Assigned to Mordor RPG

[piosenniel]

A crowd had gathered in the early overcast morning in the courtyard of Caer Pairadocks, the major port on the Nurnien Sea, from which two great docks stretched into the waters of the sea. The people stood in eager anticipation, for from their number would be chosen that day a small group of people who would be given the chance to escape from Mordor ... on condition that they could pass the tests set by the Grand Anakronist .

The land of Mordor held only the memory of the Dark Lord who had once ruled there with a cruel, iron will. The cataclysm that had come hard upon the heels of the Ring's destruction had changed Udûn and the Plateau of Gorgoroth into a string of deep chasms. Roads snaked from chasm to chasm for the sake of the king, who's Assigned Prisoners worked the gravel pits of old Udûn and Gorgoroth, from which stone was quarried for the buildings and roads of the empire. Luckier ones worked in the grain fields and cattle farms of the Nurnien plains, or the fisheries of the sea. The least fortunate worked the mines of the mountains, where it was said nameless evil things still crawled.

At long last, flugel horns flaired, and out from Caer Pairadocks strode the personage they had all been waiting for. Every last member of the crowd strained their necks to catch a glimpse of the august figure in whose staff was held the mystery of the Anakronism Dweomer. His black, wide brimmed hat hid his features, and his black robe shrouded his lanky frame. He came to a stop at the centermost point of the platform. Behind him rose the pinnacles of the Caer; to one side spread the sea, to the other, the town and fields beyond. The man's name was Anakron Istkon Vayor. All knew him by sight. He surveyed the crowd, and addressed them in his austere manner.

"On this auspicious day, a lucky few of you shall be given the chance to overcome the Anakronism Dweomer, to escape from Mordor, and to receive the clemency of the king, may he live forever. As you know, the Anakronism Dweomer has rendered the empire, but especially Mordor, a land cursed with all manner of evils from a terrible future time. It is most distressing to know that a future age of Middle Earth will have fallen to such depths as to be filled with so many degradations as we have seen in this land; but such is the fate of Middle Earth.

"The lucky few shall be known as the Offending Party. Their task, should they choose to accept it, is to confront three/five/seven/ten anakronisms as tests to be passed, trials to endure, or challenges to be overcome ... or all three at once, depending upon the nature of the anakronism. Should the Offending Party succeed, they shall be free to go wherever they will in Middle Earth, perhaps even to Rohan, with the king's and moderators' blessings.

"And now to choose the Offending Party."

At this, Anakron raised the Anakronist Staff, which issued what sounded like a shrill meow followed by a feline hiss, and before the eyes of all gathered, a shiny, many-coloured box rose from the ground, accompanied by oohs and aahs from the crowd. When it had stopped rising, it stood as tall as Anakron himself, and seemed to look out at the crowd with its single, dark, square eye. It was an Anakronism Transaction Mechanism, otherwise known as ATM. Anakron spoke.

"I shall now insert the king's writ, which I hold in my hand, into the slot on the right, and out of the other to the left, will come the names of the Offending Party."

Anakron inserted the card. Runes appeared in white on the dark screen, in a language and lettering formerly unknown, and by some held to be worse than the Black Speech of the Orcs, but which had now become all too familiar in Mordor: Modern English. The screen said: Deposit, Withdrawal, or Transfer? Anakron pressed the button to the right of transfer. The screen produced new runes: Please wait while your transaction is processed. The crowd groaned as one with impatience; they had become familiar with ATMs during their tenure in Mordor. An "aah" went up from the crowd as a card came out of the left hand slot, accompanied by a new message on the screen: Please take the record of your transfer. Anakron took the slip from the slot, after which the screen's message changed to Thank you. Please come again. Anakron read off the names of the soon to be Offending Party: "Alumìn-E Umfuìl." The following transactions in turn produced the following names: "Panakeia of Harad; Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfists; Wilhelmina Brochenbach; Mardil II; Sai Onara; Valde Delego".

-- littlemanpoet

[piosenniel]

Feanor of the Peredhil's post


Alli stood moping in the back of the crowd gathered at Caer Pairadocks and glared moodily at all those who jostled her. It was not nearly late enough in the morning for this sort of thing, and the fact that she had been all but ordered to attend this... this... this ceremony, as it were... it boiled the blood in her veins. At least she wasn't at work, she thought with disgruntlement. The job of affixing wings to balrogs was a difficult one, trying to work in shadow, and the worst was, all balrog-wingers tended to get burned on a regular basis by the foolish beasts that refused to adopt the reality of the situation with grace. She grimaced at the raw blisters on her hands. They would heal quickly... if the mostly inept physicians that populated Mordor had one thing going for them, it was that they were excellent at treating burns. Suddenly the very flugellic sound of horns met Alli's ears.

It had to be horns, she thought. No hope for any creativity... She glared with renewed passion at the men that shoved past her to reach the front of the crowd. Suddenly there was a hush. An austere voice split the air like lightening, leaving the crowd tingling with anticipation. Even Alli perked up, morning though it was. A chance to get out of Mordor? she thought. An inconsiderate smoker lit up in front of her just as the wind decided to caress Alli's face. She forgot the ceremony as she choked, her eyes beginning to water. Gasping for breath, she was grabbed by a nearby nurse.

"On a scale of one to ten," the woman said, "how much does it hurt?"

Alli ignored her, stumbling her way through the crowd and away from the smoke that burned her lungs. Suddenly she realized that she was standing right beside a tall man, clad entirely in black. As she fell forward, catching herself just before she skinned her knees, the man turned to her with an aristocratic sneer. She gasped as she noticed the Anakronism Dweomer in his grasp. He turned from her, caring little for the antics of a girl barely into womanhood, and addressed the ATM before him. Alli whispered to the kindly looking old woman next to her.

"What are you in for?" she asked, curiously.

"Me? Well, my word. How that's any of your business, I'll never know." Alli looked incredulously at the easily offended woman and turned away from her, looking for an understanding face. She found one in the form of a very good looking young man. He seemed to be stifling laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked as the ATM took an absurdly long time to continue its processing.

"Sure I am. Are you going to get offended?" he responded. She looked at him in momentary shock and then laughed. "I'll bet you're wondering what this whole ceremony is for."

"How did you know!?" she gasped.

"I'm am a Seer... in the distant future, I will be called "psychic". I tried to explain my foresight and was put here by the King's writ. But this..." he gestured toward the crowd, the man... the ATM. "There's been news. A certain number of Assignees are being given a chance to leave Mordor."

"Wha-" she began, suddenly remembering the voice that had reached even over the bustling crowd. "Oh, yes... I heard that part. How are they chosen?"

He responded with an ironic smile. "The ATM. The ATM handles all transactions in these parts."

"I should have known."

Suddenly the crowd went silent as the proverbial grave. The ATM had spat out a piece of paper. Anakron took it with his abnormally long fingers and glanced at it for a moment.

"The first member of the Offending Party is..." he began. Alli recognized the look in his eye. It was the look that never failed to accompany a mis-pronunciation of her name. She hoped and prayed, and then, remembering that hoping for proper speech had never worked before, merely prayed. She could not bring herself to be excited... she simply murmered over and over the right way... He continued finally. "Alumin--" Don't say it! she thought annoyedly. The letter is superfluous. It's not supposed to go there! You don't need to say it! "Alumìn-E Umfuìl." he finished at last.

"Alli!" she cried, stepping forward. "My name is Alli. If you can't say Alumine Umfoil properly, just," she now paused between words for effect, "say," she paused again, "Alli." Suddenly it struck her properly. "Wait..." she murmered, incredulous. "I can go home? I can see Enaichel play his games again? I can tell my parents that now that I've had a real job, I actually appreciate how well I had it before?"

Anakron looked at her with disdain. "If the ATM says it is true, then it is." He turned from her with a cold swish of his cloak as another name was expelled from the machine.

[piosenniel]

Celuien's post


Near the back of the crowd gathered on Caer Pairadocks, a small disturbance was growing around Panakeia of Harad, Seller of Health and Beauty Products. Her shrill voice rang out over the crowd “Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly! Only two silver pennies. Two silver pennies! Step right up.” A few purchasers hurried up to her stand, but a pair of stern guards swiftly chased them off. There would be no selling on Caer Pairadocks today. At least, not without a properly sanctioned license, sealed in triplicate with official red tape.

Panakeia glared at the officials, a look of annoyance on her face. Coming here was such a misuse of valuable time. There was work to be done, and now she couldn’t even take advantage of the presence of the many assembled Mordor assignees to hawk her wares. But the day hadn’t been a total waste. A smile flitted over Panakeia’s lips as she thought of the Westron to Black Speech dictionaries she managed to sell on the journey to the meeting. Ordinarily, she would never have thought of selling something so far out of her usual line, but being factory rejects for gross mistranslations, she had picked them up for a pittance. And with all of the new people sent to Mordor recently, there had been a large demand for dictionaries in the Black Speech. She made a tidy profit from that transaction, but she hoped that no one would have the opportunity to use the dictionaries until she was safely on her way back to her own hut.

Panakeia closed up her product case and headed over to a bench to sit down. Her feet were killing her. Several people near Panakeia ostentatiously shielded their eyes as she walked past. She was wearing her trademark tangerine and chartreuse robes with plentiful gold jewelry. Panakeia noted the gesture and swept past in her grandest fashion, clinking her bracelets as she strode along. A titter rose in her wake.

“Idiots! Simpletons!” she thought. These people who laughed at her were the same ones she knew would flock to her stand the instant she was able to open for business. She would show them all, selling them potions and poultices as ineffectual as a posted speed limit. But even though she knew the Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution, like most of her other creams, was nothing more than a variation on sawdust mixed with potato starch and a bit of beet juice (just for color), as her 50th birthday approached, Panakeia had started to use the creams too. Despite flattering herself that she really did look the 29 year old she claimed to be, deep down she knew that this was not the truth. Was she really all that different from the customers she despised in her despairing struggle to hold on to her vanishing (some would say vanished) youth?

Fortunately for her composure, Panakeia’s introspective mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She turned her attention to the proceedings at hand. She had only been giving half of her attention to Anakron’s grand speeches, and his use of the ATM barely registered on her mind. She tapped her high-heeled foot impatiently. Would this day ever end?

“Alumìn-E Umfuìl,” droned Anakron’s voice. Panakeia watched in amusement as the young girl stepped up to the ATM and corrected The Grand Anakronist’s pronunciation of her name. Then she sighed. It was always the young, pretty ones who were chosen. Panakeia kicked a stray pebble aside. Why would she want to leave anyway? Business was good in Mordor. “There’s a sucker born every minute, and it seems that they’ve all been sent here,” she mused. But somehow, a yearning for freedom to wander Middle-earth was growing in Panakeia’s mind, despite the favorable sales prospects she had found since arriving.

The ATM whirred again. Anakron announced the next name. “Panakeia of Harad.”

Panakeia blinked in astonishment. Here was her chance to leave! At the thought of freedom, the vision of a new sales empire reaching from Harad to the Grey Havens danced in her head. Quickly recovering her usual brashness, she strode up to the ATM and stood beside Alumìne Umfuìl. “Here, Anakron. Glad to see you’ve come to your senses at last and decided to let some of us out of here. All of this fuss and bother over Anakronisms was nonsense in the first place. When’s the first flight out of here?”

Anakron shook his head at the Anakronism in Panakeia’s speech. Without a word, he returned to the ATM screen to select the next member of the Offending Party.

[piosenniel]

Encaitare's post


"Oh, very well, Mr. Swanky. You may have some licorice even if it's not quite lunchtime yet." The old woman unscrewed the cap from the handle of her walking-stick and removed a licorice whip. She broke a little piece off the end and appeared to feed it to her garish hat.

"Daddy, look, that lady is giving her hat lunch!" a small girl noted, tugging on her father's sleeve.

The man took a look and said to his daughter, "Never you mind, hon. That's just old Wilhelmina Brokenback. She's crazy."

Luckily, Wilhelmina was a bit deaf and didn’t hear the exchange; otherwise the man would have gotten a smart whack with her walking-stick for calling her crazy and mispronouncing her name in the same breath. Instead, she slowly chewed the rest of the licorice herself, waiting for the selection of names to begin. If anyone deserved to get out of Mordor, she did. She'd been in the wretched land for more than fifty years, and although she'd gotten used to it, it would be nice to live in a place where speeding drivers didn't try to mow her down on her way to the corner store. Yet she had dwelt there for so long that she felt quite patient to wait for the names to be drawn. What were a few more minutes compared to the years already gone?

Around her, people were chatting excitedly. "The first thing I'm going to do if I get out of here..." was the phrase that was flying about. One shrill voice cut through the din; "Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly!"

"'S that Panakeia loony again," Wilhelmina muttered to herself. "If you ask me, she could use some of that face cream stuff herself. Not that I'm one to talk, of course," she added, as though someone had called her hypocritical.

Suddenly, the crowd hushed as the Grand Anakronist stepped forth and cleared his throat. He announced that it was time to choose the lucky few who would comprise the Offending Party. Hundreds of eyes watched as the ATM rose from the ground, and everyone seemed to hold his (or her) breath as the transactions were completed.

"Alumìn-E Umfuìl," Anakron read. A pretty young girl pushed her way forward, griping about how he’d said her name wrong. "Panakeia of Harad," he continued. The saleswoman joined the first girl at Anakron’s side. The machine spat out a third card. The man squinted at it for a moment, and then read, "Wilhelmina Brochenbach."

Wilhelmina grinned and made her way to the front. "Good man!" she said jovially. "Got the ach-Lauts and everything! Did you hear that, Mr. Swanky? We’re going to get out of here!"

[piosenniel]

the guy who be short's post


Much as Fléin would have liked to have left Mordor, he simply didn't have enough energy to be enthusiastic. Being woken at four ante meridian by twittering songbirds was hardly the best way to start a day, but when said awakening is accompanied by discovering you have conjunctivitis - well, it's hard to deal with. After discovering that he was not, in fact, blind, but merely lacking in eyelid mobility due to a gooey discharge, Fléin had tried to rush blindly to the well. Unfortunately, fate was smiling down in a particularly twisted manner that day, and before he had taken five paces, Fléin was face down on the ground due to excess phlegm coating the floor.

Life in Mordor was never easy, but people have especially bad days even in the Black Land. So far, this appeared to be one of them. He had been in Mordor for only two years, maybe less, but the longing to leave was like a manic kitten in his heart - painful and stingingly noticable.

So it was that Fléin found himself behind a large crowd at Cair Pairadocks, hoping beyond hope that he would be chosen to leave Mordor.

The noise of flugel horns startled Fléin, causing him to blink, or rather, causing him to perform half of the action that is generally thought sufficient to be considered a blink. His eyes stuck shut.

"Blasted Conjunctivitis!" the Dwarf swore. He had visited a nurse just before coming to the docks, but she was a know nothing and hadn't been any help at all. In a way, it was perhaps nicer having ones eyes sealed shut. One didn't have to take into account the blasted landscape, or the even more blasted aspects of civilisation that had made their way into Mordor.

"Excuse me," Fléin intoned into the air at large. I've just gone temporarily blind. Little help, someone?"

"Blindness? How positively bestial. Do stay away from me, be a good fellow," a snotty upperclassman had replied.

The Dwarf sighed. Sometimes it was better to say nothing at all. He stuck his fists into his eyes and forcibly peeled them apart.

By this time, the Grand Anakronist had already declared the name of Alumìne Umfuìl as the first member of the Offending Party. Though he had freed his eyes (albeit they were streaming pus all over his face and into his beard) Fléin couldn't see her through the press of human bodies around him. From what he heard, he instantly disliked the girl. Here she was, given the chance to leave this curséd land - what a chance! - and all she could do was moan about her name.

Panakeia, the next name to be selected, turned out to be a woman who sounded even more annoying than Alumìne. What a buffoon, he thought. Thank goodness I'm not her, even if my eyes are melting.

Wilhelmia Brochenbach was next. What a disgusting name. And yet another woman? Suspicions about the Grand Anakronist's honour whizzed through Fléin's mind. But then again, why would he choose a whiny child, an idiotic saleswoman and an old bat out of all the women in Mordor?

The possibility that he was being bitter about his bad morning and taking it out, completely unjustifiably, on those running into a bit of luck flittered through Fléin's mind. He tried to make it go away.

"Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfoots" the Grand Anakronist cried, his voice rolling through the courtyard.

"Ironfeet!" injected an annoying English teacher.

Fléin couldn't believe it. What a piece of luck! How wonderfully harmonious the universe seemed, that he should be given the chance to leave with those three fine women! "That's me! That's me!" he screamed. "Out of my way!"

The crowd parted around him, and he made his way up to the ATM and the Grand Anakronist himself. The latter eyed him with disdain. "It is, is it?" he intoned, looking down the length of his nose at the Dwarf.

"Er, yes, sir," Fléin meekly replied, but the Grand Anakronist had already turned to read the next card the machine had just excreted, so he stood there, smiling jovially at the whiner, the nutter and the old bat.

[piosenniel]

Kath's post


Sai opened her eyes and immediately closed them again as the world’s strange new habit of spinning was making her feel sick. Keeping her eyes closed she slowly sat up. As she did so she realised that every part of her body ached, like the time she’d sneezed and fallen off the climbing wall. Wondering what had happened she gingerly opened her eyes, and sighed in relief when she saw that her surroundings were still again. Her sigh was followed by an exclamation of surprise and shock. Where in all of Middle-Earth was she? Looking around she could see hundreds of things that would never be found in the normal world. There were hundreds of ATMs, with the people lining up in front of them all trying to cut the queue at the same time. There were small groups of people all over the place, arguing about language and spellings and the misuse of apostrophes, things Sai had always wished to speak about but was unable to because of their Anakronist status. As she was just thinking that these people would be dragged off to Mordor any minute, she suddenly realised, when she fainted she must have fallen off the cart as they passed through the gates. She must be in Mordor!

Along with this realisation came the fear. She was in Mordor! With all the nasty anakronisms that had been sent there over the years, along with some really nasty people. Speaking of people, she noticed a large group of them all crowded round a man who seemed to be standing on a large platform. Deciding that she wasn’t about to lie on the floor all day and feel sorry for herself Sai jumped up, ignoring the protests from various parts of her body, and began to make her way over. An osteopath, who came towards her with arms outstretched, just ready to try and crush her, immediately interrupted her progress but Sai was already unhappy with her situation, and just kicked him in the shin and carried on.

Reaching the edge of the group she began to squeeze herself through the barely there gaps, suddenly grateful for her slight stature. Still, she was constantly shoved and pushed by intolerant people all the way, and so she felt no guilt about lashing a foot back at the last person to do so as she reached the front. She could now see that there were four other people in the centre with the strange man and sought to satisfy her insatiable curiosity.

“What’s going on?” she whispered to the man standing next to her. He glanced down at her disdainfully and muttered something about teenagers answering back to their elders before turning away and ignoring her completely. Irritated about this since he had not said anything she could answer back to, Sai sidled over to another person and was about to ask them the same question when she heard her name being called.

“Sai Onara is the fifth person to have been chosen by the ATM!”

The voice came from the man in the middle and Sai looked at him in surprise. She half turned, expecting to see another person who happened to have the same name coming forward, but nobody else was moving. The man repeated the name a couple of times, and eventually Sai thought she’d better step forward. As she did so he swivelled round to her.

“You are Sai Onara?” he asked.

“Er, yes but I don’t . . .” she never did finish the question as he interrupted her.

“Go and join the others over there.” He said waving a hand in the general direction of the four people she had seen before and turned back to his machine.

Sai reluctantly did as she was told, hoping that at least this motley crew would give her some answers. The Dwarf didn’t look like he’d be much help, since he had yellow pus from what looked like conjunctivitis pouring from his eyes he probably didn’t even know where he was. Seeing another girl about her own age she finally got the chance to ask what was going on.

“Don’t you know?” she had replied in astonishment. “We’re getting out of Mordor!

[piosenniel]

the phantom's post


A loud knock at his bedroom door spurred Mardil into a state of slight consciousness.

"Wha- whass goin' on...mmm, jusss...go'way...m'sleepin'..." he mumbled, slipping back into slumber as he spoke.

The knock sounded again. Mardil opened his eyes. Annoyed, he grumbled, "Leave me alone," but the knock sounded again, accompanied by a "I have a message for you, Lord Mardil."

Mardil recognized the speaker. "Gundor, I told you I'm trying to sleep. I'll read my message later!"

"But Milord," protested Gundor, "The message is from the Grand Anakronist. The man who delivered it said it was imperative that it be given to you immediately."

Mardil rolled over onto his back and stretched his arms out above his head. "Well, I suppose now that I'm awake I might as well read it. Bring it to me."

The door to the well furnished room opened and a tall man with grey-flecked black hair entered, carrying a parchment in his left hand. He was dressed in finely crafted armor and held a spear in his right hand. "Here it is, Master," he said as he offered Mardil the parchment.

Mardil took the message and unfolded it. It read-

Lord Mardil II,

I know that you never bother to come to gatherings, even if they are declared mandatory, but I would strongly suggest joining the assembly in Caer Pairadocks this morning.

I know what you are thinking. You believe there is no way that your name will be chosen because the King's writ and pardon are involved, but I assure you, the King has no control over which names are picked. The selection is random. The only person that can influence the ATM machine is me- The Grand Anakronist.

And now that I've said that, let me just say that I have a strong feeling your name will be chosen.

If you do not arrive before noon you forfeit your chance of escape.

-The Grand Anakronist

Mardil sighed and handed the letter back to Gundor. "What did it say, Milord?"

"Go ahead and read it if you like, Gundor." Mardil sat for a moment staring at the wall, waiting for Gundor to finish.

After Gundor reached the end of the letter, he looked up. "I assume you are going to go, Lord Mardil?"

"I suppose. My life would certainly be easier back home than it is here, but... it wouldn't be as good as the way I left it. I'm worried that I would constantly compare my life with what it was before Mordor- and that would rob me of all joy. Perhaps it would be best to stay here."

"That may be true," said Gundor, "But if I may say so, Milord, there are more reasons to live than for joy and happiness. What about power, your family's honor and status, and revenge against those that wronged you? Surely those things are worth pursuing. Aren't those reasons good enough to leave Mordor for?"

Mardil smiled grimly. "Yes, Gundor, those are good reasons." After a short pause, Mardil stood to his feet and placed his hand on Gundor's shoulder. "You are a good and faithful servant, Gundor. I can't tell you how glad I am that you and Bregor chose to join me here. If I escape I will find a way to get you out of this place. I promise. Now, go and get Bregor and have him help you pack my things, and then load them onto a cart and deliver them to me in Caer Pairadocks. I will go on ahead to be sure I am there before noon."

----------

Mardil stood upon a balcony overlooking the courtyard of Caer Pairadocks. So far, The Grand Anakronist had called forward an overdressed middle aged lady, a short old lady, a dwarf, a slender girl who looked to be around seventeen, and a young lady who was overly touchy about the pronunciation of her name. I hope she isn't that touchy about everything. If she is, she will be a real pain to have along thought Mardil, though she certainly is easy on the eyes he observed as he looked her up and down for about the twentieth time.

The voice of the Grand Anakronist interrupted Mardil's musings. "Mardil II!"

Mardil waved from the balcony. The Grand Anakronist looked up at him and nodded.

[piosenniel]

Durelin's post

From the moment her woke up, Valde knew that this day, of all days, would be different. He knew, the very second he felt his mind being dragged into consciousness, that his life would be changing very soon. It was suddenly as if this was a long day prophesized in a time long forgotten, though the memory had resurfaced in the man’s dreams. Perhaps it came from the remembrance of more pleasant mornings, when he had been wakened gently from a peaceful slumber on top of a fluffy feather mattress. He had been treated like a young prince-ling in Minas Tirith, and he had of course been as handsome as one then, too. The harsh lands of Mordor had worn him down to what he was, a man rejected by his past and constantly tortured by the present, but one who stood boldly in the face of the future. Now he was but a simple man, who yearned for more, and would stop at nothing to reach it.

Or so, at least, it was told to anyone who asked about that day.

The truth was, he had awakened that morning with many groanings and moanings, and had counted on spending his day in sorrowful meditation where of course everyone could see him. His first movement since falling asleep was to reach up and wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth. He then felt the pillow, found it wet, and decided that he must inform anyone who asked that he had cried himself to sleep that night, just in case anyone decided to give his pillow a feel. Stumbling out of his room, he cursed every object on the floor that he stepped on, wishing to give the sea life in the Nurn an impressive collection of ironware, quills, and empty ink pots, along with a large stack consisting of the not-yet-so-famous tragedies of Valde Delego, written for the stage.

Upon knocking down one such stack, Valde noticed a particular piece of parchment. It was larger than the rest, and the letters upon it were to match, glaring at him. It was almost as if he could see their eyebrows slanting and their lips curling, and so he quickly crumpled up the sheet to hide them. Angrily he threw it out his open window, and the falling paper was greeted with an unnaturally high-pitched squeal.

“Do not screech in my window, thee harpy!” he shouted upon rushing to stick his head outside, and then quickly he pulled the shudders shut with a slam. He regretted not saying more to the squealer, but decided that a solemn, silent curse would be enough until they met again. For but a moment he bemoaned his situation, muttering to himself, the only words audible being ‘wretched, poor, stricken, forsaken, maimed, brutal, wound, and ticks.’ Of course, he was obviously relating the Grand Anakronist and the King to parasites, or simply a good poke in the eye. And his reason for this at the moment was plain: gatherings were mandatory, and one was today.

Reluctantly, and pulling his grim cloak of sadness tighter around him (a ratty old thing of black cloth that rippled nicely in the wind, perfect for swirling, and thus perfect for either gloomy or angry brooding, depending on the occasion), Valde made his way to the Anakronist’s gathering. Just look at all these filthy people, he thought upon arriving at Caer Pairadocks, Look at that hideous orange scarf that woman’s wearing. What was she thinking? ‘Tis a Mordorian style, if I ever saw one. No wonder she’s stuck here.

Taking a position at the back of the crowd, huddled in his cloak with the tall neck pulled up so that he stared over with his dark eyes and large eyebrows as he scanned the gathering, his face frozen in what he thought to be frigid. It became obvious to him that he was trying too hard when a passing woman asked him if he needed to relieve himself. She received first a wide-eyed look of pure shock, which quickly turned to fierce resentfulness. “You would so bother a simple man, protected from the elements by only these scraps of cloth, and even less protected from the storms within the heart? There is no wondering, madam, why you are here in Mordor.”

“The same to you, chap.” And with that, the woman moved on, leaving Valde to boil in his anger. So, naturally, he did not notice when the Grand Anakronist began extracting names from the ATM machine. At least, not until he heard his own name, though he naturally wished his ears were lying to him, not knowing why on earth he was called. He quickly smoothed his cloak and gave a tug to the collar, and began to make his way through the crowd, matching every curse at him for pushing with a more iniquitous one.

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron led the Offending Party off of the Platform of Caer Pairadocks, his black cloak flowing behind him regally. As they came to a wall in a high building with bad architecture, he looked over his shoulder once, condescendingly, and said, "Single file, please." Immediately, squabbling broke out for pride of place behind the pontifical presence of the Grand Anakronist himself. Anakron rolled his eyes, caring not who was first or last.

They entered the building and walked down a narrow, musty corridor. There was room for one individual going in either direction, and they Offending Party passed by many officiously dressed Orcs, all of whom had halitosis, causing those with health conditions to gag and cough and water profusely from their eyes. Anakron seemed immune to both the smell and its effects upon their bodies.

Finally the corridor led after a while to a huge foyer, knwon as the (what else?) Grand Entrance of Caer Pairadocks, known by all and sundry in that part of town as White-All. Which seemed a gross misapplication, since the building was quite dirty and gray, perhaps with the fumes that were ever in the air in Mordor.

Anakron stopped the Offending Party at a long desk in the Grand Entrance, behind which stood an officious looking Orc dressed in a drab gray uniform covered in badges, bars, and stripes, denoting the Orc's high station in the Mordorian bureaucracy.

Anakron raised his staff and the Siamese Cat sitting atop it opened its mouth and yowled. "Your prepared speech, Lugnut."

Lugnut blinked with a pained expression. "Lûgnût, sir," coughed the Orc. Lûgnût faced the Offending Party officiously.

"Your obstreperous duty," said the genderless one, "is to propend from these premises to Edge-Where, at which location will be transferred to you your next challenge. All currency shall be removed from your persons post haste, and to each of you will be donated ten Trolls for various and sundry expenditures that you will incur whilst on your meandering journey. Oh, and you also shall be invested with these maps for your perusal and potential aid."

Each of the Offending Party handed in their money and received ten Trolls, and were directed to stand where the Grand Anakronist indicated with his Staff.

"Oh, one final detail. No assistance of any nature that you consider your personal possession, be they butlers, servants, men at arms, or what have you, may propound to you whilst on this endeavor. You must attend to your own considerations of the more necessary nature.

"You have one day, that is, a period not less nor more than twenty-four hours, to reach your destination whilst journeying through the metropolitan demesne Lûndûn, using the [i]public transport system[/b], to arrive at Edge-where. Be aware that the maps have erroneous names. Such places as Less-Terse-Square, as you know them, are given names on these maps that read more like Lice-Ester-Square. So use care in finding your way around. And at this moment, you may endeavor to begin."

With that, the Offending Party raced out into the open air and were immediately smitten by the familiar fume and stench of White-All. Litter blew down the walks and streets in a stiff wind, for it was another day of bad weather. The roads were jammed with yellow PT Cruisers or Little French Cars With No Guts, most of them blaring their horns in a horrendous din. Orcs were behind the wheel of every vehicle they saw. Worse, the Offending Party were constantly getting bumped by people, all of whom seemed to be in a rush.

Anakron shouted from the doorway, "Well, don't just stand there, gawking and procrastinating, you fools! Get on with it! Your future depends on it!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli glared down at the map with what could only be called total disdain. Of course there are erroneous names on the maps, she thought, because who in this dratted place ever gets anybody's name right without a good scolding? With hardly a second thought, she binned the map and hoisted her bag on her shoulders. Looking around, she had to stifle a laugh... city life, she thought amusedly... She looked at her boot-clad feet and groaned. Not here too! Painted upon the very stones of the roadway were small images and writing in what looked like a Jamesian dialect of English. What does that say? She knelt, taking a closer look.

"Buyeth thineself one Razr phone? What in the...? Must be an advertisement for some oddly shaped new form of palantir." Laughing at the pitiable state of the road, she walked off down it, oblivious to the many stares she accumulated from young men that thought she was stupid because she was pretty. They took in her slim frame as it appeared clad in her usual outfit: she had come straight to Caer Pairadocks from work, and she looked remarkably good in her uniform. She donned soft flame-retardant leather breeches tucked into sturdy boots with strong leg guards fastened above. There were a few singed spots on the sleeves of her white blouse, but the shirt was mostly protected by the fitted leather jerkin she wore laced over it. Gauntlets kept her forearms protected, and leather gloves protected the tender skin of her burned hands from the chill in the air. Being a balrog-winger was tough and she had to dress for the working hazards. Her pin-straight hair was pulled away from her face and fastened into a messy chignon. A few stray locks had slipped into her face but she ignored them, glancing about Lûndûn.

A few chavs loitered near an almost unidentifiable shop that seemed to carry overpriced smoothies by the looks of the disgruntled public who had waiting for quite some time in an unmoving queue to get them. On the other side of the road stood a marketer shouting his wares. Alli walked over and smoothly purchased one of his magazines, flipping through it as she walked.

Without consideration, Alli sauntered down the center of the road. A rude driver gave her the finger as he drove by yelling something to the point of "Get out of the road! Sidewalks are made so that you don't have to get in my way!" Realizing that there was indeed a sidewalk, also covered in luridly colored advertisements, Alli shifted there and walked a bit more with her nose stuck in the publication.

An article about a hobbit named Màrîo had caught her attention. The illustration showed the small fellow clad in red... a most unhobbitly shade. Apparently he'd been beaten unconscious by an unidentified kilt-clad Scotsman. The culprit was on the loose and the writer of the article passively voiced that Màrîo was on the mend, that if anybody spotted someone tall, dark, handsome, and flanked by screaming fangirls, they should keep their distance and report him to an official. She closed the magazine, disappointed that the other article that had caught her interest, "101 Ways to Escape Mordor", was nothing more than a lot of bologna that added up to nothing more than many variations of the phrase "smooth-talk the bureaucrats".

She wondered if she would have any company on her trip to Edge-Where. That Lord Mardil, perhaps... she could discuss politics with him. After all, surely as a lord, he would have many opinions on the government of Gondor. Or even that girl. What was her name? Sai? She seemed like she'd be a fun travelling companion. Who knew what would happen though. She had to get to Edge-Where before she could think about the rest of the trip out of Mordor. As she'd tossed her map, Alli began to look around in search of a friendly face that she could ask for directions.

[Celuien]

The stench of White-All struck Panakeia's nostrils like the blow of a nagging conscience (if she had ever known the twinges of such a thing in her long years of scamming). She coughed into her bright orange scarf, dropping the ten Trolls she had wrapped in its corner into a puddle of mud on the ground. As she stooped to retrieve the money, Panakeia was nearly run down by an SUV whose driver had been too busy chatting on a cell-phone while eating fast food to notice that his vehicle was now on the sidewalk. As she leapt backward, Trolls securely clenched in her hand, the rude driver blared his horn and shouted something incoherent in her direction. Panakeia would have gestured back in return, had a yellow PT Cruiser not come between her and the first driver, splashing her gown with filthy water from a pothole in the road.

All currency shall be taken from you now. Lûgnût's words passed through Panakeia's head. Robbery plain and simple. Not a tenth of what I turned in given back. At last count, she had managed to save 150 Trolls and one each of a Warg, Crow and Goblin from her sales. The measly 10 Trolls she had been handed in return did little to replace the convenient cache she had created. It all seemed terribly unfair. But she had to swallow her fury. There was a job to be done.

Panakeia forced her way out of the hurrying crowd, stepping on several sets of toes in the process. Huddling in the doorway of a nondescript shop, she unfolded the maps of Lûndûn. A frown passed over her face. After staring at the map for several minutes, she turned it in one direction, then twisted it in another. Disgusted, she crumpled the map into a ball. She started to toss it into the litter already on the street, then thought better of it and stuffed the page into her pocket.

Stupid thing makes no sense at all. But what else should I have expected? There had to be another way to find Edge-Where, or whatever it was called. Perhaps if she followed another member of the Offending Party, at least until she could find her way to a public transport system station to ask directions?

Panakeia realized in a panic that she had become separated from the rest of the group. Her eyes darted about frantically, searching for a familiar face. She had never been quite so relieved in her life as when she spotted Alli's chignon weaving through the crowd ahead. Pushing back into the crowd, she scrambled to catch up, all the while keeping a sharp eye out for other members of the Offending Party.

[Kath]

Sai stood staring in confusion at the map she had been given. The words on it were like a foreign language that she had never learned, and she couldn’t understand a word. She was a little more pleased with the other gift the man named Anakron had given her – 10 Trolls. By the look of their worth she now had more money in her hands than she had ever had in her life! Glancing around warily she made sure no one could see as she put the money into a hidden pocket of her jacket. She knew she was being paranoid but it was still better to be safe than sorry, especially in Mordor! The map she quickly made into a boat to soothe her nerves, and then she looked up to see where the others had got to.

She was a little startled to see that they had all headed off in different directions and that she was now quite alone. Not wanting to try and find her way through this strange place on her own she tried to catch up to the old hag, the only member of the Offending Party she could still see. But she had taken only a few steps when a man leapt out at her from nowhere yelling

“Buy the Small Tissue! Just one left! But it now and I’ll be able to buy a mansion and live in Maì Fàyre!”

Jumping backwards in shock Sai tried to avoid the salesman, but her way was blocked by a group of people who seemed to have simply stopped in the middle of the street. They were all staring up at something and chattering excitedly, though Sai couldn’t make out the words. She joined them for a moment to escape the seller and find out what was going on, but it seemed that they planned to stay this way for a good while, and she couldn’t see the attraction of it, so began to push her way back out again. As she did so there was a sudden flash of light, and for a moment all she could see was yellow spots in front of her eyes. Cursing people who blinded others with their flash cameras, Sai stumbled into a wall and leant against it.

When her vision cleared she found that she now had no idea where she was at all, and couldn’t see anyone from her group. Desperate she grabbed a passing stranger and shakily demanded to know where she was. Unfortunately he turned out to be an English teacher, and simply began to pick apart the holes in the sentences she had just uttered. This at least turned her fear into anger, and she stormed off, purposely going in the opposite direction to everyone else to be irritating.

Not looking where she was going, she suddenly thumped into the back of someone else. Used now to the inconsiderate people here she mumbled a quick apology and made to move on, before realising she’d walked straight into the other girl from the group, Alli. This wasn’t a great comfort, however, as she’d already seen how touchy the girl had been about her name, what would she be like after nearly being shoved over!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli stood with her hands perched prettily on her hips, taking in the sight of a valley girl talking too loudly on her cellphone.

"Omigod, like... it's so totally not rocket science." she mimicked sarcastically. Suddenly she was hit from behind. She went to turn and sprawled clumsily on the ground, scraping her knee through her breeches. She rolled over and sprang to her feet, ready for a fight. Her brother Enaichel had taught her all about throwing punches after little provocation: it was frowned upon, but it happened... and it got your point across quickly. Seeing Sai, she dropped her hands unhesitantly, pretending sweetly that she hadn't been about to smack the girl.

"Hello." she said with a smile. Now this has to be fate... I was just thinking about her. "Lost?"

The girl nodded with a little hesitation. Had this moody teenager been about to hit her? She looked perfectly sweet now...

"Me too." Alli said with a grimace. "The map didn't help me at all. Confusing thing... must have been created by a bunch of men that never bothered to ask for directions. And the names were all wrong on it. I binned it a few blocks back. What do you say we ask someone if they know how to get to Edge-Where?"

[the guy who be short]

The Dwarf, lingering at the back of the group, waited for the others to rush off. He wasn't feeling very sociable at all, and hardly wanted to get to know six new people at once. Six not-all too-pleasant people, by the looks of them. He slowed his pace, waiting for the others to outstrip him and leave him in peace.

A few moments later, he was alone, except for the hundreds of people milling about him in the crowded, alien city. Well... how hard could it be to find this... Where was he going? The Edge? Where-on-the-Edge, that was it, wasn't it? Or Where... where something.

He stopped at the side of the pavement, and looked down at his map.

He looked up in dismay.

He rushed forwards, trying in vain to see the group in front of him. What were their names? Oh, why was he cursed with such a poor memory?

A scrap of orange! There, in front of him! That old hag... the nutty one... Brokenback! That was her name! The Woman Of The Hideous Scarf... The rest of the group had to be with her... there was no way they'd get to Whereington-upon-Edgehaven individually.

"Brokenback! Brokenback!" he mispronounced, bumping into the crowds of people. "Wilhelmina! Wait!" But the scarf continued onwards, oblivious. Why wasn't she waiting for him? Was she deaf or something?

He started running - she was only a few metres off now - regardless of the rushing traffic around him.

"Wilhelmina!"

No reply.

Finally he caught up with the old woman, patting her on the arm, and turned her around. He had found her! He was alone no longer!

But why weren't the others with her?

[littlemanpoet]

Three yellow vans pulled up to the side of the road, and out came a small horde of people carrying equipment that looked as if it must have been extracted from somebody's paranoid brain. The first van wore a big sign on its side, Blimmin' Barblecashing Corpulation. I man with bad teeth, messy greasy, slicked back hair, and a bulbous device in his hand, came up to Wilhelmina and Fléin and stuck the device to his mouth. Behind him was a one-eyed monster with a glass eye stuck on the shoulder of a Uruk-hai.

"Action, Roll!" said the man with bad teeth. "Welcome to 'Escape from Mordor', the reality program that features the Offending Party attempting to pass the impossible tests to defeat the anakronisms. What is your name?" The man stuck the bulbous thing in Wilhelmina's face; she gave her name, but protested that she had no time to be distracted by a reality show. The man shook his head gravely and produced an official looking document from his inner pocket, and wagged it in front of her face. It bore the seal of Anakron Istkon Vayor. "Sorry, deary, but we've a contract from the guv'ment saying that we have the right to film you. You're our star! Now come this way so we can get better lighting." The man with the bad teeth grabbed her arm and began forcibly escorting her away from the Dwarf.

The second van bore a sign reading Ridiculously Cacophonous Arsininity. From this van issued forth an individual that could only be understood to be a dude who thought more highly of himself than was warranted. He made a bee-line for Lord Mardil II.

"Hey dude, you wit' de chillin' name! Lord Mardil II! We got a contract all lined up for you to be de nex' rap star. You got de name and we got de fame!" The dude produced an official looking document, bearing the seal of Anakron Istkon Vayor. "Dis gives us de right to bring you straight to de studio an' get you goin' to stardom! Follow me!"

The third van, a very large one, with a sign reading Pretentious Blimcasting Corruption, vomited forth a party of menacing Trolls that quickly surrounded Valde Delego. "Greetings, good sir," said the lead Troll. "We are given to understand that thou art amongst those known as the Offending Party. Thou art our choice to take the lead role in our new play, Spamlet, about the tragedy of a failed attempt to escape from Mordor."

Valde tried to protest.

"Tut tut," said the troll in charge. "We are vested with full right and legality to apprehend thy great talent and produce this wonderful play." He produced an official looking document that bore the seal of Anakorn Istkon Vayor. "Thou wilt help us in the writing. Stage hands, apprehend our lead man!"

Valde was picked up by two trolls and deposited onto a fine litter before which was scrawled Lead Tragic Actor, and was carried into the van.

[the phantom]

As Anakron led the Offending Party off the platform, Mardil turned and called an errand boy out onto the balcony on which he was standing. "Two men should be arriving soon. Their names are Bregor and Gundor. You are to give them this." Mardil pressed an envelope into the boy's hands.

"Yessir, I'll give it to them as soon as they arrive!"

Mardil nodded and tossed a rope over the side of the ornate railing rimming the balcony. The end of the rope slapped the platform lightly as Mardil tied the other end around one of the posts on the rail. After making sure his twin swords and assorted knives were securely sheathed and checking the straps holding his bow and quiver to his back, Mardil grabbed the rope firmly with his gloved hands and leaped over the side and then slid down to the platform. Then, the errand boy untied the rope and tossed it down along with Mardil's short spear.

Without further delay, Mardil sprinted off after the Offending Party. He could see them up ahead, entering a building with bad architecture. It looked as if the members of the party were shoving and jostling in order to be next in line after the Grand Anakronist. Mardil rolled his eyes. "What fools," he thought. "The positions of honor are first and last. The first leads the way, but the one in the rear can watch everyone and cannot be watched himself, and he always has early warning about nasty surprises that are ahead."

As Mardil approached the door into which the party had disappeared, two officious looking orcs stepped forward and leveled their spears at him. "What is your business here?" asked one of them.

"I'm with the Offending Party, now move!" said Mardil, who was beginning to lose sight of the party in the corridor up ahead. He watched closely in case they turned to either side.

"I'm going to have to confirm that," said the orc, dropping the point of his spear and reaching for his walkie-talkie. At the same time, the other orc turned towards the door and looked down the corridor to see if he could see whatever it was Mardil was staring at so intently.

Mardil took full advantage of this lapse. He rammed the butt of his spear forcefully into the first orc's jaw, and as the second orc turned around, Mardil winded him with a blow to the gut and then gave him a solid rap on the top of the head with his spear butt. Before the orc hit the ground, Mardil was off down the musty corridor.

"Cheap shot," muttered the second orc after he recovered his breath.

----------

Mardil watched as the Offending Party dispersed into the crowded street, each one going a slightly different direction.

"Well, Mardil, are you ready to get out of Mordor?" asked the Grand Anakronist.

Mardil turned and looked at Anakron's feet. "I guess."

"You're never going to make it out of Mordor with that sort of half-hearted attitude. Now, are there things outside of Mordor that you would like to do? Tasks you wish to complete?"

"Yes," answered Mardil, though not very convincingly.

"You really are pitiful, Mardil. You are afraid of going back because things won't be as nice and rosy as they used to be. That's an immature attitude. Be a man, Mardil! I know you're angry about the way things turned out. Use that anger! You'll be able to make it through this first challenge fairly easily, but you had better find some passion at some point during your escape, for you will need it to go up against the things you will encounter during your escape."

"I will try," said Mardil.

Anakron leaned in close to Mardil. "And if you manage to escape, Mardil, I assume you will not forget a certain person who gave you the opportunity," he whispered.

Mardil smiled and nodded. "I will not forget."

"Good!" said Anakron. "Now, get going! You know how to read a map, so I'm confident I will see you at the next challenge- that is if you can manage to stay out of trouble on your way through the city. It is fraught with many perils, such as Easily Offended People and Stupid People."

Mardil assured Anakron he would stay out of trouble and began weaving his way quickly down the crowded street.

----------

It wasn't long before Mardil spotted Alli and Sai up ahead. "My my, how fortunate. The two young ladies happen to be taking the best route. They must be good with maps. I will join them."

As he approached, he listened to their conversation and discovered that they had only taken the correct way by chance. "They will certainly be glad to be joined by someone who knows precisely where to go."

[Durelin]

The city was always full of orcs, and in his brief scan of his surroundings, Valde of course found nothing to redeem the sordid reputation of the place. There were some very colorful posters with pictures on them that were…interesting, even to him, but he was skilled at finding something wrong with them. They ruined the atmosphere. No, they only added to its horridness. They were too loud, just like everything else. Then, something so terrifying and so revolting hit him that he immediately spun around on his heel and began looking for a way to leave. What if this was the kind of place that he would escape from Mordor to?

But there was Anakron, with his staff, seemingly stroking the ghastly Siamese cat on the top of it, looking at them all pointedly. He seemed amused; Valde scowled. “Well, don't just stand there, gawking and procrastinating, you fools!” he exclaimed, shooing them, “Get on with it! Your future depends on it!”

“I do not have a future,” he muttered in a practical moan, turning back around and beginning to trudge slowly down the side of the street. “The ‘Grand Anakronist’ thinks he knows everything. Then why is he in Mordor?” He bumped into an orc who growled something about the decency and respect. But Valde was in a city, and he knew cities were full of rude people. He would just be another one to add to the mix, and the only one who had a right to be rude. No one had as much reason to dislike people so greatly. Life had treated him very poorly, and people were only worse. So with a very miserable sigh, he all but went out of his way to more than rub shoulders with everyone who walked by him.

Another orc, this one in a car, rode up on the curb and would have hit Valde had he not quickly put down his cell phone and used both hands on the wheel, and possibly his foot. “Don’t walk on the sidewalk!” he shouted in a screechy voice that resembled a knife on slate. Valde cringed, but managed to shout, “Well, don’t drive on the street!”

He was just recovering from his trauma at almost being hit when another vehicle came dangerously close to the curb, though this one stopped beside him. He froze, examining it, which he soon realized was a deadly move. A group of Trolls exploded from the large, obnoxiously yellow van, and hurried over to him. Pretentious Blimcasting Corruption? he barely had time to wonder before they crowded around him and one of the Trolls began speaking. He only half listened, spending more time perfecting a downtrodden but defiant appearance in the face of a looming crowd. But after only a moment he heard something about a ‘lead role,’ and perked up his ears. And after the words ‘failed attempt to escape from Mordor,’ his mouth was hanging open.

“I will nev-” he began with indignation, but he was cut off by the Troll, and left to smolder in anger, considering how such an obviously educated being could be so rude. “We are vested with full right and legality to apprehend thy great talent and produce this wonderful play.” Valde looked smug for a moment, liking the sound of ‘they great talent.’ He even almost forgot that the Troll had ‘tutted’ him. But the sight of the official looking document made him scowl again. “Thou wilt help us in the writing. Stage hands, apprehend our lead man!”

He was smacked in the face by pure shock as the Trolls began bodily placing him on a litter, and though it was quite comfortable, and he was getting a lead role, Valde made a show of struggling. “No! O untimely official looking document, I never once did know thy bitter taste till now!”

“He is good, isn’t he?” the Troll carrying the back of the litter said to the one in front.

“Why thank you,” Valde said before he could think. The next thing he knew, he was tossed with the litter into the back of the van, and with a squeal of tires, the van drove off even before the last Troll could get into it. “It seems we will have to recast Trollonius after all,” one of the litter bearers said as he closed the back doors of the van, blocking the flailing, left behind Troll from Valde’s view. How tragic… He snickered. But such tragedy shall not befall me! I will make it out of Mordor, and I would swear it on my great grandfather’s skull! Realizing what a good scene could be made if they used a skull, he began sharing his ideas with the Trolls. If only he knew who his great grandfather was.

[Celuien]

Panakeia watched from behind as Sai collided with Alli. A stifled laugh escaped her lips as the girl toppled to the ground. Good. That silly child seems a bit full of herself. That'll take some of the wind out of her sails. Panakeia doubled her pace, struggling to make her way through the crowd. She reached an intersection where an Orc, dressed in full crossing guard regalia, stood directing the heavy rush-hour traffic. He held up his clawed hand as a signal to stop. But he unfortunately failed to notice a pick-up truck attempting to turn against traffic while he stopped the pedestrians. It smashed into one of Lûndûn's ubiquitious yellow PT cruisers. The Orcs immediately exited their automobiles and proceeded to scream at each other in a fit of road rage. They were, of course, quickly joined by all of the other drivers in view. The crossing-guard pulled out his whistle began to blow, bringing in several other uniformed guards. Rather than breaking up the chaos that had erupted, they pulled out several copies of the Lûndûn Traffic Manual to find the proper regulation for dealing with accidents complicated by non-involved angry drivers to determine the proper fines to levy.

Panakeia hurried into the now stopped traffic in the street, trying to avoid the fray. Weaving between the abandoned cars, she made her way to the other side of the street. Congratulating herself on escaping the melee, she was about to head off in the direction she had seen Alli and Sai moving toward when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to face an enormous uniformed Orc. His badge read Lûndûn Traffic Safety Division.

"I beg your pardon, madam. It is my most humble obligation to inform you that you are in violation of Section 5.2 of the Lûndûn Traffic Manual. To whit, or perhaps to most, you have crossed the main thoroughfare improperly, and must therefore pay a penalty of 1 Troll. Or, if it does not please you to most graciously comply with my request, I shall be forced to place you under arrest."

Panakeia's face turned bright red. She sputtered. "This is ridiculous!" But she handed over the Troll.

"Thank you." The Orc deposited the Troll in a box marked "Paid" and handed Panakeia a receipt. As he turned and walked back into the crowd, he called out "Have a nice day, and remember, a frown is just a smile turned upside down." Panakeia gaped at the Orc. Could he possibly be any more absurd?

The scene over, Panakeia scanned the crowd ahead for Alli and Sai. But she had lost them. She would have to think of something else.

****

Panakeia wandered the streets of Lûndûn, hoping to find some way of reaching her destination. She was hopelessly lost in the City's endless labyrinth of alleyways, streets and snarling lines of cars. She stumbled over a grating in the sidewalk, breaking off the heel of her shoe. The heel dropped far below into the darkness. A strange roar came from the chasm, followed by the fading blare of a train whistle. At last she had found something! Here was part of the vast BliddyUnnerground, legendary for delayed travel and hopelessly confusing routes that never seemed to end. As bad as the BU was reputed to be, it had to be better than wandering through Lûndûn without a guide. Whirling on her broken shoe, Panakeia searched for the entrance. And there it was, just a few blocks ahead, a set of forbiddingly littered and cracked concrete steps descending far below the pavement. A black sign, hanging crookedly from its post above the steps proclaimed Rût's Lip Garden Station in faded red letters. Doesn't look much like a garden to me, she thought to herself, unless it's trash they're growing.

Taking a deep breath, Panakeia limped off to the station entrance and vanished into the darkness of the gaping portal.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

In the time that it took for Sai to contemplate travelling with her, Alli looked around once again. She spotted the disturbingly phlegmy dwarf chasing after the old woman and laughed at the absurdity of the image. Maybe they knew where they were going... whichever way it was, it was the opposite way that Alli was. If Sai planned to accompany her, she'd have to be all right with the idea of going in entirely the opposite direction as the rest of the group. The only thing that Alli worried about was getting lost in the worse parts of Lûndûn. Though Alli could take care of herself in a pinch, she knew that she would prefer to avoid pinches entirely. Two lovely young women travelling alone seemed to simply ask for trouble... especially as Alli carried no visible weapons to scare off potential trouble-makers.

She spotted Mardil out of the corner of her eye and pretended not to notice. What a snob, she thought. I'm not sure whether or not I really do want to travel with him, politics or not... could I stand his arrogant lordship for more than a millisecond? Will he insist that we call him Lord, Master, Sir, or even... she groaned at the prospect of the last... King? He's certainly not a king, but his ego could very well encourage that sort of adoration. She rolled her eyes and began daydreaming about anarcho-syndicalist communes overtaking Gondor's monarchy. She rather hoped that he wouldn't spot them, but then again... even if he did, she had to admit that he wouldn't be a sore sight on a long journey through this dirty city... and even better... he openly carried weapons and could work quite nicely to discourage ruffians. And besides... perhaps talking governmental policy with him wouldn't be so bad after all... she was always up for a good arguement.

[the phantom]

"Hello there!" said Mardil, thrusting his head between Alli and Sai. Sai jumped in surprise, but Alli had already spotted him and merely said hello back.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation-" he began.

"Yes, yes," interrupted Alli, "I know what you're going to say. We are lost and you are not, so you assume we wouldn't mind you joining us. However, in exchange for leading us correctly to our destination, you are going to demand that we refer to you as 'Lord' all the time, smile prettily at you, and fall down to our knees and thank you at the end of the journey. Am I right?" Alli, very pleased with herself, looked at Mardil and awaited the indignant, flustered, and stuttering response which she was sure her comment had earned.

But Mardil just raised one eyebrow and laughed a bit. "Actually, I wasn't going to offer to lead you to Edge-Where at all, I was just going to give you good directions and mark the route on your map and then leave it to you whether or not you wanted to travel with me or go at your own pace."

[Kath]

Sai had been relieved at the mostly calm actions of her new found companion. When Alli had risen from the ground it had looked as though she was readying herself for a fight, but had dropped her aggressive stance once she'd seen who it was that had hit her. Still, she wasn't sure she wanted to accept the offer of travelling with this volatile tempered girl, even if refusing meant travelling without anyone to help when she got completely lost. Wait who am I kidding? She suddenly thought. I'm already completely lost! And at least I don't have to take all the blame if we end up the opposite side of town!

Just as she had made the decision to accept Alli's over, another member of the Offending Party appeared - Mardil. She was pleased to see Alli's apparently natural rudeness put to good use as she attempted to put the overbearing adult in his place, but he seemed used to such attacks, and was wise enough to merely offer help rather than forced companionship. Not really caring in the least who she travelled with so long as they were going in the right direction, Sai turned to Alli.

"It might be a good idea to at least get directions. I didn't understand the map at all and you didn't even look at it! We were going to go ask for directions anyway, why not let him help?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It was the eyebrow that did it. Obviously Mardil wasn't one of those easily offended people and that impressed Alli. Of course he didn't need that he'd won so easily... he'd have to try a little harder to get a public display of her approval.

She nodded subtly to Sai and spoke to Mardil with derision. "Good luck marking my map. If you can find it, you're welcome to write on it. And I'll need a good reason to travel with you... after all, I don't even know you."

Alli didn't want to jab too much... she didn't want him to leave... but at the same time, she wanted to make sure he knew that she could handle herself... or at least make sure that he thought that she could. If nothing else, Alli wanted to be seen as tough enough to take out a dozen enemies in one fell swoop. Her first week in Mordor had been horrible... she'd been scared and didn't hide it well enough. First she'd been singled out by a band of bullying orcs that had intimidated her into handing over her money. Then, alone and with no money, she'd had to find a place to sleep in safety. She didn't even want to think of those first few nights...

She was better off now, and not likely to be pushed around due to her very convincing, or so she thought, bravado, but it still didn't hurt to scare people off before they could bother her. If they stuck around, they were either really insistent on messing with her... or worth having around. Her only trouble, really, was differentiating.

"Well?" she prodded. "What do you have to say? Why should we travel with you?"

[the phantom]

"Why should you travel with me?" repeated Mardil. "If you don't see the advantage of having someone with you who knows the way and is well armed, then I don't think you are intelligent enough to deserve my companionship."

Alli glared at Mardil, but said nothing. Sai looked like she wanted to say something to smooth everything over, but Mardil spoke again. "There's no need to look at me like that- my comment was made in jest. The fact is, I know that you know perfectly well the advantage in having me along. That makes me wonder, why would you ask me to answer something that you have already answered in your own mind? It seems to me that you never intended for me to answer, and that the only reason to ask such a question would be to imply that I have nothing to offer and you have everything you need. It was an attempt to insult me and increase your stature in my eyes at the same time... very nice, very nice indeed!" exclaimed Mardil with a grin.

Alli racked her brain, but couldn't think of anything good to say. She very much disliked Mardil's interpretation of her words. It was too accurate.

"Well," said Sai, eager to break the silence, "Just so you know I am not at all opposed to joining forces, and the sooner we reach a decision one way or the other the sooner we can be on our way."

Mardil turned and studied Sai. "Your words show that you are capable of cutting through attitudes and personalities straight to the facts. I like that. You seem to recognize a good arrangement when you hear one and so will be willing to stick with it as long as it is mutually beneficial. As far as I am concerned you have my stamp of approval as a traveling companion- for now. And if I may ask, your face- there's something there that suggests the old, high Numenorean blood. I can't quite put my finger on it. And your garments, though they are dusty and frayed, look like they were once very fine. You come from a wealthy family, yes?"

Then, Mardil turned his attention back to Alli. Mardil immediately recognized that Alli was putting on a bit of a front. He had rubbed shoulders with politicians enough during his early life that he could sniff out a front rather quickly. Now, the trick was figuring out what was truly Alli and what wasn't, and to appeal to her true self. He stood considering for a moment and then spoke. "It is clear you have a grudge against the aristocracy. It seems to me that the only way an intelligent person like yourself could harbor such feelings is if you had had a few actual opinion-forming encounters with the aristocracy. That leads me to believe that you used to live near an area of concentrated wealth and power- Minas Tirith. Also, your speech and bearing make it clear that you received a quality education within the White City's walls, so you certainly were not poor. I'm guessing you come from a middle class merchant family."

Then Mardil leaned in a bit closer and added, "And just in case it makes a difference to you, I, too, have a rather large grudge against the rulers of Minas Tirith."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli wanted to smile. She wanted to laugh and enthusiastically throw her arms around this intuitive man as she would have at home in the old days to an old friend that pointed out when she was dodging questions and being intentionally obtuse. She was very amused by his astute observations... but he didn't need to know that. He was too accurate for her comfort, and that completely neutralized her excitement that she'd be travelling with somebody actually able to give tart responses as easily as he could take them. His accuracy made her wonder how much of her act he saw through. He seemed to have their mutual best interests in order, but if he could find his way through her charade, she wondered who else would be so easily able to tell how relieved she was that she and Sai would have protection on the road back home. If they could sense relief the second aid was offered, they could sense that aid was desired or needed. She didn't want to feel indebted to anybody... especially not a noble, no matter how handsome, amusing, and empathetic he was.

Alli's face now took on an unreadable quality. She spoke more quietly now... more politely, but far less revealingly. "I would welcome your accompaniment, Lord Mardil. Thank you for the offer."

[Kath]

Sai had stood quietly by as Alli and Mardil conversed, knowing that the other girl needed to get her position in relation to the man clear in both her head and his. She intervened a couple of times when Alli seemed a little stuck for words, but became speechless herself as Mardil began to poke into her origins by analysing her features and clothes. He was laughably inaccurate, but because she wanted to avoid being a trouble-maker to try and keep the already tenuous peace she chose not to reply to his words.

She was glad to see though that his interpretation of Alli's words and actions was much closer to the mark. She watched as the girls face closed off a little further after each comment until it was almost unreadable. The poor thing was obviously very confused, but it was clear that she was pleased to have Mardil as a companion. Even so, Sai breathed a sigh of relief when she did eventually agree to travelling with Mardil.

Just as she was beginning to think that, even with her strange companions, the trip out of Mordor might be easier now, a bright yellow van screeched into view and an incredibly up himself man leapt out and headed towards Mardil.

[Encaitare]

Wilhelmina had set off straight away in what seemed to be a likely direction. In her opinion, it was always better to be going somewhere -- anywhere -- than to be standing still. But in this place, it seemed that everyone was in a rush, and one had to move quickly or risk being run over by the myriad of speeding cars and their nasty drivers. She purposefully hurried along the dirty, chewing gum-spattered sidewalk, wondering how exactly she was supposed to find her way to Edge-where. During her time spent in Mordor, she'd only been to Lûndûn once or twice times, and knew nothing about the city's layout. She found the place wholly distasteful, quite frankly. 'Disgusting,' she thought as an orc spat on the ground not a foot away from her. She moved away from him and found a little alcove where she could get out of the rush of people.

Examining the map, she realized how ridiculously unhelpful it was. Firstly, the city was very crowded, and the tall buildings leaned in on the streets like stuffy bureaucrats. That plus the amount of smog in the air made it next to impossible to even judge direction by the sun. Wilhelmina shook her head in frustration. What good was a map if you couldn't tell North from South? She turned the map around a few times and then craned her neck in search of a street sign. Her hat teetered dangerously on her head, but the small squeak of distress that came from inside it was completely lost in the din of the traffic. All she could see, though, were a couple of lonely-looking poles -- apparently the nearby signs had all been stolen.

"Honestly!" she complained. "Civilization, they say? Ha!" She scanned the sky again and decided that the hazy circle of light behind the smog had to be the sun, however pitiful it appeared. "Alright... it's still morning, so that'll be East." She aligned her map in accordance and stepped back into the street, vowing to give anyone else who spat on the ground near her a smart whack with her walking stick.

She hadn't even gotten to the corner when she felt a tap on her arm. Turning about (and looking slightly downward) she saw that it was the Dwarf. "Oh, hello," she said. "Where did you come from?"

"I've been shouting your name, but you didn't hear," he said. "Do you know where everyone is?"

"No," Wilhelmina told him. "But no matter. I didn't like the look of the others very much. That Panakeia's nothing but a scamming charlatan. And that man looked too mopey, like one of those emo kids... what was his name? Waldo, or something like that..."

The dwarf was about to reply, but they were both distracted by the sheer garishness of the yellow van that pulled up next to them. Blimmin' Barblecashing Corpulation? What in Middle-earth was that?

Before she knew what was happening, a man was shoving an ice-cream-cone-shaped object in her face and asking for her name. "Wilhelmina Brochenbach," she said with some confusion. "What's it to you?"

"You're on our show," the man hissed, showing off his bad teeth.

"A show? I don't have time to be on any kind of reality show! I have somewhere to be!"

"Of course you've got somewhere to be -- on top! You're going to be a star," enthused the host.

"You get away from me, and take that stupid thing out of my face," she ordered in what she hoped was a menacing tone.

"Sorry, deary, but we've a contract from the guv'ment saying that we have the right to film you." He held up a piece of paper which bore the seal of none but Anakron himself. Wilhelmina made a mental note to give him a piece of her mind when next she saw him. But as the man led her away, she began to wonder if that would even happen.

[the phantom]

Mardil was glad the two young ladies had agreed to travel with him, and he also found a bit of pleasure in Alli's reaction to him. She had gone from insulting and derisive to self conscious and tentative in less than a minute. "It's obvious my guesses about her were right," thought Mardil. "And it seems that she never gets close enough to anyone to let them know the real Alli, otherwise she wouldn't have been thrown off so badly by my accuracy. She's put a shell around herself, that much is certain- though I can't guess why."

At that moment a van that said Ridiculously Cacophonous Arsininity pulled up and stopped next to them with a screech. A man wearing a lot of bling-bling hopped out of the passenger side and strutted up to Mardil, using one hand to hold up his overly large and baggy pants. His other hand held a document. Mardil took it and read it when it was offered. It demanded Mardil go with him back to the studio and begin work on a rap album.

Mardil turned to Alli and Sai. "This is great!" he exclaimed.

"Um, yeah it's great to get a record deal and all," said Sai, "But what about the whole getting OUT of MORDOR thing?! Did you forget about that?!"

"No, no- not at all. I've been to Ridiculously Cacophonous Arsininity before. The record company's studios and headquarters are all located just down the Northern Line from Edge-Where- near Entish Town. Look, right up here," he said, pointing to his BU map. "This will save us quite a hike."

"But you don't have time to do an album!" protested Sai.

"You really think I'm going to miss my chance to escape Mordor?" asked Mardil. "That's crazy." Mardil then looked Sai right in the eye. "Don't worry," he said with sincerity, and then he shifted his gaze to Alli. "I'll make sure we make it to Edge-Where on time."

Mardil turned to the man and smiled. "I'd love to sign a record deal with RCA. But, the three of us are a packaged deal. I can't perform without my backup singers."

"Hey, hey, man, that aint no problem. We'll jus' sign them up too. But don't you worry, dog, we dont' haveta do all that paperwork now. Get in the van and we'll take ya right to the studio, turn the mic on, an' let ya do a li'l freestylin' to break you in."

"Sounds good to me," said Mardil with a smile. "Come on, ladies, let's not keep this gentleman waiting."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You can't be serious." exploded Alli. "If it means getting to Edge-where more quickly, then by all means, we can take the van, but if you think that I'm going to be your backup singer in some lame rap recording, you've got another think coming."

Sai waited calmly for Alli's annoyance to fade; even their short acquaintanceship had taught her that Alli didn't stay angry for long. Mardil simply cocked an eyebrow at her with an expression that seemed to convey amusement at her rash reactions and the slightest annoyance that she didn't yet have full confidence in him. Alli suddenly felt slightly ashamed at her outburst. In the few minutes she'd spent with Mardil, he'd made her feel like an immature and hasty child several times. She had no reason to believe that any sane person, and Mardil seemed sane, would prefer free-style rapping in Mordor to doing anything in the world outside of the place. Surely he knew what he was doing. She just wished he'd clue her in.

Now she wished that she could apologize, but at the same time, she really didn't want to. If she apologized, it meant an embarassing moment of admitting that she was wrong. She'd prefer that a moment like that not come so early in a relationship... talk about starting off on the wrong foot... what sort of impression would it leave of her that first she spoke and then she admitted that what she said wasn't right? No... it would be better to pretend she hadn't acted so foolishly. If she didn't mention it, hopefully they wouldn't... though this was Mordor and Alli had learned early that any possible annoyance that she could even think of, much less experience, was likely to kick her square in the nose before she could see it coming.

[Encaitare]

"So, tell us a few things about yourself, Ms. Brokenback," the host, who had introduced himself as Karís Mâtiktwít said with a grin of dubious sincerity and hue. "How long have you been in Mordor?"

"It's Brochenbach," Wilhelmina told him in indignation.

His expression did not change. "Right, and how long have you been in Mordor?"

"Er... fifty-odd years." She glanced down the street but Fléin was no longer visible: he'd either gone in another direction, or was just too short to be seen in the crowd.

"And what were you assigned here for?" he asked, the preposition dangling like mucus from the nose of a person with a particularly bad cold virus.

"There was an incident involving carbonated beverage terminology, among other things... Look, young man, do you really have to wave that... that ice-cream-cone-shaped thing at me whenever I say anything?"

The host did not acknowledge her question, but rather delved for further information. "Other things?" He turned to look straight into the strange thing on the Uruk-hai's shoulder. "Might our star have some juicy secrets hidden in her past? We'll see if we can get her to divulge them as we follow her around the city. We're going to take a short break, but don't go away! We'll be back with more footage and exclusive interviews that you'll see only on 'Escape from Mordor'! And... cut," he concluded. "Alright, nice shooting. Wilhelmina, if you could be a little more charismatic, that would be just great. Let's take it down the street. Action!"

Karís went down the street, and the Uruk-hai gestured at her to follow him; he in turn walked behind the pair as they fought to get through the crowd.

"Where are we going? I have to get to Edge-Where. You do know that, don't you?"

"Of course," the man said, looking straight ahead. "And we're going to follow you around as you do it."

"Mr. Mâtiktwít," Wilhelmina said, "it would seem to me that I am the one following, not the other way around. Why are we walking down this street, anyway?"

"It's for a certain type of shot," he muttered irritably. "We're going to speed it up after filming. Reality shows do it all the time."

"I wouldn't know," the old woman sniffed. "I've never watched one."

[Celuien]

Panakeia cautiously picked her way down the steps. Walking with one stiletto heeled shoe and one flat shoe was a challenge at any time, more so while attempting to carry a heavy sample case down an unevenly graded, crowded, litter-strewn flight of stairs. Shoved from behind by a large man in a business suit who was in a rush, she was only saved from falling by tipping into a woman ahead of her.

She turned to face Panakeia. Her red, teary eyes were nearly swollen shut from conjunctivitis. Phlegm ran down her face from a raging cold. "Ere, wbbuy duch oo ink oo're goin?" she mumbled through a stuffy nose.

"I beg your pardon?" Panakeia replied.

"Wbbuy duch oo ink ere oo're goin?" the woman repeated in a louder tone. "Oo puched me."

Panakeia thought for a moment, trying to figure out what the woman was saying. "Oh, I see. Sorry about that. It was an accident."

The woman shrugged. Suddenly her face contorted, nose wrinkled, upper lip drawn back, and eyes squeezed even more tightly shut than before. She grabbed at Panakeia's scarf, which was instantly pulled back by a ducking Panakeia, and sneezed, spraying the business-suited man behind with cold virus. He began to yell. Snickering, Panakeia wove through the crowd, now stopped to gawk at the confrontation, and reached the bottom of the steps. A large map of the BilddyUnnergrind stood there, covered in used chewing gum and graffiti. The graffiti puzzled Panakeia. Most of it was the usual stuff of Mordor, illegible scrawls and scribbles. But mixed in with the waving lines were several messages such as "No new fare increases" "Down with the Transit Authority" "Fûmës for Transit Chief" and "Free Willy!" All of the material obscured the map so much that it was impossible to read, other than the words "You" and "here" on a red dot above Rût’s Lip Garden Station. The "are" was covered by a particularly large piece of gum. Panakeia pulled her map out of her pocket. Now that she had a better idea of where she was, the map made more sense. Red line to Potted Ham Court Road, change trains for Edge-Where. Seems simple enough.

Off she went to find a ticket counter. The line stretched back all the way to the stairs and didn't appear to be moving. Panakeia stood her sample case on end and sat down. At least it's good for something. I've lugged it around long enough. She waited. And waited. And waited. Panakeia began to despair. What's taking so long? I'll never make it to Edge-Where on time. But at last, she stood at the head of the line. An Orc stood behind the counter, snapping gum in her mouth. Panakeia thought she recognized the shade of blonde the Orc had dyed her hair. It was the same as Panakeia's, wrought through the wonders of Pearie Ockcide Potion.

"Good morning, afternoon, evening and morning again! Welcome to the Rût’s Lip Garden Station. My name is Tiffany. It is my pleasure to serve you with a smile." Here she smiled, baring a row of yellow, jagged teeth. One was gold, and another had Tiffany's gum on it. "How may I assist you today?"

"I'm going to Edge-Where."

Tiffany nodded. "Yes, indeed. Edge-Where. Edge-Where? Hmm. I'm very sorry, but it's not on this line. Perhaps you would like to visit Chance of Rain instead?" she queried hopefully. "I hear the weather is beautiful there."

Panakeia tapped her foot impatiently. "No. Edge-Where. This line goes to Potted Ham Court Road, true?"

"Indeed it does, madam."

"Well, then you change trains for Edge-Where, can't you?"

Tiffany looked puzzled. "I'll have to ask my supervisor. Please wait." Tiffany hung a "Closed" sign and vanished. 20 minutes passed. Tiffany returned, carrying two tickets in her hand.

"My deepest apologies for the inconvenience. You are correct. Here are your tickets. One to Potted Ham Court Road, and the next to Edge-Where at the end of the Grey Line. The southbound track is to your right, my left. Or is it my right, your left. In any case, the track is that way." Tiffany pointed to the left. "3 Trolls, 75 Maggots, please."

Panakeia stopped. "Wait. The fare is 2 Trolls, 50 Maggots."

Tiffany smiled and nodded. "Yes, that is correct. But we charge half-fare for transfers."

"Oh, alright. Prices always go up. Don't they ever go down?"

The smile faded from Tiffany's face. Her eyes widened and her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. "You aren't one of the Fûmësists, are you?"

"Tiffany, I had never heard of this Fûmës before today, and I wish I never had." Panakeia slammed her fare down on the counter and snatched her tickets. "I just want to get to Edge-Where." She stormed off to the track. At the edge of the platform, three street-musicians, clad in brightly colored striped shirts, stood tuning their instruments. The instruments were odd. One was white and round as a Hobbit's window. The two others looked somewhat more ordinary, shaped similarly to a fiddle, but with a large hole in the center. All three musicians held their instruments in front on them. One of them then stood in front of the rest and began to speak at the top of his voice.

"These are the times that try our souls. In the course of our history, the people of Lûndûn have rallied bravely whenever the rights of men, women, Orcs, or individuals of any gender, nationality or species have been threatened. Today, a new crisis has arisen. The Mordor Transit Authority, better known as the M. T. A., is attempting to levy a burdensome tax on the population in the form of a BilddyUnnergrind fare increase. Citizens, hear me out!" He gave added emphasis to each of his next words, as if in warning. "This could happen to you!"

All three began to pluck their instruments. And the man began to sing.

Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Willy on a tragic and fateful day.
He put ten Crows in his pocket, kissed his wife and family, went to ride on the M. T. A.

Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and his fate is still unknown.

Here, the other two performers injected.

What a pity! Poor ole Willy. Shame and scandal. He may ride forever. Just like Earendil.

He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Lûndûn. He's the man who never returned.

Willy handed in his Crows at the Ents Stand Square Station and he changed for Chance Of Rain.
When he got there the conductor told him, one more Warg. Willy couldn't get off of that train.

Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Lûndûn. He's the man who never returned.

Now, all night long Willy rides through the station, crying, “What will become of me?!!”
How can I afford to see my sister in Uruk-bridge or my cousin in Queen’s Bury?

Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Lûndûn. He's the man who never returned.

Willy's wife goes down to the Rût’s Lip Garden Station every day at quarter past two.
And through the open window she hands Willy a sandwich as the train comes rumblin' through.

Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Lûndûn. He's the man who never returned.

Now, you citizens of Lûndûn, don't you think it's a scandal how the people have to pay and pay?
Fight the fare increase! Vote for Eckaust Fûmës! Get poor Willy off the M. T. A.

Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and his fate is still unknown.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Lûndûn. He's the man who never returned.
He's the man who never returned. He's the man who never returned.

The lead singer turned to face the track. “Ain't you Willy?” he wailed.

As if in reply, a train came rushing down the track. A haggard looking man leaned out the window, and the assembled crowd called out “Willy! There’s Willy! We’ll save you. Free Willy!” And a woman hurried up to the still moving train with a brown paper bag. As it stopped, she handed the bag to Willy. A cheer went up, and half of the people in the crowd tossed coins to the musicians, who promised to take it directly to Mr. Eckaust Fûmës to aid his campaign and hopefully, save Willy from his terrible fate.

Panakeia rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Another political campaign stunt. Ridiculous."

A gullible man next to Panakeia stood wiping tears from his eyes. "How can you say that? Poor Willy!"

Panakeia shook her head. "Look at all the money. If they were really trying to help this Willy, don't you think they would just hand him the extra Warg? They have at least 20 Trolls there. My guess is that Willy is in on this too. It's a brilliant plan."

The man's expression changed as he considered Panakeia's words. But he said "No, I don't believe you. No one would ever be so dishonest."

What a fool, Panakeia thought to herself. Seems like a perfect customer. Just as she was preparing to work a sales pitch on him for some Instant Bodybuilder Protein Shakes, the train doors opened and the conductor came out onto the platform.

"All aboard for the southbound red line. All aboard for South Rût’s Lip, Orc Hold, and points south. All aboard."

Panakeia stood up, lifted her sample case, and shuffled toward the train. As she reached the edge of the platform, the doors began to shut. "No!" she cried. With a final effort, Panakeia shoved ahead and slipped onto the train just as the doors closed behind her.

[the guy who be short]

Though he had tried to keep up when she had been rudely snatched away, Fléin had now, to his despair, completely lost sight of Wilhelmina. Perhaps his only chance of company in this forsaken city was lost, in the grasp of reality showism.

Well, maybe now that he was alone (excluding the several million Lûndûners rushing around, of course) he could get some thinking done. What he really needed was somewhere to sit and ponder, or maybe just sit.

He wandered around a little, still slightly dazed, until he found a grimy sign proclaiming his presence at Amon Haradow. He inspected the sign more closely - to the North was North Haradow. West Haradow lay to the West. To the South was Far Haradow. The sign posting to the east was too grimy to read, and his eyes were streaming, but he could warrant a guess as to what lay in that direction.

"Curse this place! Curse Mordor!" he roared to the world at large. A few people glanced at him. He swore again, at a complete loss and still bench-less. What could he possibly do now, save maybe swallow his pride (Pride? What pride is there in this land?, he thought bitterly) and ask somebody where to go.

He approached a singularly odd looking man in a top hat, his arms full of chocolate bars. "Excuse me-" he had began but the man seemed to have no intention of listening to him.

"Want to buy a Wonka bar, eh? Delicious Wonka bars... my own brand, don't you know, and ever so good to eat. See this egg? Try it! Try it! Free!" He thrust a small chocolate egg into Fléin's hand.

"I really don't want to-"

"Eat it! Eat it!" he continued as quickly as before. "Oh, it's new, you know, but don't worry, it's quite safe; or at least, it is for Oompa loompas, not that you know who they are, but my dear Dwarf, don't just stand there, try it and tell me what you think!"

"But I just want to ask you-" the Dwarf tried again, to no avail.

"Oh please, don't make this more suspenseful than it has to-"

"WHERE EDGINGVILLE IS!" Fléin finally managed to scream into the annoying man's face.

"Well, now, there's no need to be quite so rude" said the easily offended amazing chocolatier, walking off in a huff.

Fléin signed. At least the conjunctivitis appeared to be clearing up... his eyes weren't quite so watery anymore. He decided he definitely needed a rest. Once his bottom had a little support, his mind could get on with some thinking. But where was he to find any place to rest in Lûndûn? Should he approach another stranger? Considering how the last one went, it didn't seem a very appealing proposition, but there was little else to do.

Crowds were still speeding past in both directions on the pavement. Fléin walked across, planting himself firmly in front of a man in a suit, presumably one of the many bureaucrats in Mordor, and accosted him. "Excuse me, my good Man, I'm looking for somewhere to rest," he said loudly, "and if you won't be of any assistance, I'm of a mind to use this axe." He indicated the axe on his back.

"Er... well... erm, there is... that is to say... erm, you could... there is Ma Cuddonelds, a fast food place... nearby."

Fléin allowed the man to direct him to the lunching house and left him, much relieved, to go on his way. So it was that the Dwarf came to the notorious Ma Cuddonelds.

[Kath]

Sai grinned as Alli tried to backtrack on her outburst without being seen as admitting to being mistaken. It looked as though Mardil was also trying to stifle a smile, and she was glad to see he had understood that leaving the comment as it stood would be better for all involved. However, Mardil's new empolyer was not so quick on the uptake.

"What you talkin' bout girl?! The best chance you got of gettin' famous is this guy right here." He cried, throwing his arm around Mardil's shoulders in an overly friendly manner, seemingly missing the look of disgust that crossed the other mans face.

Alli's mood headed straight back downhill upon hearing this and she opened her mouth to retort. Not wanting another argument to break out, Sai got in first and began to gabble words as fast as possible as she grabbed Alli's arm and tugged her towards the van, keeping a wary eye out for any flying fists.

"Of course, thank you Mardil we'd love to be on this record with you. Shall we go now? We need to get this done soon so we can get on to Edge-Where. Do you think we'll get any money out of it, we'll need some for the Unnerground."

Reaching the back of the van she pushed Alli inside and followed suit herself, hoping Mardil would hurry up and join them so they could shut the doors before Alli recovered from her shock at being manhandled.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"No, you don't understand," whispered Alli in a faster and more paranoid way than usual. She was looking around the van distractedly, beginning to breathe quickly. "I can't go... please don't make me do this. I'll walk there... please... Please let me walk. I'll walk. I'll get there quickly, just don't make me do this. Please." Alli felt deeply ashamed at what she considered to be weakness in her... her claustrophobia was kicking in. She felt like she was trapped... the walls of the van did not seem to loom, but she was overly-conscious of how small the yellow vehicle was. Once Mardil and the record crew were inside, she would be too close to people... no matter where she sat or how she positioned herself, her personal space was about to get invaded by people that she barely knew.

She shuddered a little bit and looked truly pitiful to Sai before a sound snapped her from her chatter. The door was opening again. The man who had told her that this was her only shot to fame was coming in. Alli leaned forward, all shows of irrational fear gone, and grabbed him firmly by the collar.

"Listen up buddy," she spoke quietly but very forcefully. "If you speak down to me once more, you're going to regret it. If you make me famous, you're going to regret it even more. I am in this van because I have no choice and because it is the quickest way to reach my goal. If my straight shot from right there," she pointed to where she'd been before Sai had so strongly encouraged her into the van, "to Edge-Where becomes anything different than a straight shot, you should understand by this point what my feelings will be. Do I make myself clear, and do we have an agreement?"

He nodded his head, astounded that this mere slip of a young woman could intimidate him so easily. She had no weapons, he noticed, and she wasn't really big enough to hurt him by sheer force... slightly taller than average, he thought, but slender as Britney Spears. He contemplated for a second handing her the official looking document that Anakron had sent for her that would force her to work as a scantily clad backup dancer for Spears... Looking at her very serious grey eyes, that were really, he noticed with interest, blue with specks of many colors, but in any case seemed to gleam with potential for any of a number of emotions, none of which he really wanted to experience until her long fingers were somewhat farther away from his neck, he kept the document safely hidden. He'd shred it when they got to the studio. Anakron might be annoyed, but what could he really do about it... send the man to Mordor?

When the man looked properly respectful, fearful, and reminiscent of somebody about to wet himself, Alli straightened his bling for him and patted him on the head.

"I'm glad we're clear on this. Now let's get going, please?"

The man was suddenly very glad that he was not Lord Mardil II or this other girl and actually had to travel with the lass. Quickly he positioned himself in the opposite corner as her and everybody else, looking a bit confused over the travel delay, boarded the van. Mardil looked at Alli a little worriedly, but said nothing. As soon as the door was shut, the record man whispered in the driver's ear and the van raced down the road. Alli watched an old woman jump out of the way as the vehicle jumped the curb. She stared intently at her intertwined fingers... she could feel the heat from Mardil's body radiating through her side. She could smell the overpowering cologne of the other man beside her. She could see both of their legs pressed up against her own in the cramped space and she couldn't wait to get out of there.

[Encaitare]

It was not long before Wilhelmina found herself inside a small room, sitting in a chair in front of a one-eyed creature similar to the one toted by the Uruk-hai. Karís Mâtiktwít had told her to talk to the so-called "kamura" for a few minutes, explaining her reaction to the task that Anakron had given to her. "Don't mince words," he had said. "Say something nasty about the rest of the Offending Party, if you like. Drama sells. Not nearly as much as sex, of course, but" (here he looked at Wilhelmina derisively) "let's face it, dear, who are we kidding?" And with that, he disappeared through a curtain, leaving her alone with the kamura.

The old woman stared at the thing for a few moments; it neither moved nor blinked. She tapped it with her walking stick, and it didn't move a bit. 'I won't be moving a bit either unless I can get away from this ridiculous show,' she thought. 'Best to play along for the time being, and then...' Suddenly she had an idea. She smiled to herself, and began to talk.

"When my name was selected by Anakron, I felt like I was the most important person in the universe. And I am, you know. I want you all to know that. I'm going to get out of Mordor much more quick than anybody else. Isn't that right, Mr. Swanky?" The ferret crawled out of the caverns of Wilhelmina's hat and allowed her to pet him. "This is my friend Mr. Swanky. I only feed him licorice, and if he's especially good, dead flies. Unfortunately he's got a bad case of conjunctivitis, and some kind of cold -- I think it's the polluted air in this city. Say hello to the kamura!" She held the ferret in front of the unblinking eye just in time for him to sneeze all over it.

"Hey!" Mr. Mâtiktwít appeared, throwing the curtain aside. "What--"

"How was that, Mr. Mâtiktwít? Just like you asked, right? Let's get going," she breezed, placing Mr. Swanky on her shoulder and walking straight past him. If she had turned around, she would have seen him make a horrible grimace, but since his teeth were in quite a deplorable state, perhaps it was for the best that she didn't.

~*~*~*~*~

"We're stopping here, Karís," Wilhelmina declared, halting abruptly in front of a bakery.

The man blinked. "Whatever for?"

"It's lunchtime, and I need something to eat. I've had an insatiable fruitcake craving all morning." She pushed the door open and didn't bother to hold it for him. "I'd like to purchase one large fruitcake," she told the apron-wearing Orc behind the counter. To the reality show host, she said, "I want to sit at that table by the window."

"It's already occupied," Karís protested, not realizing the difficulty the Uruk-hai was having getting the kamura through the door, which he hadn't bothered to hold open either.

Wilhelmina put her hands on her hips. "I am the star of this show, and I say I want to sit by the window! Make them get up!" The man scurried to the table, and slipped the couple sitting there a Troll to make them leave. Wilhelmina immediately flounced over and sat down with her fruitcake.

"Er... I think I saw a restaurant down the block," Karís said, jerking his thumb in that direction. "I'm going to go get something to eat and bring it back, alright?"

"No. You can have some fruitcake."

"I think I'd really prefer--"

"I said fruitcake!"

The man meekly sat down and tried the fruitcake, which was about as hard as a diamond but slightly more colorful. Wilhelmina heard a cracking sound and hoped it was one of his teeth.

"I need some gum," was the next thing she said to him. "Go to the candy shop I saw next door and buy me a pack or five of cinnamon gum. I want all different flavors." She observed his hesitation and continued. "Hey, if I'm going to be filmed by you, then you're going to have to keep me happy. Got it? You wouldn't want to lose the star of your show, would you?" Karís scrambled towards the door and bolted for the candy shop.

"What are you looking at, you overgrown Orc?" Wilhelmina rudely asked the Uruk-hai.

"I'd be much obligated if you'd be so kind as to call me a Native Mordorian," said the kamuraman, accidentally using the wrong word in his haste to promote political correctness.

"And I'd like it if I were Queen of Gondor, but you can't have everything, can you?" said Wilhelmina. Then she spotted Karís returning with her chewing gum. "Or maybe I can..."

[the phantom]

The van ride was extremely bumpy. Mardil wasn't sure if the street had a lot of bad potholes or if they were running over pedestrians who foolishly believed that the street was an appropriate place to walk. Sai was directly in front of him sandwiched between two copyright lawyers. She sat in a slumped position staring straight ahead as the two men talked over her head.

Alli was leaning forward and breathing a bit heavy and kept looking around at the ceiling and walls, as if they were too close for her comfort. "Claustrophobic?" Mardil asked.

Alli took a large breath and paused, like she was considering her answer and perhaps gathering herself to say something untrue. "No," she said, and then she turned and gave Mardil an awkward look, which Mardil figured was meant to appear confident and at ease.

Mardil nodded and said "Okay," but he was thinking "You're lying, Alli."

Alli looked down at her hands again, obviously uncomfortable. Mardil nudged her arm. "What do you want?" asked Alli, still looking at her hands.

"Trade spots with me," said Mardil, thrusting open the window next to him as he spoke. "I want to talk to that RCA representative sitting next to you and it would be easier if there weren't someone between us. Plus, this way you will be able to look out the window and get some fresh air. Surely that will be more interesting than staring at your hands. With the traffic around here, it could take us a good thirty minutes to get there."

[the guy who be short]

Fléin walked into Ma Cuddonelds, perhaps just a little apprehensively. He had, of course, heard of it before, vaguely and in passing. Most people seemed acquainted with it. The large, yellow, spiderlike symbol above the doors was instantly recognisable - he'd seen it on litter for years. But what was Ma Cuddonelds?

There were chairs and tables all around the doors, stretching into the building for a few score metres. And there, right at the back, were several orcs behind a counter, an unsanitary looking kitchen behind them.

Two years in Mordor, and still Fléin could hardly look at an orc without shuddering, his hand unconsciously moving towards his axe. Still, he had to be politically correct, or at least pretend to be so. Or did he? Wasn't that one of the things he was trying to escape from...? He marched up to the counter.

"Excuse me my good Man-"

"Native Mordorian, please," the Orc simpered. Fléin shuddered.

"Yes, yes. What... this is an Inn, yes?"

The Orc explained that the establishment was indeed an eating house, or a fast food company, as some preferred, but that it was no ordinary inn. As words such as "Multinational corporation," "Providers of institutional food," "false allegations of food poisoning," and "possible halitosis" whizzed by, Fléin started to nod off. The story of Ma Cuddoneld herself, and her capitalising upon her brilliant ideas (such as using slave labour to increase profits and reconstituting chicken nuggets from diseased meat) passed him by completely. A long queue starting forming behind him, and when the person behind him pointed this out, the Orc simply started rambling about the history of language, and how the word queue had seemingly changed meaning after it's transition from French to English. He seemed to ramble on and on.

"Interesting, isn't it, how a queue is almost like a tail, in that it flows behind you, but of course, I had the most horrendous French teacher, don't you know, threatened to eat my legs, and my mothers, all of them, if I didn't do well, but never mind all that, what would you like to order?" he finished at last.

Fléin asked about the menu, and was told to choose from "a burger, large, medium or small, either cat, fish, lemming, possum, rabbit, raccoon, squirrel or any other furry animal, with optional purple ketchup, or else a bag, large, medium or small, of candy, flies, liquorice, bees, or slugs. There's also a choice of lima beans, chocolate, chewing gum or fruitcake, with either cola, coke, pepsi, coca cola, soda or mountain dew on the side."

Fléin signed at the unimaginitive, quasi-traditional Mordorian menu. Sometimes he really did long for a nice mug of ale and some nicely cooked chicken...
"Medium lemmingburger, please, and hold the purple ketchup," he replied.

After eating his meal at a small window table (it had come with purple ketchup, and was grossly overpriced at one troll fifty, and altogether wholly unsatisfying), he decided he really needed to sort out where this Edgingville was, and how he was to get there before the end of the day. It was already midday.

*******

Half an hour later, Fléin was still puzzling over the useless map. Amon Haradow... it had to be here somewhere. The map was still of Lûndûn, no matter how odd the names. Haradow... Haradow... Edgingville, too, was mysteriously absent.

The Dwarf sighed and, deciding that a short nap would clear his wits, set his head upon the rather sticky table. He closed his eyes, immediately regretted doing so for obvious reasons, sighed again and tried to get to sleep in the middle of the very busy restaurant.

[Kath]

Sai was keeping her body in as tight a hold as possible as the van lurched from side to side, not wanting to come into any more contact with the two lawyers on either side of her than she had to. They both reeked of the city and she was having to keep her head down to avoid gagging. Not that either of them even seemed to notice she was between them anyway. They were talking about warranties and tax codes and custom checks, and all the time using double negatives and passive voice and mispronouncing words so that Sai was having to bite her tongue not to scream at them. Even worse though, the two of them continually punctuated all their points by waving their arms about, so she was being hit in the head every few seconds and was starting to worry about a possible concussion.

Her patience was already running very thin when one of the men's arms hit her in the nose. The pain caused her eyes to water like crazy and she finally lost her temper. Grabbing hold of the arm that had just hit her she took hold of the little finger on the hand at the end of it and bent it backwards. Pulling herself upright again she carefully bent the man's finger until she could see his eyes begin to water as hers had just done.

"Hit me again, and next time, I won't stop here - understood?"

The man nodded, trying to edge away from her without moving his finger, a feat he was failing at quite miserably if the look on his face was anything to go by. Satisfied that she had made her point Sai let go and settled back down, finding that she inexplicably had more room. Her method of attack may have been less fierce than Alli's, but it seemed to have been just as effective.

[the phantom]

With a not very well hidden look of relief, Alli agreed to trade Mardil spots and sit next to the window. It was easier said than done though. The rows of seats were quite close together, not really leaving enough room for two people to squeeze past each other. On top of that, there was the continual bouncing of the van on the substandard streets. Needless to say, an awful lot of contact was made while switching spots, which, though he didn't show it, Mardil rather liked.

Once he was situated next to the RCA representative, Mardil asked "So- you have a document that requires that I accompany you to RCA and work out a record deal, correct?"

"Yeah, homey, that's what we got," answered the man.

"Don't call me 'homey'. My name is Mardil."

"Aw, sorry 'bout that hom- uh, Mardil. Heh- that's a tight name, man- Maarrrdiiilll! S'got a ring to it, ya know. Maaarrrdiiiillll!! Ha ha ha!" Mardil shook his head. He was beginning to regret switching seats. Oblivious to Mardil's annoyance, the man continued. "Mardil... Let's go chill with Mardil! Ya can't hold still with Mardil! Let's pop some pills with Mardil! Yeah, ha ha! Your name'll be real useful when we start bustin' out with some rhymes! "

"Oh, goodie," said Mardil.

"Hey, sorry Mardil, I never told you my name," said the RCA representative. "My real name is Jamal Octavius Jones, but I go by Doctor Drive-by."

"How wonderful," said Mardil.

"Thanks, my man. Now, about that contract. How's about we negotiate that right now, homey?"

"Look, I'm not your 'homey'!"

"Can I call you bro?"

"No!"

"How 'bout MacDaddy?"

"Definitely not!"

"Whaz wrong wid MacDaddy? All it means is a pimp who has reached the zenith of his profession. That's a compliment, man!"

Just as Mardil was about to grab Dr. Drive-by by his throat, the van screeched to a sudden halt. Everyone slammed into the seat in front of them, except the lawyer sitting in the middle front. He went flying through the windshield.

"We're here!" announced the driver.

"I'm suing!" screamed the bleeding lawyer in front of the van.

[Celuien]

The train doors shut behind Panakeia with a thud. The whistle blew, screeching and discordant, and the train lurched ahead. She stumbled along the aisle, searching for a vacant seat. If the platform had been crowded, the train was doubly, no, triply so. The passengers climbed over each other in their rush for a seat, resulting in many trampled toes and bruised legs. Panakeia's aching feet rejoiced as she spotted an empty seat at the back of the car. She moved towards it as rapidly as the crowded conditions and unsteady ride, for the train swayed terribly along the track, would allow. She had nearly reached the chair when someone rushed up from behind, pushed her aside and sat down, with a hostile glare that defied her to challenge his right to sit. Panakeia was in no mood for a fight. She grasped a loop dangling from the ceiling and held on for dear life. The conductor was doing a terrible job. The train threatened to derail at every turn. The conductor must be speeding, she thought. I only hope we make it to Edge-Where alive.

The train stopped abruptly. "South Rût’s Lip. South Rût’s Lip. Everyone off for South Rût’s Lip." No one already on board budged, but several more passengers piled on to the train. A woman with a small child, perhaps 2 or 3 years old, now stood behind Panakeia.

"Mommy, I want some more gum," she said.

"Not now, dear. Finish what you have."

"I want more now!" she screamed. The tot was obviously spoiled rotten.

The mother replied in a harassed voice. "I told you, when you finish what you have."

The child began to cry at the top of her voice and pulled the gum out of her mouth. Her fingers went to Panakeia's hair, smearing the gum into her locks. The child smiled broadly. "All gone, Mommy."

"Good girl. Have another piece."

This was too much for Panakeia. "I hope you swallow that gum," she hissed under her breath. The only response was a sly grin and wave. Panakeia moved to find another place to stand. As she glanced around, she spotted a door at the rear of the car. A sign on the door stated "Private. No admittance." Preposterous. This is a public train on the BliddyUnnergrind. There aren't any private cars. She pushed the door ajar and stepped inside.

The new car was dimly lit. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Panakeia noted that the car was vacant. Except for four people standing together in a corner, speaking in low tones and laughing. They turned to face the intruder, and Panakeia realized that three of them were the street musicians from Rût’s Lip Garden. The fourth man was Willy.

The lead singer shouted. "Can't you read? This is a private car. Leave at once!"

"Hush up, Payne. Ah reckin it's too late now. She done seen us."

The second speaker stepped forward, and extended his hand in greeting. "Howdy, ma'am. Step inside and set a spell." He seemed friendly, but there was something in his tone that suggested a command rather than an invitation. Panakeia nodded and sat down while Willy and the musicians hurried to stand in front of her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli was the first to leave the van... at least if you didn't count the lawyer. She pushed her way past everybody and opened the door, climbing out into the air. Suddenly a tall man in a business suit was looking down at her, shaking her hand, and informing her how pleased he was to see her. Before she could say a word, he had showed her an official looking document with a lot of fine print and an impressive looking signature with a rather large number of loops and squiggles that seemed to spell out "Anakron" or at least "Anakin"... or perhaps it said "A Napkin"? Wait... she thought, napkins aren't impressive... at least not if they aren't finely woven fabric delicately embroidered and trimmed with the best Lothlorien Lace... and he'd slung an arm around her shoulders and was forcibly leading her away from the van. A little bit motion sick and still recovering from her run-in with claustrophobia, Alli could do nothing but cast a longing look toward her companions as she was pulled farther away from them and through a large pair of iron doors into the pretentiously decorated, not to mentioned pronounced, foyer of a truly tall and somewhat shiny building with a large gold music note on the front of it.

She ignored his self-aggrandizing speech as he guided her down many twists and turns. How could a building that had such boringly square architecture on the outside have hallways that actually curved in such random directions? she thought. She was lost quickly but recognized the portraits of a few famous musicians on the walls. Madonnarwen gazed down from her portrait like a virgin clad in white silk. Aikenamir looked down at Alli from the second place in the long line of pictures and she shivered to see a somewhat creepy looking photo of the ever famous Jack son of Michel of the city of Nevilind.

Suddenly the man turned and opened a door, pushing her through it and slamming it behind her. She looked around nervously, wondering where she was. Loud music came on suddenly and stage-lights began to flash. Alli looked around, slightly terrified, and saw that she was surrounded by a dozen scantily clad dancers gyrating to the music. Suddenly a bleached blond clad in slightly less than her backups walked slinkily toward Alli. She beckoned sexily, singing accusing words at her.

"I see you looking at me like I'm some kind of freak."

Alli was terrified. The lights were flashing like a storm had come indoors. The music was loud, the dancers were everywhere, and this woman was speaking to her.

"Get up out of your seat. Why don't you do something?"

"But I'm not sitting!" protested Alli. "And I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing! Where am I?" she yelled over the music.

Suddenly the blond singer motioned to somebody off stage and the music cut. The lights turned on and Alli saw that she was standing in the middle of a stage, surrounded by irate dancers. The singer was yelling at a stage manager. Alli caught a few words as she looked around speechlessly.

"... not in costume... unprepared for work!" Alli looked over as the woman gesticulated toward her. She was about to sneak offstage and hope she wasn't noticed when she heard one of the dancers gossip to another.

"Brit's just mad because the new girl is prettier and looks better in leather."

At this, Alli snickered and decided that enough time had gone by when she wasn't in the control of the situation. She left the stage, pulling the man that the singer had been complaining to with her.

"I've had enough of her attitude." Alli complained to him with her hands on her hips. "If Brit can't handle my presence on stage, she can work with somebody else. Doesn't she know who I am?"

Though the man had no idea who this raven-haired diva was either, he knew better than to argue with one of the company's stars, and she certainly acted like a spoiled one. It was better to get fired for following orders from one of them than to get fired for ignoring them. Quickly the stage was cleared. Alli watched Britney Spears get dragged from the theatre with a deeply satisfied look on her face. Within moments, she was standing alone with the man. "Send for my backup singers." she demanded. "They are in this building somewhere. Ask for Mardil and Sai. I want them here yesterday. And I want a bottle of Dasani, a vegetarian sub, and an I-pod with a lot of heavy metal music on it."

As he scurried off to do this fantastically bossy new artist's orders, she sat happily in the middle of the darkened stage hoping and praying that she didn't run into the blond singer again. She doubted that the woman would be happy with her having her kicked out of the theatre.