The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Well Done, folks!

Dwarfy hovered far above Mirkwood, he could just see Minas Taxi in the far north as it dashed over the rocks at the foot of the Grey Mountains. He lifted his Palantir and spoke into it.

"Well done racers!" he called, "Those Trolls are troublesome!" Sauron swore at him, but Dwarfy ignored it, "I can see that your all going on smoothly. Ah! But what's this! One of you seems to be pulling ahead. It seems that Bag Endless-fuel is a head after the first challenge! Keep up the good works!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Second Challenge: Rats in the Pipes.

There are Rats in the pipes! Yes, unfortunately, someone let some rats lose on your vehicles. You must find out which member of your crew brought them on board and then get rid of them. To do this, you need the person who brought them to tell you the Rat's favourite food. Get those darn rats out o' them Pipes! Your vehicle cannot move until this is done!

[Meneltarmacil]

Everything was going well. There had been no need to make the Wargs run the tower, as the tree-chopper on the front had been mowing down Mirkwood steadily and feeding the trees into the steam engine for quite a while. The Orth-Tank was almost out of Mirkwood when suddenly...

Putt-putt-putt-putt-putt-PUTTOOIE!!!

The engine stopped, causing the massive tower to shake violently back and forth.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE, YOU PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A SERVANT?!" boomed Saruman's voice as the wizard charged downstairs.

"Duh? Guh? Bumble-bluh?" was all Wormtongue could stammer as he woke up to repeated whacking from Saruman's staff.

"Never mind," Saruman grumbled as he inspected the workings of Orth-Tank.

"YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!" he shouted.

Grima responded with his wittiest "Huh?"

"I don't suppose you could tell me where all these rats came from? You forgot to clean out the pipes like I've been telling you to. You're going to be Warg-fodder if you don't find a way to get these rats out of here!" The wizard really meant business.

"Maybe we could put a big plate of cheese for the rats outside? Make it extra-stinky so they'll know where to find it. Oh, and poison it as well so they won't come back. Either that, or we could flood the pipes with rat poison," Worm offered.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Minas Tirith continued to roar along the southern edge of the Grey Mountains, occasionally rolling over a foothill or two. Denethor had reassumed his position at the helm in the Tower, occassionally casting a glance down at his new hood ornament at the head of the great "keel" of the city. "Rather a commanding and forbidding pose indeed," Denethor thought to himself.

They were cruising along quite fine, when there came a gurgle from the depths of the city, and Minas Tirith began to coast, losing its propulsion.

"Faramir!" Denethor shouted. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, Father," replied Faramir. "We seem to having engine trouble. Maybe this nuclear drive isn't such a good idea... What if it blew!"

"Nonsense!" snorted Denethor.

"Well, the city's slowing down, whatever the problem is," said Faramir. "Perhaps we should go check."

Denethor put the coasting city in park, and they descended from the tower to the citadel, and then down to the engine room in the heart of the hill. Húrin of the Keys and most of his support staff were bustling around looking rather confused.

"What's the problem?" demanded Denethor.

"Well, we're not really sure, milord," replied Húrin. "We had to shut down the city because of leak in the pipes feeding the main reactor, but we haven't ascertained why there's a leak, and until we do, we daren't start the engine up again. The last thing we need is a Chernobyl up here."

"Wrong," said Denethor. "The last thing we need is a broken down city. Faramir, you'd better help them find out what's wrong."

"But what about you, Father?"

"Somebody has to handle the supervision detail," replied Denethor.

Giving a long-suffering sigh, Faramir set to work with Húrin and his crew, looking for what might have punctured the pipes.

"Oh, rats!" said Faramir loudly, poking around a corner.

"You've found it?" Denethor turned up almost immediately at his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I just told you."

"No you didn't, you said 'rats'," replied Denethor.

"Exactly," said Faramir. "Rats!"

"I get the whole 'rats' business," said Denethor. "Now what caused the holes?"

"Rats," replied Faramir.

"You mean... rats?" said Denethor.

"Yes, rats," said Faramir, with the air of explaning to a child.

"Oh, rats!" cursed Denethor. "Húrin! Come over here!"

Húrin of the Keys rushed over.

"Have you found it, milord?"

"Yes, I have," replied Denethor. "It's rats."

"Rats!" exclaimed Húrin.

"I feel the same way," nodded Denethor.

"No, I mean it can't be rats," said Húrin. "Minas Tirith is completely free of rats, and has been ever since the days of King Tarondor, who ruled after the Great Plague. They were said to have caused it's quick spread, and the King ordered all rats in the city destroyed. It took until the reign of Narmacil II to achieve that goal, but Minas Tirith has been rat-free for the thousand-plus years since. They must have been placed here deliberately."

"But who would have done such a thing?" said Beregond, naïvely. Denethor and Faramir exchanged dark looks.

"Sauron, I bet!" said Faramir. "He's downright evil!"

"Saruman," said Denethor. "He's much more cunning."

"Could've been the Witchking," said Faramir. "He's always had good luck getting animals to flee away from him. All he'd have to do would be to drive them this way..."

"The Halflings!" said Denethor. "Are they not also known as 'descendents of rats'?"

"I think that might be anti-hobbit rhetoric, Father," said Faramir. "But it could have been Gothmog- assuming he's smart enough."

"Fat chance there!" snorted Denethor. "But it might have been Théoden! That old bugger's always known where his real competition lies, and I wouldn't put it past a kingly pretender like him."

"Nay! Éowyn would never allow it!"

"Oh yes she would!" replied Denethor gleefully. "That woman's the devil incarnate!"

"You're mixing her up with Galadriel..."

"Well, they're both blonde!"

"Father, they're COMPLETELY different."

"Yes, Boromir, but anyway, Théoden wouldn't have to tell her about it anyway," Denethor persisted.

"I'm Faramir."

"Yes, I know you are."

"But you just called me Boromir."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"Ahem!" interjected Húrin. "Does it really matter, milords, who masterminded the plan? It might even have been Dwarfy. The point is, that they had to have been released into here by someone with access to the engine room. ONLY your lordships, myself, and the members of the crew have access. Even King Elessar wasn't allowed into the city after the game began."

"Get me a roster of your team," said Denethor. "Let's find us this traitor!"

"And then?" asked Faramir.

"And then we burn him!"

[Glirdan]

Rats!

"BLAH BL BLAH BL BLAH BLAH BLAH!!" Sauron yelled.

"May I ask why you're spekaing jibberish sire?" Mouth asked annoyingly. The yelling was getting REAL annoying and head-splitting now.

"BECAUSE IT'S FUN!!" Sauron cackled evily.

"Well my lord, by the sounds of that Dwarf up there who stole our money (CURSE HIM!!), we have another problem coming up."

"REALLY!? WHAT IS IT!? TELL ME! AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT!!"

"Well...uh...I....ummm...don't exactly know...." Mouth stated, quite embarassed and in fear. His master had an awful temper.

"WHAT!? WHY THE-" he got cut off by a loud. PUTT-PUTT-PUT-PUt-Put-put-pu-p-pfffft.....BOOM "WHAT WAS THAT!?" Sauron asked suspiciously.

"Umm...I think that was the engine dieing my liege. Would you like someone to go and check it out?"

[Maeggaladiel]

Rat Attack

"PREPOSTEROUS!!" Sauron bellowed. The windowpanes rattled at the sheer volume. Poor Mouth. His eardrums would never be the same after this trip.

"ABSOLUTELY PREPOSTEROUS!" Sauron repeated. "OUR ENGINES CANNOT DIE, MOUTH OF ME! THEY ARE ENGINES OF UNRELENTING EVIL!"

"Be that as it may, my lord, that doesn't change the fact that the engines have stopped," Mouth pointed out. "Listen."

The Dark Lord and Mouth craned their heads downward, listening for the soothing purr of the 250 troll-power engine cranking the gears of the ancient mountain and spewing forth molten lava. No such sound came.

"See, my lord? They have stopped. I think--"

"WAIT, MOUTH!" Sauron slapped a hand over Mouth's... er... mouth. This was unfortunate for Mouth, as Sauron was still wearing his metal gauntlets. "LISTEN!"

Mouth, trying very hard not to scream in pain or drop any teeth on the carpeting, watched as Sauron crept up to the wall. The dark lord knelt and pressed the side of his helmeted head to the wall. He pointed a gauntleted finger.

"SOMETHING IS MAKING SCRATCHY-SCRATCHY NOISES IN THE WALL, MY MOUTH," he said, in what he supposed a whisper would sound like. It was really more of a loud conversational voice, but hey, it was a step down from the usual yelling.

Mouth obediently knelt next to his master and listened.

scritchscracth... scratchy.... *SQUEEK!!* scratch...

"Sou's laeg ra's," Mouth said, trying not to lose any more teeth. "May'he we 'hould go--"

Sauron's fingers formed a fist, and he punched straight through the wall. Plaster chunks, pink insulation, pumice, and drywall flew everywhere. The dark lord fished around for a moment, searching for something. Finally his hand emerged, clutching an iron pipe.

"AHA!" he cackled victoriously. "I HAVE FOUND THE PROBLEM!" He shook the pipe and a terrified rat fell to the ground. Sauon placed his foot on the rat's tail, keeping it from escaping.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "OBVIOUSLY, YOU ARE A SPY, SENT BY THE HOBBITS TO KEEP ME FROM STEALING BACK MY RING!"

"Um," Mouth began, but Sauron waved him away. Sauron threatened the rat with a fate worse than death unless the rat revealed the name and whereabouts of its employer, but the creature didn't respond.

"YOU ARE A TOUGH GUY, AY? WELL HOW ABOUT IF I--"

Squeak! Another rat scurried between the dark lord's legs and headed into the kitchen. Sauron and Mouth turned, to see several more rats falling from the broken pipe.

"BLAST!" Sauron cursed. "THEY HAVE US SURROUNDED!"

Mouth leaped up on the passenger's seat as a particularly large rat mistook his boots for some kind of tasty dead animal.

"This is all the Witch King's doing!" he yelled. "I just know it! He's always trying to make me look bad in front of you, my lord!"

"HURRY, MY MOUTH!" Sauron yelled over the squeeking. "WE MUST FIND OUT WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS! TO THE TROLL-ENGINE ROOM!" Yelling out battle cries in the Black Speech, Sauron raced down the stairs to the depths of the mountain, where trolls ran the great engine.

Mouth began to wonder what was worse: the pain in his teeth, the pain in his ears, or Sauron, the pain in the neck.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:


"Father", Faramir gasped, "This is just like in a dream I had a while ago!"

"Really now? I, for one, dreamed that I was on a vacation in Dol Amroth last night. The sea glimmered and the hot sand of the golden beaches run through my bare toes. I was just sipping a Balar Island Ice Tea under a sunshade when I woke up", Denethor said in a wistful voice.

Húrin of the Keys nodded wisely. "I can relate, my lord. I once dreamed that-"

"No, no, NO! Listen to me. In my dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the west a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:

Seek for the rats that run free,
In Engine room they dwell,
There shall be counsels taken,
To get rid of the horrid smell.
There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand,
For mousetraps shall be broken,
and a traitor forth shall stand.

What does it mean?"

"Either it means, my son, that the Black Breath disease damaged your brain more than Mister heal-it-all knew, or then... then... Then we shall go consulting Ioreth on this matter."

"Not Ioreth! She always piches me on the cheek", Faramir shuddered remembering the horrible times when he had been trapped in the Houses of Healing for weeks because of chicken pox.

"She is the only one who has saved all the volumes of Ranger's Digest since Mid-3rd Age. There might very well be something useful there, so pick up your courage and prepare to be pinched, Captain of Gondor", Denethor said, turned on his heels and strode out of the room a disheartened Faramir in his wake.

[Alcarillo]

Rats!

The Witch-king sat in the highest chamber of the highest tower, having left the steering wheel to Ringwraith #4. He was consulting his Palantir, the Ithil stone, at the moment. Where are you, my pretties, he muttered to himself, using the stone's powers to search far and wide across Mirkwood for the competition. Ah, there you are, my pretties, he thought, when he spotted Bag Endless-fuel and Mount Zoom. Veered away, eh, too scared to follow Minas Mor-go? Mwahahaha! He then turned his eye towards his old kingdom of Angmar in the north, and he gazed longingly at the old fortresses, and the battlements, and the weary orc sentries longing to see their long-gone king. The Witch-king fondly remembered the old battles in Eriador, and his victories over Arnor. They were a race of fools and idiots, trying to stand up to me! Me! The Witch-king of Angmar! Mwaha-WHAAT?!

A rat had just ran across the Witch-king's foot, squeaking as it scampered into a corner. Rats? An exterminator had just visited the city no more than three weeks before, and already rats were infesting the place. The Witch-king stomped down the spiral staircase, and on his way down spotted two more rats. He soon reached the top of the gates, where Ringwraith #4 was driving. "Ringwraith #4! First of all, get out of my chair! Use that wooden stool I gave you. Secondly, we've been infested with rats!"

"Rats, sir?"

"No, banana splits," said the Witch-king, rolling his eyes, "Of course I said rats, you fool. They're everywhere. Look, there's one now!"

"That's odd. Didn't we have an exterminator come here just three weeks ago to deal with our ant problem? This is strange, indeed. Maybe one of the orcs brought them, or maybe Eärnur's ghost is bothering us again, or maybe an elf has infiltrated our fortress and is sabotaging the race by unleashing vermin throughout our city. Have you heard any tra-la-las lately?"

The Witch-king slapped the back of Ringwraith #4's head. "Enough of these crazy conspiracy theories of yours! Next you'll say Balrogs have wings!"

"But sir, have you seen a Balrog? Their shadows stretch out like two vast wings. I've read it before in a book."

"Oh, shut up. Let's go investigate this rat problem."

The Witch-king duct taped the wheel straight and he and Ringwraith #4 climbed down the great spiral staircase leading down into the labyrinth of cellars, dungeons, and basements. It was not long before they heard the horrible moaning of King Eärnur's ghost. He drifted out of a dungeon door and right into the stairwell. His ghostly garments were the same kingly vestments he wore on the day he died. Through his ghostly head was a ghostly Morgul blade, neatly and straightly impaled from temple to temple. It was this wound which caused an eternal headache, making King Eärnur moan so.

"Eärnur! Stop right there!" commanded the Witch-king. "Did you happen to let rats infest the city? They're everywhere. Tell me, or you'll relive June 19, 2050 of the Third Age for the rest of eternity!"

"Twasn't I," he said with a dreary sigh. "But I do know who did."

"Who? Tell us!"

"Only if you promise to free me from this prison when we reach the Grey Havens. I've been thinking about retiring to the Barrow-downs. I've heard I can lease a nice barrow for cheap."

"I don't care about your barrows. Tell us who infested this place with rats!"

"Only if you promise to release me when we reach the Grey Havens."

"Oh, shut up. Fine. I promise, but that's the last promise I'm giving you. Now, who did this?"

"I saw an orc do it."

"Who? What? How? When?"

"First of all, I have no idea what its name was. What, you think I learn their names? As for how and when, I saw him take two rats out of his pockets just a few hours ago."

"Just a few hours ago?"

"Hey, rats multiply. As I was saying, he released them from his pockets near the first basement chocolate vault –"

"You have a chocolate vault?!" said Ringwraith #4 to the Witch-king. "Why don't I have a chocolate vault? How many other secret vaults do you have, eh, boss?"

"Shut up, let the King finish his story."

"And the orc did the most bizarre thing. He fed himself to the rats. Chopped off a few toes and fingers, and fed those rats. Those rats eat orc meat."

"Amazing! Do you know what this means, Ringwwraith #4? It means we only have to look for orcs missing an excessive number of toes and fingers! To the dungeons!"

And so the Witch-king and Ringwraith #4 sped off to the dungeons. When they arrived, they found that the floor was covered in rats. Ringwraith #4 nearly fainted, and grabbed onto the Witch-king's arm to help him stand.

"Oh, get off of me, you sissy. Attention orcs! Please remove all socks, shoes, and gloves! We are taking a tally of how many appendages we've lost. Take off your shoes now, good job."

The smell was unbearable, and Ringwraith #4 finally fainted. The Witch-king kicked him. "Alright, #4, go check their feet."

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Denethor and Faramir found Ioreth in the her house in the Fifth Circle, puttering about in her garden. Her eyesight was failing a little, but she seemed to recognize them.

"Faramir, you dear boy," she greeted them, grabbing his cheek and squeezing it hard. "My are you getting big!"

"I'm in my thirties, Ioreth," said Faramir, "I rather think I've been done growing for a while."

"Never mind the pleasantries!" Denethor interrupted. "We're here on business. Rats have infiltrated the pipes, and we daren't start up the engines until they've been removed. You're the only one in the city interested in things like this. How do we go about it?"

"Well, dear," said Ioreth, patiently. "The first thing we should do is put on a pot of tea."

"Tea?" said Faramir incredulously. "What on Arda for?"

"Because it's only proper to sit down and discuss these things over a spot of tea, dear boy," said Ioreth. "And you shan't get a word out of me until we do."

Fortunately, there was nearly always a kettle boiling in Ioreth's house, and soon the three of them were seated at the table. Ioreth poured Denethor a cup, poured herself a cup, and then sat down.

"What about me?" demanded Faramir.

"Oh, sorry, ducky," said Ioreth. "Here, I'll go get you a glass of milk."

"Why can't I have tea too?" protested Faramir.

"The tea is for the adults, dear," said Ioreth. "Now be quiet while your father and I discuss these important matters. I seem to remember reading something about this in the old Home Order and Management Embrolglios magazines. Oh, and have a biscuit."

She offered him a tray of cookies. Faramir took one begrudgingly, and nibbled on it while Denethor sipped his tea, and Ioreth rambled on.

"They don't make magazines like the HoME anymore," she sighed. "The editor was such a dear man, you know. Shook my hand and called me "miss", he did, at the a luncheon for the Gardening Society. No one's called me that since I was a lass. You know what they say, the hands of etiquette are the hands of an editor."

"Er... they do?" said Faramir.

"Ssssh!" hushed Denethor. "She'll never get to the point if you keep interrupting."

"You know, that's the truth, it is," replied Ioreth. "Some people take forever to get around to things. My cousin Mithrellas, for example. She'll talk your ear off going on about the silliest things. Why just last Midsummer, she was going on about wizard's cloaks, and their clasps must be defective, and as I said to her-"

But what Ioreth said to her cousin, Faramir never heard, for Denethor's patience had already snapped.

"I'm sure it's a fascinating story," said Denethor. "And I'd love to hear it- some other time when I'm not trying to fix a broken-down city, win a race, or otherwise do anything useful. Meanwhile, can you or can you not help us remove the rats from the pipes?"

"Well, there's no need to get all huffy about things!" said Ioreth. "If there was a rush, you should have said so."

"Fine," said Denethor. "Have you got a solution?"

"Well, obviously what one has to do is lure them out," said Ioreth, sipping on her tea, and affecting the air of a great expert. "That's how it's done, you know, because you can't go in after them, and they're very clever little beasts, you know. Just like it's said in the fable about the Fox, the Rat, and the Kookaburra, when the Fox says-"

"I've heard that one already," said Denethor. "So we have to lure the rats out. What lures work?"

"Well, it depends on the rats," said Ioreth. "Very picky, they are. They'll eat just about anything, so food isn't necessarily what they want. And it should have a fairly strong smell, so that it can be out in the open, but they'll smell it in the pipes. I'd try all sorts of things: roast beef, chicken, perfume, laundry, baby powder... anything you think they might like."

"And I suppose I should go get to know them better so I've got an idea what they want," muttered Denethor.

"Well, you know what they say," said Ioreth. "Faint nose never won dead rat."

"Do they really say that?" asked Faramir.

"No, ducky, I made that one up myself," chuckled Ioreth, pinching his cheek. "But it's a right good one, I say, and it'll be remembered for sure. Just like that one about the King and his hands, and-"

"Thank you very much for all of your help," said Denethor, rising to his feet. "But we must be going now."

"Well, drop in again any time," said Ioreth seeing them to the door. "Guests are good but visitors are better, and you know-"

"Goodbye!" Denethor closely the door quickly behind them. He and Faramir set off a fast pace up the street.

"What now?" asked Faramir.

"Húrin and I will try to lure the rats out of the pipes," said Denethor. "Meanwhile, I want you to investigate the rest of the support staff, and find out who brought those rats in here. When you find him, bring him to me."

"What will you do to him, Father?"

"I'll send him to tea with Ioreth- every day," said Denethor in a growl. "He'll get what he deserves!"

[Farael]

[CENTER]A shameless ripoff Previously on 24…

[The camera zooms to a small hut on the outskirts of Medul-zoom]
“tip tip, tiroo, tip tip tiroo, tip tip tiroo”

“Why do you keep making that noise, Jacques?”

“It is my telephone”

“There is no such thing as a telephone, but you always make that sound when you got a letter from the King… spit it out”

“It seems they have a mission for us, the Counter Troll Unit, also known as CTU” Said Jacques Bawer “We have no time, to the halls of the king!!... BRRRRR BRRRR BRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAUUUUUUAAAARRRRRRR……… EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

Theoden: “Why does he have to make those noises while riding his horse?”

Bawer: “It is a car, my liege, not a horse. Now, I heard you had a troll problem”

Theoden: “Yes, we had a troll problem”

Bawer: “I’m here to solve your troll problem”

Theoden: “You are here to solve my troll problem?”

Bawer: “Well, where is he?”

Theoden: “I don’t really know, why?”

Bawer: “Alright, so you want me to find the troll and take him out, right?”

Theoden: “Oh… no, that’s old news. The problem with the troll is over. I tried sending you a messenger, but you insisted that he called your ‘telephone’. What is a telephone, and how do you call them? We tried screaming TELEPHONE!!!! But no-one came”

Bawer: “It’s… complicated, my lord. So you don’t need me here?”

Theoden: “Well, Mr. Bawer I wouldn’t want to make you feel useless…”

Bawer: “How about you invite me for lunch?”

Theoden: “Don’t abuse your luck”

Rat: SCREEEEEEEEECH

Theoden: “What was that?”

Bawer: “It is troll”

Rat: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

Theoden: “It does not sound like a troll”

Bawer: “I know a troll when I hear one”

Theoden: “It sounds like a rat to me”

Bawer: “My lord, please I’m an… AH!! WHAT’S THAT!!!”

Theoden: “That, Mr. Bawer, is a rat”

Bawer: “It’s so ugly!! Ewwww!!”

Theoden: “STOP THE HORSENGINES!!!”

Hama: “Stop the horsengines!!”

Second man down the line: “Stop horsengines”

Third man down the line: “Stop”

Fourth man down the line: “What? I’m not going anywhere, I’m waiting here to transmit the orders down the line to the horsengine room.”

Third man down the line: “He says he’s not going anywhere”

Second man down the line: “He says he doesn’t want to go anywhere

Hama: “Someone says we can’t go anywhere”

Bawer: “It must be the rats, my liege, I don’t know how but they are compromising our efforts to move Medul-zoom”

Theoden: “Alright, then you and your Counter Troll Unit must find why the rats are here, who brought them in and how to get rid of them… and hurry!! We need to win this race”

Bawer: [Grabbing a rat and pressing it against the wall, looking straight into its eyes] “WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?!?!”

Rat: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

Bawer: [Twisting the rat on some strange sort of lock] “Do not mess with me you filthy rat, you are going to talk, the only difference will be how much you suffer before you do it”

Rat: Screech!! Screech screech screech SCREECH!!!!

Bawer: “This is useless, my lord, they won’t break”

Theoden: “Back so soon, Mr. Bawer? I was about to take a shower, oh ho ho ho how clever I am”







(That space is used to exemplify the awkward silence that fell after Theoden’s rather lame pun)

Bawer: “Well my liege, it seems that these rats are very well trained. I interrogated one yet all she would say when I asked who their leader was is ‘Screech’”

Theoden: “Then why didn’t you apprehend Screech?”

Bawer: “Is Screech someone’s name?”

Rat: [limping slightly] “Yes, you brute… I tried telling you but you wouldn’t listen. Oh, no, no-one ever listens to us rats when we talk… yes, you big men with your fast horses and big golden castles won’t bother to listen to a rat, eh? You are ‘above’ our kind, eh? Eh?... you disgust me” [exits the scene]

Theoden: “Now that’s something you don’t see every day…. Alright, bring Mr. Screech to me!!”

Hama: “Bring Screech to the king!!”

Second man down the line: “oh, that’s me”

Theoden: ”What is this all about, Screech?”

Screech: “Rats, my liege”

Theoden: “Well, the rats are slowing us down, we need to get rid of them”

Screech: “But they are my only friends! Look, there is Lando, and Molly, and Steph, and Tina, and John and look how fast Billy is running!!!”

Theoden: “I’m sorry, but we need to get rid of them.”

Screech: “There is no way, my King”

Jacques: “I’ll find a way”

Theoden: “No, we don’t have time for you to ‘take them out’ one by one”

Jacques: “How did you know my secret plan?”

Theoden: “I’m a king, I know things. Eowyn!!”

Eowyn: “Yes, uncle?”

Theoden: “Do you know how to get rid of the rats?”

Eowyn: “Actually… there is one way….”


Tick tick tick tick ticktickticktickticktick (end of the episode)

[Caranlondien]

Of Rats and Stewed Rabbit

Frodo woke with a start. After the hobbits had celebrated their triumph over the troll with some Dorwinion wine, he had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. The sounds of boiling water had awoken him. Looking about, Frodo saw Sam, Merry, and Pippin clustered about the fireplace, making a stew out of rabbit meat and something else, something bright red and round.

"Can I have some meat?" Pippin asked.

"Okay," said Merry. "Want some tomatoes, Sam? Great tomatoes."

Frodo leapt up. "What are you doing!" he cried.

"Tomatoes, rabbit, nice crispy bacon."

"We saved some for you, Mister Frodo," added Sam.

"Put it out, you fools, put it out!" Frodo ran to the hearth and doused the flame with a pitcher of water.

"Oh, that's nice!" said Pippin. "Ash on my tomatoes!"

"Tomatoes? They're not even canon!" said Frodo angrily. "Where did you get them?"

"Some hobbit," said Pippin, wracking his brain for a name. "Jeter Packson, that may've been it!" he said.

"Doesn't sound like a hobbit-name," said Frodo disapprovingly.

Their conversation was interrupted by Chief Mechanic Ted Sandyman rushing into the room, blowing a horn as loudly as he could. When he saw Frodo, he stopped and bent over to catch his breath.

"Rats! Rats in the engine room!" he cried. "Disruptin' the fireworks, they are, and we won't be able to start back up 'til we've got rid of 'em."

The hobbits looked at one another. Finally, Pippin broke the silence.

"I hope they've not got in the food!"

[Glirdan]

THE EVIL DOOER?

Mouth hurried after his master. Even if he was wearing all this honking metal, he could still run at the speed of light when he was angry and he was extremely angry this time. As Mouth arrived in the Troll-Engine Room, he saw his master bereting all the Trolls around.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU LITTLE TWIRPS DID THIS!!" He yelled as he held up a rat.

"Umm, my lor-"

"NOT NOW MOUTH!" Sauron yelled. He turned back to the very confuse Trolls. "WHO DID IT!? TELL WHO!!!"

"My liege!!"

"WHAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ABOUT NOT NOW MOUTH!?" Sauron yelled.

"Oh, I understand it quite fine my lord. It's just you have rats crawling up and down your back!" Mouth yelled in horror.

"WHAT!? RATS!?!? GET THEM OFF OF ME!! GET THEM OFF OF ME THIS INSTANT!!!" Sauron screamed. It was so loud and high it was almost as high as a dog whistle. He ran around the Troll-Engine Room screaming like a little girl. "EWWW! GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFFFFFF!!!!!"

"My liege!?" Mouth tried yelling at his master.

"WHAT!? CAN'T YOU SEE I'M BUSY TRYING TO GET THESE DISGUSTING RATS OFF!?!?"

"That's the thing my lord!! They're all gone!!" Mouth yelled and with that, Sauron stopped yelling. "They all fell of when you started running around the room..."

"WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME EARLIER!?" Sauron yelled in frustration. Then he turned back to the Trolls, who were still standing there in confusion. "WHAT ARE YOU ALL STARING AT!? TELL ME WHO THE CULPRIT IS!!"

[Valier]

Eowyn's scary little secret

Eowyn: “Actually… there is one way….”

Theoden: "Ok well out with it my dear!"

Eowyn: *In a hushed voice* " Well you have to swear not to tell anyone.....especially Faramir"

Theoden: :uuummmm right...."

Eowyn: "I also have a small animal friend that I think may help us in this situation, but you have to promise not to tell! Swear you won't!

Everyone: "We swear!! (snickers) "

Eowyn: "His name is Tito, he's a....well just look for yourselves."

Eowyn: * Pulls a pouch out from in between her....aahhem...tata's,and detaches what appear to be dainty lady tongs. She loosens the string from around the top and uses the tongs to pull out......a long purple earthworm.*

Theoden: " Dear that is a worm! How in the world is that going to get rid of a pile of rats?"

Eowyn: "This is no ordinary worm! He is a Bellow-worm!"

Screech: "A what?"

Eowyn:*sighs* "A Bellow-worm you feeble minded ninny! You know, he like bellows and what not."

Screech: "Where did you find that and what is it supposed to do?"

Eowyn: "For your information, I was walking by a pond one day and nearly stepped on it. It let out a bellow so loud I felt sick for a whole week! But after that week, I went straight back there to have a talk with that worm! I said worm, why do you bellow? and he said you almost stepped on me! and I said....well you get the idea.After a long intense discussion with the worm, we came to a consensus. He would live in my pouch and I would feed him the best dang dirt around. And he was most helpful when suitors came calling, I would just give him a sign and he would clear the room.


Theoden: *Trying to supress laughing at her* "Alright Eowyn, my dear we will try it your way! I don't see any harm."

Screech: " But lord, you can't possibly think.....

Theoden: "SSShhhhhh! Alright sweetie you go for it."

Eowyn carried the worm away from her body with her dainty lady tongs and placed it on a high shelf.

Eowyn: "Alright everybody out! I don't think you want to be here for this!"

All the people and horses were evacuated to the outside of the great Medul-Zoom.

Eowyn: Alright, I have instructed Tito to start his stuff, when I shut this door. Ready?....O you better plug your ears just in case." * Slams the door shut*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile inside......

The rats began to mull around freely now they had noticed that the people had left.

Rats: Screeeeeeeech (Which means alright!)

The gross purple earthworm named Tito rippled himself to the edge of the shelf. He raised himself up so he was almost vertical. "Ahem, Ahem.....Ahem, ahem"

Rats:" Screech, screech!" ( translates to Hey, look up...way up)

The Bellow-worm Tito began to constrict and contract, constrict then contract. He gave one last heave and he began to fill his lungs with air.
(Wait....do worms even have lungs?.....Oh well back to the story) He swelled in size and opened wide. "BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!

Rats: " squeek!" ( Translates to Let's get the heck outta here! Leave the food behind! Save the woman and children! Run away! Run away! OOOOhhhhh geeze!!!! Why Oh why? How do we get out? aaaaaahhhhhhhhh! Hold your ears!)

The rats began to run around in circles, some were carrying smaller rats, some were clawing their ears.But none knew how to get away from the horrible noise.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile outside......

Theoden:* With ear pressed to Medul-zoom's exterior* " I don't hear anything"

Eowyn: "Oh just wait he's just getting warmed up!"

Screech: "Right ok....cause he can really make noise!" *****shhaaa*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back inside........

Tito began to move his..."head" up and down, he opened his mouth up even wider and let out a sonic boom of sound.

Tito: "BBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAA!


The door of Medul-Zoom came blasting open, throwing everyone feet away from the door. A whole mess of rats came flooding out covering everyone besides Eowyn, who had taken cover. The rats began to disappate as they headed towards the eaves of Mirkwood.

Screech: "Wait! Wait! Tina....Billy...Wait for me!" *runs off into the sunset after his beloved rats, never to be seen again*

Eowyn rose gracefully from the ground and headed into Medul-zoom to fetch Tito. Everyone else stood around looking dazed.

Eowyn: "Alright I have thanked Tito and fed him some dirt. You can all go back inside all the rats are gone."

Eowyn: " I saved the day again! Well shall now travel North.....I have the perfect black dress for this occasion.......* Wanders off to change again..*

Eorlingas: " Oh just wait till we tell Faramir about Eowyn's little slimy friend!......"

[Maeggaladiel]

Evil is what we do best.

Sauron reclaimed what little dignity he had left and looked over the engine room. It was in turmoil. Rats scurried here and there, bits and pieces of machinery that looked half-destroyed were strewn across the floor. A pair of trolls huddled fearfully in one corner, and a third stood as a pillar of stone in another.

“WHAT IS GOING ON DOWN HERE?!” Sauron demanded. “YOU TROLLS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE RUNNING THE ENGINE!”

“We can’t!” one troll wailed. “Rats hurt us!” Mouth rolled his eyes.

“But they’re just rats, and you’re trolls,” he said slowly. “How could they hurt you?”

“Dey kill Steve!” cried the other troll. “Lookit!” He pointed a stubby finger at the third troll. It had been turned to stone.

“Steve brings in da rats cuz dey were cute. Dere were just two, but den we turn our back on dem for five minutes, and now dere’s two hundred and seventy eight! Where dey come from?!”

“Er…” Mouth said uncomfortably. “Well… I guess it’s time you knew…” But before Mouth had to say anything else, the troll went on without him.

“But den, da rats chomp on roof; eat hole in ceiling! Sun come in and kill Steve! Now we afraid to go over dere, cuz rats eat more ceiling and kill Bob and Fred!”

Mouth sighed.

“WAIT…” Sauron began, confused. “WE’RE INA MOUNTAIN. HOW DID THEY CHEW THROUGH--”

“So what happened next?” Mouth interrupted. The trolls exchanged glances.

“We panic,” Fred explained. “We throw things, try make rats go away.”

“WHAT DID YOU THROW?” Sauron asked.

“Muffler.”

“Carburetor.”

“Chunks of engine.”

“Some big gears.”

“Soda cooler.”

“Not really work.”

Mouth sighed haggardly.

“Perfect,” he said. “Just perfect. Now we’re stuck here.” All this time, Sauron had been eying the hungry little animals. So greedy… They reminded him of something…

“I HAVE JUST THE THING!” Sauron said. Telling the Mouth to stay put, the Dark Lord ran up the stairs to his room. Mouth could hear clanking, squealing, hissing, creaking, and the occasional muted cursing drifting down from the room above. Oh jeez. What was he up to now?

During this time, a large brown rat had discovered the leftover craft supplies from the brief counterfeiting scheme, and decided to eat Sauron’s crayons, one color at a time. It had just finished last green and was moving into the yellows by the time Sauron returned. The Dark Lord gripped a small box in his hands, and he seemed quite pleased with himself. (As pleased as an expressionless suit of armor could look, that is.)

“THEY ARE COMPLETE, MY MOUTH!” Sauron roared triumphantly. Mouth flicked a small gray rat off his shoulder.

“Dare I ask what is complete, my lord?” Mouth asked, fearing he’d get an answer whether he specifically asked or not. The Dark Lord held out the little box as though it were made of pure gold.

“BEHOLD,” Sauron said. “THE TWO-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT MINI RINGS OF POWER!!” He flicked open the lid of the box, and 278 miniature gold and silver rings glistened in the lamplight. The rats stared at the shinyness, completely entranced.

“I HAVE FORGED THEM IN THE FIRES OF MOUNT ZOOM,” Sauron explained. “I FIGURED, HEY, IF THE HUMANS WERE STUPID ENOUGH TO FALL FOR IT, THE RATS MIGHT TOO.” As though in a trance, the rodents all moved slowly towards the Dark Lord and his gleaming box.

“SMALL RODENTY THINGS!” Sauron yelled to the rats. “I, THE DARK LORD SAURON, WISH TO PRESENT YOU WITH A GIFT OF PEACE AND UNDERSTANDING AND ALL THAT NONSENSE!” He held the box aloft, and the rats’ eyes glinted greedily. “IN THESE MAGICAL RINGS ARE THE POWER TO RULE THE ENTIRE RATTY RACE! AND I GIVE THEM TO YOU IN A GESTURE OF GOODWILL AND… STUFF.” With that, the Dark Lord set the box down on the floor. He and Mouth distributed the rings amongst the small animals.

“Now what?” Mouth asked. Sauron leaned back in the driver’s seat, looking smug.

“WATCH.”

The rats sniffed at the bands of gold and silver, each ring intricately wrought with superb craftsmanship. Then, slowly, they lifted the rings above their heads. Florescent lights glinted off 278 specks of gold and silver. And then, the rats slid the rings over their fingers…

SKRREEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKK!!

“BEHOLD!” Sauron yelled gleefully. “MY NEWEST MINIONS, THE RAT WRAITHS!!”

Two hundred and seventy eight tiny cloaked figures now stood at attention in front of the dark lord. Two hundred and seventy eight pairs of beady black eyes remained transfixed on his great helmet, each awaiting their master’s call. One figure’s face was stained with melted crayon wax.

Sauron folded his arms over his chest smugly.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK? PRETTY WICKED, HUH?”

Mouth took a moment to consider this. They were kind of cute, in a strange sort of demented way, but they didn’t seem particularly useful. Their eyes didn’t glow with the fires of a thousand hells; their very presence didn’t inspire absolute terror in the hearts of the strongest men; they couldn’t even shriek properly. They’d be absolutely no help in keeping the door-to-door salesmen out of Mordor, at any rate.

“Well… they’re kind of… pathetic…” Mouth said, bending over to examine one. He poked it in the face, and it did not respond. “I mean, they don’t even have weapons of ultimate doom like the Nasgul do. And they don’t have any steeds. Are they supposed to scurry everywhere?”

“HMM,” Sauron mused. “YOU MAY HAVE A POINT. OKAY, WHEN WE GET HOME, I’LL ENSLAVE AND MUTATE A FLOCK OF PIGEONS FOR THEM TO RIDE. BUT FOR NOW, I HAVE A SPECIAL JOB FOR OUR NEW FAMILY MEMBERS TO DO.”

--

“COMMENCE OPERATION: PLAGUE-GROUND! FIRE CATAPULT!” Sauron bellowed, and the cardboard box filled with thirty-five Ratgul was flung high over Mount Zoom and sailed through the air, towards Minas Taxi. “HEE HEE. I AM SO EVIL.”

He looked down. A handful of Ratgul were polishing the hubcaps of Mount Zoom, a few were fixing the scratch on the rear bumper, one was painting tiny graffiti on a rock (“Sauron is mad cool, yo!”), and over a hundred were chained to the front of the Mountain, pulling it along like a chariot and giving it an extra burst of speed. The rest were either repairing the engine or baking cookies. Evil cookies. Sauron felt completely satisfied with the project.

“IT IS GOOD BEING ME, MOUTH.”

“I wouldn’t know, my lord.”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Rats in the Air?

Dwarfy flew somewhere between Mount Zoom and Minas Taxi. All of a sudden, Mount Zoom let fly from small black things that screeched with a terrible noise. With not a second to spare, Dwarfy pulled a small baby Dragon from a secret compartment in the Eyrie copter and pulled its stomach. The Dragon let forth a stream of fire that consumed the RatWraiths.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank A little big problem

"Rats, rats, rats!" Cried Saruman. "And you say we feed them to get rid of them? What sort of idiot makes a plan like that?" Saruman shouted at his servant. Grima cowered and replied, "But sir..." "No buts, shut up and allow me to think you incompetent fool!" Said Saruman. So there they sat and they thought as Saruman stroked his beard. Rats in Orth-Tank, terrible, terrible, they'd need to get rid of them but how? All of a sudden Saruman smiled and raised his hand, he had an idea!

"Grima! Why do we not coax them out with their favorite food?" Said Saruman, Grima nodded, it was best to agree with him, "Yes, sire, brilliant plan! Shall we go and talk to our mad Uruk-Hai scientist about this?" "Very well, lead the way you wretched turkey." Saruman said lazily looking at his nails. So as Saruman commanded Grima led the way to the secret laboratory situated within Orth-Tank. There they found the mad Uruk-Hai scientist experimenting on nothing in particular. Saruman shoved Grima out off his way and went up to the Uruk-Hai.

"Ah! Mad scientist, have you any idea how to get rid of these rats that have decided to set up their base here?" Saruman asked him. "what? What? WHAT?" He screamed looking around aimlessly. Saruman bonked him on the head with his head as Grima winced, "You incompetent fool! I asked you if you know how to terminate a bunch of pests!" "Tests? I hate them!" Protested the Uruk-Hai which earned him another bonk in the head. "RATS YOU FOOL! WE NEED YOU TO ERADICATE SOME RATS!" Shouted Saruman impatiently and then bonked Grima on the head. "What was that for?" Whined Grima. "I'm relieving stress." Stated the wizard. "Uh... sir I may be able to come up with something, see me after an hour!" Said the Uruk-Hai gladly.

Now obviously Grima and Saruman do not know how to keep track of time because they returned in fifteen minutes. "So mad scientist, have you found anything?" Asked Saruman. "Why, yes indeed! I have discovered that these aren't ordinary rats! They are... ent-rats! They have been sent by Treebeard to hinder us!" Said the Uruk-Hai. "Oh I see! Grima round up an angry mob of orcs with axes and fire." Said the wizard. "No your sire!" The Uruk-Hai suddenly said. "We must coax them out with berry-cheese and then we grab them!" He said and added, "With this net!" He held up a huge net, big enough to net a troll. "Perfect! What do you say Grima?" Saruman asked, smirking.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:


At the gate of the fifth circle, Faramir turned down to the lower levels of the city whereas Denethor and Húrin headed for the engine room.

On the first circle Faramir found Beregond and Bergil. They knew nothing of the matter, so Faramir kept on walking from level to level questioning everyone who passed on his way, except on the fifth circle (his cheeck was still red from all the pinching), but no one seemed to know where the rats had come.

Tired and with his feet aching, Faramir finally dragged himself on the top of the city. "What's this?" he muttered to himself and stooped to pick up a scorched tiny cloak on the ground. Other than that, Faramir found nothing suspicious up there and returned to the engine room inside the hill.

"Have you found the traitor?" Denethor asked as Faramir stepped over the threshold.

"Not exactly", Faramir said, "but I found this", and he held the minuscule piece of cloth on his palm. It was black, but in the hem there was an embroided lidless eye and a little white tag.

"100% nylon, dry-cleaning only, keep off from fire", Faramir read out aloud.

"That's so low even from the baddies! Mount Zoom is sending us their laundry. Don't they have any idea how expensive dry-cleaning is?" Denethor snarled.

"Hold on a second", Faramir mused.

"There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand..."

"If Mount Doom can afford to ship their dirty clothes here, it really can't be very far off! We must get the rats out of the pipes immediately and-"

"AAIEEEEEEHHHHHH!" yelped Faramir shaking his right foot with a mousetrap clenched tightly around his toes.

"Careful now!" Denethor growled. "Húrin and I spent the whole afternoon setting those up, and the last thing we need is you to break them all."

Indeed, when Faramir looked around in the engine room, he discovered that the floor was coated with traps and each of them had a different bait. There were traps with marmalade and cheese, turnips and even Aragorn's gym socks, as Faramir noted as he wiped liverwurst off of his boot.

"Well, we didn't know what could lure the rats out, so we had to try a little everything", Denethor replied defensively to Faramir's sarcastic look.

"MWHAHAHAHA!" wheezed a voice in a corner behind the nuclear reactor. "You will never find the proper way to get rid of the little rodents", said a man stepping out of the shadows. He sounded and looked like a chainsmoker, and truly he smelled like one, too.

"Who are you?" winced Faramir stepping on a few more mousetraps (custard and sherry)

"I am Vérmïndil, son of Vérmïndur, from the House of Pár-Asitë. I am your nuclear technician", he explained as Denethor, Faramir and Húrin stared at him clearly confused.

"I smell a rat!" Húrin snorted. "He's not a member of my technician team. I haven't hired him, I assure you, my lords."

"Huh? What have I been doing here for the last three years then?" Vérmïndil exclaimed. "Oh well, no matter, I have reached my goal."

"I take it that you had your hands in this. Speak up", Denethor demanded.

"Why yes. It was my brilliant plan. Say no to nuclear power! Vote the Communists! Become a vegetarian! Never wear a yellow shirt on Monday!" the man chuckled and got an impressive fit of coughing.

"I think he might have got an overdose of radiation down here", Faramir whispered.

"No kidding", Denethor said glumly as Vérmïndil started picking his third ear while humming Happy Birthday to himself.

Faramir looked distressed. "What shall we do now, Father?"

[Glirdan]

Evil Sickness

Mouth looked up just in time to see the Rat Wraiths flying towards Minas Taxi. Just the, Dwarfy flew by and took out a baby dragon and made him shoot a fireball towards the Rat Wraiths. Unfortunately, it engulfed all the Rats that were flying. Their clothes however weer still flying towards Minas Taki and actually landed on it.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

"Because that wasn't our intention. Sheez!! We are bad guys after all!!" Mouth cried in exaspaeration(sp?). Out of no where, a shower of green smoke came tumbling down from the sky. Mouth and the Trolls saw this time and leapt out of the way. Sauron, on the other hand, was too busy gloating over his evil idea of using the Rats that he didn't see the smoke until it was over top of him. "YES!! EAT OUR LAUNDRY MINAS TAXI!! MWHAHAHA!! WAIT! WHAT IS- HACK HACK!! THAT STUFF!? COUGH!! IT'S-IT'S HACK COUGH VEGETABLES!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo........." he trailed off as he started to faint and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Master!!' Mouth cried and he rushed forward to his Master's side.

"Sire!?" Mouth cried. "Please my lord! Wake up!" And as he spoke, Sauron stirred.

"My Mouth," he whispered (which Mouth was grateful for). "Get me to my room. You will probably have to take over for the next few days. Lead us on cough cough to victory. I know you can hack cough do it." With that he slumped over.

"Master? MASTER!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" Mouth cried in pain. "How shall I go on without you?? Wait.. No more screaming? Yes!!! My ears are free from pain!! Finally!! Go Mouth! Go Mou-" he got cut off as he saw that his master was starring at him evily.

"I said get me to my room. NOW!!!"

"Errr...Yes my lord. Right away my lord."

__________________________________________________ _______________

Mouth sat at the steering wheel debating with him on which way he should take. "Hmmm, I could go North-West away from civilization, but that would lead me further away from the Grey-Havens. I could go West but I think post people will be travelling in that direction. Soooo... Rat-Wraiths!" Mouth screamed.

"Squeeeaaak?"

"Take us South-West, immeadiately!!"

"Squeeeeaaak!"

"Excellent!! I'm liking this head-honcho position. Wierd green smoke should fall from the sky more often!!! Mwha! Mwahaha! MWHAHAHAH- COUGH COUGH!! I wonder how master can laugh like that??...."

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Denethor paused for a moment to consider Faramir's question. What SHOULD they do with the traitor.

"Burn him!" said Denethor, following his first instinct. Faramir, Húrin, and everyone else in the engine room- except Vérmïndil- looked at each other uneasily.

"Unfortunately," said Faramir. "We can't. Or rather, we can't do it legally. The Steward of Gondor doesn't have the authority to order executions outside the Realm of Gondor, nor can he order them there without the King's permission, save at times when the King is in Arnor, or outside of his realms."

"Besides," interjected Húrin, "we need him alive to find out what will lure the rats out!"

"Burn it all!" swore Denethor. "You: Vérmïndil! Tell me, what is your deepest, worst fear?"

"You don't actually expect him to tell you?" exclaimed Faramir.

"Why not?" said Denethor. "I am the Steward of Gondor. He is honour-bound to obey my direct command."

"Then ask him what will lure the rats out," said Faramir. "Either way, he's not going to you."

"Says who?" piped up Vérmïndil. "I'll do what I like. My deepest fear is... is... is... is...."

"Well?" said Faramir impatiently, "what IS it?"

"I cannot speak his name!" Vérmïndil shuddered.

"It's a person!" exclaimed Faramir. "I know: Sauron."

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Aragorn! Gandalf! Elrond!" said Denethor. Again, Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Gothmog? The Witchking? Saruman?" Faramir questioned.

Vérmïndil continued to shake his head.

"Is he tall?" asked Denethor.

"Is he Gondorian?" asked Faramir.

"No and no," replied Vérmïndil.

"Rohirric?" asked Denethor.

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Is he Human?" asked Faramir.

Vérmïndil paused a moment, then said: "sort of."

"Sort of?" said Denethor. "How can one be sort of human?"

"I know!" said Faramir. "A hobbit!"

Vérmïndil nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Frodo! Bilbo! Sam! Merry! Pippin!" Denethor ran off the names of the famous hobbits. Vérmïndil shook his head to each.

"Sméagol! Gollum! Stinker! Slinker!" said Faramir. Vérmïndil and Denethor both looked at him strangely. Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Well, that's all the Hobbits I know the names of!" said Denethor.

"Me too," said Faramir.

"Can't you just tell us?" demanded Denethor. Vérmïndil shook his head in terror.

"Why not just tell us what will lure the rats out?" said Faramir. "Then we'll drop this whole line of enquiry."

"Never!" cackled Vérmïndil. "Never!!!"

"Húrin," said Denethor, "go to the Archives, and get me the Red Book. I'll run through every name in the Geneologies if I have to."

And so they did.

"The Gaffer!"

"Old Noakes!"

"Ted Sandyman!"

"Old Rory!"

"Fatty Bolger!"

"Folco Boffin!"

"Wait!" said Faramir. "He's shaking! Go back to Fatty Bolger!"

But on the second mention of the name, Vérmïndil began to shake uncontrollably.

"Fatty Bolger!" roared Denethor. "Fatty Bolger!!!"

"Yes, yes, it's him!" squeaked Vérmïndil. "Now PLEASE stop saying the name!"

"Not until you tell us how to lure the rats out!" Denethor told him.

"N-n-n-never," said Vérmïndil, biting his lip.

"Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger!" Denethor, Faramir, and the support staff began to sing.

"All right!" wailed Vérmïndil, big fat tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you! It's marmite."

"Marmite!!!" said Denethor in disgust. "Are you completely insane, man?"

"Oh come on, Father," said Faramir. "It's not that bad. It's especially good on toast."

Denethor gave his son a vile look.

"I swear to the Valar that it's true!" pleaded Vérmïndil. "Try it! You'll see. Just don't say... HIS name again."

"What? You mean 'Fatty Bolger'?" asked Denethor cruelly. Vérmïndil lost complete control of himself. Denethor turned to Faramir. "Find us some marmite!"

So, while the support staff cleaned out the engine room of banana peels, perfumes, liverwurst, Aragorn's gym socks, and other smelly miscellany, Faramir set off to retrieve his marmite. As soon as he'd opened it, rats began to pour out of the pipes.

"Quick!" cried Denethor. "Lead them out of the city."

"What do I look like?" asked Faramir. "A pied piper?"

"Do you want my honest answer?" said Denethor.

"Okay, okay! I'm going."

Faramir took off at a sprint for the gates, an army of rats streaming after him. The lead rats were drawing closer and closer, and Faramir was in a mortal panic that they would catch him and swarm him. In the nick of time, he reached the gates, which he burst through, tossing the marmite as hard as he could away from him.

The rats streamed past, dead set on reaching the marmite.

Faramir returned to the engine room weak-kneed, only to find Denethor gone back to the tower, and Húrin's team revving up the engine.

"Due WEST!" called Denethor from the tower. "We make for Mt. Gundabad!"

[Caranlondien]

"But how did we get rats?" Frodo asked, exasperated. After telling them about the problem, Ted Sandyman had gone back to the engine room to see what he could do.

"I don't rightly know, Mister Frodo," replied Sam. "Could be as we're leavin' too much food about." At this, Pippin coughed.

"Not in the engine room, Sam. Besides, we're moving too quickly for rats to climb on-board, and I know there were none when we left - Bilbo had the whole place cleaned when we installed the fireworks. The only thing left to think is that someone purposefully brought them."

Frodo rose and began to walk towards the engine room, the others close behind him. When they came to the stairway that led down to it, they found the way barred by a great spiked gate, which looked to have been gnawed out of wood. Frodo banged at the gate. After a time, one of the mechanics came up.

"Mister Frodo," he whispered. "The rats have taken over everything! There's a great big one, a wizard rat, by the looks of him, and he's their leader, it seems. He's got all the little furry things rushing around, destroying the fireworks and generally frightening us all into doing whatever he says."

The mechanic seemed frightened, but after a bit of reasoning with him, Frodo managed to gain admittance. As soon as he entered the engine room, he could see why it had stopped working. The engine was quite intricate, and worked in harmony with the roots of the plants which grew outside of Bag End. When the engine had been working, these roots hung down from the ceiling and the walls and were braided and woven to make bits of machinery. Now, though, most of the roots had been cut and gnawed into far more elaborate machines. What they did, Frodo knew not.

Ted Sandyman came running over to them. "It wasn't me, this time!" he said hurriedly. "Not my fault. Well, it was a bit my fault, perhaps, yes, but I swear I didn't know what would happen. When I let him aboard, Ratsey promised me-"

"Ratsey? Is that their leader?" asked Frodo.

"Yes, that's what they call him."

Frodo turned and looked around.

"Ratsey!" he called. "Show yourself!"

"I am here," spoke a deep voice. Frodo looked behind him. "No, no, in front of you. Yes, there, now look down a little."

Finally Frodo laid eyes on the rat. Ratsey was perhaps slightly larger than usual, but otherwise much as one would expect a rat to be. His coat shimmered a dark grey, his tail was pale pink, and his nose quivered ever which way. His eyes gleamed with malice and amusement.

“This is what you were afraid of?” Frodo demanded of Ted.

“I never liked rodents, sir.”

“Yes, well. Ratsey, I’ll have no more of this foolishness. Begone!”

“No!” cried Ratsey. “We shall not leave, not until we’ve gotten… SOME CHEESE!” He laughed diabolically.

“Right then, Sam, go get some cheese.”

“And-” Ratsey interjected, “we must have water.”

“Okay,” said Frodo. The requested comestibles were brought to the rat, who set upon the cheese with a fury.

“Worm!” he cried, when he had finished. Another rat came scurrying to his master’s side. This rat had a very long, bright pink tail.

“Wormtail!” said Ratsey. “We leave now, you rat! I tire of this place.”

“Why do you always call me a rat?” asked Wormtail.

“You are one! Is it really any more insulting than being called ‘Wormtail’? Or ‘Ratsey’, for that matter?”

“Hmm, guess not. I was going to leap at your back with a knife and kill you, but on second thought, let’s go see if they still have Gorgonzola at Minas Taxi.”

With that, the two rats scampered off, their tails waving ridiculously after them. The hobbits searched Bag-Endless-Fuel from top to bottom, but could find no sign of other rodents.

“That was unexpectedly easy,” said Frodo. “Let’s go West.”

[Alcarillo]

The Rats are Defeated!

The Witch-king kicked at Ringwraith #4 again. "Get up, #4, you have a lot of orc toes to count." After several minutes, Ringwraith #4 slowly stood, with confusion and bewilderment.

"Where am I? Wait, why are we in the dungeons? Eek, rats!" He clung to the Witch-king's arm again. "And what's that smell?"

"That smell is the scent of orc feet, which you'll be looking at, you fool. Now get off my arm." Ringwraith #4 did so, but trembled as the rats scurried around his feet. "Don't you remember? We're infested with rats, and we're counting the toes of the orcs to see which one let them loose."

"Oh, yeah. Now I remember," said Ringwraith #4. "But sir, why, if we know these rats eat orc-meat, don't we just throw a dead orc out the window? The rats will follow it outside, and our problem will be gone."

The Witch-king sighed. "Are you always so simple-minded? You weren't like this before the war. Did the war make you go loopy on me? Well, no matter. We need to find the orc who did this to punish him, and to find out who he's working for. He would not sabotage our race if he weren't paid to do so. Now go count those feet!"

He gave Ringwraith #4 a little shove in the direction of the orcs. Eeeew, were #4's thoughts as he stepped through the rats. He was up to his ankles in them. He also went pale when he saw how the orcs were playing with them: letting the rats crawl all over their bodies, petting rats, sticking rats in each others' shirts as jokes. Good Melkor, why? why? why must I work with these filthy orcs for eternity? #4 patted his pocket, just to make sure his lucky bottle of hand-sanitizer was still there, and approached those orcs, closely followed by the Witch-king of Angmar.

"Alright orcs, show me your hands and feet." And the orcs did indeed, shoving both into Ringwraith #4's face. He nearly fainted again, but the Witch-king caught him as he fell and stood him back up. "I don't want to see anymore fainting out of you! Now count those appendages!" And count he did.

"This batch is missing a few, but that's normal," Ringwraith #4 told the Witch-king, so they moved down to the next batch, and so in this manner they made their way down the entire length of the front axle. Meanwhile, the rats were multiplying.

"Wait a moment," said Ringwraith #4, "Weren't the rats a foot shallower when we started?"

"Hey, rats multiply. You can't expect them to sit here and do nothing. And you'd better hurry up with your counting. We don't want this place flooded."

None of the orcs of the front axle were missing an exceptional number of fingers or toes (the most missing on a single orc was three), so Ringwraith #4 and the Witch-king moved to the rear axle in the next dungeon. The rats were now up to their thighs, and the Witch-king cut a path through the rats with his sword. "Go ahead, the path may be a bit bloody, but it's fine." Ringwraith #4 could not find words to express his disgust at wading through dead rats.

And so they continued down the rear axle, checking the hands and feet of each orc, racing against the tide of rats. Ringwraith #4 felt faint many times, but the Witch-king was there to whack him over the head with a dead rat and tell him to keep counting.

Hundreds of orcs were passed and thousands of fingers and toes were counted. It soon seemed like finding the culprit was hopeless. At least an hour after they began, the Witch-king and Ringwraith #4 came to the very last orc. He sat on his hands and would not show them.

"Show your hands or we'll chop them off and look at them ourselves!" shouted the Witch-king. The orc, slowly and grumpily, revealed his hands. He only had three fingers! "Aha! And now for your feet." The orc stood. He had only three toes! "Aha! We've found our culprit, #4! Tell us, orc, what is your name?"

"Um, Bill – um, no, I'm Bob. Bob's my name."

"Tell us your true name, orc!"

"Gah, fine. I am Jên-iphûr Destroyer of Men son of Glob the Uncombed."

"No, you're not!" said the orc next to him, "You're just Jên-iphûr, with none of that fancy stuff attached to your name."

"So, Jên-iphûr," said the Witch-king, "If that is indeed your true name, come with us! There are too many rats in here." The Witch-king commanded Ringwraith #4 to unchain Jên-iphûr, and he did. They led the orc back up the spiral staircase to the interrogation chamber. It was a grim stone room, with a steel chair in the middle. They rechained the orc to this chair and the Witch-king began his interrogation.

"So, Jên-iphûr, why did you infest Minas Mor-go with rats? Spit it out! Who told you to do so?"

"It was nobody. I, um, don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me! Don't make me torture you. We can fill your mind with the incessant buzz of teenage girls slobbering over a Mirkwood prince, cause you to go crazy and hear nothing but elvish tra-la-las for the rest of your life, show you images of uncloaked Maiar so horrible to behold that you'll go blind, expose you to achingly painful debates of canonicity and balrog wings, assign you to Mordor, and lock you in a room full of werewolves! Now tell us, who told you to unleash the rats?"

"Never!"

"Ringwraith #4! Pull back that curtain!" A red curtain hung across the wall facing the chair. Ringwraith #4 tugged on a little rope, and the curtain whooshed away, revealing a painting of something so horrible I cannot describe it to you, though you might be able to guess at what it showed.

The Witch-king grabbed ahold of Jên-iphûr's head and pointed it at the painting. He pried Jên-iphûr's eyelids open, too. Tears streamed freely down Jên-iphûr's face, and his pupils began to wildly dilate. After only a few seconds he shouted out:

"Good lord, I can't take it anymore! Cover the picture! I'll tell you everything!" He thrashed his head, sobbing.

"Excellent, excellent," said the Witch-king. Ringwraith #4 tugged on another rope and the curtain whooshed back. From where he stood he could not see the picture, but didn't care to after seeing how the orc reacted.

"It was…the elves! One…of them jumped onto the city when they had followed us…*sob* *shiver*…I was headed to the bathroom when it found me…it said it would hunt me down and torture me with tra-la-la-lallies if I didn't do as it said…*sob* it gave me two rats to unleash in the city…and that's what happened. Please don't kill me!"

"Only if you answer these two questions!" said the Witch-king, "First of all, is the elf still hiding in the city? And secondly, how do we get rid of the rats?"

Jên-iphûr sobbed once more and wiped some tears from his face. "I-I don't know where the elf is. It- it-it d-disappeared! But I do *sob* know how to get rid of the rats!"

"How? Tell me, or I'll show you the picture again!"

"No! *sob* You-you lure it out with its favorite food."

"And what is the rats' favorite food?"

"Or-or-orc meat!"

"Oh, ahaah! So that was why you were feeding them your own fingers and toes," said the Witch-king, "Ringwraith #4, what did you do with the remains of the orcs killed in the riot?"

"I burned them, sir."

"Idiot. Oh well, we'll just have to kill fresh orcs then."

Jên-iphûr turned pale. "My lord, you said you wouldn't!"

The Witch-king shrugged. "Oh well. Just think of it as a noble sacrifice for the greater good."

* * * * *

The Witch-king exited the interrogation chamber, with Jên-iphûr's head in hand. Ringwraith #4 followed him, dragging the body. A horrible din of squeaking could be heard somewhere off in the passages.

"Hear that, #4? Those are the rats! They've smelt the orc's blood and are coming!"

"Great," said Ringwraith #4, not without sarcasm. He was having trouble dragging the body, and slipped a few times in the orc juice that oozed from it.

He had even worse trouble ascending the stairs with it. "Hurry up! What are you, a snail?" the Witch-king called from the top of the stairs. When Ringwraith #4 had reached the top the two hurried out the door over to the city walls.

"Wait. Not yet, you fool," said the Witch-king to Ringwraith #4, who was already hauling Jên-iphûr's body over the wall.

The squeaking from inside the tower grew louder and a faint trembling was felt beneath the feet. The rats were coming! The Witch-king got ready to throw the head into the forest. "Not yet…" he said again.

Then suddenly rats exploded out of the tower doorway, flying in all directions, scampering wildly across the walls towards Jên-iphûr's body. Their squeaking cries were deafening, and Minas Mor-go lurched to one side from the weight of so many rats moving at once. "The rats are coming! The rats are coming!" shouted an orc somewhere. Ringwraith #4 pushed the body over the wall, and fainted as the rats crawled up his robes. This is my tale, and it is ended now. Good-bye! And his thought fled far away and his eyes saw no more.

But the Witch-king was still conscious. With one mighty roar he threw the head far over the walls and into the forest. The waves upon waves of rats leapt after it in one squeaking cascade of fur, and crashed into the forest below, maddened by the scent of the orc's blood deep in the forest.

When it was all over the Witch-king kicked Ringwraith #4. "Why do you faint so much? It's not like they would've killed you. They're gone now anyways, and we must continue our journey. We can't slow down every time you feel like taking a nap."

[Gil-Galad]

"bah we got bleedin' rats Orc #4291746912b " said Gothmog

"Montague"

"now what can we do now... any ideas Orc #4291746912b?" Gothmog said

"Montague"

"eh? what you blabbering about now?" Gothmog said with sheppards pie coming out of his mouth

"my name its... did you eat my Sheppards Pie?" Montague said

"uh" Gothmog looked around "no of course not why would i do that"

"i made that for supper tonight! what are we going to eat now! solve that my Balrog-Incarnate!"

"uh... we eat those rats that are causing us troubles! yummy!" Gothmog replied

"i guess... i got this great recipe for Rat Soup!"

"great! now Orc #4291746912b! go get those Rats out of our pipes!"

"uh Montague"

"what now?"

"my name... its Montague"

"okay... when did that happen? i thought you hated anything that started with the letter M"

"well funny story, it involves a tree, a talking dolphin, a pair of confused birds and your cousin Annie, it was a wild March..."

"i see... wait Annie? but she drowned in the Sea of Nurn last...march.... you!!!"

"hey its not my fault! i found a piece of wood and i was like 'hey a piece of wood' and then theres Annie and next thing i know were at war and all that crazy nonsense... so shall i go get those rats for a yummy dinner?"

"sorry what? you said something?"

"...oh nevermind... good thing i have our cooking supplies for great orc cusine! so i'll just throw it into our pipes then we'll cook them in the pipes and i'll stab them out with a poking utensil! sounds like a plan?"

"no you don't look fat"

"do you even listen to anything i say?"

"i said i'll do it tomorrow okay!"

"... your so off my christmas card list..." Montague said as Gothmog pulls out a magazine and begins reading [Magazine headline : how to bring the Inner Orc Beauty outside Pg 16]

[Morsul the Dark]

Fat Rat Dinner

'What an amazing article,' Gothmog remarked as he read. Random or....Montague was planning on cooking up the rats. 'Well its meat and I do love me some meat.'

Suddenly the sounds of burning rats filled the air excited Gothmog jumped up just in time to see rats on fire pouring out of the pipes. Gothmog dove and grabbed two of the nearer ones and started gnashing and gnawing swallowing them down his fowl throat as Montague Gingerly ate one then the next soon though no matter the eating technique the rats were soon gone.

Barad-Dash lurched into motion again. PAtting his now satisfied gut Gothmog looked ahead "West I say west!"

[Gurthang]

A Change of Direction

Originally Posted by Alcarillo

When it was all over the Witch-king kicked Ringwraith #4. "Why do you faint so much? It's not like they would've killed you. They're gone now anyways, and we must continue our journey. We can't slow down every time you feel like taking a nap."

Shaking himself to clear his head, Ringwraith #4 stood up. It was rather embarrassing to be fainting so much, but what could he do? Ever since he had been a wee lad, he could not stand overbearing stenches. And not standing them meant fainting and being on the ground. He was rather sore that becoming a wraith had not rid him of his sense of smell, but there was nothing he could do. So he trudged dejectedly towards the dungeon, where he had been instructed to go and get the orcs moving yet again. He'd rather be taking a bath to get the nasty orc blood off of himself, but that was a luxury the Witch-King had taken for himself first. And there being only one bathtub in the whole of Minas Mor-go meant that he'd have to wait for hours to get in. The Witch-King was notorious for taking excessively long bathes.

Regardless, after a little while (the orcs still had their shoes off, so he fainted twice before getting them back to work) he had Minas Mor-go back on the move and was up on the helm steering westward. It seemed like smooth sailing. He could see the Misty Mountains rearing up ahead of him, and was thinking how they were going to get up over them. Suddenly, King Eärnur's ghost floated up beside him. Annoyed at just his presence, #4 remained silent, hoping that Eärnur would do the same. No such luck.

"Are we there yet?" asked the dead king.

"No."

"So, where are we going, again?"

"West," #4 replied bluntly.

"True, but what is to the west."

"Mountains."

"Ah, true again. And beyond those?"

"The Witch-King's realm of Angmar." said Ringwraith #4, remembering how much he didn't want to be going west and thus forgetting for a moment who he was conversing with. "I really hope he doesn't decide to stop there."

"Oh, sounds interesting." said Eärnur, clearly not interested. "When's the nearest rest stop?"

"What?!"

"The next rest stop. I have to go to the bathroom."

"No, we're not stopping. There are plenty of places to go here in Minas Mor-go. Besides, you're a ghost, you can't have to go to the bathroom."

"Oh." The ghost stopped for a moment, looking off into space. "Do you have any Ád'vîl? I've got a horrible headache."

Ringwraith #4 looked at the sword sticking through the ghost's head. "You'd have to ask the Witch-King about that, and I don't think Ád'vîl works for ghosts."

Just then the Witch-King came up.

"Ah, perfect," said Eärnur's ghost, "do you have any Ád'vîl I can have? My head is killing me."

The Witch-King replied, "First off, you're already dead, so your head can't be killing you. Second, you're a ghost, so Ád'vîl won't work on you. Third, I wouldn't let you borrow any even if the first two things weren't true, because I have you here to suffer. Now get out of my sight."

After he had gone, the Witch-King said to #4, "I regretfully think we need to start heading more towards the Grey Havens. Going west will take us farther off of the course. I'm still thinking of sending someone to Angmar to rally some extra orcs to meet us on the road, but I don't know yet."

Ringwraith #4 kept looking straight ahead, hoping that he would not be the one who was sent to Angmar. "Sounds good to me, sir, do you want me to start right away."

"Yes, #4, I want us heading SOUTH-WEST, STRAIGHT FOR THE HIGH PASS NEAR RIVENDELL as soon as possible."

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank Who wants grapes?

"Your awesomeness, I believe this is a great plan!" Said Grima in a squeaky voice. "Yes... yes it is!" Said Saruman snatching the net from his mad scientist. "Gentlemen... we have work to do!" Said Saruman commandingly. "Not me, union rules, I can't do field work." Said the Uruk-Hai. Grima sneered at this, "Why doesn't my union let me do anything like that?" "You don't have a union, ninny! Come to think of it the Istari Union states the greasy servant must do all the housework. Have fun Grima, I'm going to go watch paint dry." Saruman said, walking away, shoving the net at Grima.

Grima took the net and then the berry-cheese and set off. He placed the berry-cheese at strategic points around Orth-Tank and then stood ready with the net. As Grima waited, he peeked around the corner and saw Saruman... the wizard was watching paint dry! But not exactly, he was watching the nail-polish on his nails dry actually but all in all its the same thing. While Grima was distracted a large legion of rats ran out off nowhere, all headed towards Grima to whom the smell of berry-cheese still hung onto. Grima turned around just in time to see them jump onto him. Grima let out a terrified scream as the horde of rats jump onto him.

Saruman heard the scream and hurried over to where Grima was. "Oh My!" exclaimed Saruman snatching up the fallen net. "I'll save you Grima!" He shouted and with one fell sweep he lift up all the rats, Grima scurried onto his feet with a petrified look on his face. "Grima, jump in the net. You have rabies." Said Saruman. "No I don't sire, they didn't bite me! You saved my life!" Said Grima. "Oh dear..." Said Saruman blushing. "Give me a hug Grima!" Said Saruman spreading his arms, as he did though he accidently let the rats fall out through an open window. Saruman yelped as the weight suddenly went a lot less, "Grima! You fool! Did you leave the windows open again?" Shouted Saruman angrily. "Uh... I can explain sir..." Muttered Grima cowering away. "Well save it for later, we best get back on our way south-west now. We must go to Moria!" Said the wizard.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Well done, all ye

It looked like all the vehicles were moving again, and so the small Dragon nudged Dwarfy on the leg. He leaped up with a start and nearly fell out of the Eyrie copter, but he steadied himself just in time. The majority were out of Mirkwood finally and moving swiftly to the west, weather taking the High pass, Moria or the gap of Rohan, each might hold secrets.

"Well done, all ye peoples," Dwarfy said, Sauron swore at him again, "After that challenge, One of you seems to have got a bit of a boost..."

[Meneltarmacil]

After making sure Saruman was asleep, Grima snuck into the room where the Palantir was hidden. Things had been getting really boring lately, and Grima was also quite hungry.

"Hello?" he said as he looked into the mysterious object. "Denethor? Witch-King? If you know a good pizza place around here, could I get a large pizza with extra pepperoni? Thanks. Oh, and I've got something you might like here. Check it out."

Grima then proceeded to show embarrassing photos of Saruman from his Wizarding School days to everyone on the other end.

[Gil-Galad]

Originally Posted by Meneltarmacil

Grima then proceeded to show embarrassing photos of Saruman from his Wizarding School days to everyone on the other end.

"i see he wasn't the only Un-Cloaked wizard " remarked Montague

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Third Challenge: Porcupine Predicament

There is a bit of a problem here! It seems that one of the younger Dwarves has preyed your wheels with Porcupine pheromone before you left. Now the little creatures have caught up with you and flattened your tyres. Having done their worst, the blighters have run off with one of your wheels and the spare you keep.
You need to think of a way to get back on the road!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Bonus Level!

Orth-Tank has come to one of the 8 Bonus areas!

As soon as you have finished this challenge, you will be transported on the Anduin boat, going south. You can only get off at the Ent wash. You have no choice in the matter, seeing as how the little Gollum like creature that sold you a ticket also convinced you to re mortgage your Vehicle and buy 700 boxes of shoes. He's a darn good salesman.

[The Saucepan Man]

Out of the Porcupine, into the Tyre

A glorious midday sun shone down on the green, turfed roof of Bag-Endless-Fuel as it put-putted happily towards the Misty Mountains, multi-coloured sparks leaping prettily from its rear hill-mounted exhaust system. It was Pippin’s turn to keep watch in the Thrushes Nest and he whiled away his time munching contentedly on a large game-pie with a side helping of mushrooms garnished with garlic and red pepper sauce. He was just moving on to his seconds, a plate of five sizeable custard tarts, when some distant specks in the sky caught his eye. They were moving swiftly towards the little burrow-buggy, becoming larger and more distinct as they approached.

“The Eagles!” he suddenly cried. “The Eagles are coming! Frodo! It’s …”

But Pippin’s exclamation was cut short as a Hobbit-sized bundle was released by the lead Eagle, striking him squarely on the head and bouncing down the chimney, taking the unbalanced Took with it.

“Well, I’m back,” declared Bilbo, picking himself up from the hearth and dusting himself down.

“Uncle Bilbo! Boy, am I glad to see you,” uttered a joyful Frodo.

“Bilbo!” exclaimed Merry. “But how did you get here?”

“Air Gwaihir, my boy,” replied the old Hobbit. “It’s the only way to fly, you fools!”

*Groan!*

“Shame on you, Mister Bilbo, sir,” reprimanded Samwise. “For using that old chestnut simply to bump up the humour quotient of this post!”

“Gmmb fmwn gft moy awght!” piped up a hapless voice from the chimney breast.

So, once Pippin had been extracted from the chimney flue and settled with a large and reassuring plate of pumpkin pie and blackberries, the talk turned once more to Bilbo’s return.

“But I thought that you were peddling the translator conceit over in Rivendell, Uncle Bilbo,” said Frodo. “What brings you back to the race?”

“Well, when I arrived in Imladris, there was this group of Dwarves,” Bilbo explained. “Turned out to be another delegation from Mount Zoom Challenge Enterprises, led by a fellow called Bûrni Arkenstone. Well, one night in the Hall of Fire, they got drinking and talking with old Elrond. Gandalf was there too. I tried to warn Elrond, but after far more mugs of Miruvor than were good for him, he ended up placing a rather large wager on Bag-Endless-Fuel. I believe that I saw him waving the title deed to Imladris itself around at some point. Anyway, the next day, amidst bouts of moaning and clutching his head and calling for Lembacetamol, he tells me that it’s vital that Bag-Endless-Fuel wins the Mount Zoom Challenge if he is not to lose the Last Homely House and become the First Homeless Half-Elf. So he and Gandalf decide that it’s best that I return to oversee the enterprise – “to protect their investment” they said. And before I know whether I’m coming or going, Gandalf has got on his moth-piece, called up Gwaihir and, well, here I am.”

“Gracious me,” said Frodo. “So it seems that there’s a great deal riding on this race now.”

“Indeed there is, my boy. So let’s get going. Oh, and have you got that old Ring of mine? I should very much like to see it again …”

But that would have to wait since, as he was speaking, a series of sudden explosions rang out as the tyres gave way under pressure from thousands of porcupine spines. The little burrow-buggy veered first one way and then the other and only a concerted effort from Merry at the wheel managed to bring it under control. Gradually, he brought it to a standstill and the Hobbits emerged from the round front door to inspect the damage.

[Gurthang]

Porcupines in the Tyres?

Ringwraith #4 looked out over the edge of the battlement at the pesky little blighters that were making off with their tyre. There was no use going after them, there were too many to kill, and even if they emptied Minas Mor-go, all the orcs would just go in bashing and end up sticking themselves to death on the porcupines' quills. So what was there too do but watch the dirty vermin make off with two of Minas Mor-go's tyres. And to think: they had just gotten out of an attack of feisty rodents, and now more vermin had stolen their wheels! The irony!

He walked back around to the western side of the battlement, and stood near the Witch-King, who was sitting on his throne waiting for an idea. Ringwraith #4 didn't have any and so he looked towards their intended direction to try to get inspiration. The River Anduin was not more than 10 miles up ahead, and beyond that the High Pass was somewhere in those enormous mountains. Just getting to the mountains had been a problem before, and the matter of how to get over them had been ignored until now. Yet they could not even reach the foothills with only three tyres, and all those filled with quills! He dropped his gaze back towards the River, pondering what to do. He barely saw the giant Bear that was ranging northward across the Wild. He looked straight through the fields of beans and corn and hay that lay sprawled close to the river. He didn't even see the flock of pigs that flew merely twenty yards in front of him. He was so immersed in thought that none of these registered in his mind... until one idea suddenly hit him.

"Witch-King, sir," he began.

"Yeah, I saw them, too. I've always said that pigs will fly before you'll have a good idea, so I guess you must have one."

Dumbfounded, #4 just looked at the Witch-King. Then he shrugged and said, "Actually, I do have an idea."

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

*BUMP!*

"What in blazes was that!" roared Denethor. Something had just caused Minas Tirith to careen to one side.

"Slow down!" cried Faramir. "We've popped a tire!"

"Did we drive over a sword or something!" replied Denethor. "It'd take something long, hard, and sharp indeed to puncture tires that can hold up a city!"

"I'm not sure!" said Faramir. "But we'd better stop anyway."

Denethor eased Minas Tirith into a park. With one tire punctured, the city was set on a somewhat crooked angle. Denethor and Faramir quickly descended to the citadel. Húrin of the Keys was running up to meet them.

"Milords!" he gasped. "Milords, it is terrible!"

"What is terrible?" demanded Denethor.

"Porcupines, Milord!" replied Húrin, still gasping for breath. "They've attacked our tires!"

Even as Húrin said this, explosive noises could be heard as the other tires were blown open by the porcupines. Minas Tirith rocked unsteadily, then settled to the ground, all its tires popped.

"Porcupines?" said Faramir, raising an eyebrow.

"Dreadful porcupines!" replied Húrin. "Porcupine guerillas of doom! Worse, they invaded the city and stolen our only spare!"

"Sirs!" Beregond came running up. "We've managed to drive the porcupines away, but they stole one of our tires, as well as the spare. They were giggling something awful as they made away."

"What do we do?" asked Faramir.

"Beregond, order a watch," was Denethor's first command. "If any porcupine shows its face within sight of the city, I want it captured or shot. Húrin, see if you can patch and re-pump the tires we still have. Faramir, you and I shall see what we can do about procuring another tire."

"We could hunt down these porcupines and steal them back," suggested Faramir.

"No," said Denethor. "It's too dangerous. We don't know the terrain, and we don't know how dangerous an enemy we're facing. No, we must create a new tire."

"But Father!" protested Faramir. "That's more rubber than we have in the city! We're talking about enough rubber to put the Gondorian army in sneakers for two years!"

"My decision is final," said Denethor. "Or least until I change my mind. What other options have we?"

[Glirdan]

Operation: Porcupine Tyre

"Tighten your belts ye yellow-bellied wimps!! Argh!! I shall whip ye all with the flat of me blade! Argh!" a sound of applause erupted around Mouth. "Thank you! Thank you!" he yelled. "So, now that I've won the competition, where's my prize mone?" The trolls around him looked at each other, dumbfounded by the simple question. "Well!? Where is it!?" Mouth began to get angry. "You DON'T want me to turn into master do you? After all, I AM his Mouth and can talk a LOT higher then he!!"

"Um, sir?" one of the trolls cried.

"What!? Can't you see that I'm venting here!?"

"Umm......I don't know how to tell you this, but..."

"Spit it out you confounded troll!!" Mouth yelled.

"Porcupines ran off with our front tire and made flat's out of the other three..."

"Well, replace the one in the front with-

"-the spare tire got stollen to..."

"That explains why we haven't been moving for the past five hours...Umm....hmmmm...This is predicament...Hmmm....It's times like these when I wish master WASN'T sick!" Mouth cried in despair. "Send me a sign from above!! Wait!! I mean below. Ya, below!!" Just then, a RatWraith spirit (one of the one's that Dwarfy's dragon killed[poor, poor RatWraiths..]) arose from the ground. "Ahh! It's a spirit from below!! Wait! It's a spirit from below!! We're saved!!"

"Squeak!!"

"You have a plan?"

"Squeakity squeak!"

"A wonderful plan?'

"Squeaken squeak"

"An awful plan?"

"Squeakity squeaken squeak!"

"An awfully wonderful plan?"

"SQUEAK!!"

"Oh!! A wonderfully awful plan! I get it! Well come in here and we shall converse."

[The Saucepan Man]

Pippin and the Porcupines

“Porcupines!” said Merry, gazing into the distance. “Hundreds of them.”

“Where?” asked Pippin.

“Just beyond that meadow,” replied Merry. “Er, Pippin, where are you going? Pip?”

But it was too late. The young Took was haring off in the direction that Merry had indicated.

“I wonder where he’s off to?” mused Merry.

“More to the point,” said Bilbo, staring glumly at the lacerated strips of rubber that now adorned Bag-Endless-Fuel’s empty axles. “What are we going to do about these tyres?”

“They got the spare too,” said Samwise, ambling up disconsolately.

“There must be something inside that we can use,” offered Frodo in an effort to lift their spirits. “Hobbit-holes are veritable treasure troves of mathoms and the like. You must have something hidden away in there that will serve us as makeshift wheels, Uncle Bilbo.”

The Hobbits fell silent as each tried to think what might best fit the bill. But it was not long before their thoughts were rudely interrupted.

“Ow! Ouch! Ooh! Eek! Wa-hey! Ow!” grumbled a pin-cushion as it stumbled delicately towards them.

“Well there’s something you don’t see every day, and no mistake,” observed Sam.

“Ouch!” said the pin-cushion, pulling a handful of quills from its body.

“Pippin!” cried Merry. “Where have you been? And why did you go off chasing after the porcupines?”

“Well I was hungry!” wailed Pippin. “But I couldn’t see any Porky-pies. Just a load of big rats covered in these nasty spines.”

[Morsul the Dark]

What a Pine Problem this is

Picking the last rat meat from his teeth gothmog looked ahead and smiled they may not be in the lead but he was full and therefore in good spirits, "Montague," I think when we finish I'll spruce this baby up get one of those nucleur engines minas taxi has give the slaves a rest. Suddenly the tower stopped dead and Gothmogs mood quickly changed. "Why have we stopped?"

"Porcupines have flattened our tires." Montague answered, "And by the way we don't have engines?"

"No We're being pushed by thousands of slaves....." Gothmog was suddenly hit by an idea

"What is it sir."

"What if we rope a few hundred into thread a slave chain, a chain gange. We chan wrap them around the axels and voila we go."

"Voila sir?"

"Shut up." Gothmog embarressed by his less than orc-like use of the word but then again he wasn't quite an orc was he.

"Well anyway sir we don't have time for that kind of thing."

"What about the pool?"

"Sir I highly doubt this is the time for a swim." Montague was beginning to think something was missing upstairs for gothmog and it wasn't just the giant eye that was now somwhere in the forest.

"No you see We use our inner tubes as makeshift wheels."

"That's stupid they'll just pop."

"Fine What about a catapult We fling ourselves past the others!"

"But when we land we'll still need tires. Don't we have a spare?"

"Of course," Gothmog exclaimed." We still need three tires though..."

At that moment Orc #9346956856625363286864264562436c came throught the door. "Actually sir they took the spare."

"Who?" Gothmog enquired

"The Porcupinies," Random Orc #9346956856625363286864264562436c

Gothmog got extremely angry at that moment, "I say we go with my orginal plan rope the slaves together and make new thread, you there," The Orc was heading quickly for the door, "Halt! You have just volunteered to do the job you have three hours. Now go!"

[Gil-Galad]

"so we just use a bunch of our many slaves as our new tire then" Montague said

"uh...yep pretty much" Gothmog replied

"brilliant!" Montague shouted

"sssshhh, its nap time" Gothmog said as he quickly fell asleep

"so i guess i'm driving...again... slaves!"Montague shouted" "steer the wheels South-West!"

"but i am tired" one of the slaves yelled back

"alright take a break...wait... your a slave! your break-time aint till 7:00! back to work!"

[Alcarillo]

The Witch-king has an Idea

The Witch-king gave a dreary sigh. "Alright, Ringwraith #4, tell me your crazy plan."

"Well, sir, you see those bean plants over there? In the field?"

"Those weeds? How do you know they're bean plants?"

"Because I like plants."

"Nerd."

"Anyways, as I was saying, we can harvest the beans of those plants and feed them to the orcs, making gas. If we can collect this lighter-than-air gas, we can fill a balloon with it, tie it to the city, and we can float over the mountains. Why need tyres, when we can float in the air?"

"That's a stupid plan, and needlessly gassy. And why did you say tires with a Y instead of an I?"

"I did not."

"Yes you did, I heard you myself."

"Well whatever I said, what do you think we should do, if you are so disapproving of my plan?"

"I think we need help from the other seven."

'The other Ringwraiths?"

"No, the seven Fathers of the Dwarves," said the Witch-king. He rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Of course I mean the other Ringwraiths, idiot. Just let me summon them. Stay here and don't touch my chair."

The Witch-king entered the highest tower, and climbed up the spiral staircase up to the chamber of the Ithil-stone, and from there he used a ladder to crawl through a trapdoor in the ceiling. And once through that trapdoor, he was on the roof of the highest tower.

"GET OUT OF MY CHAIR!" he shouted at Ringwraith #4 far below. Ringwraith #4 sprang out of the armchair as though he had sat on an iron spike.

"Better!" shouted the Witch-king. Now he got back to the task at hand. On the roof was a great read lever, labeled Only Pull in Emergencies in four languages. He pulled this lever, and instantly a great roaring and shaking was heard and felt. Out of the highest tower burst a great pillar of roaring green flame, visible as far away as Erebor. "Mwahahahaha!" the Witch-king shouted. He hurried back down the tower.

"They're bound to see that beacon!" he said.

"But wh-why are you summoning the other Ringwraiths?"

"For their wingéd steeds, of course, you idiot! With all nine tethered to the city, they can lift us into the air and we can fly to our destination!"

"Isn't the city too heavy to be carried by our flying beasts?"

"Pfffffffff, no, as long as we lighten it a bit. We just throw the ugly furniture overboard, toss a few orcs over the sides, and voila! We're airborne. And we can always replenish our orc supply once we're in the mountains."

"Great plan, but how long will it take for the others to arrive?"

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

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Try as they might, Faramir and Denethor were having virtually no success in coming up with an alternative tire strategy.

"We haven't got enough rubber in the city. I've already said that!" said Faramir. "Not if we melted down ever shoe, rubber band, and rubber duck in the city."

"Don't be silly!" scoffed Denethor. "We couldn't melt down the rubber ducks anyway. The support staff would revolt."

"What about a wooden wheel?" said Faramir. "Like a waggon?"

"It wouldn't give us a decent ride at all," objected Denethor. "No traction either. It'd probably break down in the mountains."

"What about canvas?" said Faramir.

"What, are you going to paint us a tire?"

"No, I meant that we could wrap a wooden wheel in canvas- or any kind of cloth. Pad it down, so to speak."

"That'd really slow us down," said Denethor, shaking his head. "Who knows where the other racers are at? No, we can't afford to be slowed down."

"But we can't replace the wheel with one equally efficient!" said Faramir.

"Well, how else can we move the city?"

"I can't think of a thing," said Faramir. "There's no one or nothing big enough to carry the city."

"What about Balrogs?" interjected Denethor. "They're big and strong- and they certainly were cheering us on at the starting line. I've heard that they can fly, too."

"I'm pretty sure they mean 'fly' in the 'rush' sense," said Faramir. "Besides, where are we going to find a bevy of Balrogs around here?"

"We could summon them."

"I don't think that Balrogs are the answer anyway," said Faramir. "What have we got to offer them?"

"I'd give them Mithrandir if I could lay hands on him!" said Denethor. "I've heard they have a bounty on him."

"Well we don't have Mithrandir and I don't think we're going to be able to get him," said Faramir. "What other options are there?"

"Well, speaking of flying..." Denethor's speech trailed off as he thought. "What could we do to get the city airborne?"

"I don't think it's even possible," said Faramir. "The Fellbeasts are Minas Morgûl-exclusive, the eagles are working for Dwarfy, and good luck trying to get a seven-tiered city off the ground using thrushes and ravens."

"At least we know that old goat Saruman's crebain won't be able to help him," said Denethor. "Say! I've got an idea! How about we ditch the city, and continue the race in the Houses of Healing? They put that thing on wheels too, didn't they?"

"I don't think the Houses of Healing could handle a long distance trip over rough terrain," said Faramir. "I'm also quite sure that we have to have the city, or the majority of it, when we cross the finish line."

"Burn it!" swore Denethor. "So basically what it comes down to is that we have to find ourselves a way to make this city run without a wheel?"

"Not necessarily..." said Faramir. "There is one plan we haven't considered. But I hesitate even to mention it."

"What is that?" Denethor raised an eyebrow.

"We could go after the porcupines and steal back either the spare tire or the stolen wheel," said Faramir in a low voice. "It's dangerous, to be sure, but I'm beginning to think we have no other options."

"Go after the porcupines!" Denethor's eyes were popping out his head. "You must be mad! They'll kill us all! What's more, they know the terrain, and their base is in the northern eaves of Mirkwood- the dread forest!"

"I know, Father," said Faramir, "but Mirkwood isn't really all that different from Ithilien. Black Squirrels, black Kingfishers, poncy Elves... all the big dangers of Mirkwood have moved into Ithilien."

"What about the spiders?" asked Denethor.

"I don't think there are any this far north," said Faramir. "And if they're are... well, I'm not too worried. Elempë's Who's Who in Middle-Earth says that Hobbits are generally more dangerous than them."

"Maybe so," said Denethor, "but still... to fight against the Porcupines themselves! It's practically suicide! We'd have to take almost the entire support staff with us just to have a chance, and I don't mind saying that I don't like the idea of leaving the city virtually abandoned."

"Ioreth and Bergil can watch it," said Faramir confidently. "I've shown them how to work the trebuchets, should they need it."

"Very well..." sighed Denethor. "Call Húrin, Damrod, and Mablung to a council of war. Once we have a plan, have Beregond summon the rest. If we must fight these dreaded Porcupines, let us employ every bit of cunning we possess, so that we might, hopefully survive."

[Caranlondien]

Fog on the Stove-top

Frodo fingered the ring that hung from a chain around his neck. He had been scouring Bag End for hours, searching for anything that could be used as a replacement wheel. He felt tired, weary.

"Any luck, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, entering the room Frodo had been searching.

"No, Sam," replied Frodo.

"Well, Mister Bilbo's asking for you. I've a feeling he has something up his sleeve, yet."

Frodo followed Sam down the corridor towards Bilbo's study. They both stopped, though, when they came to the kitchen doorway, out of which a steady stream of smoke was pouring forth.

Frodo waved his hand in front of his face and coughed. "What's going on in here?" he called. He could see a figure moving towards him through the cloud of soot, and was not surprised to discover it was Pippin, looking a bit ashen-faced.

"I wanted to help out," he explained. "So I went to the pantry for a bit of a snack, to help me think, but all I could find were those biscuits - you know, Sam's recipe, they're always hard as a rock. And then I thought, you know, they're round, too! So I measured one of the other wheels, and baked an enormous biscuit. I did the math, and everything. It's an hour for 6 servings, and as this was at least 30 servings, I did it for five hours." Here he paused to rub some soot out of his eye. "Did I count wrong?"