The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[The Saucepan Man]

Smoke get in your Tyres

The Hobbits stared disconsolately at the piles of crumbs and broken biscuit which lay neatly at the four corners of Bag-Endless-Fuel.

“Oh well, Pip,” said Merry. “At least you tried.

“Perhaps if I bake them for longer next time, they’ll be stronger,” offered Pippin.

“More likely than not, you’ll burn the place down,” observed Samwise.

“Still,” said Bilbo. “It’s given me some ideas. After all, food is the one thing that we do have in prodigious quantities.”

And so, over the next hour, they tried every possible comestible item of suitable size and shape that they could lay their hands on: large, round slabs of cheese (nice ride quality but prone to warping), huge game pies (too flaky and subject to leakage), enormous pancakes and crumpets (hopeless), monster doughnuts (too flabby and unstable), rollers comprised of impressively-sized cucumbers, marrows and corn-cobs in a row (too irresistible to the local wildlife), immense meatballs (too prone to degradation) and so on. All, alas, to no avail.

Then they moved on to kitchen utensils: plates, pans, dishes, breadboards, rolling-pins, bowls and baking-trays. But though each was crafted with Hobbit appetites in mind, none were quite large enough or strong enough.

Finally, as Frodo headed back to find something else that might avail, his eyes rested on the front door – the round front door.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed. “Hobbit-hole doors are round and just the right size!”

“But will they be strong enough?” asked Merry.

“They will if we nail a few together.”

And so the Hobbits set about removing Bag End’s doors from their frames and nailing them together in groups of three. Next, they carefully fixed them to the axles and stood back to survey the results of their efforts.

“You know, this just might work, my boy,” said Bilbo happily. “Let’s try it out.”

But as the first firework was ignited, and Bag-Endless-Fuel lurched forward unsteadily, it became clear that the ride provided by the makeshift wooden wheels would be unbearably uncomfortable.

“We’ll never make it over the High Pass without tyres on these things,” remarked Bilbo glumly, taking out his pipe and filling it with some Longbottom Leaf to help him think.

Silence once more descended on the living room as the Hobbits mused over the conundrum which faced them. Bilbo’s smoke rings became ever larger as he wracked his brains ever more desperately, until they were the size of large ... tyres!

“That’s it!” he exclaimed. “We shall use smoke rings as our tyres!”

“Smoke rings!” cried Frodo in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Smoke is surely entirely unsuitable as tyre material. It won’t stay on the wheels for a start. And even if it did, it could never support the vehicle’s weight.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” replied Bilbo. “We are taking place in a race in which the vehicles are assorted buildings, cities, towers and geographical features. We have just been attacked by a pack of wheel-obsessed porcupines. I heard from Elrond that Medel-zoom employed a rabid rabbit to get past the Troll, while Sauron turned a pack of rats into a pack of rat-wraiths. We are all stretching the bounds of credulity as it is. Smoke ring tyres are surely entirely in keeping with the way this race has gone so far.”

In no time at all, the Hobbits were back outside, with Bilbo puffing away on his pipe and blowing ever larger rings of smoke. Once they were of sufficient size, he carefully blew a ring around each ad hoc wheel. For a moment, the smoke simply swirled shapelessly around them. But then, as the Hobbits looked on in amazement, it began gradually to coalesce round the wheels, slowly lifting the vehicle slightly off the ground.

“Well I never did …!” spluttered Sam.

Unfortunately, however, the effect lasted only a moment. The Burrow-Buggy began to shake and bob furiously before, with a muffled *pop*, the smoke dissipated and it fell to rest once more on its wooden wheels.

“Blast and botheration!” said Bilbo. “The suspension can't take the strain. The effort required to support the disbelief is too much for it.”

“Hey there little man, what’s going down?” said an unfamiliar voice behind them.

“My car. That’s what!” muttered Bilbo in irritation, turning to see a wild-eyed man with dark brown eyes, a mane of unkempt brown hair, a long brown beard, dressed in a robe of rich reddish-brown and sporting a pair of shiny brown boots. “Now, who are you?”

“I go by the name of …”

“Radagast the Brown!” interrupted Bilbo.

“Er … yes,” Radagast replied. “However did you guess? Anyway, dude, you can call me Rad. It’s a lot less ghastly.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Rad,” said Bilbo, shaking the Brown Wizard firmly by the hand. “I’m Bilbo Baggins. And this is my nephew, Frodo, and …”

But he stopped short as he noticed Radagast staring intently at Frodo.

“Have we met before?” the Istar asked Frodo. “I’ve got this weird feeling like I know you. Like you were family or something …”

“I don’t think so, brother,” Frodo replied.

“Weird, man. I was, like, tending to my garden and feeding the birds back in Rhosgobel when I got this groovy feeling telling me head out over the Anduin to this spot. Like someone close to me was in need of my aid. Anyways, like I said, what’s going down?”

And so Bilbo and the others explained to Radagast about the Mount Zoom Challenge, how they had to win because Gandalf and Elrond were depending on them, but how they could not go on without serviceable tyres.

“Cars, eh? Races?” Radagast said when he had heard enough. “It all seems a bit uncool to me, environmentally speaking. All those fumes polluting the air and hurting the plants and the trees and the animals. And causing global warming and the like.”

“Oh, I can assure you that we use only eco-friendly fireworks to propel Bag-Endless-Fuel,” Bilbo explained. “Provided by none other than Gandalf himself.”

“I see,” answered Radagast. “Well, I can dig that, man.”

“So, can you help us, Rad?”

“Well, seeing as you're friends of Gandalf, and what with the groovy Frodo feeling and all, I guess I can. What’s the problem?”

Bilbo explained about the smoke ring tyres and how the illogicality of the solution had rather overwhelmed the suspension of disbelief. Now back in Valinor, Radagast had been a rather sensible, studious fellow by the name of Aiwendil, logical of mind and rational of thought. And, although he had gone somewhat native on arriving in Middle-earth, he still had the knack of pulling a logical possibility from a logical improbability when the situation called for it.

“You know the best way to make something illogical logical in a place like this?” he asked.

The Hobbits shook their heads. Radagast turned and pointed his finger at a small band of Goblins who had been surreptitiously creeping up on the group, weapons at the ready, whereupon their blades promptly turned into large daffodils. Unsettled and confused, the Goblins turned tail and hopped off back to their Misty Mountain caves.

“Magic, dude!” explained Rad. “If there’s one thing that makes something unbelievable believable in a fantasy world, it’s magic. My normal thing is nature-based magic – you know, flower power and the like – but, hey, magic’s magic, you know?”

And so, after Bilbo had once more blown large smoke rings around the wheels of the little Door-Mobile, the Brown Wizard walked from one to the other, weaving his hands in ornate, swishing patterns and chanting under his breath. And as he went, a transparent film gradually formed over the rings of smoke and bound them to the wheels.

“Cool!” said Rad when he had finished. “That should do the trick. Now, you’d better get going if you’re not to bankrupt the Wise. If I know Gandalf, he’s probably been using the Counsel’s floating fund to support his gambling habit. Fare thee well.”

“So long, Rad!” the Hobbits called, waving farewell as they once more embarked on Bag-Endless-Fuel. “And thanks for all the swish.”

As the funky Brown Wizard watched the little Burrow Buggy heading smoothly off West towards the High Pass, his eyes rested on the smoke swirling around its Hobbit-door wheels, securely harnessed by his magic. Absent-mindedly, he rolled some herbs up in a thin strip of paper, lit it with his finger and inhaled deeply, before letting out a long, and slightly high-pitched, sigh of satisfaction.

[Morsul the Dark]

New treads rock

The Tower surged into motion and with each agonizing turn of the wheels new screams were heard. "Ah sweet music," Gothmog smiled, "You know Montague you are an excellent co-pilot, South-West is a perfect direction. You know what though I bet Dwarfy has more challenges coming up and I bet you have some awesome ideas on how to pass them we have to keep an eye out."

[Gil-Galad]

"thats what i'm here for, i did graduate from Narchost U, where did yo ugraduate from?" Montague asked

"me oh... a little place called Charcost U"

"Charcost! you like the rivla of my university! ha never thought i'd see the day where a CU would be in command of troops..."

"yeah...wait what?"

"oh nothing" Montague said with a smile as the tower continued South-West to the hum of agonizing screams which oddly sounds like Beethovens 5th Symphony...

[Gurthang]

Confessions of a Forgotten Ringwraith

Originally Posted by Alcarillo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about an undercover operation?" Damrod asked.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

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

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

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

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

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

"They don't," said Denethor.

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

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

The soldiers nodded silently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well! What are you waiting for!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Burn it!" swore Denethor.

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

"A giant picnic table?" said Denethor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do we advance?" questioned Húrin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Faramir held up a horn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My hood ornament!" cried Denethor.

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

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

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

"But... my troll!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you barely DID anything!" protested Faramir.

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

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

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

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

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

"But I was the secretary!" protested Faramir.

"Exactly!"

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

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

[Glirdan]

Devloppment

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

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

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

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

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

-10 Minutes-

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

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

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

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

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank Wacky Races...

Saruman was merrily humming along to 'Yellow Submarine' as he took his bath. His bathtub was quite conveniently shaped like a yellow submarine. All of a sudden Grima burst into the bathroom and then for no real reason began running around in circles. "Grima! What are you doing here?!? Who is driving?" Saruman roared angrily. "The porcupines, sir!" Grima replied. "What porcupines? We don't have any porcupines, you fool!" Saruman replied grabbing a towel. "No sir, they flattend all our tyres and went on a hayride with the spares." Grima said. "Well, we'll think of something to do. I must get dressed, until then I expect you to get out and push." Grima nodded walking off.

About half an hour later Saruman joined Grima outside who was desperately trying to push Orth-Tank forwards but had so far done nothing significant. "Grima you fool! Can you not push a tower modified into a car?" Saruman shouted angrily. "But sir..." Grima began only to be cut off by someone singing loudly, "I AM THE EGGMAN, THEY ARE THE EGGMEN, I AM THE WALRUS GOO GOO KA CHU!" followed by The Beatles van coming down from the hill and taking the long and winding road to where Orth-Tank stood. The Beatles all tumbled out of the van one at a time, in this order- John Lennon, George Harrison, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr.

They looked at Saruman and Grima who looked back at them, it was quite obvious everyone was confused and had no real idea as to what was happening. "Ringo, I said left not right!" Harrison said. "But I did turn left!" Ringo replied. "No, you went straight on!" Lennon complained. "We were moving?" McCartney piped in. Saruman looked at Grima with a long face, this would be a hard days night.

After spending five minutes watching the Beatles argue over who took the wrong turn and then watching them set up their instruments and do nothing with them, Grima began to tug on Saruman's cloak. "What is it you measly excuse for an ameoba?" Saruman asked impatiently. Grima pointed at the wheels on the Beatles' van. "Not now Grima, I'm trying to think of a way to get moving again. Let it be. Let them go on their Magical Mystery Tour." Said Saruman when all of a sudden his eyes lit up and he said, "Why thats a great idea! Listen, Grima! We could steal their tyres!" Saruman said beaming.

As Grima and Saruman began to discuss how to get the tyres away from the Beatles Lennon shouted out at them, "Oi! We've got a song for you!" After which they began to play 'I Need You' to Saruman and Grima, stating that it was in honor of their great friendship. After the performance Saruman called for the band's attention and said, "Now listen, we need your tyres!" This statement caused them to begin playing 'Drive My Car'. Saruman slapped his fore-head, this would indeed be a hard days night.

[THE Ka]

((OOC: Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been asked by Sleepy if I would continue his Orth-Tank Wacky Races post. As I am in course of my life to be kind to those who deserve such, I have taken up this request. I hope that this shall not be any harm to The Mount Zoom Challenge players, spectators, managers, and any other affiliation to this thread. Poděkovat vám všem.

Sincerely,
THE Ka

))
The Orth-Tank Continues...

As Saruman was about to just send off Grima to jack the car, steal the wheels, and possibly make off with the stereo, (even if there was an apple in it), The Beatles reminded Saruman of a possible plan. Grima just was perplexed with astonishment that The Beatles were playing for them, and slowly snuck out an autograph book, just in case Saruman wasn't looking.

" Grima! Put that diary away! I have a plan..." Saruman barked out the side of his mouth.
" sigh... Yes master?"
" I believe there is a possible way to get tyres out of these musicians without ending up in more of a sour milk sea... Grima! Go fetch me my bath, quickly!"
" Which one master?"
Saruman with a mixed look of utter astonishment and slight coy pitty for such a helpless creature he saw Grima as, pulled him by his collar and gave his orders with a drone.
" Don't play stupid with me, Grima! You know, the one I take here, there and everywhere! The one I most positively use eight days a week!"
" ... I still don't get your point." Grima said flinchingly.
" The Yellow Submarine! Fetch it now, and there better be no scratches!" Saruman roared as The Beatles' ears picked up his words, and began to play just that. Yellow Submarine...

" Ah ob la di, ob la da! If I don't make it out of here soon my head's going to go helter skelter..." Saruman began to rumb his temples. Suddenly, he was shaken out of his thoughts to the sound of a rather yellow, submarine-like tub hitting the ground. Turning back in rage, to possibly find his beloved bath indeed sunk in disrepair, Saruman looked up Grima, sitting in the bath, which had been moved down the stairs of the Orth-Tank with nothing but a bath mat and a few rubber ducks.
" How did you - Nevermind! Grima, get out of that tub with your filthiness. I have propositions to make!"
Saruman walked over to The Beatles as they were finishing Yellow Submarine, with Grima slowly trailing behind with the bath on his back.

" Excuse me fellows, but since I see you are a little attached to your tyres, I wish to know if you would like to make a trade." Saruman said with his best charm and a rather convincing smile.
The Beattles were about to play again, but their curiousity was caught. Well, that of Paul's at most.

" What do you want our tyres for Saruman? ... And what's that greasy fellow carrying on his back?" McCartney asked.
Saruman's smile widened. I can almost see those tyres on the Orth-Tank! Just have to played them a bit longer, and see if they will take this bath... Though, I'll miss it. It's a wonderful tub.

Grima was just stunned that Paul had adressed him indirectly, and was almost squashed by the girth of the yellow tub as he brought it over.
" Well Paul you see Grima here was driving, but unfortunately I forgot how utterly stupid and mechcanically challenged he is. Alas, I wish I could hire better, but his damn HMO won't let me torture him for another year -"
" There was porcupines Paul!" Grima couldn't help but bursting out. Even if it was his first and last attempt at saying, 'hello' to McCartney indirectly.
" Grima! When I want a babbling fool I'll ask for one! ... Oh, and yes, apparently porcupines ran off with our spares..." Saruman's face was turning red. This had indeed, if not anything else, been a hard day's night.

" Tough break my friend, is there anyway we can help you out?" Harrison addressed in a cool tone, Saruman obviously was a serious type.
" Well, there is one way. I would like to make a trade off. Your tyres for my yellow submarine bath!" Saruman stepped back with the grace of a salesman on the peak of a deal. There it stood, in all of it's great yellow lusture of cleanliness - The Yellow Submarine of tubs.
The Beatles stared at it at first with amasement, then slight, but cool despiration. They hadn't been to a good hotel in a week, all thanks to Ringo's apparent lack of direction, and mixed in with the fact that Middle Earth wasn't exactly anywhere near their tour stops, though, they were still trying to fiend off masses of fangirls that appeared out of no where. All in all, that bath looked like a good trade.

" That tub is amazing, and let's face it, we haven't been to a good hotel is a week! I say we take it, we can get more tyres later!" Ringo said amongst his fellow band mates, hoping that they might see his logic.
" Wait! Where are we going to get tyres in a place like this? I know the bath looks wonderful beyond all imagination, but think of the tyres!" George tried to make a case with them, even if that tub was really, truly amazing, and would look great in the tour somewhere.
Saruman was about to just send Grima out and take the tyres anyway and keep the bath for himself when Lennon closed the deal.
" Saruman, we'll take it!"

" I'm so glad you all saw what a deal this tub is, really, I enjoyed it very much myself... So, that'll be four tyres you can give?" Saruman said with a smile.
The tires were soon off The Beattle's van and the Orth-Tank was ready to go, leaving a rather glum group with the impressive yellow submarine bath.

" John! Where are we going to find more tyres?! It's not as if this bath has it all you know, though, it is rather impressive." McCartney couldn't believe that John, out of all people would trade good tyres for a yellow tub, even if it was wonderful. They all felt as gloomy as Eleanor Rigby, and most definately would not be being for the benefit of Mr. Kite. Just when things would go helter skelter, John explained his reasoning:
" Mates! It was a good trade! Besides, we have spares in the back under the equipment."
Pulling back a few instrument cases, there lay the band's spare wheels in boxes, everyone could breathe again.
" ...And I thought those were birthday present drum cases!" Ringo pipped in. After putting the spares on, and getting the tub to fit somewhere on or in the van, The Beatles were off and hopfully on their way to the tour.

After having a few moments to enjoy belittling Grima even more, Saruman had the Orth-Tank back on it's due course, humming a bit of 'Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except for Me and My Monkey'...

[Valier]

Medul-Zoom A little Prick causes alot of troubles


Eowyn: 51....52.....53.....54.....55.....56....

BANG!!! HISSSSSSSSSSSS!

Eowyn: "Now look what's happened! My brush has become stuck in my hair! Someone is going to pay for this"

*Stalks off to find her Uncle*

Eowyn: "Uncle! Uncle? What is the meaning of all this racket? Why have we stopped?"

Theoden: "I am unsure my dear, I have sent Hama out to have a look."

*The door to Medul-zoom flies open and there stands Hama holding his nose and panting as if he was running*

Hama: "My lord....Our tyres are gone!"

Theoden: "What do you mean gone?"

Hama: "Well only one is gone and the others are flat....and it smells really bad out there!"

Theoden: "Well do we not have spares?"

Hama: "No me lord."

Theoden: "Well that is great! Just great! Any idea as to where the tyres went?

Hama: " A porcupine stole them."

Theoden: "A porcupine?"

Hama: "A porcupine my lord."

Theoden: "A porcupine dear Hama?"

Hama: "Yes Sir a porcupine."

Theoden: "Now what would a porcupine want with our tyres Hama?"

Hama:" I know not my Lord."

Theoden: "Well if you do not know, and I do not know......"

Eowyn: *Ahem* If you two are done......Who cares how or why they were stolen! I have a brush stuck in my hair!"

Theoden: "here Hama you hold her still and I will extract the brush......Ok on three..."

Hama: "Pull when you say three or before you say three?"

Theoden: "I said on the count of three....that means when I say three you pull."

Hama: "Now when you say three, do I pull on three or pull for the number three?"

Eowyn: "AAAAHHHHH You two are crazy! Leave my hair alone! All I need is a big bald spot for Faramir to see!"

Eowyn: " I know what to do.....again!.....

*Eowyn reaches into her hidding spot....*Ahem* between the Tata's and pulls out a card that reads...

M.E.A.A

Your friendly neighbourhood,get your vehikle out of trouble company.

Eowyn: "These guys are always around when you need them!"

Eowyn:* Walks over to the table and picks up a large goblet and places it over her ear*

Eowyn:" Hello?.......Hello?........Our vehikle is broke!....Hello?....

Theoden: Ummmm My dear......The Eagles that run that buisness are working for the Dwarf who runs this race."

Eowyn:*Pouts* Well what else are we supposed to do? We are falling behind in the race, we need to figure out a way to make us go faster!"

Theoden: "Well I think I have a plan brewing in this here old head........But I am reluctant to do it.....*Pouts* It involves shaving some of my Golden Hall.

Hama: "Shaving? My lord?"

Theoden: " Yes Hama, that is what I said....Shaving!"

Hama: “But Sir, we are fresh out of Gillette…”

Theoden: *Glaring at Hama* “No you fool, I don’t mean THAT shaving. You know as well as I do that it took me seven years to grow this beard, I ain’t loosing it for no race! No, what I mean is…” *whispers whispers*

Eowyn: *Feminine whispers whispers whispers?*

Hama: *whispers*

Theoden, glaring at Hama again: *whispers whispers you fool whispers*

Half an hour later, all the smiths of Medul-zoom were called to their lord’s presence. Theoden’s announcement surprised them all. Thirty percent of the golden hall would be scraped off and made into… the golden runners for the golden sled! Without tires *ahem* tyres nor replacements, and without rubber to make new ones, it would be the only way out.

The works started right away and soon the banging of hammers could be hear all through Medul-zoom. Theoden sure wished his ancestors had not decided to have the dome made out of gold, given that a dome being hit by a hundred hammers sounds like a giant bell being hit by a hundred hammers… while having one’s head inside the bell itself.

Shortly thereafter, enough gold was scraped off yet there was one inconvenience. It was impossible to melt so much gold fast enough. Theoden was in a sour mood, realizing that he had scraped thirty percent of his golden hall for nothing when Hama himself came up with a perfect plan.

Hama: “My lord do you recall what happened with the Nazghulrats of Mt. Zoom?”

Theoden: “Yeah, they got incinerated, why?”

Hama: “Well… how did they get incinerated?”

Eowyn: “By a baby-dragon’s fire!”

Theoden: “Not fair! It was my turn to answer, she’s a cheater”

Eowyn: “nananana I win, you loose now you get a big bruise”

Hama: “Please, my lord and lady, we need to get going”

Theoden: “Well, then get to the point”

Hama: “Well, what if we pretended that three of those nazghulrats found their way to our pile of un-molten gold?”

Theoden: “Why, the little dwarf would probably try to burn them to crisps!”

Eowyn: “And that would certainly melt the gold!”

Theoden: “Go to your room, you are trying to steal my thunder”

Eowyn: "Ummmmm I think not! I shall not be caged! You get the gold ready and lace it with some steel from some swords to make it strong,then I shall go and make Ratnazgul decoys for the dragon to burn. Let's meet back here in an hour."

Theoden:*rolls eyes*

AN HOUR LATER

The gold and steel had been fashioned into ski molds and was equipped with three large black Rat looking decoys on each side.

Eowyn:* Yelling up into the sky* YOOOHOOOO!!!! DWARFY?????? I think we have a NazgulRat problem! See them there all in parellel lines? Could you send your dragon to burn them up?!!

Out through the clouds swept the tiny dragon, who let forth a stream of flames that burn up the decoys and melted the gold till it bubbled.Then flew back into the great blue expanse that is the sky.

Eowyn: " There now we have two skis that will certainly get us over that mountain quicker than the other teams. I will leave you men to the work of attaching the skis and readying the horses for our departure."

After alot of grunting and groaning, the ski's were attached and the great Medul-zoom was ready to hit the road again.

Theoden: Well that's it then....we are officially a sled. I shall sit up front and lead the way. Eowyn now that you have changed your outfit again, would you care to join me?

Eowyn: *Sits beside Theoden in a new red dress with matching white hat(to hide the hair brush)*"On fair horses! Take us West towards the High pass. We shall make easy work of this pass with our new means of transportation."
Theoden:*grumbles* "Trying to steal my thunder again!"

[Glirdan]

Stony Wheels

"HOW ABOUT WE TAKE THAT STONE TROLL THAT WAS DOWN IN THE ENGINE-ROOM AND CRAFT WHEELS OUT OF HIM?" Sauron shouted.

"I don't think I'll ever hear again...Anyway, yes, that actually sounds like a good plan master!" Mouth agreed. So the two ran down the passageway to the Troll Engine-Room and burst through the door. It took thr Trolls about five minutes to realize that their master and his mouth had entered. "We really do need better servants..." Mouth said exhaustedly.

"AGREED! AND AS SOON AS WE MAKE IT TO THE FINISH LINE, WE WILL FIND BETTER HELP! BUT FOR NOW, WE NEED TO GET PAST THE EVIL PORCUPINE PREDICAMENT!" They made their way over to the Troll (which, convieniently, was still in the exact spot where he was turned to stone) and began chiseling him with convieniently placed chisels. Mouth was just about to break the Trolls right arm off when a spirit arose from the ground. "MY MORGOTH! WHAT IN MY LATE MASTERS NAME IS GOING ON HERE TODAY!? FIRST A RAT WRAITH SPIRIT AND NOW THIS!!"

"You shall no touch my body!" The spirit shouted in anger. It was then they realised that the spirit was that of the Troll which they were chiseling.

"AND WHO'S GOING TO STOP ME!? YOU!? MWHAHAHA! DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH!!" Sauron continued to chisel the arm and it evenutally fell off.

"That's it! Now you've done it!" the spirit shouted. "I place a curse on my body parts so that you shall never touch them again!!" As he said this, his body parts body and his arm, began to float up to the cieling and as the body progressed, different body parts broke off and spaced themselves out along the roof.

"NO!! OUR WHEELS!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" Sauron cried turning towards the spirit. But once he looked, it was no longer there. "WHAT!? WHERE'D HE GO!?"

"Ummm, while you were complaining and yelling, he said that he was off to a tea party with Morgoth..." mouth said.

"OOOO. WELL, WHAT ARE WE TO DO NOW?" Sauron asked. It was then that Mouth realised that the Mountain was floating in mid air.

"Ummm....is this supposed to happen?"

"IS WHAT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN?"

"The Mountain...It's floating!"

"WHAT!?" Sauron cried. He ran to the window and looked at the ground and noticed that they were about five feet off the ground. "WELL, THIS IS CONVIENIENT!" Sauron shouted with glee.

"Yes, it is. Now, all we have to do is figure out how to control it..." Mouth said.

"ALREADY DONE!"

"What? What did you do?"

"I SET IT TO VOICE ACTIVATION! SO, ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS IN WHICH DIRECTION WE WOULD LIKE TO GO, AND WE'LL GO!!"

"Brilliant master! Just one question, when did you do that? Wait...don't answer that... I don't think I want to know..."

"OKAY! IF YOU SAY SO. MOUNTAIN, HEAD FOR THE HIGH PASS!!" and Mount Zoom zoomed off towards the High Pass.

[Alcarillo]

Behold! The Flying City of Minas Mor-go!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmmm, mhmmm."

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

"Mhmmm, mhmmm."

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

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

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

"I see, I see. Go on."

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

"Hmmm. Okay."

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

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

"Why me?" asked #3.

"Because I said so, idiot."

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Maeggaladiel]

Punchline!

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

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

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

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Goin' Goods!

The Eyrie copter flew nicely over the River Anduin. A small rope ladder lead down from it and flapped just over a small Dwarf who was filling buckets and flinging them on the small fire that had started in the base of the copter. One of the Baby Dragons had got out and gone to help Medel zoom, and upon it's returning it had got a little over excited.

Eventually, Dwarfy got the fire out and clambered back into the Eyrie copter and zoomed up into the clouds. Now, Minas Mor-go is a magnificent sight, even if it is a city of complete horror, it was staggeringly beautiful and, as Dwarfy has just discovered, a heck of a thing to get hit by in the small of the back.

"Oi!" he cried, "That’s not fair!" An Orc laughed and threw a brick at Dwarfy who ducked and then steered the copter away from the mad city in the sky. After getting the copter under control, at last, he climbed higher and used his patented Dwarf-o-scope to see the progress of the racers. It seemed that Minas Taxi was pulling ahead.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Fourth Challenge: Shelob's Lazy lob.

The problems just keep coming at the moment. Driving along, your driver falls asleep at the wheel. When the driver is awoken, you discover you are caught in a giant spider web. Fortunately, the Giant spider is asleep. It’s a Lazy lob. (And may well be a crazy cob).
You need to get out of the net and away from the Spider by any means possible!

Good luck!

************************************
BAD BONUSES!

Orth Tank has moved down to the Entwash due to their last bonus.
Mount Zoom and Bag Endless-fuel have come into a strange situation...
While climbing over the Misty Mountains by the High Pass, they came across some troublesome goblins. The Goblins captured the vehicles and nocked out the driver and assistant. When they awoke they found themselves in Drúwaith Laur near the river Isen.

************************************

[Formendacil]

Denethor

Minas Tirith was again running, but Denethor was in a rather bad mood.

"Porcupines! Of all the nasty creatures! Why couldn't it have been platypuses or something?" he muttered. "We're probably leagues behind the other teams! Confound them all!"

He shook his head. It had been a long night, and he was tired.

"Father," Faramir poked his head into the control room, "you're looking very tired. Should I take the helm?"

"Nonsense!" said Denethor. "I'm as fit as a fiddle."

"More like a bass fiddle," muttered Faramir to himself.

"What was that?" demanded Denethor sharply. "You're starting to mumble. It's time you went to bed! It's hours past your bedtime."

"I'm a grown man!" protested Faramir.

"You're still beholden to obey the Lord and Steward of the Realm, though, are you not?" snapped Denethor.

"Yes, but you're no longer the Lord of the Realm- that's King Elessar," pointed out Denethor.

"I'm still the Steward though!" said Denethor, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You. BED. Now."

"But we aren't even in the realm..." protested Faramir.

"You are a citizen of Gondor, no matter where we are!" said Denethor with a glare, "and Minas Tirith is a part of the Realm of Gondor, no matter where she drives!"

"All right! All right! I'm going to bed!" said Faramir. "Maybe you should park the city while we both sleep."

"Nonsense!" scoffed Denethor. "We've been held up long enough as it is. You sleep, I'll drive."

Still looking hesitant, Faramir exited the tower. Denethor continued to mutter under his breath long after his son had fallen asleep.

"Thinks me senile... Ha! I'm only a year older than Thorongil- and you don't hear people calling HIM senile... Fall asleep indeed.... Calls me a bass fiddle does he? At least it's manly... He's nothing but a piccollo! Why isn't Boromir here, anyway? Great man, Boromir... Takes after his father... Good man, his father.... Wise man... never uncloaks, him... Yes, I never uncloak... Confound Mithrandir... definitely confound him... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......"

The next thought that Denethor remembered came to him when he awoke suddenly, face splayed against the helm. Faramir was shaking him awake.

"Father! Father! Are you all right? Have you had a stroke? Or heart attack???"

Denethor roused himself, and stood up.

"Nonsense, I just dozed off... How long have I been out?"

"Probably three hours," said Faramir. "Húrin said he noticed the city start to veer at that time, but he assumed that you were just taking us on a new course. But when we got stuck in giant spiderweb, he went and got me- and here I am."

"It can't be three hours," said Denethor. "It was just a moment or two, I'm sure. Wait- you said something about a giant spiderweb?"

"Yes, the city is stuck in one," replied Faramir, and gestured out the window. Denethor peered out. His jaw dropped. An huge orb web hung between two tall peaks of the Misty Mountains. And the front of the city was stuck right in it, from the bottom circle up to the top of the spine of stone on which the troll statue was set.

Denethor licked his lips anxiously, swallowed, and turned to Faramir. "Any sign of the spider?"

"Not yet..." replied Faramir.

[Meneltarmacil]

A bit of a problem...

While Saruman had gone upstairs to get some rest, Grima had been driving Orth-Tank steadily along.

He soon grew tired of this and began to hum some music to himself, not paying any attention to what the tower was doing. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

This didn't last long, however, as the tower came to a sudden stop with a loud SSSSQQQQUUUUIIIISSSSHHH. A huge spiderweb held them fast.

Saruman charged downstairs to where Grima was still sleeping on the job and woke him up by bellowing the usual set of curses, insults, and threats at him. Grima, as usual, responded with the best "Duh?" he could muster.

"Well," said the wizard, "no thanks to your lazyness, we're stuck in a gigantic web. I don't suppose you have any ideas as to how to get us OUT of what you've gotten us into?"

"I, uh, might," Grima responded, "but, um, uh, it would be a little, uhhhhh"

"WHAT?!" Saruman yellled.

"I was going to suggest you get your lawyer to sue the spider for being a hazard to navigation, but I thought it would be a little too evil even for us." finished Grima.

[Maeggaladiel]

Stranded!


Sauron was dreaming of pretty pink ponies and cupcakes, and innocent villagers being burned alive. It was a good dream.

He was just about to bite into a chocolate cupcake with mocha sprinkles when Mouth started screaming at him to wake up.

"My lord!" Mouth's voice cried out, forcing the cupcake to dissappear in a puff of turqoise smoke and miniature turtles with wings. "My lord!"

"BWHUZZZAH?" Sauron asked groggily as the dream fizzled away into nothingness. "WAIT CUPCAKE! DON'T LEAVE! I- OH. IT IS YOU, MOUTH."

The Dark Lord's head ached. Groaning, he raised his hand and scratched his iron helm. There was a large dent in the metal.


"HWUH?" Saruon asked. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"I'm not sure, my lord," Mouth answered honestly. "I think we were attacked and knocked out."

Sauron thought about this. He looked around him; the inside of Mount Zoom seemed much more.... natural.

"WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!" Sauron boomed. Mouth's headache became ten times worse.

"Yes, my lord," Mouth replied. "Someone stole--"

"SOMEONE HAS STOLEN THE INTERIOR OF MOUNT ZOOM AND REPLACED IT WITH OUTDOORS!" The dark lord stood and looked around.

"They stole ALL of Mount Zoom, my lord," Mouth corrected wearily. "And they've left us stranded here."

Sauron rubbed his chin thoughtfully, creating a horrible metal-on-metal squeal as he did so.

"I SUSPECT THAT GNOMEY THE DWARF FELLOW HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT," Saurons said.

"DWARFY the Dwarf," Mouth corrected.

"SAME DIFFERENCE. ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT WE FIND MOUNT ZOO-- WHAT WAS THAT?"

There were sounds coming from behind them. They were not alone in this place. Something deep inside of Sauron recognized the presence. It was... familiar, somehow. It was...

"HOBBITS!" Sauron roared angrily. "THOSE LITTLE RING-THEIVES ARE HERE, MOUTH OF ME! I CAN FEEL IT!"

"Well, maybe they're stranded too. Perhaps we should join forces or--" SMACK! Mouth got a fist of iron on the top of his head.

"COME BACK TO YOUR SENSES!" Sauron said. "US? JOIN FORCES WITH THE HOBBITS!? WE MUST DO WHAT IS IMPORTANT HERE, MOUTH."

"Find Mt. Zoom?"

"MAAAAYBE.... OR FIND MY RING. WHICHEVER WE COME ACROSS FIRST."

Mouth raised an eyebrow. Sauron finally stared down at the ground sullenly.

"FINE," he muttered. "WE'LL FIND THE MOUNTAIN...."

[Formendacil]

Denethor

Denethor and Faramir stared dumbly- and glumly- at the giant spiderweb for a good five minutes before saying anything. And by "dumbly", I do not mean that they were stupid- although some have said that. No, I mean that they were silent. Mute.

Then, rather suddenly, Beregond came tearing into the control room.

"Lord Faramir! We've found it!"

"What?" said Denethor, shaken out his his reverie.

"The Spider, milord, we've found it!"

"No, I mean what do you mean talking to Faramir first?" said Denethor. "I am still the Lord and Steward of this city, am I not?"

"Er... yes... but it was Lord Faramir who ordered that we find the spider," explained Beregond.

"You did this without consulting me?" Denethor narrowed his eyes at Faramir.

"You were asleep, Father!"

"That's no excuse! Anyway, where is this spider?" Denethor turned back to Beregond.

"It's just around that outcropping of stone, sleeping!" said Faramir. "We would have tried to pre-emptively kill it, but we found ourselves shaking too hard to hold our weapons steady, so we fled- that is to say, we retreated, back to the city."

"I think I hear something," interrupted Faramir.

"What do you mean, you hear something?" said Denethor.

"Be quiet and listen!"

"Are you telling me to be quiet!" Denethor roared, but the noise that Denethor was hearing was suddenly a great deal louder, as though the volume had been turned up.

"Is that... music?" asked Faramir.

"It has a beat," said Denethor, "but I wouldn't call it music."

"Verily, milord," said Húrin, "that is known as music. I believe the younger generation calls it 'hip-hop'."

Even as they were discussing the "music", the spider clambered over the outcropping of rock, and into their view. It began to wiggle and shake in time with the music.

"What is that horrid spider up to?" asked Denethor in revulsion. "And look at it's size- it must be the offspring of Ungoliant herself!"

"I think it's dancing..." said Faramir.

"A Dancing Spawn of Ungoliant!" said Denethor, amazed. "Now I've seen everything."

"We're still no closer to getting out of here," pointed out Faramir. "And now the beast is awake."

[Maeggaladiel]

Sauron and Mouth had been walking around aimlessly for some time, searching for Mount Zoom. They had made certain to steer clear of the Hobbits, because Mouth knew that the Dark Lord could be a little obsessive when it came to his precious ring. After all, if he had his ring again, he would have the awesome power to make Mt. Zoom far more fuel efficient. And what with the price of gasoline these days, he really couldn't afford NOT to have it.

"HOW COULD ANYBODY HIDE AN ENTIRE MOUNTAIN ON WHEELS?" Sauron grumbled. He grabbed a rock and lifted it. A centipede scurried away, robbed of its hiding spot. "NOT HERE, EITHER."

"My lord, how could--OW!" Mouth was interrupted as something small and hard fell onto his head. "What the ruddy Morgoth was that?!" He looked down. A shiny black rock was at his feet. He picked it up. "What's this?"

The Dark Lord leaned forward and took the rock from Mouth. He turned it over in his hand and looked at it with an experienced eye.

"OBSIDIAN," Sauron remarked casually. "VOLCANIC GLASS. TRUST ME; I KNOW A FEW THINGS ABOUT VOLCANIC ROCK. MOUNT ZOOM IS A VOLCANO, AFTER ALL."

"Why on Middle Earth would volcanic glass fall from the sky?" grumbled Mouth.

You could almost see the little thought lightbulbs appearing over their heads. Slowly, Mouth and Sauron looked up.

"HOLY WING OF BALROG!!!" Sauron cursed. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF EVIL IS THAT?!"

The great Mt Zoom was suspended in midair, wrapped in a shining white substance that was stretched between a rock cliff and some trees.

"Must be some pretty sturdy trees," remarked Mouth. "And some pretty strong rope. To think, Mt. Zoom was right under our noses the whole time."

"ABOVE OUR NOSES," Sauron corrected.

"Quite."

They stared at Mt. Zoom for a while, in silence.

"So what now?" Mouth asked.

"WE MUST GET IT DOWN," Sauron said. "I'LL CALL THE RAT WRAITHS TO THROW A ROPE OUT THE WINDOW. RAT WRAAAAAIITHS!"

Sauron waited, but there was no reply. He tried again. And again.

"WHAT COULD THEY BE DOING UP THERE?" he asked.

Finally, they heard a tiny sound drifting through the window.

"squeeekie... squieeekeesqueekiee! SQUEEEK."

"What do they say, My Lord?" asked Mouth. Sauron sighed.

"OH YEAH, LIKE I CAN SPEAK RAT." he said flatly.

If Sauron had learned to speak rat, and then the southern Rat Wraith dialect, he might have heard something like, "We're stuck to a giant web and can't come to the window right now. Please leave a message after the 'squeak' and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. SQUEEEEK."

[Meneltarmacil]

The spider crawled down the web, intent on devouring what it had caught. But standing before it on the balcony of Orth-Tank was a truly horrifying sight.

A man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase was reading some kind of important document.

"Your web, spider, is clearly a hazard to navigation in this area. Since you knowingly put this giant web up to catch food though this was clearly a major route of travel in the country of Rohan, you must pay a sum of money of at least..."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!" the spider shrieked. It fell off the web, extremely pale and extremely dead as well. Saruman's lawyer had destroyed it quickly, efficiently, and mercilessly.

The Uruk-Hai burned off the webs and the tower drove off WEST toward the Gap of Rohan.

[Alcarillo]

On Minas Soar-gul

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Saucepan Man]

Over Hill and Under the Influence

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

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

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

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

As they worked, the mechanics started to sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feeling … shleepy …” murmured Frodo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He broke off, gibbering.

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

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

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

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

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

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And as flammable, too", remarked Faramir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but-"

"And what are you, eh?"

"A polka prince", Faramir said and blushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Maeggaladiel]

Spidery Doom


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"HOW DID YOU GUESS?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sauron!"

"GIMMIE A SEC."

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

"MY LORD!!"

"HOLD ON."

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

"MY LOOOORRRD!!!!"

"DONE."

Saruon emerged, with something hidden behind his back.

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

Mouth grit his teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"NEVER FAILS," Sauron said.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Report," he addressed Húrin.

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

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

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

"What are our odds?" asked Faramir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Alcarillo]

Minas Mor-go is freed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To the High Pass!" cried Khamûl.

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

[Valier]

Medul-zoom "The curse"


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

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

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

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

Hama cautiously opens the doors and steps outside.

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

Theoden:"A web?

Hama: "Yes me Lord a web!"

Theoden: "A web dear Hama?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hama: " Sticks! Get us some sticks!"

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

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

*Poke, Poke, Poke*

Eowyn: " Hey! Spider! Hey!"

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

Theoden: "Dave? Who is this Dave?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A SHORT TIME LATER

Eowyn: "Yoohooo Dave!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*The three look at each other and giggled.*


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Caranlondien]

Files and Spiders

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, go on, then,” urged Pippin.

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

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

“Now what?” asked Sam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fifteen minutes later, they had gotten:

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

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

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

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

“It can’t hurt,” replied Frodo.

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

“What’s it doing?” asked Sam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Caranlondien]

Files and Spiders, continued

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

The arrow hovered over the button. Pippin tapped it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Maeggaladiel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Barrad Dash freed.

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

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

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

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The hardest Challenge yet is coming!

BAD BONUSES!

Medel Zoom and Minas Mor-go have come into a strange situation...
While climbing over the Misty Mountains by the High Pass, they came across some troublesome goblins. The Goblins captured the vehicles and knocked out the driver and assistant. When they awoke they found themselves in Drúwaith Laur near the river Isen.

Dwarfy watched as Bag Endless fuel seemed to be going forward again. Yet something wasn't right with the buggy... or any of the other vehicles either! Something was terribly wrong! There was smoke coming out of the bottoms of the vehicles. Dwarfy sent a Baby Dragon to report. When it returned, he was terrified!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Fifth Challenge: Balrogs in the Basement

The Dragon reports a terrible evil in the lower reaches of the vehicles! A creature of shadow and flame, messing about with the inner workings of the engines and generally scaring the heck out of everyone.
Get it out of there!




Challenge ends on Wednesday 17th May

[Caranlondien]

A Very, Very Warm Welcome

Having finished the Dorwinion wine in celebration of their narrow escape, the hobbits sat around the table enjoying a pipe with the recently arrived Gandalf. He had reached Bag-Endless-Fuel an hour or two ago, after several days' searching for the wayward hobbit hole. Upon hearing of their goblin-induced detour into a spider's web, the wizard laughed heartily.

"I bet he wouldn't find our near-death experiences so amusing if we weren't in the lead right now," whispered Frodo to Sam.

As the company puffed on their pipes, they failed to notice that a darker, thicker smoke was rising from the engine room below.

The hobbits listened politely as Gandalf recounted a particularly amusing decloaking incident that had occurred last week, hoping this meant that he'd not be decloaking this week.

Gandalf finished his tale. Frodo blew a smoke ring and sighed contentedly. "Ah, it's nice to be back on track," he said.

"It is indeed," said his uncle. Bilbo sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, prepared to have a bit of a nap. His plans changed, however, when Bag-Endless-Fuel gave a stomach-turning lurch and careened suddenly off to one side, spinning as it went. Finally the craft came to a halt.

The kitchen furniture went flying, and it took a moment or two for the chair's previous occupants to extricate themselves from the jumble of wood that was now strewn about the floor.

Standing, Sam volunteered to have a look from the chimney-top to see what was going on outside. Gandalf looked around, a frightened (and frightening) gleam in his eyes. He muttered something to himself and waved his hand through a cloud of smoke, which was now quite clearly not coming from the hobbits' pipes. Sam re-emerged from the hearth with the news that he could see nothing outside which might have caused their course-change.

"Well what could have done it, then?" asked Frodo. The other hobbits looked around uncertainly. Frodo turned to Gandalf. "What could have caused this?" he asked of the wizard. Even as he asked, he could begin to smell the odor of something burnt. Thick, dark smoke was pouring into the kitchen now.

"I fear this is the work of a power far beyond you," Gandalf replied gravely. "But let us hope I am wrong. Perhaps it is merely some trifle; That we're on fire, or something."

"On fire?" cried Sam. "You call that a trifle? The engine room's full of fireworks!"

The sound of Ted Sandyman's horn confirmed for them that something was, indeed, wrong.

"You can all go check on that," suggested a nervous Pippin. "And I'll start making elevensies." He quickly donned an apron.

[The Saucepan Man]

The Tale of Durin’s Drain

“What do you think the problem might be, Gandalf?” asked Bilbo.

“I hope to goodness that I am mistaken, but I fear that I am not. Long ago, under the leadership of Durin the Breathless, the Dwarves opened a brand new racing track in the depths of Moria. The circuit of Khazad-Zoom, it was called. Yet, in their eagerness to fashion the perfect racing line, they delved too deeply and awakened a dreadful creature: a thing of smoke and fire, which sustained itself through the consumption of mechanical items. On the circuit’s inaugural race, the beast attacked. Cars, pit garages, grandstands and hospitality suites: all succumbed to its insatiable appetite. Only two teams escaped the carnage, and they lost most of their cars and spare parts. Of the terrible fate of the race organisers, nothing is known. The affair dealt a perilous blow to Dwarven racing ambitions and the sport took years to recover. The loss to the Dwarven economy was incalculable, and so the creature ever after was known as Durin’s Drain. The circuit of Khazad-Doom itself was abandoned and fell into ruin. In recent years, however, a party of Dwarves, led by Nascarlin son of Formallawundin, attempted to re-establish and refurbish the facilities there. I fear that they may once again have awakened Durin’s Drain.”

“But what does that have to do with us?” ventured Frodo.

“There has been no contact with Nascarlin and his company for some years. I suspect that all there is now lost and that, hearing of the Mount Zoom Challenge, the creature has emerged from Moria in search of further mechanical parts to satisfy its terrible appetite.”

“Y-y-you m-mean …?” stuttered a terrified Bilbo.

“Yes! The creature is feasting within engine room of Bag-Endless-Fuel right now.”

“Ai!” all wailed.

“Come, now that the exposition is done with, there is not a moment to lose,” commanded Gandalf. “To the engine room!”

[Valier]

Medel-Zoom Of DwarfBots and the Balrog Bagman



Eowyn: *dreaming*She is seen running through the fields of "Faragorn" running and spinning in the middle of knee high Aragorn's and Faramir's, their wild hair waving in the wind, when suddenly she hear a poor little puppy, whining.... then......*POOF!!*

The dream dissipates as Eowyn lifts her head from the steering wheel, as a great throbbing begins. A long string of drool connected to her face drips into her lap as she opens her eyes and *sighs* realizing it was only a dream. She also realizes that the puppy whining is coming from her uncle. He lay sprawled on the floor, arms raised, pawing at the air and whimpering slightly.

Eowyn: *jostles Theoden* "Uncle! Uncle! Wake up!"

Theoden: *Startled and shouts* "No more goat soup!"

Eowyn: *stares in bewilderment* "Goat soup? It seems uncle that we have been ambushed! We are no longer where we were! The mountains are no longer in sight!"

*KNOCK!! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!*

Theoden opens the doors to Medel-zoom holding his head in pain. There stands a scrawny little man in a long white coat. He shouts with a swooping wave of his arms "Hello everybody!"

Theoden: "Who are you and what do you want?"

In turn the stranger replies " I am professor Nick and I hear you have a terrible problem in your basement."

Eowyn and Theoden look at each other in puzzlement, then back at the Professor. But before Theoden could speak a mighty thunderous noise was heard from bellow their feet.

Eowyn: "Ssschman what was that?"

Professor: " Splaaah! Don't you know a Balrog when you hear one?"

The colour quickly fades from Theoden's face

Professor: "Don't you worry! I have the perfect solution to your problem!"

Eowyn: "That's odd.....a Balrog?....Mighty convenient that your here eh?

Theoden: "A Balrog?!!....I wish Gandalf were here, He would know what to do!"

Professor: "Such a powerful demon cannot be smotten!"

Eowyn: "Ok so what do we do? We are not wizards!"

Professor: "I have many things, but what you need is some dwarves! ...Well not real dwarves...Oh no!...DwarfBots! much more efficient!"

Theoden: *whispers to Eowyn* "This guy has had way to much Shire weed for his own good!"

Suddenly heavy footfalls could be heard coming up the steps....There stood a bunch of shiny metal Dwarves, lined up ever so nicely...

Eowyn and Theoden simultaneously: "You were serious about them!"

Theoden: "So what can these things do against a Balrog?"

Professor: "I won't tell! I just supply them, you figure it out!......Oh and each Bot is 35 dollars to rent."

Theoden: "Do you not know who I am? Do you not see my name tag?" *points to large brass plaque on his chest* There in big, bold letters read.. THEODEN KING

Eowyn: *rolls eyes*

Professor: "Ok I go talk to my wife"

30 seconds later...

Professor: "Since you look like nice guy, with fancy name plate, I will give you an extra super, special deal of only 34.50 per Bot!"

Eowyn: "That is only fifty cents off!, that is not a very extra super special deal!"

Professor: *In utter disbelief* "What!! That save you 50 cents...now if you take that fifty cents from each Bot you rent and go to another store...you can buy something else!"

Theoden "I do not know....Maybe we should try a different way...."

Professor: "Ok you go shop around, but when you come back....maybe no deal...maybe 40 or 50 dollars...demand and supply gone up!"

Eowyn: *pulls money from her secret Ta-ta hiding place* "Here this should cover it, we will take 6 Bots"

Proffesor: "Done deal! Rental one hour!"

Theoden: "No way we can do this in an hour!"

Professor: "One hour!, then I be back!"

Theoden: "Too bad Gandalf wasn't here....This Balrog seems much smaller than the one in his tale... Don't Balrogs hate heights? *tilts his head slightly to the side and stands pondering*

Eowyn: *Almost visible light pops up over her head* "OOOOOOOooo I know why don't we take two Bots and put one on top of the others shoulders...... *Eowyn stops talking and looks slowly over at the professor, who is careening forward to listen, then snaps back straight at the look* Eowyn pulls Theoden aside and cups his ear with her hands and whispers him her plan...

To be continued.....
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Saucepan Man]

The Bridge of Camshaft-Doom!

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

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

"Ai! Ai!" he wailed.

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

"No! Ai! Ai!" Ted persisted.

"Ai?" enquired Sam, blinking in confusion.

"Aye!" confirmed Ted.

"Eh? Ai?"

"Eh? Aye!"

"Oh!"

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

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

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

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

"Ai!" wailed Ted

"Eh?" questioned Sam.

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

The dark figure streaming with fire rushed towards them.

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

"But Gandalf ...!" objected Frodo.

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

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

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

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

"You cannot parse!" he said.

The Balrog paused and considered this for a moment.

“Cannot what?” it asked.

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

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

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

"Don't tempt me!"

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

'You cannot parse!' Gandalf insisted.

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

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

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

"Gandalf!" cried Frodo and Bilbo in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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