his mule instead. Unfortunately for him the mule took offence as this was not in its original contract and it stalked back into Mordor leaving the man- after a brief conference Gandalf and the others had decided only a man would wear robes which had obviously been washed too much and lost their original blackness, leaning on an elbow in mid-air. He maintained this pose for a short time before addressing the armed army of army-types in front of him.

“I am the Maitre d’ of Mordor. And what might you be after? One night, a week, a fortnight? Hotel Barad-dûr can usually oblige and most of our clients never leave” At this point the Maitre d’ began to laugh to himself working his way through from giggling to outright cackling with glee. After ten minutes of this Gandalf had had enough, he summoned up all of his outraged anger, indignation and general gumption and discreetly coughed. The Maitre d’ immediately stopped and after suppressing one or two tremors of mirth he continued with his speech.

“We at Hotel Barad-dûr believe that our guests should have enough room to swing a cat, a fluffy bunny or another innocent being of their choosing. Guests should have the opportunity to get outrageously drunk with the Maitre d’ and to generally make evil mischief if they should so desire and to have their wills corrupted until they do desire if they hadn’t originally.” At this point he cut his speech off and squinted closely at the golf-carts the host had arrived in “Ah! You’re a golfing party! We have Orc-heads and rabbit- well actually Orc, holes for you to hit them into and an Arda-class course filled with flaming chasms and boiling lava.”

Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas were the only ones of the host who appeared at all untempted by this offer. This was mainly due to the fact that Aragorn and Gandalf had already visited Hotel Dol Guldur and had been unimpressed by the level of surliness and the disturbingly attractive Orc-maids and Legolas was wondering if those blonde pig-tails were real and sulking a little because they were so much shiner than his hair. The others were attracted for reasons best kept to themselves. We do need to leave the reader with a shiny happy feeling that the Good are actually good after all.

Aragorn tooted the horn of his golf-cart until the man shut up. “We are not here to stay in this fell place.” He announced loudly much to Pippin’s disappointment (he had decided that Hotel Barad-dûr must have a lot of digestive biscuits and his supply was running low- he only had three family-sized packets left)

“We are here to demand the return of my teddy-bear. No, wait, it was something else. Oh, yes. Erm, we would rather like your evil Owner to depart these lands and take his evil franchise with him. If you don’t mind too much that is.” He finished with a flourish of his kingly cloak- he was only just getting used to being dressed in clean and nice clothes and had a bad habit of showing it off in case someone had missed it.

“Oh you’re that lot are you? Mindless rabble of goody-two-shoes! Led by a half-crazed wizard who washed his robes and hair for the first time in three Ages last month and a Man who thought he was an Elf until the age of twenty! And never mind that! You want what? I thought I was supposed to make the demands?” the Maitre d’ answered whilst pulling various items out of his cloak pockets. “I know I have a copy of that book in here somewhere just hang on a second.”

The Maitre d’ pulled out a goodly-number of things from inside his robes; a crumpled top-hat, a jester’s hat, three containers of mysterious liquids- one of which was purple which the Maitre d’ opened, sniffed and then drank, a large pipe, a shrivelled Orc-head, two feathered quills, a pink notebook covered in little love hearts and assorted lint- some of which appeared to be evolving into creatures. Then, to the dismay of the Captains and Pippin, who had always wanted two Lothlórien jumpers and had planned to steal Frodo’s, he pulled out a large grey woolly jumper with the initial ‘F’ on it out of one of his pockets, a butter-knife which Sam had stolen from The Prancing Pony to show off to Merry and finally Frodo’s shiny silver anorak.

The horror in the eyes of the visitors gave the Maitre d’ a good clue that he had pulled out something important. Unfortunately, he had not been paying attention and suspected that they would not inform him what it was. A good guess, they wouldn’t have. To stall for time he took another swig from his mug and formulated a cunning-plan to ensnare them but luckily for him the temptation of the jumper had proved too much for Pippin who sprang from Prince Imrahil’s golf-cart (much to the Prince’s relief because he could finally sweep out some of the accursed crumbs) and rushed towards the pile shouting “You had better not have pulled a stitch from that jumper! It’s mine now!” Until he was knocked down by Gandalf who also wanted the jumper because his had been singed by the Balrog.

Seizing this good fortune, as well as a chance to shift from one leg to the other as all this standing around was being to play havoc with his arthritis, the Maitre d’ smiled and decided to tell the truthful story of how he came to have the items in question because the host were all armed to the teeth and looked quite angry. “I see you recognise the garments of the spies. Ah, the fun we have had with them.” He meant this in the literal sense because Frodo had turned out to be quite the party-animal, repeatedly doing his funny chicken-dance much to the amusement of the Orcs in the Silent Tower, which was nothing of the kind.

They had planned to torture them and deliver them to the Eye after discovering that they were not guests but upon discovering the Hobbit ability to drink large quantities they had entered a beer drinking contest and eventually had let them join them on their annual pub-crawl which was the reason for the silly hat and the slightly off-balance Maitre d’. The Captains of the West mistook the fond grin on the face of the Maitre d’ for a man remembering torture of innocents and went grey with fear and sickness.

“What are your demands?” asked Gandalf in a voice that wavered unsteadily around the middle because he had caught a glimpse of an Orc-maid trough the Gates.

“The Owner demands that you withdraw to your lands and do not trouble his establishment again.” With another pause to create dramatic effect the Maitre d’ realised he had forgotten the demands that the Owner had handed him in case of surrendering hosts at the front gates.

“He demands that you surrender your arms? That you must pay him to allow you to live in your lands… no wait, His lands.” The Maitre d’ had had a flash of inspiration and began to really enjoy this role especially since the host appeared to accept everything he said “He orders you to cease all resistance and to… to rebuild the Tower of Orthanc as another member of the Hotel Evil family and to pay tribute to the new Manager of that establishment.

The Captains could see that the Maitre d’ intended to be that Manager and that life under his care would be dangerously beer-fuelled until all the economy of the West fell into ruin.

Deciding that he had better get out whilst the going was good, “You would be best advised to take the terms as I…He has set them, or else.” the Maitre d’ finished by making a cut-throat gesture with his novelty mug, which was unnervingly close to empty.

Sensing that the Maitre d’ had finished Gandalf again seized his chance to grab Frodo’s jumper, collecting the butter-knife and anorak as well as two lint bunnies. “We do not accept. We did not come here to make a treaty with Sauron the Meany. We came to destroy this evil chain of hotels and to free Middle-Earth from the horror of poorly made beds, disturbingly attractive Orc-maids and a generally bad service.” He swept back to the host leaving the Maitre d’ standing in shock. He really had thought it was going well.

With a shrug he drained his mug and headed back to the pub crawl. The golf carts began to retreat from the gates but before they went far the Hotel Evil trap was sprung and battalions of Orc-maids, bell-trolls and Warg-shoe-buffers swept out to remove the unsightly host of good from the front of the Hotel. They had a reputation to uphold after all.


Celedë_Anthaas – Realm of Varda

“Eru! The Gate is opening!” cried Aragorn, laying down his cards.
“About friggin’ time too,” said Prince Imrahil. “I’m sick of playing poker.”
The Captains of the West got up, put their cards away and drank the last of their whiskey. Eomer stuffed a pile of cash in his pocket, ignoring the evil glares of the others.
‘These winnings should make for quite a booze-up when we get back in Edoras’, he thought happily. “Lucky I had those aces hidden in my sleeve.”
They all mounted their mooses, grabbed their banners and tried to look as impressive as they could, which wasn’t very easy considering they had emptied several bottles of whiskey in the past fifteen hours and were extremely tired. Gimli had forgotten to bring the coffee.

The Black Gate of Mordor opened slowly, and out came a group of people. At the front rode a tall fellow on a black moose, at least, if it was a moose. It looked remarkably like a sheep with antlers. The rider was wearing a pink and yellow Hawaii-shirt, Bermuda-shorts and a baseball cap. He was the most trusted servant of Sauron, the Lieutenant of Barad-dur, and people said he was one of the brightly-coloured Numenoreans. When Sauron rose again many years ago, he had entered his service, starting as the guy who emptied the trashcan every day. Because of his cunning and love of bright colours he had become very mighty, and he knew much of Sauron’s crazy sense of humour and arranged his birthday parties. Behind him rode some orcs who carried a banner with a large, red eye and the phrase, “Sauron rhools”. Mordor’s schools weren’t famous for their bright students.

“Hullo,” the first rider said cheerfully. “I am the Nose of Sauron. How can I help you guys?” He looked around, eying the Captains who sat mounted on their mooses, occasionally falling off because mooses are not easy to tame.
No one answered.
“Who is your leader then?” the Nose of Sauron asked, “perhaps you, sir?”
He looked kindly at Aragorn, who ran up to him and kicked him hard on the shins. After all, Aragorn didn’t know what a kind look was because he had spent most of his life running around in the wild killing orcs and picking flowers.
“Hey, that hurt!” cried the Nose of Sauron, rubbing his shins. “I think that was a very impolite thing to do!”
“According to the laws of Gondor it is considered impolite to rub ones shins in public,” said Gandalf sternly. “Now say your message, crazy Nose of Sauron. You haven’t got anything to fear from us, at least until your errand is done. If however, Sauron still has the IQ of a sheep, you and all his servants are in danger, because we will kick your butts.”

“Oh, then you are the leader, Mr. Wizard?” said the Messenger. “It’s Gandalf, isn’t it? I’ve heard of you! Didn’t you kill the Balrog of Moria a few weeks ago? That was very brave of you, my friend. Oh, before I forget, I have a present for you!”
“A present? Oh goody!” Gandalf squealed excitedly. “Is it from the Gap of Mordor? They make such wonderful things!”
“I’m afraid not,” said the Nose of Sauron. Gandalf’s face fell, and the Nose asked one of the orcs to fetch the gift. He came forward with a bundle wrapped in brightly coloured wrapping paper, decorated with ribbons and flowers.

Gandalf quickly unwrapped the present, giving the wrapping paper to Aragorn.
“We should save this,” he said. “It’s so pretty, we could use it later.” Aragorn put it in his pocket, and gasped with everyone else as he saw what Gandalf held in his hands. There was a small but very shiny mail shirt, a grey cloak and a short sword.
“Oh!” Gandalf cried, delighted. “Thank you so much! It’s wonderful!” The others agreed and thanked the Nose of Sauron many times.

Pippin, however was crying.
“What’s wrong?” Gandalf asked the Hobbit, not that he cared.
“That’s Frodo’s stuff,” Pippin bawled. “They’ve caught Frodo!”
“The young man is right,” said the Nose of Sauron. “We have indeed caught a short fellow named Frodo. But why did you send him to Mordor, Master Gandalf? Did you think he was a useful spy?”
Then they all felt a little sad when they heard this, Frodo was a good friend who always bought fantastic birthday presents. Besides, he was the only one in the Fellowship who could cook, and of course if Sauron had caught Frodo, he’d probably have the Ring too.

“Drat,” said Gandalf. “My brilliant plan has failed. But Mr. Nose, why have you brought these things?”
“Sauron thinks it’s a conspiracy,” the Nose explained. “There’s a dwarvish shirt, and elvish cloak, a sword from Numenor and that little fellow from the Shire. Sauron’s feelings are hurt, and he hopes you will apologize.”
“Why should we?” asked Eomer. “He’s trying to kill us all, and he wants US to apologize? Tell him to sod off!”
“Yeah!” Pippin exclaimed. “And tell him he has to release Frodo too!”
“Alright,” said the Messenger. “Sauron will release your friend if you accept his terms.”
“What are his terms?” Gandalf asked. “If he wants us to dress up in pink tutus and dance, then the answer is no.”

“Relax,” said the Nose. “Sauron wishes you to do no such thing. All you have to do is remove your armies, never attack Sauron again, pay a lot of taxes and work as slaves for the rest of your lives. Then we will release Frodo. If you do not agree, we shall tickle him with a feather until he looses his sanity. What do you say?”

They all looked at the Nose of Sauron, and realized he was going to be their master. The thought of being slaves of a guy wearing a Hawaii-shirt was too much even for the brave riders of Rohan. They shrieked in terror and begged for mercy, saying they would do anything if only he would change his shirt. Gandalf whacked them quickly with his staff and turned to the Nose.
“Do you really expect us to say yes?” he scoffed. “There’s no way we will accept that, you’ll probably force us to wear these horrible shirts too!”
The riders of Rohan wailed and tried to hide behind their mooses when they heard this, but they only got kicked in their faces and fainted.
Gandalf sighed.

“I’m sorry, sir, but then your friend shall be tickled to death,” the Nose said sadly. “If he survives but looses his sanity, we shall give him back to you.”
“Well, that’s something then,” said Gandalf. “He’ll probably be much more fun if he’s insane. But we’ll keep his things, perhaps we can sell them and make some money. Now, please leave, Mr. Nose of Sauron. You have said your message, goodbye! And tell your master to get stuffed.”

The Nose nodded, pulled his baseball cap further down his forehead and rode away. The orcs ran quickly after him and they all disappeared through the Gate. A minute later, however, they came back to get the banner which they had forgotten.
“Sauron rocks, you guys suck,” they giggled as they ran back to the Black Gate. From somewhere inside Mordor came the sound of rock music, a signal often used by Sauron. The Gates opened wide, and out came hundreds, thousands of orcs, all wearing hats with pink feathers.
“We are so screwed,” Aragorn said, grabbing his toothpick-like sword.
“Well, at least this way we won’t have to wear Hawaii-shirts,” Gandalf whispered.


vanyar – Realm of Nessa

At it’s head there rode a horrible figure… so horrible, that the company was almost filled with dread at the mere sight of the offensive creature. This Horribly wicked, and evil creature road atop the most wretched looking stead one could imagine. This horrid creature was in fact… snuggles, the adorable bear from the laundry detergent commercials, riding atop an equally adorable puppy. Behind them lay a contingent of slightly less adorable, yet equally hideous army of bunnies.They carried a black banner with the tell-tale red eye of Sauron, which was suspiciously spotless and looked remarkably soft and cuddly.

“Is there anyone here who has authority to meet with me *cute giggle*”, said Snuggles,”Not you, Aragorn… You’re clothes are far too dirty and rough for you to be a true King.*again with the giggling*”

Aragorn quickly found himself in a stare-off, and though he didn’t think he could take staring at Snuggle’s adorable little face for long, he managed to hold out just long enough.

“You can’t hit me!!! I’m adorable!!!*giggles again*” exclaimed Snuggles.

“No one said anything about hitting you.*mutters* but if he giggles again I may be tempted.” Interjected Gandalf.

“What was that?” sayeth the adorable detergent bear.

“OH, I said but I should like to get on with this meeting” replied Gandalf.

“Are you the spokesperson, Gandalf Stormcrow? I say, those gray robes are disdainfully dingy and coarse…tsk, tsk.*once again giggles* Right, let us begin… Random cute bunny #12!!!” ordered Snuggles.

A rather cute lil, fluffy, lil bunny hopped forward, and with a twitch of his rather adorable, lil pink bunny nose dispensed a black cloth bundle to the evil detergent bear.

Snuggles, with an cute lil grin and…yet ANOTHER giggle, threw back the cloth, and revealed Sam’s short sword. At the sight of said sword, Pippin lost control of his senses and made to rush at the adorable little bear, but was thankfully held back by Gandalf.

“Ah, so you have another one of these tiny little hairy human thingies! Let me say, you almost be cute enough to join my army… if you waxed your feet! *giggles* But now I know, thanks to your cute lil hairball that you have seen this sword before. Do not deny it” stated the evil bear.

“I do not deny I have seen that sword. But why show us this?” questioned good ole Gandy.

“*giggles and does cute stretch type thingy* Ah, but this sword are not all that I have to show you! I also have this! *lifts up one of the elven cloaks* and This!! *holds up Frodo’s Mithril Shirt* And… we have your lil hairy footed spy locked in a tower, waited for punishment!!! *cocks head to the side all cute-like*” proclaimed Snuggles, the evil-ish one.

No one could speak, and the fact that this news brought them much pain and anguish threw the psychotic spokesbear into a long fit of adorable giggles.

“Good, he was dear to you then, or at least, his cause was.He will be punished greatly… my master shall make sure of it. Unless of course, you except our terms” sayeth the bear.

“What are your terms?” asked Gandalf.

“That all you nasty men should leave Gondor. You and all your allies shall remove yourselves to the other side of the Anduin river… and promise to never, ever attack us!”, declared Snuggles,” Then, you shall rebuild Isengard, which you destroyed. That shall also be ours… and Sauron’s lieutenant shall dwell there, and then Isengard shall be filled with adorable-ness such as the world has never SEEN!!! It shall be puppies, and rainbows, and kittens playing with balls of yarn!!! And all clothing shall be spotless and soft and cuddly, LIKE MEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! *huge fit of disgustingly cute giggles*”

It was obvious to the company who the delusional bear saw running Isengard… and many felt they should be nausous at the mental picture of cuteness the insanely adorable bear painted.

“These are very demanding terms for one who just lost a rather large battle. Has your master stooped to haggling for what he had wished to already have because he sees his chance is now gone? And how do we know you even have this prisoner? You have his shirt, yes… but I don’t see anyone in it. Show us the prisoner, and we shall think about these terms of yours” stated the All-wise Gandalf.

“*prepare yourself for yet another giggle* Show us the prisoner? I shall NOT show you the prisoner. You shall except the terms, or pay the consequences” retorted the cuddly evil one.

“Except THIS!!!” exclaimed Gandalf. He then threw off his dingy gray coat to reveal a white robe that even Snuggles himself would envy, and grabbed up the stolen cloak, shirt and sword.”I take these in memory of our friend. I do not except your terms… and I take offense at your adorable-ness and am sickened by your insessent cute giggling! Begone, evil psycho bear!!!”

At these words, the cuddly bear suddenly lost all pretense of adorable-ness. The puppy suddenly looked a bit rabid, and the bunnie’s adorable front teeth suddenly seemed rather long, pointy, and dangerous (much like the one guarding the cave in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”). The angered army of adorable images hopped back to Cirith Gorgor, and then signaled the rest of the adorable army forth. And thus, did the dark lord spring his adorably evil trap.


Fealome – Realm of Nessa

Now come we at last
to that terrible gate
and the fanatics who’ve read
without abate
do toss and turn
with uncanny delight
to see the Mouth of Sauron
approaching with spite.

He rides on a dracohorse (one of Sauron’s greatest masterpieces!), nostrils flaring fire intimidatingly. Pippin gapes at the dracohorse, “Well that sure beats the owliphant! Now I’ve seen it all,” he whistles under his breath.

But he hadn’t quite seen everything yet. The Lieutenant of Mordor rode nearer, his dracohorse taking flight every couple feet only to crash down again on its oversized wings. Brego felt pity.
Brego: “Hello, what kind of thing are you?”
Dracohorse: “Grrrr! I’m a dracoho… a drac… a…”
Brego: “Ok, ok, don’t hurt yourself. What are those wierd-looking wings for?”
Dracohorse: “I have no idea.”
Brego: “Ah. Maybe you should give them to the balrog… end those crazy fan debates once and for all…”

This friendly chat is put off, however, when the Lieutenant of Morder declares mightily, “I am the Mouth of Sauron. Is there anyone here who has the cunning to deal with me?” He whips out a shiny deck of cards and fans them significantly before the Captains of the West. “Certainly not you,” he said to Aragorn. “That Elvish bottle cap came from some of the worst beer I’ve ever tasted- you’re nuts if you think it’s going to give you good luck.”

Aragorn *with a snicker*: “Go ahead! I’ll be bettin’ I can spit further than you!” The Mouth of Sauron spits through polished teeth, narrowly missing Aragorn’s sombrero. Aragorn gets into position and carefully aims, chewing slowly before the pitch. He knocks off the Mouth of Sauron’s black, lofty helm! The Lieutenant gasps, “That’s not fair! I’m an ambassador, I cannot be assailed so!” He draws back, whining.

Gandalf steps in. “Peace! Since you are an ambassador, you would do well not to insult your brother. But do not be afraid, I come to promote brotherly love and harmony, whether Sauron wants it or not.”

The Mouth of Sauron retorted: “So you think you’re the one to handle affairs, old Bohemian?! Take off that ridiculous smiley-face necklace! This time you go too far, Sauron will not let you win this round.” (he shuffles the deck of cards slyly) “I have a token to show you… before I put it into the slot machine.”

*he pulls out Frodo’s mithril shirt* *everyone’s face clouds as if they were all dealt hands of twos. The Mouth of Sauron watches them, giddy with delight*

Gimli leaps forward, shouting. “That’s an heirloom of my ancestors, it’s mine, my own, my prreeccciiiooouuusssssss!!” Pippin, however, outruns him, eager to be the first to hear news of Frodo. “Peace!”, says Gandalf, pulling him back. Gimli kneels down, crying that his precious is lost to the Dark side.

But the Mouth of Sauron spoke of Pippin first, “Ah ha! So another little eavesdropper thinks he can have better luck with this token than myself? We’ll see about that! Ha! And now I know for a fact that this is the one who thought he could gamble with precious stones, looking into things that are way beyond his wallet to mend, cheating my master into giving away personal secrets.” *The Mouth of Sauron hisses disdainfully between his flawless teeth, but is careful not to spit, as Aragorn is watching him closely.*

Gandalf: “Yes, I’ve seen this token before. Very finely crafted, I must say. But do you show it here to bring peace and love to this Middle Earth?”

Mouth of Sauron: “If you listen and accept my terms, it may be so. (as if I care about such things) This token, however, is a counterfeit. *Gimli wails* Yes, a counterfeit! Notice the minute hole poked through it’s center? Worthless it is now! Yet for such a crime, the one who carried it will have a hole put through him as well. It is only justice… unless, of course, you agree to buy everything on my master’s shopping list.”

“What are the items?” Gandalf asked, looking about to weep for the cruel loss of brotherly love on earth.

“First, you must purchase Lord of the Rings RISK. Once you have it, you will happily explain all the rules to my master. *everyone groans* Then my master will play the game, pushing all the rabble of Gondor over to the other side of the Anduin, and invading his own forces west of the Anduin to the Misty Mountains. Then, you will buy all the plastic lightsabers from the men of Rohan. Finally, you will fix up Isengard for Sauron’s trusty lieutenant to dwell in, and you will buy him lots of candy.”

“Trusty lieutenant, indeed.” muttered Pippin, eyeing the shiny deck of cards suspiciously.

“Will the Mouth of Sauron hear our reply? Or must we wait for the Ears to arrive?” asked Gandalf. The Lieutenant scowls in return. “Right. Ok, then. If this is the shopping list, I will ask for a proof of reciept before we carry it out. Show us the prisoner, who is dear to us.”

The Mouth of Sauron realizes that this is one card he forgot to play. He tries to cover it up. “You want surety, do you? Proof of purchase can only be given after the purchase is made. Sauron deals with these laws, not yours.”

“Can, I cut of his head now, pleeaaasseee Gandy?”Aragorn whispers to Gandalf. Gandalf holds up his hand in a sign of peace.

“We will take the token!”, he exclaims. Throwing aside his cloak, his smiley-face necklace glints in the sun, blinding the foul Messenger’s eyes. Gandalf seizes the token, placing a PEACE button in its stead. “But in no way can we afford to buy everything on the list. Sauron is faithless; he does not believe that there can be peace and harmony among creatures. Alright then…! *shakes fist* we’ll force him to make peace! Begone!”

Looking at the PEACE button, the Mouth of Sauron becomes afraid. He glances at the Captains of the West and immediatly leaps onto the dracohorse, who yelps and, spreading his useless wings, flies back to Cirith Gorger.
Brego: “Look at him go! Good old chap, I knew he had it in him…!”

The battle horns sound
as Sauron springs his trap.
The pieces are laid
across that 3D map.
And we who read
can hardly wait
for the thrill of battle
and the music of fate.


~figwit~ – Realm of Ulmo

The weather was warm and sunny. A light breeze was cooling their faces and the birds were singing, but despite these good weather conditions the men were restless.
At last, after a long time’s waiting the Black Gate finally opened.
‘It’s about bluddy time!’ Aragorn roared. Gandalf gave him a swift glance before turning his eyes towards the Gates, which already stood ajar, but no one came forth.
Muttering started to hear in the company, and even Gandalf himself felt bored at this time. The sun was already starting to fade behind the big tree tops, casting at the same time long shadows and giving an orange shimmer that surrounded them all. There were no birds singing anymore. The land was as quiet as a tomb house; it was like the earth itself was waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly a bright and clear voice erupted from the foot of the Gate, cutting the peace. A small man was coming forth, riding on a big and fat donkey. The creature was slightly bizarre looking. A big bright coloured cloak hung over its body, and when it came closer they could even see that it had a red tiny bow tied to its tail. A small bell, like those seen on cows, hang around its neck.
The person who rode the donkey on the other and, was dressed all in black. He looked quite small and his voice was like a young boy’s. He kept on singing in a clear voice, but the language was none they’d ever heard of. This was within itself really suspicious, seeing that Gandalf could understand most of the languages in the world.
The rider came to halt just in front of the company and when it did so, the singing stopped abruptly. For a while no one spoke, no one so much as moved. Then the person raised his hands and revealed its face.

The company fell silent. They looked in amazement on the person standing before them. It had bright blue eyes, brown wavy hair and clear skin. But it wasn’t his looks that were so interesting; it was the fact that this person couldn’t be more than thirteen years old.
‘Who are you?’ Gandalf asked the boy in a voice that told them all how surprised he was. A long pause followed until the boy answered. ‘I am the long lost son of Sauron. Rodrom is the name.’
They all looked puzzled at the boy, but this was too much for Gimli.
‘Your name is Rodrom??! Seriously, you got to be joking right?
‘Yes, my name is Rodrom. What’s so funny about that you …. Dwarf?!‘
At this Gimli couldn’t hold himself anymore. He started laughing in a maniac kind of way, and soon the whole company was laughing fit to burst. Even Gandalf’s mouth twitched in a smile, but the boy wasn’t amused at all.
‘What’s so funny about my name?’ he demanded in a harsh voice that had no recognition of the previous one.
‘Er… you do know what land we are in?’ Gandalf asked him gently. ‘We’re in Mordor… It’s er.. funny… that you’re name happens to be Rodrom, when the fact is that it’s Mordor spelled backwards…’

The boy looked beaten for a while, but then his whole appearance changed. He seemed to grow darker, his voice changed from clear and bright to hard and calculating, and his eyes got an evil gleam in them.
‘So.. you think my name is funny do you? We’ll see who’s laughing when I’ve got my say!’ Something in the boy’s voice made them all stop laughing. They looked in fear at this small, but yet so terrifying person.
‘My father gave me things you would have great interest in.’ He opened a small leather backpack the donkey had been carrying, and from within he took out three things and showed them to them.
The first was a small wooden pipe belonging to Frodo. The second thing also belonged to Frodo; it was his favourite shirt. But the last thing they hadn’t ever seen before, or at least they didn’t think so.
‘These relics belonged to a friend of yours, am I not right?’ the boy asked demandingly. ‘And I am sure he’s really missing them, especially this one’ he continued, pointing at a brown hairy thing. ‘He was most displeased when we took his wig away from him.’

This statement was followed by the longest pause any of them had ever experienced. Finally Legolas broke the quiet.
‘Frodo doesn’t wear a wig, does he?’ he said in an odd voice while he was jerking his head so that his hair fell perfectly over his shoulders. ‘I mean, it looks so natural and beautiful. You could never expect that out of a wig!’
‘Never you mind that now!’ Gandalf answered angrily. ‘There are more important things, than his wearing a wig now! Where did you get these?’ he asked the boy.
‘That’s none of your concern. You should be more worried about the demands my father has.’ From an inside pocket of his black robes he withdrew a long list.
‘Ahem. He wants the following:
1. All the people in Middle-Earth shall be wearing black clothes from now on.
2. Parties must be held in Barad-Dûr with regular basis and all the people in Middle-Earth must join.
3. All people in Middle-Earth are to follow his rule, and finally: No one is allowed to smoke pipe weed anymore, except for the residents of Mordor. He wants all the cultivations to be shipped to his storage.’ He said with an evil grin on his face.

The company looked thunderstruck.
‘He… he wants… our pipe weed? The bastard!’ Gimli roared.
‘He wants precisely that. And if you do not follow the demands all Middle-Earth shall be covered in darkness and your friend shall be lost forever! So.. what say you?’
‘That’s outrageous! He can’t think we would agree to such terms’ Gandalf said angrily.
‘Well then, if that’s your choice, the downfall of Middle-Earth shall be entirely your fault, Gandalf Greyhame.’
This was the last drop for Gandalf. He threw his cloak aside and the boy looked at him with great fear and shock. Even the company felt uncomfortable. From his belt Gandalf withdrew his staff. ‘Now you listen to me! We will never submit ourselves to a tyrant like your father! Be gone!’
And so angry and intimidating was the voice of Gandalf that the boy started crying. He threw the relics on the ground, turned his donkey around and galloped back towards the Gates.
‘The rule of Middle-earth is mi.. I mean, that’s what happens when someone messes with our pipe weed!’


Morwinyoniel – Realm of Vaire

At the head of the procession rode a humanoid shape on something that looked like a small elephant robed in black, except the skull of a cow that it bore upon its head. The rider was dressed all in black leather, and apparently thought that he looked Gothic; but, since an excessive consumption of junk food and abuse of prescription pills for several decades had turned him into a bloated zombie, the effect was not quite what he had intended. At the moment, he was desperately trying to remember even his own name, which he at times managed to forget, and was usually referred to as the Mouthpiece of Sauron.

He it was that now rode out, and with him came only a small company of go-go-dancers dressed (very scantily) in black, and one of them was bearing a black banner with the Evil Eye on it. Or, at least, what was supposed to be the Evil Eye – it couldn’t be clearly seen, because the banner hung close to the pole in the calm weather. He stopped a few paces before the Captains of the West. The sound of a lonely harmonica could be heard somewhere in the background.

“Is there anyone in this rout who thinks that his Schwartz is bigger than mine?” he asked. “Or even as big? Not you at least!” he mocked, turning to Aragorn with scorn. “Yours was broken long ago, and not even some elvish super glue can fix it.”

Aragorn stared at the Messenger with the expression of ultimate boredom. He yawned and stretched his fingers so that the joints clicked. “You talkin’ to me?” he then said, nonchalantly fingering the hilt of his sword. After a staring contest that seemed to last forever, the Messenger blinked and gave back as if menaced with a blow. “I am a herald and ambassador, and the law officer here, and may not be assailed!” he cried.

“How can we be sure that you are?” said Gandalf. “Let us see your letter of appointment, or as a law officer, your badge!”

“Badge? I ain’t got no badge! I don’t need no badge. I don’t have to show you any stinkin’ badge!” the Messenger shouted. “This time you have stuck out your big nose too far, Master Gandalf; and you shall see what comes to him who tries to mess with the entertainment businesses of Sauron the Great. I have tokens that I was bidden to show to you – to you in especial, if you should dare to come.” He signed to one of his dancers, and she came forward bearing a bundle swathed in black cloths.

The Messenger put these aside, and there to the wonder and dismay of all the Captains he held up first the sunglasses that Sam had always worn, and next a cloak studded with rhinestones, and last the jumpsuit of gold cloth that Frodo had worn on his Lothlórien gig. Pippin who stood behind Prince Imrahil sprang forward crying: “Oh my Eru, they killed Frodo! Bastards!”

“Would you please shut up!” said Gandalf, thrusting him back; but the Messenger laughed aloud.

“So you have yet another of these imps with you!” he cried. “What use you find in them I cannot guess; but to send them as spies into Mordor to steal the master tapes of Sauron’s newest hit songs, or the scripts of his latest movie masterpieces, is beyond even your accustomed folly. Still, I thank him, for it is plain that this brat at least has seen these tokens before, and it would be vain for you to deny them now. And now your ‘star’ shall endure the slow torment of years, being forced to ceaselessly watch Reality Palantír shows and listen to orc rap and Tom Bombadil’s ding-dong-dillos, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may come to you, and you shall see what you have done. This shall surely be – unless you accept my Lord’s terms.”

“Name the terms,” said Gandalf steadily, but those nearby saw the anguish in his face, and now he seemed an old and wizened man, crushed, defeated at last. They did not doubt that he would accept.

“He will make you an offer you can’t refuse,” said the Messenger, and smiled as he eyed them one by one. “The music industries of Gondor and its deluded allies shall be given over to Mordor Entertainment Ltd., as well as the rights to all their productions so far. The Ithilien Studios will be merged with Barad-dûr Moving Pictures, Inc. The third-class folk artists and bar minstrels west of the Anduin as far as the Misty Mountains and the Gap of Rohan shall have leave to govern their own businesses. But they shall help to rebuild the Isengard Palantír Studios which they have wantonly destroyed, and a new CEO will be appointed there: not Saruman, but one more worthy of trust. Me, that is.”

There was a deep silence for a moment. A small gust of wind unfurled the banner of Mordor.

Suddenly, Gandalf burst into laughter. “Give me those!” he chuckled, and seized the sunglasses, cloak, and jumpsuit from the Messenger. “As for the offer of your boss, we can, and will, refuse it. We don’t negotiate entertainment business with a rubber duck manufacturer. Sorry, buster, the ball-game is over!”

Completely confused, the Messenger stared at the Captains of the West, who were now all laughing heartily, and then turned his gaze to his own embassy. To his dismay, he realized that, instead of the banner of the Evil Eye, they had by mistake carried the banner of Udûn Rubber Duck Company, with a red and yellow rubber duck on black background…


elvishmusician – Realm of Vaire

What really happened at the Black Gate

*The ‘good guys’ arrive at the Black gate and wait. The Mouth of Sauron comes forward looking very proud and important. As he approaches the group he gives his award-winning smile. All are struck speechless by this new and unexpected weapon.*

MoS (Mouth of Sauron) – ‘Hello and welcome to Mordor.’

*continues to smile despite growing silence*

MoS – ‘Do not any of you wish to treat with me?’

*Aragorn masters his wits long enough to stare menacingly at the MoS*

MoS- ‘I have heard of your speech before… well, well, well King Elessar isn’t it? Please put forth your voice!’ *smiles encouragingly* ‘or is it that you fear large crowds?’

*Aragorn looks at crowd fearfully and begins to shake. Hobbits point and laugh*

Legolas *to Gimli* – ‘HA! I knew it –you owe me a trip through Fangorn.’

MoS *continues*– ‘Why do you travel to the harshest land in this kind of weather –what brings you forth from your homes?’

Gandalf – ‘We came to say that the armies of Mordor must disband and you must never again march on our lands.’

Mos – ‘Oh yes… that. *grimaces* I thought it might be that. Would you like to discuss it over tea and biscuits?’ *grins*. ‘So that the King here doesn’t feel so self-conscious.’

Aragorn *Through gritted teeth* – ‘No thank you, I’m fine.’

MoS – ‘Well I’m going to have some, because at least I want to be sociable and tea and biscuits help me relax.’

Legolas – ‘You do that then…just bring me back some of that mascara you use –I could really do with some –what brand is it?’

*All look at the two in shock*

Legolas – ‘I want to look my best for the battle and if not I want to look good for the trip home –really you people have NO pride!’ *pouts*

MoS – ‘Don’t worry; they are just jealous of our fair complexions… now where was I? That’s right, biscuits.’

*MoS turns to have tea and biscuits but is nudged by an orc who hands him Frodo’s vest, Sam’s sword and a few other things*

MoS –‘Oh yes –I almost forgot. I was supposed to show you these…’

Merry – ‘That’s Frodo’s!’

Pippin – ‘No it’s Sam’s!’

Merry- ‘Chain mail stolen from dragon cave –clearly Frodo!’

Pippin – ‘Sword found in Dunharrow –clearly Sam!’

Gimli – ‘Well if its only Frodo there is really no need for concern –that little maggot always thought himself soooo cool. He even got to speak to the Lady in Lothlorien one night –annoying little twerp.’

Pippin *looks at Gimli with shock* – ‘As I was saying it is clearly Sam!’

Gimli – ‘He spoke with her too, so I really don’t care which one of them it is! I had made my feelings for her clear and they just ignored that and went talking to her behind my back.’ *glares at garments angrily*

MoS – *oblivious to argument, mutters to self* ‘now what was the other part of the message…‘ *looks up suddenly* ‘ah yes –we have this little guy in the service of the Dark Tower. Do not despair he is safe enough. All the orcs are taught to smile as they work. It’s a new form of weaponry by Sauron, however personally I think it makes everyone happier, don’t you? *smiles warmly*

*Gandalf while shielding eyes* -yes… now can you prove that you have the Halfling?

*MoS suddenly realises how strange it is that he has never laid eyes on the little fella* -‘Well actually I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him as yet… but my master’s word is good enough for me as it should be for you. However the real reason for me showing you these is that *whispers* Sauron is jealous. In fact he’s so jealous that he asked me to do the negotiations because I won the Mordor smiling contest last year. *smiles bigger than ever before*

Gandalf *covers eyes hastily* -‘Yes, yes we believe you and congratulations.’

MoS – ‘See the real reason Sauron went to war on you is that he is getting old –and forgetful I might add as well as loosing some of his tact when it comes to negotiations *looks fearfully at tower* –‘but don’t tell him I said that. He wants a holiday retreat –because Mordor gets so cold in winter and hot in summer. So he asked me to say that in exchange for your land he’ll give you these and that Halfling –whom I’ve never seen- *confused look crosses face*.

*His offer is greeted with silence* *MoS smiles again in hope of brightening the deal*

Gandalf *gruffly* -‘Ummm… well can I have a look at those items?’

MoS *pouts* – ‘As long as you smile.’

*Gandalf smiles and is handed the objects*

Gandalf –‘Errrr… Look this is a big ask and many lives may hinge on our decision, can we take these items back with us and have the valued and then discuss it amongst ourselves *whispers* -especially seeing as Aragorn is so frightened.’

*All look at Aragorn with pity*

MoS- ‘Ummm’ *hesitates*

Gandalf – ‘Really it’s not his fault; he’s been locked up in that elf hide-a-way of Lord Elrond’s for 80 odd years! Look at how Elrond’s sons turned out –they look about ready to run in fear. See what sheltering a child does to them… tragic.’ *shakes head* ‘Elessar hasn’t had the chance to learn crowd control skills yet… but we are working on it –see look how well he’s doing’ *turn to look at Aragorn who is bravely facing crowd, hands shaking* ‘it would give him great confidence if he could have a fair say in this decision… please.‘

*Gandalf smiles warmly and makes desperate hand signals for others to do the same and all smile*

MoS overcome by the warmth of their smiles says –‘Why of course my good friends –just return them within the week and next time do stay for tea and biscuits. And Legolas perhaps you could help me with my eyeliner- as you can see it tends to smudge.’ *points to black streaks running down the side of his face*

Legolas *happy to have a person express interest in cosmetics* -‘Of course, I’d love too.’

*Army withdraws smiling with Gandalf in the lead carrying the objects grinning evilly*

MoS *sighs* and says half dazed to nearest orc –‘Hmm… such nice people –I do hope they return soon.’

*Still smiling leads army back into Mordor.*


Eressëa – realm of Vairë

At the head of the procession there rode a tall and evil shape, mounted upon a black horse, if horse it was; for it was huge and hideous, and its face was a frightful mask, more like a skull than a living head, and in the sockets of its eyes and in its nostrils there burned a flame. The rider was robed all in black, and black was his lofty helm; yet this was no Ringwraith but a living woman. As she rode down towards the captains of the West she closed her little handmirror with a snap. If only she didn’t have to wear that stupid helmet. For one, it was ugly, secondly it didn’t become her at all and thirdly it completely ruined the stylish looks she had underneath. Same with those silly, long, black rags. They might be oh so becoming to the Nazgûl but really, a girl needed Gucci. It didn’t help much that she had to sit on this stupid horse either. If only it had been a nice one, but this was just big and ugly and had an acid-burned face. And they wanted her to make an impression, PAH.

For all she knew she’d fall off the horse when they stopped –and this was unfortunately true, as she was to discover when they stopped a little away from the Westerlings. She found the notes she’s prepared for this parley.
“Luke, I am your father….” She said in a solemn voice, then reread the notes, “Sorry, wrong ones” She giggled nervously as she looked back on her annoyed followers. “Who here think themselves worthy to date the Maw of Sauron!??” She looked expectantly at the crowd of captains but to her surprise none of them volunteered.
“Honestly I’d expected more from you, even if you are little underlings. I’m offering you my body, my soul -if I hadn’t given that to Sauron –and you don’t care, I see no one here is worthy of my socks so why did you bother to send for me? I have some remaining honour still –even if being a slave for quite a thousand years has lowered my self-esteem a little.”

“Technically you know we didn’t send for you, and if you are indeed a slave miss Maw, we can’t really see that we have any business with you. But if you’re feeling so bad about it we may entertain you a little and get done with it, we haven’t got the whole day and there’s an Empire to be destroyed and if you please ma’am, you’re blocking our way.” said Gandalf.

“So this is the reply I get. I, the beautiful Maw of Sauron, fashion-expert and Sauron’s confidante, am to talk to an old man in dirty clothes and with a very filthy beard. A man who talks scornfully of slaves but who is but a slave himself, to the useless Valar no less, it is an outrage that you even address me in this manner!” She made an action as if she was about to faint but as no one hurried to her rescue, she sighed and continued: “Oh well, Sauron told me this might happen. He said none of you would care if I was more interested in talking with men of strength and vigour than this ancient and weak guy. He said it was quite likely that this naïve bunch of no-goods would trust that guy but also bid me ask them what the difference was really between being governed by him or by old Greybeard here. However, facts are facts and as it cannot be otherwise I have a couple of gifts from him to you old Crow.” She waved and a guard came forward bringing a bundle of cloth. She unfurled it and deposited the content on the ground, then showing the disbelieving crowd of Westerling captains the content piece by piece noting to herself that the wearer must have had good taste. As she took up the elven-brooch she dropped it, not back on the ground with the rest of the things, but in her pocket. “Hehe, Sauron’s not going to need that now you’ve seen it.” She said in a half-embarrassed voice.

Putting the other stuff back in the bundle she looked expectantly on the Captains. They all looked rather blackfaced, but as she’d just seen them eat puce-coloured candy she mistook their expression for being one of dislike of the candy.
Then suddenly Pippin could not hold his tongue any longer. “I knew it! Sam told me he hadn’t taken that blade, but I recognise it –it’s mine, my own, my preciousss blade.” He made an attempt to rush forward and take it from the ground but Gandalf stopped him.

“Unanimity never pays off, lad. It’s now your fault that old Greybeard here has been discovered. You just revealed yourself, I knew this was your stuff –or was rather, it belongs to Sauron now –as does the former owners whom I think might’ve been friends of yours. They look a bit like the imp there, though that one looks fatter, maybe we could trade, for I guess the only reason you sent in the others were as an offering to my lord. Next time though, remember that Sauron needs meaty people to feed his Orcs, not scrawny ones that are good for nothing.”

“So that is why you’ve come then. To bring us back our offerings because they were not to your master’s liking. As you have already learned our plans there’s not much else to do. We did hope that he’d chew them both and that he’d choke himself on their bones.” said Gandalf “And now Maw, if you would excuse us or at least end this quick, these news of our inside weapon has caused a change of plans and we are thinking of either retreating or destroying you the quicker depending on the mood of mr. Still-not-King there.” He said, pointing to the grumpy-looking Aragorn.

“I am tempted to prattle on a little longer just to annoy you old man, but I’ve got an appointment at the Mount Doom Lava Spa at ten o’clock that can’t be rearranged so I too am busy. Listen now carefully as I name the terms which are as follows: Give up and surrender all to Sauron, your ruin is inevitable but maybe your death will be the swifter and more painful if you give up with no fight. What say you to that deal?” said the Maw of Sauron “If you say yes, you’ll get a Drum of the Eye for free”.

The crowd around Gandalf stood gawping, seeing no reason for Gandalf to say no, but as he at last opened his mouth to speak it was not an accord he uttered. “Ha, that was a good one. But I’ve got a better idea. Maybe I just take this bundle of clothes, Sauron isn’t going to need it anyway. And then you get yourself gone, we don’t care about your terms, we want a dictator and a man who can set women straight, Sauron could never do that, just think that he lets a woman handle his parleys. So now get you gone or I’ll make Aragorn stab you with his blade. Or someone else, as long as it frightens you enough to leave us alone.” While Gandalf was talking he made Aragorn act out a puppet play as a distraction and when he was sure the Maw of Sauron was not concentrating on guarding the things she was supposed to, he quickly took the bundle.

Then the Maw of Sauron, realising she had been deprived of all her values and that her men were retreating, retreated too. Back through the Black Gate upon which last year’s Christmas decorations still hung. But as she stood in the door she turned around and cried: “You wait and see, quicker than you wish you’ll learn that you made a mistake, old fool. You should have paid respect to lovable Maw here.”


~Stella~ – realm of Varda

At its head there rode a short, squat and fluffy shape, mounted upon a snail, if a snail it was; for it was so small that you could scarcely see it. The rider was all in fur, pink fur; yet this was no man or Ringwraith but a very large, flop-eared bunny.
The Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-Dûr, AKA Bunny Land, he was, and his true name is remembered in no tail; for he himself had forgotten it, and the bunny said: ‘I am the Easter Bunny.’ But it is told he was a rebel, who came from a race called the Pink Wabbits; for they established their wabbit holes in Middle-earth during the years of Noruas, the most powerfully Wabbit in all of Middle-earth, domination, and they worshipped him, being captivated with his fluffy, bunny knowledge. And the Easter Bunny came into the service of Candy Castle when it was first built, and because of his fluffiness he grew ever higher in Lord Noruas’ favor; and the Easter Bunny learned all of the ways of the Bunny, and knew much of the mind of Noruas; and he was more fluffy then any bunny, ever.

It was he that rode out and with him was a small fleet of pale green, blue, and yellow wabbits, and a single banner, light green and bearing an Easter egg. Now halting a few paces in front of the Captains of the West, he looked at them and smiled warmly.

‘Is there anyone in this route who would like a treat?’ the Easter Bunny asked. ‘Such as an Easter egg or chocolate coins?’ he asked, turning to Aragorn with a goofy look on his face.

Aragorn said nothing in reply, however, he looked the rabbit in the eye and held it, and for a moment, they had a staring contest; however, the Easter bunny blinked, and the contest ended. Aragorn gave a small smile. ‘I am the Easter bunny and in service of Lord Noruas, and I have never lost!’ he cried.

“With such games,” Said Gandalf, “It is common that the same person wins each time.”

‘So!’ said the Easter Bunny. ‘Then you are the master of staring contests, graybeard? I have heard thee is the master of staring contests, though I never believed it. Show me you are the great master of staring contests.’ He looked at Gandalf and waited for a reply, and he had in his bunny hands, a large basket filled the treats he promised them.

The bringer or goods put them in front of him, and there was wonder and glee from all of the Captains as he handed out first a large chocolate rabbit, and then next a bag of jelly beans, and then last a bunch of colored eggs. A glow came into their eyes, and the wait to have the treats seemed to last forever. Pippin who stood behind Prince Imrahil ran forward when the wait for him was too much.

’Wait!’ said Gandalf sternly, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling his back; but the Easter Bunny just giggled.

’Oh, you have one of those cute little imps with you!’ he squealed. ‘Oh, let him come near and have some treats!’

‘I do not wish to deny him,’ said Gandalf, ‘but first we must have the staring contest. So, shall we begin?”

“Hum-diddle, oh-diddle, nay…nay…nay.’ Spoke the Easter Bunny. ‘Lord Noruas tells me never begin, nay! So shall you?’

No one answered him; but the Easter Bunny saw their on faces and in their eyes, irritation, and he giggled nervously, for it seemed to him that it had been going well. ‘Aw, poo, you all are no fun!’ he exclaimed, dropping the basket and slowly leaving.

‘Wait!’ Gandalf cried, throwing his cloak off, ‘We shall have the staring contest!’

The Easter Bunny turned and clapped his hands merrily. ‘Oh goody!’ it exclaimed. Gandalf stared up at the Easter Bunny. For a long time, they stared at each other, not blinking; yet, as the sun went down the Easter Bunny blinked. ‘Awe…you won!’ the Easter Bunny cried and handed the goods over. He turned again and headed back to Lord Noruas.


Lindelena – Realm of Varda

Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Pippin and the rest waited with bated breath as the figure approached them.

Pippin balked at the sight of the ghastly creature, which was proudly mounted atop a fearsome horse. Behind the great horse trailed an entourage of what seemed to be circus performers—they were cartwheeling and somersaulting all over the place.

“What in the name of pipeweed is that?!” Pippin cried. His face was contorted into a shape that greatly resembled the countenance of one with the misfortune of smelling fresh dung.

“That, dear hobbit,” Gandalf said wisely, as Gandalf always does, “is a Mouth.” Despite the wisdom that seeped from his sage-like lips, he, too, was trying to suppress an expression of disgust.

“I am the Mouth of Sauron!” the Mouth proclaimed.

“It is the Mouth of Sauron!” Legolas shouted.

For yes, indeed, it was the Mouth of Sauron. And a very ugly mouth for that matter, as all the creature consisted of was a bodiless head which was very nearly completely consumed by its mouth. The nose, eyes, and cheeks were all squished uncomfortably in at the top. The Mouth retained its haughty disposition by being attached to an upright pole which was attached the saddle of the frightening horse.

“I am the Mouth of Sauron,” the Mouth continued, “and I serve none but the great Eye.”

“What happened to the rest of Sauron?” Pippin snickered unashamedly, but was promptly jabbed in the stomach by the unforgiving point of Gandalf’s staff.

“What do you want?” Gandalf asked impatiently.

“A toothbrush!” the Mouth cried ferociously, spewing the entire company with bits of afternoon lunch. “No, no. That’s not it. I want…world dom—Wait! Before I tell you, I have a gift for you.”

The Mouth made a snapping noise with his tongue, as he had no fingers to snap, and one of his attending guards, who made quite a spectacle of himself by bounding towards the group and doing a back flip mid-jump, laid a pile of stuff before them. Aragorn sneered, and Legolas was undoubtedly thinking ‘I could do better than that!’

“My CLOAK!” Pippin shrieked in horror, seeing the cloak with the Elven brooch torn and dirty. He attempted to leap off the horse upon which he was perched, but, before he could do so, another unrelenting jab quickly followed by a thwack on the head stopped him.

“Peregrin Took, that is NOT your cloak! You’re wearing your own cloak!” Gandalf erupted. “That is FRODO’S cloak!”

“It means he’s dead, you dimwit!” Gimli added to the loudness.

“Frodo’s dead?” Pippin’s face fell and he let out a whimper.

“Frodo’s dead!” Legolas shouted.

“ENOUGH!” the Mouth of Sauron roared, spewing bits of now what now seemed to be leftover….Orc? (Ewww.) “Now for why I am here. I want you to surrender everything so that Sauron wins, and I can boss you and your worthless comrades around!”

“NO!” They all shouted in unison, a forceful sound if there ever was one.

“Okay!” the Mouth said.

Gandalf swept up the cloak, coat and sword. The Mouth, with his acrobatic posse, left.

“SHUT DOWN!” Prince Imrahil called after him. Everyone looked at him quite strangely.


Oddwen – realm of Aulë

At the head of the proceedings rode a rider with a head. And also something to ride his head on. The ride was this: a horse. But no ordinary my little pony was it, but a huge black monster of a stallion with flaming eyes and an utterly COOL warmask, which made it look like a deadly wombat. And the rider was thus: A tall guy, dressed gothically in black, he wore a ridiculously out-of-fashion helm, the likes of which haven’t been seen in like, an age man, but he was obviously not a Ringwraith.

One giveaway was that he wasn’t quite dead. Secondly, he didn’t screech as much, nor did he smell. (That is to say, he did not smell [noun], he certainly stunk [adjective])
The Leutenant of the Tower of Barad-Dûr was he, but his real name was forgotten even by himself (which was probably just as well…his mother probably named him Clarence, or Floyd, or Orlando Bloom or some other prissy name), and he said by way of introduction –
“I am the Mouth of Sauron.”
But he didn’t resemble a mouth at all. Except for his own mouth, which bore a passing resemblance to the same.

It was told that he was a renegade, descended from the Black Numenorians who long ago turned to the Dark Side, for they established their homes in Middle-earth way back when Sauron was the Big Cheese, and they worshipped him and burnt Dwarvish sacrifices to him.
And the Mouth (…Bob?) voluntarily entered the service of the Dark Tower when it first rose again, and because he was so cunning Sauron grew fond of him, and gave him strange anatomycal nicknames. Mouth (…Clyde?) learned great sorcery, and knew much of the mind of Sauron; and he was more cruel than any orc. (Two words…”Air Guitar” *shudder*)

He of the grossly inflated introductory paragraphs it was that now rode out, and with him there were only a few soldieries, bearing a single black banner that was black except for the obligatory Evil Eye of Sauron, which clashed dreadfully with the equally obligatory White Tree of Gondor as shown on Aragorn’s banner.

Now halting before the patch of ground wheron were standing the Captains of the West, he looked them up and down in a highly desultory manner.

“Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?” he asked, neglecting or maybe just forgetting (again) that there happened to be a future king, an elf prince, a king of Rohan, an heir to the Thainship of the Shire, and the most powerful Wizard in Middle-earth standing right in front of him. “Or indeed with wit enough to understand me?” (Alright, I take it back about the elf prince…) “Not thou at least!” he mocked, turning to Aragorn and using extremely archaic language in hopes that it would confound him beyond reason. “It needs more to make a king than a piece of elvish glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!”

Aragorn answered not, but caught the other’s eye and held it with his keen, steely glance, and for a moment they strove thus; but soon the Mouth (…Warren?) screamed in agony and fell off his horse.
“Ow!” he whinedeth. “I am an herald and an ambassador, and may not be an-assailed!”

“NOW Sauron starts to uphold rules of courtesy,” Gandalf the White was heard to mumble before spouting off on an archaic ramble that made the Mouth’s (…Finarfin’s?) head spin. “It is also the custom for ambassadors to use MUCH less insolence. But no one has threatened thee. Thou hast naught to fear from us, until thy errand is done. But unless thy master has wisened up, then thou with all his servants shall be in the deadliesteth peril.”

“Aha!” cried the Messenger, climbing back on his horse, although backwards this time, and it quite spoiled the effect. “So thou art the spokesman, old greybeard? Haven’t we heard of you at whiles, and thy wanderings, ever hatching plots, sub-plots, plot holes, plot bunnies and mischief at a safe distance? You’ve stuck out your oversized nose too far, Mr. Gandalf, and you will see what happens to he who sets his little nets at the feet of Sauron the Great. I have tokens I was bidden to show thee. {No Shnagrot! those are subway tokens!} Ahem! I have THINGS I was bidden to show thee – to thee especially if you daredest to come.” And one of the guards came forward bearing a bundle swathed in (what else?) black.

The Mouth (…Earl?) unwrapped the package, and to the wonder and stuff of all the good guys he held up first a sword that looked suspiciously like one that Samwise Gamgee had been carrying when last they saw him, a grey elven cloak with an elven-brooch that lo

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