Assigned to Mordor RPG

[Durelin]

Valde continually shot the camera brooding looks, and deftly wiped away beads of sweat that were forming on his temple. Why? Because he was concentrating, of course. This driving stuff was hard work; just ask Steve McQueen. And of course there was the fog, and then the sleet to deal with. Valde was pleased, though. The drastic changes of weather only added to the feel of tension and suspense. If only a good thunderstorm would blow in, then he could have a good brooding moment, and perhaps even a horrific one. But after each change in weather, Valde Delego, wanting only to give the viewers what they wanted, would say to the camera: “Slow down while driving in inclement weather, and be sure to turn on your headlights.” He then punched down on the gas a little harder. “How do I turn on the lights?” he asked, and suddenly a Mr. T voice spoke. “I pity da fool who’s goin’ the wrong way!”

“And so finally, the GPS system came to life, and Valde Delego could breath more freely, if only for a moment,” the kamuraman said, narrating for him.

Valde began following the directions given by the Mr. T voice, and ended up having to turn around and cut across what seemed to be seven lanes of traffic. By the end, even the Mr. T voice was confused. But then the voice decided that it was best to take a few more rights before they no longer made a wrong. Things settled down for a bit, and even the sleet came to an end. But then a terrible wind started raging, and it seemed an entire sandstorm had swallowed up Valde’s Cruiser. He turned to the kamura. “O what lot life leaves me with! First fog, then sleet, then wind, and then…Britney Spears? “Wait…where’d the steering wheel go?” Valde had just enough time to say before his car crashed into a billboard with a stereotypical blonde on it in a pose that was meant to please the masses of a certain kind. Perhaps she was limbering up for…a show; yes, that’s it: a show. The sign actually read “Paint your game face on” in the bottom right hand corner, but Valde wasn’t sure if it was meant to be there or not.

Stepping out of the wrecked car, he was immediately forced to the ground. The kamura man was still in the car. Most of his rigging was knocked over and tangled around him, trapping him. He did not seem to wish to leave the car, though, anyway. Valde found himself to quickly be back to his normal form. He almost wished he was an orc again, though. The rough skin of such a creature, he assumed, would not sting so much as his did from being hit by the sand. He pulled his coat over his head, and tried to rise from the ground, all the while ignoring a voice in his head that sounded like a commercial. “Dry and irritated skin? We know you orcs get it, too. Just admit it! And now you can more easily treat it, with new Orcbond orcish lotion. Soft enough for a man, but strong enough for any orc. Buy some today at your local pharmacy, and turn that cowhide into leather!”

What? he thought.

“That jerky into tenderloins!”

Tender loins?, his mind questioned, What are they trying to sell?

Valde suddenly remembered he was lying on the ground in the middle of a sandstorm. He may not be on the road, but he could hear the cars whirring by, and the sound was too close for comfort. He crawled under his car, feeling it safe to do so, assuming that if it had not blown up yet, then it would not now. And this was on top of the fact that the gas tank had been just about empty. He had observed this, but pretended that he had not so that when the gas did run out, he could surprise the viewers. But now…now those viewers would never know what happened to Valde Delego! They would bury an empty casket twenty five years after his sudden disappearance, and his grave would be in Minas Tirith, the city happy to finally welcome him home. Feeling a Boromir moment coming on, Valde focused his mind on more important matters. He prayed to Ilúvatar that he would still arrive somehow at the correct destination, and fashionably late as well as fashionably battered and worn in appearance. Considering the story of the tortoise and the hare, Valde felt his lack of sleep catching up to him, and soon let his eyes close, forgetting that it was the hare who had fallen asleep, and had lost.

[littlemanpoet]

Official Off-topic Post

I stick out my little finger when drinking any kind of beverage. Its a natural reaction to lifting a beverage-holder in Britain. We Brits have a very slight difference in our blood to the rest of the world's population, completely isolated in our little fingers. It generates a force against most kinds of drink, particularly tea (there is currently a major study being undertaken to discover why) which pushes the finger away from the drink.

Interesting eh?

On another note, why is cheekiness associated with Brits? Anyone have any ideas?

end official off-topic post.

unbeknownst courtesy of Eomer of the Rohirrim

[Encaitare]

A myriad of sounds came from the PT Cruiser: a low and reproachful yell of surprise, a rasy cry of distress, a high shriek of pure terror, and a quieak like that of a small animal which has just been thrown against a soft surface. The car itself had also let out a cry as it was bumped off the road, but all the passengers heard was the squeal of tires. What the vehicle actually said was "OhnoOhnoOhnoUlmosavemeeeeee!!!" (Ulmo is, after all, the Vala whom all motor vehicles hold in the highest regard, since he did indeed drive a car of his own*), but as neither Dwarf, nor woman, nor Orc, nor ferret spoke Automobile, the words were lost on them.

It took Wilhelmina a moment to realize that the steering wheel had magically materialized before her. "Where did you come from?" she wondered aloud. Next to her, Fléin was stamping his feet in search of pedals which were no longer there either, and it dawned upon the old woman that it would be a good idea to stop the car.

"I hope you don't mind driving a bit more," Wilhelmina said to her companion, hopping out of the car. She'd already begun to turn a bit Orkish even from the short time behind the wheel, and she disliked the sensation very much.

As they got back on the road, the Cruiser only a little worse for the wear, it became apparent that a number of changes had been made on the surrounding area.

"Kotekth fith, pewiod? What'th that thuppothed to mean?" the kamuraorc inquired curiously.

Wilhelmina did not care to enlighten him about feminine hygiene, and instead said, "Goodness, it's getting toasty!" She tried rolling the window down, but the hot wind blew dust in her face.

"This'll be Anakron's doing," Fléin said darkly. "Let's hope he keeps the tricks in his sleeve for a while."

They did not know it, but at that precise moment, two very strange things were happening.

Not far from the road was a garish poster five stories high. It displayed the silhouette of a goblin, frozen in the middle of an awkward dance move. One word accompanied the image: iOrc. While the sign was unsightly, and only a few people at that point actually knew what an iAnything was, that was not the strange part. The monstrous ape currently scaling the sign held that office.

And very, very far away, Ulmo was wondering why he had just had a number of cars crying out to him for help. "Must be another bloody pile-up in Lûndûn," he grumbled. "I do hope the tow trucks come this time." He put his blue convertible in Drive, cranked up the Beach Boys, and decided to go see if there were any heroes who might need directions to Gondolin.


*"Behold now Ulmo leapt upon his car before the doorway of his palace below the still waters of the Outer Sea" - Book of Lost Tales 2

[the phantom]

Soon after leaving Edge-Where, it began sleeting. "This is exactly why I wanted an SUV with four wheel drive, anti-lock brakes, and quality tires," said orc-Mardil as the SUV sped past yet another car that had slid off the road.

"When will we arrive at Mount Doom?" asked Sai.

"Oh, it isn't far," said Mardil. "We left Edge-Where at 9:00 AM and it's about 225 miles to Mount Doom. Even if this weather persists, we will arrive at Mount Doom around 1:00 PM- unless we encounter some delays."

"Is that likely?" asked Sai.

"Yes," answered Mardil.

"How long do you think that might take?" asked Sai.

"It depends on what the delay is for," said Mardil with a hint of hostility. "We should leave the radio on the traffic station. That way, if we have advanced warning we can take an alternate route."

"Aren't most roads besides the Interstate in really poor condition?"

"Yes, Sai," said Mardil slowly, barely restraining his wrath, "But this vehicle can handle it. Any other questions, or are you finished bugging me?"

"Hey, Mardil, calm down. Your orcish form is making you irritable," said Sai.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," said Mardil. Mardil slumped a bit in his chair, took several deep breaths, and began humming in an effort to calm his nerves.

Suddenly Sai burst out, "Mardil! Stop the car - it's Alli!"

"Wha- where?" stuttered Mardil, bringing his mind back to the present.

"Over on the side of the road," answered Sai. "Pull over! If her car's broken down we can give her a lift."

For a moment, Mardil's mind fluttered back to the rescue from the balrog. He had put himself at risk and gotten Alli to Edge-Where just in time to receive full points-and she had repaid this favor by first yelling at him and then avoiding him. "Over-emotional, irrational girl!" he thought. "I really don't feel like having her along. Once again, I'm saving her, and once again she probably won't have anything good to say to me. But, I hate to leave her with everyone watching." Mardil looked back at Orckel. He had his camera up and had it fixed on Alli as the SUV sped past. She was staggering. Mardil wasn't certain, but it looked like the side of her face was bloody.

Cursing mentally, Mardil pulled over onto the shoulder and came to a stop. Sai gave a sigh of relief. Mardil put the vehicle into reverse and backed up until they were within twenty yards of Alli. As Mardil exited the vehicle, Alli fell to the ground. Rushing forward, Mardil scooped her up and brought her back to the SUV and deposited her in the back seat (after ordering Orckel to climb back into the rear with the spare tires). For the next twenty minutes of the drive, Alli could be heard murmuring a constant stream of unintelligible words with a "Mardil" thrown in every once and a while.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli lost train of thought. One moment she was muttering obscenities about the state of Mordor and her mood and then next there was a gas-guzzling SUV next to her and suddenly she fell.

It was a rather odd sensation; she knew that she wasn't awake, but she also knew she wasn't really sleeping. She could have sworn that she was lifted gently as a sleeping child by strong, warm arms... but she also could have sworn that she was flying... and besides... her swearing of late had been frowned upon by the more conservative members of her kamura crew. Somehow she floated between consciousness and she could feel the ground moving beneath her. Had Roggie come back? She was warm again.

She started to see things. She knew they were dreams, but they seemed so real.

Mardil came toward her. She backed away stubbornly. There was a white horse involved in the vision and the words "happily ever after" flitted through her head. She groaned and muttered "No... no... go away."

Her father was there. He hugged his daughter as she returned home. He was so glad to see her.

He turned into Valde. His eyebrows overwhelmed her. "Tweeze." she mumbled.

She was holding a baby. He was clad in a black cape with dark and sinister eyes. He gurgled happily and she pushed his hood back. Eyebrows again. "Wax." she moaned desparately.

She was on the Jerry Springer Show. Mardil appeared in the audience, chanting "Jerry, Jerry!". "Mardil?" she asked, confused. She wanted very much to escape from this foolish television show. Was he there to save her? No... chivalry was dead. He came on stage. He had on a kilt. A small man in red jumped out from the audience and spat a fireball at him. Mardil was engulfed in flames ("Mardil!") and turned into Roggie of Morgoth. His shadowy form burned steadily and dream Alli stepped backward, shielding herself. "You're so hot." His wings disappeared.

Alli screamed at the horror of a wingless balrog and when the SUV hit a rather large bump she woke with a start and it took a rather long time before it occured to her that the ground wasn't moving so much as that she was laying on the seat of a moving vehicle and before the writer decided to end the sentence. Alli looked up and saw Sai glancing back worriedly. Mardorc concentrated on the road. She suddenly remembered her mission to save the world from the evil Màrîo. Had Mardil "saved" her again? She sat up angrily and fell right back down, blood oozing slightly from her head wound. She hit the back of her head on the door handle. This did not much more improve her disposition.

"Pull.... over...." she ordered firmly through gritted teeth. "and let me the [deleted] out of this gas-guzzling, environment-destroying, too-macho, trying-to-compensate-for-something hunk of moving metal before I let myself out. What right do you have to abduct me AGAIN when I was perfectly fine on my own?!"

[the guy who be short]

Fléin took his hands off the steering wheel, shrinking back to dwarf size. Then, slinking through the gap between the driver and passenger seats, he slid into the back, allowing Wilhelmina to cross over without anything awkward happening, "like my sitting on your lap."

"Woo don't theem to mind thitting on my lap," the still-suspiciously-nameless back seat orc replied. Fléin hit him with the flat of his axe.

A short while later, the Dwarf was once more a Dworc. A raging sandstorm had sprung up, and traffic was at a standstill. How he was meant to perform a turn in the road and get them back in the right direction in this weather, Fléin had no idea.

"Ith that-"

"Shut up," a harmonious chorus intervened.

"Zhiant Monkey!" the orc squealed on regardless.

Fléin and Wilhelmina both strained their eyes. "Yes, I can see where you're coming from," Wilhelmina replied, "that sandcloud does look exactly like a-"

The sandcloud bellowed. Fléorc and Wilhelmina instinctively flung their hands over their respective ears, but they could still feel the beast roaring in their chests. Their heartbeats seems to falter to accomodate the noise.

The ferocity of the storm died down in inverse proportion with the ferocity of the giant ape before them. They could see it clearly now, right in front of the windscreen. Far worse, it could see them clearly, right behind the windscreen.

"Wondewfuw! Wondewfuw thhot!" the orc squirmed in delight. "I wondew how Anakwon doeth it, it'th tho realithtic, ithn't it?"

The ape - King Kong - beat its chest in a cinematic fashion, let out a bellow for its own sake, reached out, and picked the car up in one hand.

Wilhelmina and Fléin ignored the smell of urine suddenly emanating from the back seat.

The ape lifted the car to its face; all that was visible in the windscreen was a gigantic eye, staring into the innards of the cruiser. Admittedly, there was quite a lot of fur visible around it too, but that didn't sound as dramatic. The pupil roved from Fléin to Wilhelmina to the sticky mess in the back seat. Fléin was struggling to keep from following the Orc's example.

Wilhelmina, on the other hand, seemed to find the entire experience exhilarating beyond belief. "Isn't he a beauty?" she said to the quivering dwarf, before turning back to the ape. She rolled down her window and leant out.

"Are you mad? You'll get us both killed!" Fléin whispered urgently at her. A small whimper from the back seat communicated a "I don't want to die either," from the Orc.

But Wilhelmina ignored them both. She stuck her head out of the window, squinting into the failing sandstorm (the ape was blocking off the flow of the air) and screamed, as loudly as her old lungs could manage, "Coooo-eee! Coooooooo-eeeeeee!"

The ape receded a little, then turned his head to look directly at the beaming woman (Why, oh why, did I bring her with me?), and, to Fléin's amazement, beamed back. It roared in glee to spot her face, holding out its other hand for her to climb onto. The Dworc watched, mesmerized, as she stepped out, shielding her face with her hand, and looked up at the creature. "Aren't you a beauty?"

And at that moment, Mr Swanky descended onto the old woman's face. The ape gasped; the ferret stared up at the black muzzle of the monster.

And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty, and from that time she (Fléin looked down to check on this point) stayed her hand from killing, and she was as one dead.

The ferret seemed quite pleased about the whole affair too.

[littlemanpoet]

It was two hours past midday. The traffic snarls had begun at the cross-over point from left-side-of-the-roadness to the-other-left-side-of-the-roadness. Car after car squealed out of control because too many orcs insisted on driving alone, thus rendering them in the passenger's seat and useless in terms of car control. Anakron allowed the hint of a smile.


It seemed that King Kong himself had appeared in Mordor. What hey, a brand new Anakronism. Some of these things appeared will-Anakron or nill-Anakron. Little matter. The Grand Anakronist wondered if King Kong would find his Empire State Building, and if he would find his girl. He didn't care either way. He also did not care that various and sundry of the members of the Offending Party thought incorrectly as to who was what, or what was who. He didn't even care if they succeeded. He did not, of course, mind that Mordor was getting only more interesting with the advent of the Offending Party's desperate race to get out. Anakron allowed a mild smirk.

The traffic snarls worsened. That was because of Rôgû. Known to balrog-wingers by his nickname of Roggie. Rôgû was angry. He had murder on his mind. Not that Anakron could read balrog minds, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that someone who had a cold virus freezing one of his legs into shards, making him a maimed laughing stock amongst balrogs, could not be quite pleased with things. Rôgû was above ground, wreaking havoc along the interstate, picking up and throwing down Cruisers, Little French Cars with No Guts, Hummers, and anything else that came to claw. Traffic had been backing up in both directions for miles, for a good hour. Anakron allowed the quickest, smallest escape of a momentary giggle.

All the alternate roads were two lanes only. And towns were frequent, slowing traffic down to 30 miles per hour .... at best. And in Mordor, it was always rush hour, no matter the time of day ... especially in the towns. Anakron snickered.

And raised his staff. The cat yowled. The sandstorm stopped, sputtered, spewed, and spit the sand out of its mouth. It looked at Anakron out of the side of its eyes, wondering why it had been stopped.

"You are to turn into a thunderstorm hiding a tornado," Anakron said to it. It grinned and bloated and grew dark and wet and began spinning. Anakron cackled and did a jig.

[Celuien]

Panakeia sped up the ramp to M25, fighting the blinding sleet. By now, she had learned to use the pedals in her Cruiser quite efficiently. She was particularly fond of the accelerator. It’s simply exhilarating. The thrill of it all. She pressed down on the pedal and merged onto the Interstate with a zoom, ignoring the fact that the coefficient of friction for bald rubber tires on an icy road was roughly equivalent to cotton socks on a newly waxed floor. The Cruiser slid wildly, colliding with a row of strange objects resembling gigantic orange ice-cream cones. Wonder what those were for.

The road was oddly quiet for a Mordorian highway. Too quiet. There wasn’t another driver in sight, save for a few slow moving trucks containing more of the odd orange hats (the best explanation Panakeia could generate, although she was still puzzled by their placement at the roadside) and squads of orcs. Something had to happen.

And it did. Suddenly, the weather changed. Instead of the lashing sleet, Panakeia’s windshield was now hammered by flying sand. She couldn’t see a thing until, rounding a bend, she found the other drivers. Cars were at a standstill behind a line of the orange hats. “Your Taxes at Work. Road Under Construction For Your Safety and Convenience.” Too late, Panakeia slammed her foot against the brake. She swerved off to the side of the road. Four loud pops informed her that her tires had blown out. The Cruiser came to an unsteady stop at the edge of the highway, just in front of an enormous billboard. “Paint your game face on.” Panakeia stared at the sign, puzzled, and then set the bizarre message down to the poor taste in advertisements that seemed to reign in the local industry.

She walked around her Cruiser. Four flats. Now what? Bert exited the Cruiser, pointing his kamura at the flattened tires and asking Panakeia what she planned to do next. Ignoring his running commentary, Panakeia walked ahead in hopes of finding assistance. Maybe there’s a service station nearby.

Then she noticed that she was not the only driver in distress. A tiny road paralleling the highway ran on the other side of the billboard. Another Cruiser, its front end crushed, sat at the sign’s foot. And a man lay under the car, his face covered with sand. Looks like trouble. Best not to get involved. She spun on her heel to leave…and ran straight into Bert.

“Next time on Escape from Mordor. Will Panakeia play the hero and rescue the unknown stranger? Or will she turn a blind eye and continue her own journey, ruthless as ever? Find out tomorrow, same time, same station.”

The word ruthless stung Panakeia like the blowing sand around her. Looks like there’s no choice now. I’m on kamura. What would my fans say? She stared at Bert, the expression of one who has been unjustly slighted on her face.

“Of course I’m going to help. How could I leave anyone stranded in this storm? Come on.” She hurried up to the disabled Cruiser and tapped the unconscious man on the shoulder. “Is everything alright?”

He awoke with a start. “Begone! Thou gleeking beetle-headed pumpion!” He shook the sand out of his face.

Panakeia was shocked to recognize another member of the Offending Party. What in Middle-earth could have happened to Valde? Aloud she said, “A fine way to welcome me! I came to help you, but if that’s the way the wind blows, so be it.” She started away.

Valde called to her. “No, forgive me. I was dreaming.” He stared at Panakeia as if attempting to recall something. “Panakeia, yes?”

“Well, that’s more like it.” She brightened. “That’s right. Nice to see you, Valde.” Panakeia turned her profile to the kamura, making sure to put her better side in full view. “Need a ride?”

Valde noted Panakeia’s posturing for the kamura. He wasn’t sure he liked this amateur putting on a show. But he was in a spot. “Yes, I do. If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all.” She noticed the kamura man trapped in Valde’s Cruiser and pointed him out to Bert, who quickly went to free his colleague while Valde and Panakeia went to survey the damage to her vehicle. They were shortly joined by Bert and the kamura man, who seemed shaken more than hurt.

Panakeia appealed to them. “Now’s the time to make yourselves useful. Change the tires.” Bert nodded and set to work, but the kamura man gaped at her. “That’s not in my contract.”

“Well, it’s not in my contract to take you with me. Go on and help Bert, or you can stay here.” Grumbling something about temperamental stars giving too many orders, he joined Bert at the back of Panakeia’s Cruiser.

Half an hour later, just as a thunderstorm started to drench the ground with rain, the four of them were seated in the Cruiser, waiting in a long line of traffic on the highway.

[the phantom]

"Should I try and revive her?" Sai asked Mardil shortly after they were on the road again.

"No, leave her alone," ordered Mardil. "I think the trip will probably be more pleasant for all of us if she stays knocked out until Mount Doom."

After a bit, Sai spoke again. "Isn't Mordor supposed to be rocky, hot, and dry?"

"Yes, for the most part, but we're still in Nurnia," answered Mardil. "Ages ago, when Sauron was lord here, Nurnia was where his slaves worked fields and such, so obviously he didn't blast this area with the breath of death the way he did everything in the north of his land. As you can see, there are even stands of trees in this country."

As he spoke the road entered a forest of pines. Soon, the road began climbing up towards a high ridge of land that seemed to stretch in both directions to distant mountains. "I'll bet that's where the land will change," said Mardil as he examined his map. "That should be the border of Nurnia."

As they approached the top of the ridge, they noticed the pines beginning to thin out, and there appeared to be racks of coats scattered throughout the trees. As they continued, the trees were replaced completely by rows upon rows of coats. "We're leaving Nurnia all right," said Mardil.

When they reached the top of the ridge, Mardil pulled over onto the shoulder. "There's Mount Doom, dead ahead."

Sai looked at it for a moment, but she was soon focused on something a bit nearer. "Look, Mardil- what is that just a bit down the road?"

Mardil's eyes widened in amazement. "It looks like the road flips directions."

"But why are all of those cars off the road?"

"I don't know. I'm going to turn the radio on and scan for a traffic report."

ssssssss...your home for the best music of the late 3rd age...sssssssss...and I really think that Dol Amroth needs to find a better point guard...ssssssss...Oops, I did it again, I play with...ssssssss...partly cloudy with a chance...sssssss...in the game, oh baby baby, Oops you think I'm in love-

"That's not a traffic report, Mardil," said Sai, turning the sound down as she spoke.

"Hey! I like that song!" protested Mardil.

"Are you kidding? That song is awful!" said Sai.

"Well, okay, I guess I don't like the song that much, but the video is great. The... uh... choreography, and... um, the... camera angles and such."

Sai rolled her eyes. "In other words, you think Britney Spears is hot."

"She's got a great body! You can't deny that!" said Mardil in defense.

"Okay, whatever, just find a traffic report," said Sai, still rolling her eyes.

ssssss...tomorrow we'll see mostly sunny skies with...ssssssss...no way will the king support such legislation, because there...ssssssss...switches sides of the road right after leaving Nurnia.

"That's it! Turn it up!"

According to what information we have, not only do the lanes switch, but the steering wheel and pedals switch sides of the vehicle, so if you have a passenger have them prepared to drive. If you are by yourself, go slowly, and when you cross the red line on the road, be ready to grab the wheel as it appears in front of the passenger seat.

"Well, no wonder all of those cars are crashing. They weren't able to control their vehicle," remarked Mardil.

Sai climbed into the back seat, leaving the entire front to Mardil. "You do what that guy said the directions were for a driver driving alone. Can you do that?"

"M'lady- Mardil can do anything."

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

"Wow," said Sai looking at the car thermometer. "It's up to ninety degrees outside. I can't believe it was just sleeting only an hour ago. That is really strange."

"Everything in Mordor is strange," answered Mardil. "I mean, just look at me. I'm turned into an orc!"

"You know Mardil, you aren't a half bad looking orc," laughed Sai.

"Ha ha, very funny," said Mardil, feeling a bit self concious about his appearance.

"Oh, the's vewy wight, you know," lisped Orckel from the back. "You have a nithe even thkin tone, good teeth, and vewy shemetrical fathial featureth. Aftew tonight'th epithode ith aired, it'll only be a thort time before pictureth of you in your orcith form awe hanging in da bedwoomth of orc-girlth evewywhewe."

"I've never been more proud," said Mardil.

[the guy who be short]

Car in one hand, ferret in the other, Queen Quon marched towards Orodruin. They were making wonderful progress - Queenie was marching along the side of the road, positively zooming in comparison to the traffic on the roads.

Fléin, relaxed, laid back in his chair, and in Dwarf form, sighed. "This is amazing. Who'd have thought it would be possible to tame a gigantic ape from a savage island with no experience or understanding of the English language? And that it would fall in love with a creature a fraction of its size? Ha, quite funny really, isn't it?"

Wilhelmina muttered something about Hollywood and the unlikeliness thereof. "And I'm dreading separating the two once we get there..." she finished.

The conversation lapsed into a somewhat pleasant silence. Though Wilhelmina seemed worried, Fléin had no bright ideas to contribute, so he relaxed. The gentle swaying of the car was soothing, the pace incredible, the sandstorm was dying down, love was in the air, and, perhaps most importantly for the Dwarf, they weren't using any fuel at all. All that siphoning for nothing... And they had hardly touched their store of money, either - at least, he hadn't touched his, and all Wilhelmina had bought was a little hose.

He closed his eyes and nodded off for what seemed like only a few minutes before his eyes opened suddenly, cymbals clashed in his ears, and his sense of relaxation disappated in an instant. The sky was screaming in rage - the cymbals were thunder - not good, he reflected, at this height.

Fléin suddenly noticed that Wilhelmina was screaming something into his ear, but he couldn't hear a word of it. He motioned this to her. She responded by pointing out at the ape - invisible through the driving rain, but he must have been there - and then at her hat. Mr Swanky was stuck out there.

White light flooded Fléin's brain. The following roar was nothing compared to the squeal that rose from Wilhelmina, though. The car started - falling? Falling?! Queen Quon had been struck by lightning! His sight returned slowly, confirming the fact that they were falling towards the earth - the ape, too, was collapsing in front of them.

Wilhelmina continued screaming - Swanky! Swanky!, he could make out the words now, but a fresh roll of thunder cut off her squeals once more. Her face streamed as if she were outside. Only now did he somewhat appreciate how much that ferret had meant to the woman, her only friend throughout years of Mordorian life; now, falling, perhaps struck, in the hands of an ape.

An almightly crash as they hit the ground, Fléin's face struck the steering wheel, and pain shot through his face. White light - brighter than before, closer, the storm was upon them! - a boom from the back of the car, smoke, an explosion, flame in the driving rain, and Fléin passed out into blissful unawareness of the Hell around him.

[Celuien]

Horns blared. The traffic snarl went on forever. "Five hours in this mess,” exclaimed Panakeia, and we’ve barely covered 100 miles! But at least we know we’re going in the right direction.” She pointed to a billboard at the roadside. A garish mural of the Mount Doom Casino and Resort, complete with slot machines, card tables and stereotypical blondes sitting by a swimming pool, was painted on the sign. The sign screamed out with excessive numbers of exclamation points and erratic capitalization “MouNt DoOm CaSino and ReSOrT jUSt aheAD!!!! OnLy 125 miLEs to tHe TIMe of yOur LIFE - FoLloW the SiGns!!!!!!! PLay GollUM’s DiVe!!!! JoIN THE PARTY!!!!!!!!!!!” and other similar inanities. “Keep an eye out for the signs, will you Valde?”

Valde nodded and looked out the window. There were signs, some more to the point than others, everywhere, literally covering the side of the highway. A few of the signs seemed to hold actual importance, giving notices about exits, upcoming construction, detours and the like. Approximately twice as many of the signs were devoted to advertisements. But the largest number by far seemed completely irrelevant. A set of five signs spaced several yards apart gave what seemed to be an odd epitaph. “Her chariot | Raced 80 per | They hauled away | What had Ben Her.” Another four proclaimed, “Twinkle, twinkle | One-eyed car | We all wonder | WHERE you are.” Scattered throughout were signposts missing their signs. “I hope there was nothing important on those,” said Valde.

“Judging by the rest of the signs around here, I’d say not,” replied Panakeia.

But she was mistaken. An hour later, they passed another billboard. “YoU haVe missed THe ExiT!!!!!!! Don’T LoSE OUt on THE TIME of YouR LIFE!!!! Go BaCk to M1 and ViSIT tHe MouNT DoOM CASino and resOrt!!!!!!!! 3 mILes BaCk!!!!”

“I thought I told you to look for the signs to Mount Doom,” said Panakeia.

“I was, but they must have been among those which were taken down,” replied Valde.

Panakeia swung her wheel hard to the side, cutting across several lanes and in front of opposing traffic. As horns sounded, traffic scattered, and several accidents took place, she turned around and headed back to the exit, oblivious to several bright lights, like the flash of a camera, that winked behind her.

Panakeia looked down at the odometer. “We’ve almost come three miles now. Let’s make sure we don’t miss that turn. There has to be a sign around here somewhere.”

And there it was. Sandwiched between a pile of abandoned mattresses and a large poster with the picture of a mustachioed hobbit in red was a small arrow shaped sign directing the way to a fork in the road. “Exit: Mordor Interstate 1. To Mount Doom.”

“There it is,” cried Valde. The Cruiser zipped off onto the exit. And somewhere, in the depths of a building far away, a black gloved hand added a picture of a lime green Cruiser to a pile of photos marked "Violation. Payment Due."

[the phantom]

"Um, Mardil, I've been meaning to ask," began Sai, "Can't we get in really big trouble driving down the middle like this?"

There was an embankment of dirt and gravel separating the two sides of the grid locked interstate. The drive on the interstate had been pretty for the first half an hour or so, but then traffic began to slow. And so Mardil had, for the past twenty miles, been driving on the central embankment, managing to keep his speed somewhere around 60 mph.

"Of course we could get into trouble for this," said Mardil, not too concerned.

Sai piped up again. "Well then, don't you think-"

"But we won't," interrupted Mardil.

"Why not?"

"Because we've got a lovely young lady with a nasty head wound in back. If some police officer pulls us over, then we just point to Alli and tell him we were trying to get her to a good hospital quickly. One look at her and he wouldn't dare tell us to make her suffer longer." Mardil reached back and patted Alli's cheek. "Even if you have no other benefits, at least your pretty face is useful."

Just then, there was a bright flash and a peal of thunder sounded. "The weather changes quickly here," commented Sai.

"I don't think this is normal," said Mardil. "Anakron is probably having some fun with us."

After another ten minutes, Mardil had no choice but to slow down. The rain was coming down in thick sheets and the embankment was getting extremely muddy. "Go back to the road," begged Sai, not wanting to get stuck.

"Yes, yes, I suppose that is best. The road appears to be moving just as fast as we are at this point," agreed Mardil.

As the SUV shot back onto the road neatly between two other cars, a red-orange glow appeared in the cloudy, wet gloom well off to the right of the interstate about half a mile ahead. As they got closer, the source of the glow seemed to be moving closer to the road. "Can you tell what that is?" asked Sai.

But before Mardil could answer, a groan from the back seat announced the awakening of sleeping beauty.

"Pull...over," she said through gritted teeth, "and let me the **** out of this gas-guzzling, environment-destroying, too-macho, trying-to-compensate-for-something hunk of moving metal before I let myself out. What right do you have to abduct me AGAIN when I was perfectly fine on my own?!"

Mardil wouldn't have been in the mood for this, and Mardil in orcish form certainly wasn't, so he snapped back without hesitation.

"One, this vehicle gets 21 mpg, which is plenty good! Two, it doesn't destroy the environment! There aren't enough SUVs in existence to make a significant impact on this huge world! Third, there's nothing wrong with getting a 'macho' vehicle if it gets you to your destination faster! Fourth, this vehicle is not an attempt to compensate! If I was trying to compensate, I would've gotten a weak little French car like you! And finally, you were NOT doing FINE on your own!! Your car was RUINED and you were BLEEDING and KNOCKED OUT beside the road when I 'abducted' you!!"

Sai whistled loudly to get Mardil's attention. "We're getting closer to that red-orange glow. You can continue your fight later. Now, can you tell what it is?"

"No, it's raining too hard, but... uh oh."

"What? What is it?!" said Sai, who was rather unsettled by the way the ever in control Mardil had said "uh oh".

"I think an old friend is paying us a visit."

But there was no need for Mardil to say who. Rôgû was clearly visible now. He was but forty yards ahead, standing by the side of the road, his gaze fixed on their vehicle. His shattered leg had been replaced with a wooden peg leg. To compliment the peg leg, he sported and bandana with a skull and crossbones, an eye patch, and an oversized rapier.

"Rôgû!" said Alli happily.

"He wookth vewy thwathbuckwing," commented Orckel.

"And very angry," added Mardil, hugging the opposite side of the road.

Rôgû gathered himself and leaped over into their lane. "Brace yourself!" yelled Mardil as he aimed the SUV at Rôgû's peg leg, in hopes that they could keep driving and leave Rôgû behind and unable to walk. But Rôgû quickly curled up into a ball and allowed the SUV to smash into his side.

"Nooo!" screamed Alli.

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

Mardil opened his eyes. His head was resting on an deflated airbag draped over the steering wheel. He was facing to his right, and could see Sai slumped forward, her head, like his, resting on a deflated airbag, which was lying on the dashboard. He felt a weight on his back. He turned slowly and found that Alli had ended up half way into the front seat. She was lying across Mardil's back, her head by his door and her feet sticking into the back seat. "How long have we been here- and where's Rôgû?"

As if in answer, a low rumble sounded and Rôgû's back appeared in front of the vehicle. The beast was picking himself up slowly off of the ground. Mardil could see ugly bruises on the creature's side and several places where meat had been torn off.

Rôgû shook his head to clear out the cobwebs, and then turned to the SUV. Mardil tried to start the vehicle, but it was no use. The Explorer was ruined. Rôgû picked up his rapier and drew it back, preparing to stab it right through the cracked windshield and into Mardil's chest. Thinking quickly, Mardil reached behind him and managed to pull Alli over his head and into his lap.

Rôgû stayed his hand and roared in anger. The roar brought Sai and Orckel back into consciousness. "Do something, Mardil!" yelled Sai.

"I am!" he shouted back, drawing a knife from his belt and putting it to Alli's throat.

"What are you doing?!" screamed Sai.

"Keep quiet!" snapped Mardil, his eyes fixed on Rôgû. Rôgû stared back at him, his face a picture of hesitation and apprehension. "It's quite obvious from yesterday's events that these two are old friends," Mardil whispered to Sai. "I'm trying to use that to our advantage."

Mardil kicked his door open and emerged holding the limp form of Alli. Rôgû remained motionless in front of the smashed vehicle. Mardil pointed to a mileage sign that read "Mount Doom: 60 miles", and then pointed to the ruined vehicle, and then finally he pointed at Rôgû and made a motion of slitting Alli's throat with his knife. Rôgû appeared distressed by the last action, but gave no sign of understanding Mardil's intentions.

"Mardil, I think he can understand speech!" called Sai from the car.

"Okay, I'll try it," said Mardil. "We will get into the vehicle and you will carry us to Mount Doom, or I will kill Alli," he said to the monster.

Rôgû bellowed in helpless rage, and hopped around stabbing the air with his rapier, but Mardil repeated the message again, only this time he moved the knife to prepare to make the cut. Rôgû immediately came to a stop and, in a sulky, defeated voice he said, "Get in- I'll take you to Mount Doom. Just don't hurt Alli."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli woke suddenly, her head pounding. Mardil's arms seemed to be around her. Well this is nice. she began to think before realizing that it was not exactly a message that she wanted to convey. She struggled to get away from his too-comforting grasp and felt something sharp pressed against her neck. She remembered this feeling, though she'd tried so hard to repress it. She didn't understand what was going on but she understood without doubt that she was being held with a blade to her neck by a man she had trusted. Without thinking, she cast a betrayed look at Sai and turned quickly, ramming her shoulder into Mardil's wind-pipe.

Caught off guard, Mardil dropped the blade, loosed his grasp slightly, and Alli was able to kick her way out the door. The rain washed the blood from her forehead as she ran stumbling toward Roggie. His eyeliner had smeared and his fire had gone out. He stood now as a sentient pile of ash dressed flamboyantly in pirate regalia. He smiled broadly to see her, though the looked was countered by one of obvious pain.

She ran to him and embraced his good leg, crying in the downpour. She didn't care where Mardil was now. She knew she would be safe with her friend. Suddenly Roggie roared angrily. Alli turned, splashing mud, and saw Sai running toward them. Roggie detached his young friend from his leg and began to move toward her. Sai stopped, slipping on the wet ground. She looked utterly terrified. Roggie strode angrily toward her.

"No!!!" screamed Alli, chasing him and grabbing him by the peg. "Roggie, no! She's harmless!"

"They tried to kill you!" he roared over the thunder. Sai stood frozen. Mardil had his hand to his neck, rubbing his windpipe. He climbed from the reckage of the vehicle and pulled free a bolted crossbow. He looked utterly furious, though handsomely so. Alli screamed again.

"Stop it!" she cried desparately. "Everybody just freeze!" Her voice cracked with emotion now. Completely unexpectedly, everybody did what they were told. Roggie steamed carcinogenically and angrily, but he stopped, looking at Alli and waiting for her to speak. Sai still did not move. Mardil did not relax his aim but at least looked at Alli instead of murderously at her companion.

"Tell me what the [deleted] is going on." It was too much just now. Why couldn't everybody get along? Why had Mardil tried to kill her? Why had Sai let him? The only one that she could trust was Roggie.

"Roggie," she asked, frustrated and confused tears streaming. "What is wrong with you? Why are you hurting people?"

He looked suddenly ashamed and crouched down, whispering in her upturned ear.

"They what?"

He whispered more.

"And then what happened?"

Mardil stood impatiently, tapping one foot. Sai was astounded at the sight: a huge and truly menacing looking balrog crouched low and gently, whispering into a teenage girl's ear. How this friendship had been formed she had no idea but it was truly a curious one. She had never before seen the like of it.

"And then?"

The rain was beginning to slow as Alli looked around and began to grin a bit.

"It's beginning to make sense. A movie? Yes... it certainly makes sense." A film crew that had been hidden by the torrents of rain had become visable. Stunt men began pouring from the smashed vehicles. Roggie took off his blue bandana and allowed Alli to wipe his smudged eyeliner clean with it. She was the picture of tender motherliness. Suddenly her face became stern.

"Roggie, Sai and Mardil were not in this movie. Why did you try to attack them? You know that fighting doesn't solve any problems."

He now looked like a sulking child subjected to his mother's disappointment.

"What did you say?" she repeated with an italicized parental look.

"I was mad at them."

"And why were you mad at them?"

He grimaced, glaring at Mardil who now looked outright astounded at the turn that this adventure had taken. Alli... moody, bitter, sarcastic Alli... was lecturing a balrog on proper ways of handling anger? Sai looked impressed.

"Because... that one" he nodded toward Mardil, "attacked me with tanks. I was minding my own business and he up and shot my leg off. Does he have any idea how painful it is for your leg to shatter? Yes, the peg got me cast in Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of Durin's Bane, but it aches something awful just before storms."

Roggie looked sad now instead of angry. Alli patted him on the knee (the highest part of him she could reach now). "There, there... revenge never solves problems Roggie... you know that. What do you say to them?"

Roggie looked at her with pleading in his eyes. "Do I have to?"

"Yes." she glared at him maternally.

"Msry." he muttered. She glared more heavily. "Fine. I'm sorry I tried to kill you." Alli's gaze softened.

"And how do you intend to make up for trying to hurt them? It doesn't matter who your enemies are... an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

"I don't know... I suppose I could..."

"Hmm?" she looked expectantly.

"I could take them to Mount Doom Casino and Resort." he said at last. "That's where the reality show said you guys have to go, right?"

She nodded, satisfied. "Will that solve this catastrophe?" Alli yelled to Sai and Mardil. Sai nodded happily, slightly concerned about her safety, but confident that Alli, no matter how angry, would not be vindictive enough to get her killed. Mardil looked annoyed but nodded stiffly. Roggie lifted Alli gently onto his shoulder where she sat cheerfully looking down at the world. He next stopped and did the same with Sai. When Sai was comfortably settled, Roggie picked up Mardil. Alli leaned over and whispered in Roggie's ear and Roggie smiled. He began to stride toward Mount Doom.

"Wait!" cried Mardil. "Don't I get a seat?"

"Nope." said Roggie. "I'm not that nice."

And with that the group finished the trip to Mount Doom, Mardil gripped firmly in Roggie's left hand, as the balrog enthusiastically swung his arms to the rhythm of his saunter. In a very short time, they were there.

[Celuien]

Rain poured down on Mordor, soaking the loose earth at the side of the Interstate. The resulting mud slid onto the road, obscuring the yellow lines that ordinarily divided the lanes from one another. Drivers moved about willy-nilly, leading to numerous near crashes that left Panakeia's knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"Would you like me to drive?" queried Valde. Her driving is making me nervous, went a voice in his head. She's as bad as any of the others here.

"No. I'm doing fine, thank you," she snapped back.

And then, just ahead, the road broke into chaos. Cars skidded out of control and left the road. Others spun in spirals. "What's going on?" Panakeia cried in alarm.

The answer came in the form of a sudden switch in the position of the steering wheel. In a flash, the wheel vanished and reappeared on Valde's side of the car. He grabbed it and pulled to the other side of the road, deftly avoiding the stopped and disabled vehicles blocking the road. The kamura man commented, "And he's done it! What form. What skill!"

"Shut up!" barked Panakeia, who was none too pleased with the change in situation.

"It must be some strange manifestation of the Anakronism Dweomer," said Valde. His voice cracked and croaked as he morphed into an Orc.

Panakeia, now in human form, voiced her assent. Now that she was out of the driver's seat, she proceeded to offer Valde endless advice on his driving. "Why don't you speed up and go around that slowpoke?" "Don't hit the brake so hard." "Careful, don't oversteer. You'll go off the road!" Valde ignored her advice and concentrated on supressing thoughts of stopping the car and leaving Panakeia at the side of the road. It is her Cruiser, after all. But why does she have to go on and on?

And then they saw a new obstacle. An enormous peg-legged pirate-Balrog stood in the road. Panakeia screamed in recognition. "The Balrog! And he's bound to be furious." She had not forgotten Mardil's treatment of the creature.

She watched as the Balrog lifted the little group and set off. "Follow them," cried Panakeia.

Follow the Balrog, thought Valde. She must be insane. But at least he's clearing out the traffic. And I suppose we should do our best to help.

He followed, now able to go at great speed through the cleared road. As they went along, Panakeia watched the trio traveling with the bizarre pirate. To her lasting astonishment and relief they seemed to be friendly. However could that have happened. But she wasn't sure what the Balrog would think of her. "Valde, could you arrange to stay clear of that entourage? I'd rather not have a run in with their...um...chauffeur."

"That seems to be a wise plan." He fell back, keeping a respectable distance between the Balrog and Cruiser.

Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the foot of Mount Doom. With a quick, "See you around," to Valde, Panakeia hopped out, searching for a place where she could put her Pearie Ockcide Potion to good use.

[Encaitare]

Wilhelmina stepped out of the car. She was quite shaken, yet miraculously unscathed. And now, she was very, very wet.

“Mr. Swanky!” she called again and again, the sound of her own voice swallowed up by that of the thunder. She could barely make out anything in the darkness, not even the monolithic billboards, let alone a comatose ape.

Lightning flashed, making each pelting raindrop shine brilliantly. She thought she spied something out of the corner of her eye: a large shape on the ground, though it might have been part of the landscape. Thunder crashed once more, and it was followed by another bolt of bright light. Yes, that had to be Queen Quon!

The old woman ran towards the shape, holding her hat firmly by the brim to keep it from flying away in the chill wind. If her pet were dead… she couldn’t bear to think of it.

The giant ape lay upon the muddy ground as desolately as only a furry and possibly deceased animal could. Anxiously, Wilhelmina ran around to Queen Quon’s right fist, where Mr. Swanky had been tenderly nestled. The hand was closed tight, but after all that screaming, Wilhelmina found herself in a logical mood.

“If she’s dead,” she said to herself, “then she can’t have been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in. So I should be able to get this ginormous hand open. I think I can.”

Ten minutes and much more nonstandard English later, the Little Old Lady That Could had pried the fingers apart. Curled up in a little ball was the motionless ferret.

Wilhelmina let out a sob. This little creature had been her friend and companion for many, many years. He was one of the few creatures in the world who didn’t think her to be a complete nutter… and now he was no more.

“Nooooooooo!” she cried, falling to her knees and turning her face to the raging sky in a manner so melodramatic that it would have made Karís Mâtiktwít dance in delight. The orchestra swelled, the choirs sang heart-wrenching minor chords, and tears mingled with the rain.

There was a familiar squeak, and orchestra, choirs, tears, and rain all stopped abruptly.

“Mr. Swanky!” Wilhelmina shouted joyously as he shook himself a bit and then jumped into her hands. “You’re alright!” They both looked solemnly at the corpse of Queen Quon. “Queenie gave her life but saved yours! Isn’t that nice?” She screwed up her face contemplatively. “Perhaps ‘nice’ isn’t the best word. But even so, ‘tis better to have played Scrabble and lost than to never have played Scrabble at all, as they say. Or something like that. Let’s get back to the car and see if nice Mr. Fléin is alright.”

~*~*~*~*~

Nice Mr. Fléin was, in fact, alright, once he had been awakened and told that his beard had suffered no damage. He had a gash on his forehead from hitting the steering wheel, though, and Wilhelmina told him that he was certain to bruise as well.

“A fascinating bruise, probably, with all different colors in it. The rainbow after the storm will manifest itself upon your forehead!” she told him brightly, tearing off a scrap from one of her many petticoats to sop up the blood.

“How wonderful,” Fléin said dazedly.

“And look!” she said, holding up the hideous beaker. “Your free gift wasn’t damaged at all, either!”

“That’s impossible,” the Dwarf said. “That defies the laws of wotsit… fizzix.”

“I’ll bet that Mârtha Stewârt had something to do with it,” Wilhelmina decided. “Unbreakable glass – she’d think it was a good thing.”

“I think she’s right, in this case, at least,” said Fléin. “Even if it is ugly, it’s still a nice bit of glassware.”

“I think I’ll have to drive us to Mount Doom, and pronto,” said the old woman, prodding Fléin so he’d move into the passenger seat, and taking the wheel.

~*~*~*~*~

At this time, some of you may be wondering about the fate of the kamuraorc. Then again, some of you may not be. But if this poor creature is a friend of yours, be comforted to know that he is unconscious, but is currently deep in a very pleasant dream about an Orc-friendly and politically-correct world.

Let us hope he keeps dreaming.

~*~*~*~*~

Wilhelmina’s hat was still dripping water on her, but it didn’t matter – she had just seen a sign that read “OnE mIlE tO tHe BeSt GaMeS aNd EnTeRtAiNmEnT iN MoRdOr: MoUnT dOoM cAsInO aNd ReSoRt!!!!!1one!!!1”. The red glow in the sky gave further sign that they were close.

“HuRrAh!” she said. Then she cleared her throat loudly. “I mean, hurrah!”

In just a minute they passed through a pair of brightly lit gates and underneath a giant flashing marquee, declaring that although they were tired, wet, more than a little shaken, and driving a car with hardly any aesthetic qualities left to speak of, they had made it, and everything was going to be just fine.

Actually, what the sign said was “WeLcOmE tO mOuNt DoOm CaSiNo AnD rEsOrT,” but to them it meant something much different.

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron stood just inside the entrace to the Mount Doom Casino and Resort complex. All of the Offending Party arrived on time. And all managed to breeze through using quite creative means, unforeseen and almost completely avoiding the foibles of the anakronisms thereby. Anakron was impressed. And disappointed.

"Each of you have arrived on time. Congratulations. As for points awarded, subtract one for failure to exhibit road rage; subtract one for failure to tailgate; subtract one for failure to drive through flooded roadway at full speed; subtract one for failure of windshield wipers to streak in the line of vision. Mardil: 6 points; Alli: 6 points; Panakeia: 6 points; Valde: 6 points; Fléin: 6 points; Sai: 6 points; Wilhelmina: 6 points. If you wish to contest your point totals by proving that you indeed performed one of the four anakronisms during the last Test, I will be happy to reconsider.

"You will have a three day rest period, here. You may stay here at the resort if you wish, or you may make forays into Trollywood and Lost Angles. If you go beyond the borders of these three places, you will be disqualified with no recourse. And you will become an orc permanently employed in the Mordorian bureaucracy, so do not trifle with me.

"I expect each of you to be precisely here at dawn, three days hence. Since you all have Trolls aplenty, you will not be financed for your three days."

With that, Anakron turned with an appropriately dramatic billowing of his cloak, and departed from the confines of the resort, heading in the direction of Lost Angles.

[Celuien]

“What a relief.” The Pearie Ockcide Potion had fully restored Panakeia’s hair to a platinum sheen. She smoothed the folds of her dress in preparation to make her appearance in the resort. A last check in her compact mirror showed Panakeia that her right ear was without its proper earring. Must have fallen off in the car with all that orc-transformation business. She headed back to the area where she left the Cruiser. As she drew closer, she thought she heard the sound, not of music, but of sirens. I wonder what that’s all about.

Panakeia rounded a boulder. There was her Cruiser, surrounded by traffic officials, their highway patrol cars’ sirens screaming at full volume. A tow truck was preparing to pull away the Cruiser. She hurried over to a large orc, who stood giving directions. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she said, a note of anger in her voice.

The orc reached into his pocket and whipped out a series of photographs. He handed them to Panakeia, and her mind raced back to the flashing lights from her trip. Dratted traffic cameras, she thought in frustration. “Multiple violations have been recorded for this vehicle. Therefore, we have been delegated the task of confiscating said vehicle and searching for its operator, to whom we shall deliver these violation notices.” He displayed a stack of papers, at least an inch thick. He looked suspiciously at Panakeia, then at one of the photos, then back at Panakeia. He pointed to the picture. “This driver would not happen to be you, would she?”

Panakeia’s heart pounded. Keep your cool, you’ll get out of this. She looked at the picture. What an awful photo this is. You can’t even see my face. Or clothes either. All probably lucky – that orc look is simply not me. And that horrid green hair…Can’t even see my face.

That was the answer. Suddenly, she laughed. “Me? Of course not. Look here. This driver has green hair. Mine is, of course, blonde. How could that possibly be me?”

The orc examined the photos. “I suppose you are correct. I apologize for the inconvenience.” He turned to leave.

“Wait. You aren’t going to take the Cruiser, are you?”

“In fact, we are. The Cruiser must be held in lieu of payment on these tickets.” He tapped the ominously thick sheaf of papers.

“But you can’t do that,” she protested. A clever twinkle came into her eyes. She took the orc confidentially by the arm. “Don’t you know who’s Cruiser that is?”

“No, that information is not available.”

“Well, I can tell you that it belongs to The Grand Anakronist himself. In person. And…” Panakeia decided to play her game to the fullest. “And, I have been sent here by the most illustrious Anakron Istkon Vayor to retrieve this Cruiser, which was stolen. The thief has been found by our staff and is now being properly dealt with.” She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the orc. “You wouldn’t want to interfere, now would you?”

The orc wavered. The normal procedure was clear, but this didn’t seem to be an ordinary situation. “Very well. You may claim the vehicle. But what am I to do about these violations?”

Panakeia put on her best look of exasperation. “That’s not my concern! This matter is being handled at the highest levels. Do not trouble me with such trifles!”

“I am very sorry. Very sorry indeed. We will be on our way.” He called to the rest of the traffic officials. “Let’s go.” They scurried into their cars and roared off.

Panakeia stood for a moment, watching them vanish in a cloud of dust. Then she laughed and laughed again, the loudest, merriest laugh Panakeia had known in ages. She got in to the Cruiser, located her earring on the driver’s seat, and set it on her ear. Then, with a grin reaching from earring to earring, she entered the Mount Doom Casino and Resort in search of a place to spend the next few days.

[the guy who be short]

Fléin lifted his head from the papers in front of him. "Come in," he called in response to the knock at the door, before twisting around in his chair most uncomfortably so as to be able to see whoever had took it upon themselves to disturb him.

The squat figure of Wilhelmina shuffled into view. There followed what many novelists call a Moment, for lack of something more imaginative. A Moment, in any case, is when a series of events happen rather quickly, perhaps in the space of a few seconds. The writer has, then, to produce a large piece of text to cover a tiny period of time. It is conventional for the author to inform the reader before this happens, just to let them know what's what and pressure them to read the next little bit as quickly as possible.

Wilhelmina came into sight. The sun, usually feeble and exhausted in Mordor, sent a powerful beam through the window of the small room to rest upon the woman's face. The light glinted majestically off her whitening hair, reflected from her rosy skin, radiated from her ferrety ferret.

Fléin looked up at Wilhelmina. Their eyes met, hers gleaming and bright in the sun, his still a little red from the conjunctivitis.

Something odd happened to Fléin's stomach. It wasn't a contraction. It wasn't a grumble, a rumble, or any sort of omen of gastronomical problems. It wasn't cramp. Fléin put a hand to his stomach. It was oddly warm and felt sort of - well, the best way to describe it is sort of fuzzy. Yes, that was it. A warm, glowing fuzziness in his stomach.

The Dwarf broke into a fit of coughing.

The reader may note that the Moment is now over.

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

Wilhelmina rushed into the room. "Are you alright, Fléin?" she cried. Due to the size of the room, she stopped rushing very quickly and simply stood awkwardly in front of the still violently erupting Dwarf, now standing upright but almost bent double.

"All... all right," he managed in between a few coughs, to signify his confidence regarding his continued existance. "It feels," cough, "like I," cough, "swallowed," cough, "a cat," he gasped, before falling onto hands and knees and making retching noises.

Wilhelmina watched with startled interest as what appeared to be a small Siamese cat clambered out of the Dwarf's throat and, still a little phlegmy, twitched out of the open door and ran away.

The Dwarf pushed himself to his feet, bright red, to face his visitor, now sitting calmly on his bed. "Whyever did you swallow a cat, Fléin?" she inquired politely, as if this were a regular occurence that people should be discouraged from doing, like smoking.

Fléin muttered something to the effect of "I didn't, must be a ruddy Anakronism, ruddy Mordor," before inquiring about her visit.

"I just popped in to see how you're doing my Dwarf," she said a little dubiously, regarding a little excess phlegm still on the floor where the Dwarf had been.

"I'm fine, I assure you... that was just a sudden thing. I don't know - I can't explain - that is to say, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but it hasn't happened before."

But the old woman was no longer listening. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at the desk where the Dwarf had been working before she came in. Before he could answer, she got up, walked over to the desk and turned to the first page of the book he had there. The title page had many titles on it, crossed out one after another, so:

My Diary. My Unexpected Journey. There and Back Again. Adventures of Seven Miscellaneous People. The Tale of the Great Escape, compiled by Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfoots from his own observations of the nutters around him.

Wilhelmina leafed through the book, seeing that it was barely written in. Next to it was a smaller book, with Diary written across it, also nigh empty.

"I didn't imagine you as the literary type," she looked up at the Dwarf again. "You should talk to that Waldo, he loves this arty sort of stuff, you know."

"I'm not generally a very literary person," he replied to supplement the evidence of his attempts at naming the book. He continued in response to her puzzled expression. "When we're all done and out of Mordor, I can sell this for a fortune. It will be a hit!"

Wilhelmina thought for a second. "I don't see," she began after the pause, "how you can think about money at a time like this."

"Bah! Humbug! You're not one of those communists, are you?"

"No, of course not-"

"Good! Next time that Cahal Mahks hands me a revolutionary leaflet, I'll cleave him in two!"

"- but I do think that, if everybody were a little nicer to one another, and a little less obsessed with Gold, perhaps the world would be a nicer place, and Mordor would stop existing."

There was a silence save for the noise of Wilhelmina plonking herself onto Fléins bed. "That's a nice thought, but you realise there's no logic behind it?" Fléin finally answered.

In response, Wilhelmina stroked Mr Swanky. Fléin watched her on his bed, a scene of tranquility and peace, with a smile on his face. Several seconds passed.

A few seconds later, were one standing outside the room, one would hear the noise of vomiting, following by a small miaow.

[Encaitare]

Encaitare's post

"Poor thing," said Wilhelmina, snatching the second cat and delicately cleaning it off on the quilt on Fléin's bed. "It can't be very nice being stuck inside someone's stomach."

"It wasn't very nice having it inside my stomach either," Fléin scowled. He didn't feel much pity for the anakronistic creature, and he said so.

"You try traveling via reverse peristalsis sometime, and then see how you feel."

The Dwarf wrinkled his nose and changed the subject. "So what do you think Anakron will spring on us next?"

"Oh, probably an Oliphaunt. Literally on us, just out of spite," Wilhelmina said, idly patting the cat on the head.

Fléin cleared his throat awkwardly. "You know," he began, "I felt something... well, something strange before."

"I'm sure you did," she said. "Both you and the cats have had a very uncomfortable time of it. Not to mention you injured yourself earlier. You might have a concussion."

"I suppose so..." Fléin murmured. Wilhelmina was clearly too absorbed in imagining a trebuchet-driven Oliphaunt to pay much attention to him, so he turned to the book on the table and began to write.

~*~*~*~*~

"How're the creative juices?" Wilhelmina asked after a long while. She saw the Dwarf jump a little bit as the silence was broken.

"Um, they're alright," he said. "I've written a few pages. They're probably about as good as my title-selecting abilities, probably."

"Oh, you," Wilhelmina dismissed, reaching for the book. "In a hall in the mountains there lived a Dwarf. Nice opening line." She continued to read, but looked up when she heard a squeak and a meow behind her. Mr. Swanky and the Siamese cat were happily frolicking about.

"How adorable; Mr. Swanky has made a new friend!" she exclaimed. "You shall have to name the kitty, Fléin." She watched Mr. Swanky paw at the cat before letting out an enormous ferrety yawn. It was contagious, as yawns tend to be, and suddenly they all felt very sleepy.

"I should let you rest," the old woman said, rising and gathering her ferret. "Say bye-bye to the kitty, Mr. Swanky."

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

Feanor of the Peredhil's post


Alli diligently stumbled through several narratives, some wild ideas, and plenty of writers’ block before getting it right. She didn’t mind… she had plenty of time. First her mind was somewhat altered by the dubious effects of balrog smoke. It is a little known fact that exposure to balrog fumes causes cheerfully inaccurate feelings of invincibility. “I can fly, you fools!” Gandalf once cried jubilantly before imprudently trusting himself to the slightly less than supportive darkness of Khazad-dum. Anti-drug ads these days featured large billboards depicting the aged Istar with wild eyes throwing himself over a cliff and trusting that he could, indeed, fly. The Bemused-ship of the Ring stand shocked in the background of the image as they watch their fearless leader, hopped up on balrog fumes, fling himself to his death. “Just say no.” the billboard urged. “You won’t come back White!”

She had then cleared her disheveled head and pratchettly considered locking herself in a sublevel hotel accommodation for the duration of her break based on the belief that light merely blinds you while, when in the dark, your eyes are opened wider. That potential and possibly borrowed (though of course not admittedly, wink wink) narrative hit the ground with a resounding Thud and barely even twitched as it lay there dying.

Alli even rudely interrupted the dreams of her maker one night. As a line of potential suitors sauntered alarmingly along, she twitched and woke up. When and if Alli falls annoyingly in love, it will just happen, she thought with aggravation. After all, it was barely after seven and any time where the seven comes before the fifteen is not an appropriate one for such foul things as wakefulness. There need be no planning for romance beyond… well… all the planning that has already almost secretly occurred.

All in all, Alli had been very busy without having a single thing to show for it. She seemed to remember having called Mardil “Marshmallow” once or twice, or was that “Martini?”, but the look on his face failed to feature neither the shaking nor stirring that would come from those shorts of doings.

The Offending Party now stood outside Mount Doom Resort and Casino patiently listening to Anakron inform them in somewhat different words than what follow that Alli’s next obstacle was to manage a full four days in the same general area as Mardil without killing him in his sleep. Alli was willing to bet (though not with real money and certainly not at their current location) that she wasn’t nearly a good enough actress to successfully pretend that she harbored Mardil no ill wishes, so, on the spot, she decided to tweak the odds of his survival, or at least comfortable survival, a little bit in her favor.

As soon as they were dismissed (what is this, primary school? she asked herself with rolled eyes), she made her way to the most seedy looking corner of the place. She hoped nobody would think anything more of the action than that Alli wanted to show off a bit by cavorting with card sharks, loan sharks, petty thieves (adept at sharking people), mafiosos (such as Larry the Shark), and people who, when it all came down to it, were loyal to their friends and had some excellent connections. The Offenders didn’t need to know that she actually did tend to balance on a metaphorically sharp blade in life… While she often chatted academia with undeservingly assigned Respectables over a cuppa, she just as often could be found (or actually, she couldn’t… she was careful about that sort of thing.) with the Wrong Sort. She knew in the back of her head that she was judged by the company she kept… but it was quite alright because the company she kept publicly was very nicely judge-able… Heck… there were even a few official judges with whom she sometimes spent quiet evenings playing chess.

Slipping softly through the crowd of toughs, Alli was stopped only once. A hulking tattooed man with hand to blade halted her jarringly. She lowered her hood and glared. He released his hilt and her arm as though they burned him and nodded that she could pass with no further delays.

“Hey there, hot stuff.” joked Alli a moment later, sliding an arm around a black cloaked fellow in the corner that seemed to radiate terrifying cold. His breath rattled and he drew a pale icy blade from its sheath and sliced toward her neck with it in a rapid movement. Without flinching, Alli pulled a large magnet from a small black leather bag dangling from her belt. Mid-swing, the sword changed course and banged loudly against the magnet. The fellow swore brightly and tried to shake it loose. Alli used his momentum to fix the magnet [and the sword] to a metal pillar behind him and smirked. Finally the retired Nazgul released his hilt and motioned for his cronies to stop trying to look threatening and sit back down.

“Why is it, Miss Alumìne, that, every time we meet, you pilfer my blade? And where do you get such wonderful toys?” He cocked his head, though it was hardly noticeable given his billowing hood and cloak, toward her firmly situated magnet. “Surely not the gag shop? Such the joker, you are.”

She smiled broadly and looked around, searching to see if any of the other Offenders had noticed this exchange. She thought she saw a glimpse of the old woman over by the slot machines, but she was not certain… the ferret was nowhere to be seen.

“Khamul, m’love, you know that deep down I’d love to tell you, but if I did, every time you tried to lop off my head, my tricks wouldn’t work nearly as well as they do. I can’t share sources and suppliers with someone that keeps trying to kill me, now can I?” She scolded him with a grin and an exaggerated Southern drawl and he nodded amusedly. He rather enjoyed their little chats, with the exception of having to spend several weeks after them regaining the respect of his minions. An ancient and powerful Nazgul being disarmed by an unarmed teenage girl was not exactly convenient for scaring the bejeezus out of his followers, and unless he had terror to fall back on, he’d actually have to expend some effort to keep his minions loyal. Salaries… 401Ks… dental insurance… Ye gads, without sheer unadulterated fear, his control would be a lot more expensive. Then again, some of his cronies could use a good mouth cleaning… eh… he’d just make it a job requirement. But that was a thought for another time.

“Miss Alumine,” The shrouded Easterling offered his arm politely, “what do you say to making this chat private? I’ve been trying to keep my head down… a few weeks back some gallingly bright young reporter from Fox News decided to write his first novel about how not all of us Nazgul were destroyed. They haven’t found me, no, don’t worry, and there’s not a shred of evidence saying he’s right, though obviously he is, but now there are a bunch of pain-in-the-corporeal-posterior conspiracy theorists that would love to capture and probe me.”

Alli smiled and took his arm. “Just what I was thinking, actually, though not about probing. I’ve never been able to figure out what probing is good for anyhow… I’m supposed to be on reality television right now. I’d rather that this little chat go unrecorded and I’d prefer to be out of sight before the idiot kamura crew realizes I’ve disappeared.

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

Hidden away in a quiet candle-lit room in the back, Alli sat primly with her fingertips gently tapping together. She was momentarily shocked when her old friend pushed his deep hood back to reveal the face of a pretty blonde child. The look in his eyes defied Alli to laugh at his currently unassuming form. Regaining her composure, she explained her request as the innocent looking lad nodded occasionally and asked a few questions in a shockingly sweet voice to clarify the nature of her order.

“Well, Alli,” he squeaked after a while, “It’s been a while… I shall have to ascertain that they are still in business.” Seeing the disappointed look on her face, he raised a hand to stop any comments. “No worries, lass… if they are unable or unwilling, I shall endeavor to find another provider. I seem to remember owing you a favor… or perhaps ten. This shall remove one from the list, I assume?”

“Of course it will. I’ll even count it as a few. This is important to me, Kammy.” She looked at him meaningfully. “Discreetly done, as well. The last thing I need is for somebody to find out any of this. Respectable Gondorian lasses aren’t supposed to have connections with the Mordorian Underworld. At least I’m not noble. That’d be a nightmare.”

“Indeed, and powerful ex-mob bosses are not expected to owe respectable Gondorian lasses favors. Makes you seem less than innocent, m’dear. I’d hate to see your pretty face on the cover of the news for being caught dealing with the likes of me. You’ve got destiny above that, lass. It would tarnish your good name.”

Alli blushed at the unexpected praise and changed the subject quickly. “Kammy, what happened to your form? You used to be so… well… scary looking.”

He made a “just a minute” motion and whistled through his fingers. He lifted his hood and adopted an intimidating posture as a sketchy looking man in black opened the door and stood ready for orders. The Nazgul beckoned him forward and whispered in his ear. The lad looked at Alli, appraising her body and measuring her up.

"One-thirdy?” he asked with a locally dialected academic interest. “Five-ayt? Lemme see… stan dup lass.”

Alli stood obligingly and turned slowly on the spot, raising up her arms and lowering them, bending her knees and elbows, and wiggling her fingers, though not all at once or her precariously bad balance would have left her all together. The man studied her, scrawling a few numbers onto a tablet.

“By’th’s aftnoon, y’ say? Xpensi--” he trailed off about the cost in order to catch the large bag of gold that the Nazgul had tossed at him. “Yessir.” He said after a quick inspection of the contents. “I’ll ‘ave m’bes’ guys on it. Room 745?” he asked to Alli. She nodded and tossed him a key.

“Realistic, and silently done.” She reminded him. “In, out, nobody sees. The key finds its way to Khamul when you finish. Am I understood?”

“Ah, ‘course, ma’am.” The seedy man was no longer interested in chat. He disappeared out the door with a look of thoughtfulness on his face.

“You’re sure this fellow can have it done that fast and that accurately?” Alli probed as the cute face showed itself once more.[/font]

“Certainly. His men are the very same that did the work for me just before start of the Fourth Age. Fooled even Sauron into believing me to be at the battle. This Mardil of yours will never guess it’s not you brooding away in your room for these few days. Anakron might… clever fella, that one… but I doubt he’ll say a word. If he gets too curious about what you’re up too, I’ll have my boys remind him that he owes me one or two favors himself. Vayor will not have forgotten the incident with the four Nurnian dancers, the chimpanzee, and the leprechaun costume. Took more than a few phone calls to make sure that got properly forgotten, let me tell you. The rest of the group won’t much notice if you take off. My sources tell me you’ve barely gotten to know them. Well… Sai might notice… sweet lass, that one. You might not want to underestimate her. Perceptive. Smart. Seems to be compassionate enough for ten but looks like she could put up a good fight if the need arose. I’d keep a sharp eye. She’d make a good friend, I believe. You know you can trust people, Alli, and not just those few that the rest of Middle Earth views suspiciously. You might get hurt a bit, but letting people see the real you will work out for the best.”

Wanting to change the subject, Alli pushed her own issues to the back of her mind for the time and turned back to the subject of Khamul’s current form of a small child.

“Speaking of the real you…” she teased. A few hours later, the fire had burned low, the good old days were thoroughly reminisced, and there was a knock at the door.

“Enter!” Khamul pulled his cloak over his face as the door opened.

“Done.” The man said, closing the door and bowing slightly. “She’s’leepin’ peace’ully in your room, ma’am. She’ll be ou’ ‘n’ abou’ once she wakes up and wi’ a keen int’res’ in a few games of Blackjack t’boot. Hope y’ drink… took the liberdy of fillin’ ‘er wi’ a strong d’sire f’r a few shots of Jack… maybe even one ‘r two…” he paused, reconsidering the name of the mixed drink he’d been about to use. He had nothing against making a lass blush, but he had a feeling that her cloaked companion might not be so favorable about him coloring this lass’s cheeks. “mix’ drinks. Id’ll explain quick t’anyone int’ristid why she’s got trouble rememberin’ details. Id’ll alsa cover the mornin’… too sick t’gid up ‘til afternoon, they’ll think.”

He laughed and Alli grinned with delight. “And she looks just like me?”

“Down t’th scar on yer lip and th’ gloves on yer ‘ands ‘n the missin’ gauntlet on yer right.”

Happy with the job, Alli tipped him a few trolls and the man left. “Well, Kammy, I’m off. Thanks for your help. Give my regards to the missus and here’s to hoping the heat’s off quick so you can go back to your usual body. The five year old kid look just isn’t working for inspiring terror. Oh, and if you want to get your blade back, just ask for Lia at the bar. She’ll get it released for you quick.”

He shook his head wonderingly as she opened the door and disappeared into the crowd, pulling up the deep hood of her own borrowed cloak. With minimal fuss, she was out the door of the casino in moments.

SimulatAlli was happily napping up in Room 745 and the real thing was happily escaping the Resort and Casino to enjoy the local haunts by herself and get some undisturbed thinking done. Perhaps a latte at a little place downtown? Who knew? Certainly not Mardil… She scowled at the thought of him and quickly lied to herself about not letting him ruin her day. At least not more than him holding her hostage to manipulate one of her best friends after he’d gotten the friend’s leg blown off had. Well, she thought pessimistically, such is life. She walked down the road enjoying the swishing sound of the black cloak, if nothing else. She thoughtlessly hummed the bridge to a song that she couldn’t get out of her head. “…and my parents will never consent to this love… but I hold your hand…” She paused for a moment and sang the refrain in a soft soprano. “And while the seagulls are crying, we fall… but our souls are flying.”

Looking around, though forgetting to check behind her, Alli disappeared into a small coffee shop nearly hidden from the casual passerby by absurdly large and lurid advertisements hanging on the walls, the windows, and even the doors. Without uncloaking, she set some gold on the counter and received a sweet smelling drink for it from the Native Mordorian on the other side of the counter. Moodily she found a seat in a dark corner, staring with unfocused eyes into the hot swirling liquid. She couldn’t be sure how long she sat there alone.

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

She made her way silently back to the Resort some time after sunset with a bag in hand. She passed nobody in the halls and, feeling relieved at the lack of conversation, she decided to examine the status of the Resort’s pool. Following confusing directions on one of the walls, she quickly got lost and managed to find the laundry room. A short time later she found herself standing on the edge of a murky green pool of unguessable depth and life-containment.

Giving up on a swim, she slipped up the back stairs to her room. Coming in, she’d seen herself having quite a good time with a number of good looking men. She blew on one man’s dice while another slid his arm around her. Mardil glared from across the room and Alli watched as she won several men money, won several dirty looks from their women, and tipsily ordered another drink. She hoped she’d have a good time and not get into too much trouble. She didn’t want to see herself on television later. The idea of explaining that it wasn’t really her to her irate older brother when she got home wasn’t appealing.

Now in her room, she decided that she was done wandering for the night. She’d had an idea in the café and wanted to extrapolate now that she would be undisturbed. She bolted the door and sat beside it, unlacing her boots. Still seated, she unfastened her shin-guards and remaining gauntlet, leaving them in a pile on the table. Stocking-footed, Alli walked to the bed where she had set her bag. Khamul had seen to it that her pack made its way up here safely some time ago. It lay beside the bag. She pulled out its contents, smiling. Tiredly she traded her soft leather breeches and jerkin and her singed cotton shirt and hose for a pair of too-large flannel pajama pants and a black tank top. Even after tying the drawstring of the pants, she had to roll the waist-band thrice before they fit. Finally, barefoot and pj-clad, she went to her desk and the magic box positioned there.

Now to learn just who is traveling with me… she thought grimly. She could easily have had Khamul do the search for her… his people could learn anything about anyone… but she’d rather enjoy the magic of Gugl. What wizard had brought such spells across so wide a sea, or even what Dark Lord of the ancient past had used this tool for his own malicious use, Alli did not know, but she did know that Gugl was a tool of the Valar. With some patience and a good idea of what she was after, Alli was able to find a number of things very quickly. Just as she was close to finishing, the screen at which she looked turned blue. The magic suddenly stopped working. The box made several odd noises and suddenly she heard a crack. She smelled the acrid scent of burning metals and plastic and pulled the line through which the mysterious power of the box came from out of the hole in the wall through which it passed. The system had died but she didn’t mind… she had learned what she was after.

For a long time she sat in grumpy silence, staring at the blank screen. She fell asleep where she sat and woke up in the morning with a crick in her neck.

As the sun came through the wide windows, Alli saw herself laying sprawled in bed in the clothes she had worn yesterday. She wondered what time she had gotten in. She doubted that even she had any idea. She shook herself impatiently and rolled her eyes at the smell of alcohol on her breathe. She slapped at herself and muttered angrily. She was hungover, but more importantly, she was laying on her pack and she wanted to get to it. Alli grabbed herself under the arms and heaved herself to the other end of the large bed. She groaned and fell back asleep quickly as she grabbed her bag and pulled out a notebook and pen. Moving back to her desk, she ignored her snores and began to write in a fast and moody scrawl.

I have discovered, with the help of Gugl, the following about my companions:

The… Others: nothing important. I didn’t actually care enough to really look. I submitted their names and got nothing that I didn’t already know.

However what was important was that as I sat pondering over my latte yesterday, I began to remember my local history. I had been too busy before for the information I had available to connect into any sort of meaning, but I was feeling miserably angsty and felt like cheering myself up with a bit of leisurely name recounting. It went as follows:

Elendil begat Isildur and Anarion and Inzillomi known as Lothlome though she was oft forgot, and she begat Kathaani who was lost ere they reached Middle Earth. Isildur begat Valandil who through a long line of Aras and the occasion Orn came to Arathorn and his son Aragorn who became King of all of the lands of Importance in the days after the Ring and of him was born Eldarion whose name won Feanor of the Peredhil a book of maps once upon history surely soon to be lost. Anarion begat that guy who begat another guy and this continued in such a fashion until the line came to an end with that guy who decided to declare war on the Mafia of Mordor and rode to meet the Witchking who slaughtered him easily because That Guy was a bit of a wimp and didn’t even bother to beget anybody before getting himself killed.

At this point in history the Stewards of Gondor took over, making sure that every family had a nice bowl of hearty soup to eat at dinner and reminding everybody that they ought to stand in silence facing West before they eat it in order to remember Numenor that was around before the idiots declared war on Eru’s will and expected to win, to Valinor that is in some alternate dimension at this point and that mortals really ought to give up on since they can’t get there anyhow, and that which will ever be even if most of the world is clueless about it.

The Stewards of Gondor did a fantastic job making sure that none of the bad guys made it past the Anduin to steal the Soup of Kings and, really, could have gone on indefinitely protecting Gondor if Aragorn hadn’t shown up and said “Behold, I am Aragorn who is called Elessar the Elfstone of the North, as well as Wingfoot, Strider, Telcontar, and a whole lot of other names, and am born of Arathorn who was born of another guy whose name starts with Ara and probably also ends with Orn and that was born in a long line from Isildur whose name is utterly bereft of Aras and Orns but who was your last king’s really-great grandfather’s brother. I have come to reclaim the Stew of my people and get married and coronated in a few obscenely expensive ceremonies that will bankrupt your city!” And so Faramir gave up warding Minas Tirith because he knew that Aragorn would do a pretty decent job keeping the recipe secret and safe and that the Gondorians would ne’er go hungry again, except for a brief period after the coronation and wedding where the whole city was a bit keen for vittles while the Important Ones tried to figure out a way to pay off the bill.

For a long time, Aragorn was a wonderful and charismatic King and everybody loved him and wished that he would just get on with it and die so that they could marry his wife who used to be an Elf and was seriously really hot. And the kids he spawned wound up being pretty wimpy and let things get totally out of hand and Anakronisms popped up and here we are in this mess.

And then I began feeling a bit better, because I realized that it was really Elendil’s fault that we’re all stuck in Mordor because if he hadn’t come to Middle Earth with those darned kids he spawned, Aragorn’s tool of a descendant wouldn’t be mucking things up so bad and you know, we could really do with having another Steward of Gondor because Faramir’s grandsires were doing a pretty good job of things except for Crazy Ol’ Denathor who almost ruined everything, but he doesn’t count, and you know, I bet I’d feel even more cheerful than I do now if I started naming all of Faramir’s grandsires. If naming the Kings of old and casting blame on them for the way I’m trapped with a bunch of strangers and an arrogant noble from my hometown while in the midst of Mordor could put me in such a cheerful mood, then naming Stewards ought to work even better!

Now what was the name of the first ruling Steward? I don’t remember. I think I’ll go Gugl it.

And so it was that Alli learned a few things that she probably should have remembered some time ago but had been distracted from noticing. She knew now that if she just had some time to write things down and sort them out in her head, she’d be fine, but where in the world was the appeal of sorting out emotional messed-up-ness when she could remain wallowing in self-pity for quite a long while?

And so Alli spent her break sleeping late, rising sometime after morning had officially ended, taking obnoxiously long showers, and trying to figure out the best way of convincing the world that Balrogs weren’t evil while occasionally wondering just when Life would start up again. The rest of the time she spent sorting out personal issues, but not The Issues, because those ones would take entirely too much effort and she didn’t feeling like paying them any attention just yet, so instead she concentrated on things like “What do I want to do with my life once I go back? I can’t be a Balrog-Winger in Gondor… Balrogs aren’t found in Gondor. Maybe I could establish a society for the protection of balrogic welfare and show people their horrible living and working conditions while trying to stop the film industry from type-casting them into the roles of monsters and convince brutes to stop trying to attack them.” and “What color do I feel like painting my toenails?” while locked in her hotel room with a lot of fresh produce, a pen and notebook, a large number of books, some art supplies that she couldn’t use for lack of rough-toothed paper, and a lot of repeats of the same songs because she had forgotten to bring along her own music and was stuck listening to that which was available, only about four songs of which she actually liked. She sang along occasionally because she really loved the line “And the anchor-person on TV goes ‘la de da de da‘.”

Occasionally she rousted SimulatAlli to go wander the Resort so that questions would not be raised about her staying hidden for so long, but really, come now, she was on break and would use every excuse in the book in order to avoid doing any real work until it was over. And then… before she knew it… the break actually was over and SimulatAlli had disappeared in a wisp of smoke even as Alli stood ready to leave and wondered what to do with her simulacra.

She stood now in the bright morning sun with the rest of the Offending Party and with her pajamas, supplies, peculiar items and weapons, and a pretty dress that she really didn’t want the rest of the party to know that she had shoved into the bottom of her pack. She was clad again in her Balrog-Winging outfit as she’d realized that the sturdy material was dead convenient when it came to things like not tearing. She’d had to purchase a new shirt to wear under the vest, as the old one was burned and torn and she was unsatisfied with the amount of skin that it now covered. The new shirt was a pale grey that somehow made her eyes seem very blue. As Anakron gave the instructions for their next foray, Alli tried not to be spotted as she glanced side-long at Mardil II of Gondor. Sai slid to a spot next to her and tapped her on the shoulder. Alli looked slightly down into her eyes and saw a question there. Alli had tensed first but now remembered what Khamul had told her. This girl could prove a strong ally. Alli nodded and smiled hesitantly, a question in her own eyes. Sai smiled back and handed Alli the gauntlet that she had lost at RCA. Alli grinned now and fastened it to her right arm as Anakron spoke. The next step was about to begin.

[littlemanpoet]

Mount Doom Casino and Resort Celebrity Hunt

Anakron stood at the entrance to the Mount Doom Casino and Resort. The seven members of the Offending Party stood before him, in various states of health, perplexity, excitement, annoyance, and high dudgeon. Wilhelmina's ferret sneezed all over Fléin, who's eyes were watering and turning red with conjunctivitis; and who also seemed to be trying to keep his supper ... or something ... down. Alli, hands on hips, trying to look bored, glanced sidelong at Mardil, trying not to be noticed doing it. Sai kept blinking, trying not to have that "deer in the headlights" look from being new to Mordor - - - and failing; nearby orcs with legal pads and kameras kept nudging each other and pointing rudely in her direction, their yaps flapping and sneers mincing as if they were plannning to take video advantage of her discomfort. Mardil's lids were half closed, his arms folded across his chest, facing Anakron while his eyes darted here and there, taking stock of his surroundings. Valde looked down his tragic nose at the proceedings, trying very hard not to look gratified that Panakeia had attached herself to him, one dainty hand fetchingly inserted in the crook of his elbow; she was, of course, making the most of having been his savior during the last challenge, looking for the first opportunity to use his gratitude to the best advantage.

Anakron sniffed appreciatively at the unspoken goings on amongst the group. Creativity in the face of adversity seemed to be a strong suit for at least six of them. Valde had much to prove yet. It was time to give him in particular, and them in general, a challenge that seemed for all Mordor as if it would be well out of his - or their - comfort zones.

"Greetings," Anakron intoned. "None of you has seen fit to attempt a remonstration with me in regard to your point total from the second challenge. That is well. You would have fared ill.

"The test you will undergo for the third challenge is as follows. You must seek out those who reside in this resort, or in Trollywood, or in Lost Angles, who have been appeared in Mordor anakronistically from the far distant future, where they are apparently known as celebrities (how in Mordor they achieved such a suspicious renown is beyond our ken). You are to find ways, other than theft or murder, to make them part with that which they most hold dear. Let us take, for example, one 'Witless' Spears person. Let us presume that Panakeia manages to persuade said celebrity to part with what she holds most dear. That does not relieve the other six of you of an attempt upon that celebrity, for she will still possess something else which she now holds most dear in the absence of that which Panakeia is presumed to have relieved her.

"I shall not name these so-called celebrities. You are to seek them out by means of your own ingenuity. Anyone who fails to present to me one such most valued item, whatever it may be, will be considered to have failed the challenge.

"You have until sundown. Begin."

The reality show orcs ooh'd and aah'd their effeminate delight and began to name off various celebrities in such a lisping garble that none of the Offending Party could make out a one of them.

[Celuien]

Panakeia listened with delight to Anakron's next challenge. Oh, to visit the City of Lost Angles and Trollywood! To look upon the vast Leaning Tower of Flapjacks that represented the headquarters of the Cap It All Records and House of Pancakes enterprise! She had been fascinated by celebrity for years, and now here was a chance not only to meet the rich and famous, but to claim a token from them. She was eager to be on her way.

But what to select first? Celebrities had so much. And what could they treasure more than their fame and good looks, neither of which Panakeia was likely to bring back with her? She thought hard. Then an inspiration struck her. That's it. He must place great importance in that. After all, he's had it for so long, and he never goes anywhere without it.

"Come on," she said to no one in particular. "Let's go get William Shatner's toupee."

[the guy who be short]

Flein wandered the streets, a little confused. Where would he find a celebrity? What exactly was the point of this? What celebrities did he even know?

He sighed. Society was not his strong point, and idiotic social idols even less so. He looked around miserably.

Why hadn't he just told her?

Look on the bright side, he thought to himself. Conjunctivitis, gone. Anakron, gone. Cat-vomit, gone.

Wilhelmina... gone.

It had been his idea to split up, after all. It would just be too difficult with her. And there were always the moral objections his mind kept throwing up in lieu of those cats. In love with a Woman? How soon would she die? She was too young and frail...

He looked up again. It was no good moaning, no good at all. Be a real Dwarf. That was what he had to do, be a Dwarf. Face the task. Find a celebrity. Bash it over the head a few times. Take whatever it valued most. Easy.

Just as he had resolved to hunt down one of these celebrity things, he looked up and noticed that odd little man who had tried to sell him chocolate in Lûndûn. How on Arda had he got to Lost Angles in a day with no visible means of transport?

The man, arms still full of chocolate, sighted Fléin and approached him with an air of vague recognition. "Hello there! My! I thought you were an Oompa Loompa, don't you know? Well! Still, I'm sure I recognise you..."

Fléin considered for a moment. He didn't much fancy talking to this oddball again, but then again, he had nothing better to do at the moment. "Yes, we met in Lûndûn actually." He hoped the man - what was his name? - wouldn't remember the manner of their parting, and he was lucky.

"Ah, yes... would you like to buy some chocolate, incidentally?"

Fléin decided to ignore this and instead posed his own question. "How did you come to Lost Angles so quickly?"

"Simple, I took the elevator, my dear Dwarf!"

"Elevator?"

"Yes, of course. Anyway, would you buy something? I must be going soon, you know."

"I'm afraid not. Well, it has been pleasant meeting you again," and it will be even more pleasant parting again, he thought, "but I must go and find a celebrity now."

"A celebrity? Why, I am a celebrity! Don't you know?" the man chuckled.

"You're a celebrity?" the Dwarf exclaimed. He surveyed the man. Small, odd top hat, vacant seeming smile. He didn't seem much like celebrity material. Why would anybody idolise him?

"Have you not heard of Johnny Depp?" the chocolatier replied, equally incredulous. "Surely you must know..."

"The name strikes a bell," the Dwarf replied. Where had he heard it before?
Though he was, quite obviously, a rather secluded person, and knowledge of any celebrity was something rather alien to his nature, he knew that name.

"Why, Johnny Depp is the greatest actor that ever lived! He has scores of fangirls!" the man squealed.

Fléin simply looked on, even more incredulous than before. "You... you are the most famous actor of all time?" he asked, surpressing the urge to laugh in the man's pale face. He was obviously delusional. "You?"

"No, of course not! Ha! That would be silly!" The man, evidently not Johnny Depp, stopped there, but then continued after seeing the look on Fléin's face. "I am an incarnation of that great man. You see, when he was sent to Mordor, something odd happened. Mr Depp ceased to be. Instead, all the many forms he had assumed over his life - including that of myself, Willy Wonka - all these, I say, materialised in Mordor." He paused, then went on in a darker voice, "That is, in fact, why I have come to Lost Angles. We're having a convention of sorts."

"Really?" the Dwarf asked, intrigued. "That sounds like immense fun! Why do you look so glum about it?"

The man peered at him a little, then turned around, made a sign indicating his wish that Fléin followed, and led him to a nearby Ma Cuddonelds to sit down.

Once they were both uncomfortably seated, he resumed. "It is less a convention and more of a war plan meeting."

"War?"

"Indeed. You see, Mr Depp, before his assignment, played many varied characters. Some were good. Some were evil. And so, there must be war."

"That sounds perfectly logical," the Dwarf fibbed. "So... then, winning this war is the most important thing in the world to you?"

"No, not quite. Well, I suppose so, but there is a technicality. You see, we, the good incarnations, or G.I.s, are poised to win. But there is one who has not yet chosen a side, and he is the greatest of us all. Whichever side he chooses, victory for them is almost certain. It is imperative that he joins us, or we will lose. That is the reason we have gathered here."

"So he is the most important thing in the world to you?"

"Without a doubt."

"I shall speak freely with you," the Dwarf lowered his voice. "I am a member of the Offending Party. And it my duty to... aid a celebrity. I will find this man for you."

The man looked up, delighted. "Why, that would be wonderful! In fact, we have reason to believe he is in this city at the moment. It would be wonderful if you would help. You could come to the meeting, nobody would mind much-"

"No thank you, I shall start at once. Tell me what the man looks like."

Willy giggled. "He is not a man! He is a sparrow. Cap-tin Jack Sparrow"

"A sparrow? A bird, with wings and such?"

"Of course. It's all this homophone business. He is not allowed to be called Sparrow unless he is a sparrow. You will recognise him by his cap of tin. He is also quite large, for a sparrow. And I really must be going now! Thank you for the help, I shall let the others know. If you find him, we'll be in that large tower to the West"

With that, Willy Wonka left the building, leaving Fléin pondering how he could find this sparrow, and thanking Deus Ex Machina for the unlikely meeting.

[Durelin]

‘Celebrity?’

What in the name of Ilúvatar were celebrities? Valde had felt his body convulse at the sound of the word, and he had felt a sudden rush of sinus pressure that made him clutch his head, trying not to look at Anakron. It was as if he had said a word of the Black Speech, which of course a civilized ear such as Valde’s could not hear. He had quite forgotten that he did indeed dwell in Mordor. Such is a daydreamer’s mind. But for now his mind was actually quite empty, and Anakron’s words bounced around inside his head. He could hear them whizzing around, springing from side to side for several moments, and then all went silent. He never had been very good at pong.

“You are to seek them out by your own ingenuity.”

By their own ingenuity, eh? Now, surely Valde would succeed in this, for he had boasted before that he was as tricky as Ulyssë. But there was a twinge of something in his stomach, suddenly sprinkled there like a bit too much of garlic, and he doubted himself. What was he playing at, in this ‘Offending Party’? Perhaps the trolls had been right in casting him as the tragic hero who lost the contest. Perhaps that was his lot in life, his role on its stage. But wait…life was a stage; life was his stage! And what an excellent tragedy it would make, for he, the great Valde, to play out his role like a true… (Here Valde paused and pictured the litter he had been carried on during his brief but tender moments of glory, licking his lips) Lead Tragic Actor. Yes, a true Lead Tragic Actor: that was Valde Delego.

“Surely I must move on and no more wait,
With courage to face my tragic fate.”

Valde announced his rhyming couplet to no one in particular, and thus ended Act II Scene 2 of his life.* A kamuraman eyed him strangely for a moment, managing for once to peel his eyes away from the strain of catching such an extremity and excess of reality on film to later reel it out.

“That was an aside,” Valde hissed, looking down his nose at the nosy man.

“You mean a real aside?” the man exclaimed, sounding excited, and hoisting his kamura around to face Valde, who only scrunched up his tragic eyebrows and stared broodingly at the electric eye. It always watched him, but surely it could not see into his mind’s eye.

“Are you sure it was real?”

“Errr…” the kamuraman gurgled.

“Am I real?”

“Well, of course.”

“Prove it.”

“Well, you’re standing right there. I can see you. And I can hear you. And if you would let me, I could touch you. I really would like to just touch you…I never do get to touch the actors…”

Valde slapped the kamuraman’s reaching hand away.

“You rely on your senses for determining what is real. But we all know that our senses deceived us. We catch things out of the corner of our eyes, but they’re not there. We mistake words in our speech and hearing and reading due to tricks from the Freud. How do we really know that we see, hear, feel, and taste what we do? How do we know if that even matters? How do you know the ground beneath your feet exists, or if your mind has simply created it because of your natural feel of falling, which is a feeling that your mind creates because you have this predisposed notion of how the world works, which is simply a fabrication of the minds of people, who we are not even sure exist.”

The kamuraman stared at Valde for a moment, his mouth hanging open. “I thought we were talking about reality. Why would I be afraid of falling in reality? There’s a stunt double for that, duh.”

“No, no, not a reality show. You can’t capture everything on that kamura of yours, you know. You see, we are all made of our special play-doh known as our ‘soul.’”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.” Valde sighed and, narrowing his purely physical eyes at the kamura, he turned his back to it and its bearer with a swirl of his cloak, returning his mind to more important things. Celebrities? What did Valde Delego need with celebrities? He was a celebrity. But life was his stage, and his fans were waiting. He had to act, though not too quickly. He was a Lead Tragic Actor, not an Action Hero.

“Come one,” Valde suddenly heard the woman named Panakeia who had helped him in the last challenge say. He turned to her, but she seemed not to be speaking to him; or no one really, for that matter. Valde felt guilty for listening to her, in case she was performing her own aside, but as the Lead he felt he deserved knowing what everyone told the audience behind his back. They always talked behind his back. If he was not such a good stage crier, Valde had no idea how he would ever survive.

“Let’s go get William Shatner’s toupee,” Panakeia finished.

William Shatner? That name sounded so familiar, and yet… Suddenly a pair of pointed ears invaded his third eye’s vision; then a pair of eye brows that might indeed have rivaled his own. An elf? No, William Shatner was not an elf. Then who? Suddenly recognition dawned on him with a searing blue light that appeared to be what he had heard called a ‘laser.’ (Or was it ‘lazer?’ Alternative spellings were surely cursed, particularly in Mordor.) Simultaneously, words such as photon and parsec popped into his head, though he had no idea what they meant. But that was the name that fit the head between those ears, and perhaps the rest of the body, too: Spockú.

Those eyebrows…Valde had examined his own in the mirror enough times that day to know that Spockú’s did indeed come close to being as dominating and brooding as his own. He was sure they were admired, and he did not like that at all. Panakeia was after this William Shatner’s toupee, eh? And everyone knew Spockú was wherever that Shatner person was, most likely a crony who would even follow the toupee wearer to die a sugary death at the floral printed-paper clutches of one known as Dixiel. Those eyebrows were too good for a man who allowed himself to be subordinate to any other. They were alike to a crown, and must be worn like one: by a king, subject to no one, and who was thought to be schizophrenic due to his inbreeding and use of the royal we. The glorious Shadowbrow’s of Spockú would surely be a formidable prize.

“Oh Panakeia…” Valde called out to the woman, walking slowly up to her so as not to ruin the way his cloak slowly glided dramatically behind him. “First, I thank you humbly, out of the humble kindness, graciousness, and compassion of my swollen heart, for your invaluable aid in the last challenge. Would you mind if my tragic lump of flesh did join you once again?”

He peered at her from underneath the shadowy, mysterious, and intimidating brow, and considered where he might find waxing supplies strong enough for his quest.

*(Apologies to Mr. Shakespeare...if he really exists, that is.)

[Encaitare]

Wilhelmina frowned to herself, trying to decide how to handle this next task. It made the first two tasks seem easy -- at least they were a simple matter of getting from Point A to Point B. Now there was actually something she had to do, and it involved these so-called celebrities. One couldn't long be in Mordor without hearing about celebrities; Mordorians seemed to be obsessed with following their every move in the hopes of learning how to be cooler. I'm too old to dabble in that nonsense, Wilhelmina thought, and good thing, too. Honesly, who cared about what brand of dress this one was wearing to the Ozkars, or who that one was marrying (especially since statistically it wouldn't last more than a year)?

No, celebrities certainly weren't the sort of people Wilhelmina wanted to go looking for. That was the problem, though -- she knew there had to be plenty of them about, but how was one to find them? What she'd really love to do was get Pârís Hiltôn's stupid little dog. Of all the celebrities she'd heard about, Pârís Hiltôn was without a doubt the worst. Firstly, she hadn't done anything to attain celebrity status. Secondly, she had a catchphrase which was almost as bad as Mârtha Stewârt's, and equally worthy of boldfaced type. And thirdly, no dog should ever wear clothing that costs more than most people earn in a year. Yet Wilhelmina suspected that no amount of begging, cajoling, or bribery could separate the heiress from her canine companion. So how to do it?

A grin spread across her face as she realized there was a simple solution. Maybe that Panakeia wasn't a total waste of oxygen after all.

"Panakeia!" she called, walking quickly towards the saleswoman. "I need to buy some of your, ahem, products. Namely some Pearie Ockcide Potion and a bunch of cheap perfumes in fancy bottles, if you please."

[Kath]

Sai had wandered around Mount Doom in a daze the last few days, unsure where she could go and what she could do, so she was almost glad to be faced with a new challenge - almost. Where was she going to find a celebrity in this place, and even if she did manage it what could she take from them? She ran through a list of every one of their kind she could think of, but couldn't think of anything to take away from them. She heard her kamura orc, who had been very bored recently, complaining about her again. He'd been doing this a lot the past few days but she couldn't blame him. The most exciting thing he'd seen all week was when Sai had caught that cold and sneezed 10 times straight so hard she'd been unable to see where she was going and had fallen

"Why do we bother with her? She probably won't even be able to think of anyone - let's go walk round the block and see if she's managed anything by the time we get back."

Insulted, though privately thinking his words had some truth to them, Sai opened her mouth to reprimand him for his use of such an Americanism, 'block' indeed. But as she did so, the word conjured up memories of a song, a song that had been played over and over and over, til the words and the tune were so embedded in her head she remembered the lies in them even now. And the memory of the song led to the celebrity that had sung it. Sai grinned at the bemused orc.

"Wrong again Mr, well, whatever your name is, I have thought of someone! Come with me - we're going to remove the backside from one Jennifer Lopez!"

[Celuien]

"Why, of course, Valde. I'd be delighted to have you with me." Panakeia beamed, trying very hard to supress a fluttering sensation she felt at the pit of her stomach. Somehow, the brooding, mysterious actor swept her back to an almost forgotten time. A time when Panakeia sat on the veranda at her parents' estate, Taräê, surrounded by dozens of admirers. An almost unpleasant warmth suffused her cheeks, and she hoped that no one could see her blushing. Fortunately, the multitudinous layers of Maì Bêllienè plastered over her face effectively concealed any traces of her embarrassment.

She chided herself. Stop that, you ninny. You're not a child, after all. But the feeling did not subside. Panakeia looked at the ground, then out to the side, searching for something to change the direction of her thoughts.

"Bert!" she snapped. The unfortunate kamura troll lumbered over to her side. "Where have you been? We have to get on our way." As Bert apologized profusely for his absence, Panakeia silently gave thanks that Anakron had seen fit to send the reality show crew with them. It would keep her from being too absurd on the trip to Lost Angles.

Just as she was about to head back into the Cruiser, a voice echoed over her head. It was Wilhelmina, asking for Pearie Ockcide Potion and perfume! Panakeia's ears perked up. Why, of course she had all of that, and more. Just about anything anyone could want. She flung open her sample case and stood it up on its rickety legs, revealing a dizzying array of perfumes, cosmetics, and the all important P.O.P.

A few minutes later, her case lightened by several items, and her scarf weighted down by a few extra trolls, Panakeia led the way back to the PT Cruiser that had brought them to the Casino. Their trip to Mount Doom had left the Cruiser with a little less than half a tank of gasoline. She hoped it would be enough to bring the party to Trollywood. Valde, being careful to maintain a dramatic expression, climbed in on the other side, Bert crawled into the rear with the remaining spare tires, and they set off in the general direction of Lost Angles.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli was happy to be on the way again... she'd spent too much time now brooding. While a break was good and good for the mind, she'd gotten bored and was ready to take on the world again.

A celebrity? But... which?

And it had to be an Anakronismic Celebrity... She could not simply chose a famous individual from Middle Earth...

Who do I pick? Argh.... Oh!

This was perfect. This was too good. She couldn't resist... Surely there was no rule against it? That which they most hold dear was what he had said. Well she knew what he must most hold dear. Could she get away with it? Sure... why not.

She was off to find Orlando Bloom and take away his fangirls. She had no idea how to do it, but that was okay. She'd think of something later.

[Kath]

Sai's confident mood dissipated rather rapidly as she realised that this task seemed designed to split up the Offending Party. Alli was already heading off in another direction and Mardil was nowhere to be seen. The events of the last few tasks had made her even less keen to be alone in this strange land, and though she really didn't want to seem needy and unable to look after herself, as she knew that if forced to she could, she would really prefer to remain with at least one person, just in case.

Wavering between keeping any respect she might still have from her reality crew and actually completing the rest of this insane venture, she quickly decided the latter was preferable and sped off after Alli. Slipping through the surrounding orcs she tried to appear nonchalant as she asked,

"So, how are you planning on getting to Lost Angles?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli changed her mind suddenly and without apparent reason. Unwillingly, she felt her body turn even as she kept her eyes on the road. Wondering what was happening, she turned her gaze in the direction that her body now pointed. She saw Sai in the midst of orcs and remembered as though he spoke again in her ear (which, in actuality, he did, because he's just talented like that) the things that Khamul had told her about trust and friendship. She contemplated for barely a second before deciding quickly.

She strode back the few dozen yards to where the girl was and reached out to touch her arm.

As Sai turned her head, Alli spoke in her ear from over her shoulder.

"Will you travel with me, Sai? I am going to acquire some fangirls. I'm not sure how yet, but I figure that it will come to me. Do you want to come?"

Alli was glad that Mardil II was out of sight as she extended the nervous hand of friendship to Sai. She didn't need any extra emotional complications as she lowered her defenses slightly to let the girl in. It was hard enough to take Khamul's advice without a back-stabbing and arrogant noble of a really good looking and understanding guy around to mess with her head.

[the guy who be short]

"Whew awe we going?"

"Shut up."

"Who wath that man?"

"Never you mind."

Mordor would be bearable, were it not for the natives. Since miscellaneous Orc #1 had been damaged in that storm, Fléin had been gifted with a new one. That wouldn't shut up. Whatever he tried.

"I demand to know! I thhould've jutht fowwowed you! I don't know why I let you talk me into-"

"Shut up!"

"But whewe awe we going?"

Fléin stopped walking and turned around to face the Mordorian. "You're job" he said, "you're job, the thing you have to do, is follow me. FOLLOW. Get it? Follow! Follow! No talking. Stop talking to me! I do not want to talk to you! I do not need to talk to you! You are a distraction, not to mention an abomination. I do not need you TALKING to me when I am trying to think. I do not like it. I do not like you. I do not like green eggs and ham. Got it?"

The orc sulked, but quieted down. Fléin, meanwhile, stormed ahead. Was there even a rule about not killing kamuraorcs? Surely they could replace him?

Finally, he found a public telephone. And accompanying it - there! The Telephone Directory! Every man, woman and dwarf in Lost Angles, right there.

Ten minutes later, he was knocking on the door of a small house.

Twenty minutes later, he had left the ornithologist's home.

Thirty minutes later, he was buying a crossbow and net.

Forty minutes later, he was treating himself to a latte. He had done quite a lot in a short space of time, after all.

Forty-one minutes later, he was on the hunt. Jack Sparrow was his.

[Kath]

"Will you travel with me, Sai? I am going to acquire some fangirls. I'm not sure how yet, but I figure that it will come to me. Do you want to come?"

Sai smiled, glad she had taken the chance and gone after Alli. She could see what it cost the girl to let her in even a little bit, and thanked whatever God's might be around in Mordor that Mardil wasn't there, as she thought it unlikely Alli would have offered her company if he was. She suddenly realised that Alli had been patiently (well, at least for her) waiting for some time for an answer now.

"I'd love to come. Any idea how we're going to get there?" she replied.

And as Alli turned away from her, Sai could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

A few nano-seconds later, Alli knew exactly how they were going to get there. She just wasn't sure where there was. Where could Orlando Bloom be found? Ah... easy enough. Okay... she had it.

"Okay..." she stopped completely, turning on her heel to look behind her at Sai. She stared blankly at nothing before realizing that Sai was at her side, not behind her, and that she'd over-spun. She tried to compensate and fell over. Standing up quickly and cringing a bit at the sharp pain in her knee, she pretended that nothing had happened and was relieved that Sai acted the same. "Okay..." she started again. She looked completely serious; not moody... actually, she looked as happy as Sai had yet seen her. But she looked pensive and a little worried. "Do you trust me?"

Sai looked at her and answered. "Of course, why?"

"No... I need you to think about it a little longer. Do you really trust me? If it suddenly seems like all of my decisions have led us into immenent danger and we're about to be crushed into microscopic pieces of corpse, will you still trust that it's all part of the plan and that I'm just about to pull off my coup d'etat? Some of my decisions on my road to the destination might seem... unconventional. I'm not positive what I'm doing, but I can promise you that I'm going to try my very hardest to do it perfectly anyhow. Will you trust that I'll get us there safely? Are you certain that you know what you're getting yourself into? I don't want you to travel alongside me without knowing that things could go very wrong because I'm arrogant, perpetually impulsive, and I'm going to try hard to be responsible, but sometimes my idea of responsible seem very different to others."

Sai had never seen Alli speak so seriously about herself. She considered hard for a few moments before slowly nodding.

"I will trust you."

"Oh good." Alli brightened immediately. "Let's go hitch a ride. I saw a pleasantly creepy looking middle-aged man with really large glasses drive by a short time ago in a white van with tinted windows. Oh look, he's coming back."

Sai looked around quickly and then laughed, seeing Alli's tasteless joke.

"How are we actually going to get there?" she asked, now eying the kamura orcs with a bit of well-hidden disdain. "Are we actually hitching?"

"Depends on how desperate we get. It's a long trip. But I think it will all go well... we're going to Florida. It's a tourist trap, so I'm sure we won't have trouble finding foolish looking families clad in vermin-esque head-gear flocking there. We shouldn't have a problem."

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

Several hours later, Alli and Sai were seating uncomfortably in the back of a red minivan. A youngish couple and their children talked happily at them as they looked at each other incredulously. Did people really act like this?

"And then Louis here got his promotion and we moved into the suburbs and it's just so lovely there, and the street we live on is named after all of the beautiful trees that they cut down in order to make room for it, and the twins, Marissa and Lucas, share the most darling little nursery decorated all in baby bunnies. Their nanny is watching them for the week while we take little Susie here and Michael to Disney World. Tell them what you got on your test, Michael. Oh, he's just shy. He got a wonderful grade on his science test and we just had to reward him, but we couldn't take him to Disney World and leave Susie behind, so here we are and here you are with us!" The woman had the cheerful voice of a 50's sitcom's housewife and Alli was trying very hard to smile... but it was beginning to look more like a grimace.

And then Susie and Michael began to sing The Song That Never Ends.

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

Within seconds, Alli and Sai were walking again. As the too-damned-happy little family drove away, Alli pointed to the blue skies and palm trees and shocking roads, paved with seashells instead of stone.

"We're here. Orlando, Florida, Mordor, Middle Earth. Now we just need to find the gardens."

"If you don't mind my asking... why are we searching for a movie star in a little known flower garden in the middle of Florida, Mordor?"

"Well it's simple, really. It's a little known fact that Orlando was conceived in one of these gardens. It's where his name came from. Apparently something about a rose or a tulip or something. I don't know the exact story." She shuddered. "I really don't want to. But his parents named him Orlando Bloom after some flower they saw while vacationing here. It's where he comes when he's not shooting movies."

"Sweet." said Sai, grinning. "Oh god... I think we've found him."

Suddenly they were knocked into a large shrubbery (not too big or expensive) as a group of 15-year-olds ran by screaming and giggling. Standing up and brushing the mulch off of her pants, Alli looked over the hedge to where the fangirls had been running. There he sat looking very content... Now to action.

"Okay... now that we're here... Sai... I have no idea how to get those fangirls away from him. I thought of making another simulacra... but my contacts are off at Mount Doom and it would take too long. We only have a little bit of time."

She checked her watch. "Only an hour, to be precise. Oh crum..."

She pulled out her cell phone and hit 1 on speed-dial. "Hey Anakron, it's Alli. Sai and I are just about to relieve Orlando Bloom of his fangirls. We'll have the task done, but we might get back a bit late. We'll have to walk, unless we can find some suburbanites to hitch with that aren't so perfect that I feel like vomiting. Wait..." she added, seeing a flirty looking pilot eying her. "I might be able to score a jet flight back."

She hung up and looked back at Sai. "I got his answering machine. Now... how do we get those girls away? I'm pretty certain that they'll count for both of us... after all, there are more than one. If I take the president of his fanclub and you wait a few seconds for him to have a new favorite, we can then get all of the girls to come with and it counts as multiple relievings and we'll have finished the task. But we don't have much time and I've got to go secure us a ride home. You think on it and I'll go get us a free flight back to Mount Doom and then just come over if you have any ideas... or I'll run over if I come up with one... unless you want to go hit on that pilot?"

[Encaitare]

Panakeia's bleach-white smile had been nothing short of evil. "So, you're finally getting sensible and trying to look younger, Wilhelmina. Though I daresay it's a bit late to undo some of the damage, even with my Wrinkles-B-Gone Cream."

Wilhelmina had scoffed as only the elderly can. "It's not for me. It's for Pârís Hiltôn... I'm sure people of her quality would just love your products."

"Oh? And what are you going to get from her?" Panakeia said, raising a perfectly shaped brow.

"Never you mind that. Now, a bottle of Pearie Ockcide Potion, and those cheap perfumes that look fancy, if you please."

"I sell nothing cheap," Panakeia had sniffed.

"Shiny, then! I need things with glitz! I've got a bimbo to find!"

~*~*~*~*~

Wilhelmina had also stopped at a pet store and a beauty shop, where she'd purchased a bag of doggie biscuits and a mirror, respectively. Now, she was walking down the streets in the resort area, looking for a certain venue: Club Pârís. She felt quite out of place, as the majority of the people surrounding her wore sleek suits with nary a wrinkle to be seen, or thousand-dollar dresses with matching shoes, sunglasses, and purse.

The old woman's hat clashed with each and every one of the outfits, and she reveled inwardly at that fact as she wandered, unable to see the skeptical looks she was receiving from the other passers-by -- not because of poor vision on her part, but because nearly all of them wore dark glasses of exorbitant price and nominal value.

As she stopped at the corner to wait for the traffic light to change, she noticed a man with a little table piled high with pamphlets of some sort. Tacked to the nearby telephone pole was a sign that said "STAR MAPS" in big letters. To get the point across, large painted stars surrounded the text, glittering jadedly.

"Can I interest you in a Star Map, madam?" the man asked, holding up an equally glittery pamphlet.

"Don't be silly, young man," Wilhelmina replied, checking the traffic light again. "Whatever would I do with a map of the heavens in broad daylight?"

The man laughed as though there was a joke the whole world knew and Wilhelmina somehow didn't understand it. "You do not understand me! This map," he said as he unfolded into a quite unwieldy size, "tells you where you can find the homes of celebrities in this area. It's only one Troll, madam, a very good bargain!"

Wilhelmina regarded the map with a degree of doubt. "Can it tell me where to find Johnny Depp?"

A nervous laugh escaped from the man's throat. "Perhaps we'd best leave matters of Mr. Depp alone... strange things have been happening." Suddenly, like a light bulb growing brighter after someone turns off a massive, electricity-hogging machine in the other room, he burst out with, "But this map also tells you the favorite venues of these celebrities -- who knows, if you're lucky you might get to meet one of them!"

Something clicked. "Is Club Pârís on that map?"

"But of course!"

"Then I'll take it," she decided, thrusting a Troll at the salesman, seizing the map, and barely making it across the street before an eighteen-wheeler barrelled past.

[Kath]

When Alli had made her serious little speech Sai hadn’t answered right away for fear of laughing in her face and losing her only companion. After what she had experienced the last few days she would go with pretty much anyone who seemed to know what they were doing! So far she had faced the BliddyUnnerground, been stuck in RCA records, confronted a Balrog, driven a car (mostly into things but still driven), nearly got killed on the motorways of Mordor and faced the Balrog again (who admittedly was a little friendlier the second time once they’d got past the whole Mardil threatening Alli thing). However, on almost all of these occasions she had been with Alli, and whilst the girl seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble, she had almost equal abilities at getting out of it. Sai had realised this after her first encounter with Alli’s methods, and had long since decided that it was better to simply trust to the plans and the luck that went with her. Finding Alli was staring at her again, she put as solemn an expression on her face as she could muster and gave her assent.


A little later, stuck in that van with the Brady Bunch family, she began to wish she hadn’t. There was a sticker on one of the windows, Baby on Board, and for a moment she wished she was back in her old car as an orc, as the sticker would surely cause inexplicable violent tendencies, allowing her to run up the back of them to make sure that dear little Michael and Susie would never be able to sing again. She was certain they were about to start up with I’ve Got A Song That’ll Get On Your Nerves, and if that happened bloodshed wouldn’t be far behind. The mother was just as bad, going on and on at Alli until Sai feared for her safety. The father simply looked shellshocked, and Sai wondered whether he had known what he was getting himself in for when he agreed to marriage, or whether he had simply been around so many people who thought that not having a significant other lowers your value as a human being that he eventually gave in. She thought the latter was most likely, and smiled at him. He returned the smile a little tiredly, and then motioned that they had reached their destination.


Standing in the gardens, Sai had to admit to confusion, until a group of raging fangirls hit her from behing. She stood up again, half listening to Alli and half watching as the girls flocked around the object of their affection. She wondered whether it was really him they were into, or whether it was just the fame and air of superiority he carried around with him. If it were the latter she mused, would some kind of swap work . . . ? With one ear she heard phrases like “might get back a bit late”, “how do we get those girls away”, and “unless you want to go hit on that pilot” coming from Alli, and as that last sentence trickled through into her brain she realised she had been caught not listening.

“Sorry, no, please you go do that. But we still have about two days to do this, maybe a little less if you take time off for getting back to Mount Doom, and if you get a promise of a lift from that pilot we should be ok on that front. The only real problem is working out how to convince those girls to come with us. I suppose if they really are hardcore Leggy-boppers there isn’t much we can do, though your plan might work, but most fangirls are fickle aren’t they? What if we could offer them a better obsession? Think they’d come back with us?”

Alli turned to look at her (not falling over this time), seeming surprised that Sai had come up with an idea all by herself.

“That sounds like it could actually work – but who could we bribe them with?”

Sai thought for a moment. Who would Orlando Blooms fangirls find attractive? She ran through a list of young, tall, apparently goodlooking celebrities in her head, and came up with just one that might meet the criteria.

“How about that guy from Harry Potter? Tom something, the one who plays Malfoy? He might work. And you know, they’re filming something from it around here so if we could kidnap him and then tell these girls that we have him they might come with us. This is all getting a bit farfetched, do you think we could do it?

[the guy who be short]

Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow. Fléin mulled it over in his head. It wasn't really a very cool name for a pirate, even if he had become a bird. What he needed was something concise and threatening. Jack Black, that had a nice rhythm to it. Jack Death, maybe. Jack Morgue.

Sparrows, he had been told, eat seeds. He looked at the unappetising mixture of crud-in-a-bag he had bought. Hopefully, he could lure Jack out with this. Then it was a question of netting. He didn't want to use the crossbow except as a last resort.

He wasn't exactly sure where to find Jack. The city was huge, and finding a sparrow therein, albeit a gigantic one, was somewhat like finding a needle in a haystack, considered mathematically.

Except that this wasn't maths class. Sparrows are found near sparrow food. That's obvious. Sparrow food is found in the narrow tracks of parkland in Lost Angles. And, as a Dwarf, old Fléin had a few tricks up his sleep.

"Chooo-chooo fwoo twu-wu-wu-wu?"

"Fwoo-ooh-OOOH-oo-wu-tutututu"

Fléin allowed himself a little smile. For perhaps the hundredth time since setting out, he thanked Mahal that he'd been born a Dwarf. He rushed off in a northeasterly direction, purposefully keeping the pace a little too fast for the Mordorc behind him.

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

There was earth below Fléin's feet once more. Crumby, infertile, weak earth. He could immediately see why this patch of land had been reserved as parkland. Any attempt to build on it would result in collapse, and an attempt to farm it would result in famine. Only hardy grass managed to grow here, and a few tough shrubs.

And all around, birds of every sort. There must have been a couple of hundred, all told, but no oversized sparrows. And that idiot orc had caught up behind him, and was making far too much noise! He'd scare what there was away. The temptation to turn around and drive a bolt through his face was so great that Fléin forced himself to shove the weapon into his pocket, and keep his fist closed tightly.

He turned around, walked back to the orc, and growled up at him. "You want your ratings, don't you? Keep back, or nothing happens."

"I'm afwaid I can't. Latht time woo wouldn't tell me what had happened, and-"

"I don't care," the dwarf quivered. "If you move any further forward, these birds will fly off, and I have no chance of capturing-"

"Capturing what?"

"Just watch." He walked back to the flock of birds littering the floor, the orc sulkily watching. The orc trained the kamura on the Dwarf bending over and cooing at the birds, then tramping off. He took his eye off the dwarf for a minute to adjust the lens, to find he had disappeared.

Fléin had, however, found his way underground; marvellously with this soil, he thought. It was a wonder it hadn't fallen in. And it seemed to go down quite deep. Fléin would have felt quite at home, were it not for the skulls at the entrace. Some would consider vole skulls a little unintimidating, but their message was clear. "Here there be pirates."

"Who goes there?" a voice screeched up from below in sparrow when Fléin was about 50 feet in. Apparently, he had been treading too heavily.

"A friend," he replied in English.

There was a panicked twittering. Fléin saw light ahead of him.

"Who? What is your name?"

"Fléin, Fréinson of the Ironfoots. I come as an emissary for the Incarnations of Johnny Depp."

"Why did they send a Dwarf?"

But Fléin did not respond. He turned a corner, and was momentarily dazzled by the brilliance around him. Torches burned, not so very brightly, but their light was reflected from the piles of gold all around the small cavern. And there, perched, literally, in the centre of it all...

Fléin had been told he was a large sparrow, but he had not expected this. The bird must have been forty centimetres high. But - no, thirty. His helmet of tin - cap indeed! - was high and crested. And there - a dagger, strapped to his side? On a bird? What could he possibly hold it with.

The bird looked directly at him, inquiring. "Who are you?"

"I have told you, Mr Sparrow. An emissary. I come to ask your aid in the coming struggle."

"Ha. And for which side would you have me waste my time and life?"

"Mr Wonka sent me."

The bird made a curious chirping sound, that the Dwarf knew for laughter. "Old Willy? Ha! They speak of war, but they know not what they say. What will he do? Throw chocolate bombs at them? Make an invincibilty gum?"

"Come now. It is inevitable, and with your aid, it can be over far more quickly, and with far less difficulty. You will not abandon those who are as your kinsmen?"

The bird did not answer, but repeated his own question. "Why did they send a Dwarf?"

"I am a friend of Willy's," the Dwarf invented instantaneously.

"You are a liar."

The Dwarf stared at the sparrow. He stared back, reptilian eyes betraying only a hint of humanity. There was silence, and then, "I will not join this war. It is foolery. Leave."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that." The Dwarf drew his crossbow.

The bird eyed him critically, then laughed once more. "And what will that achieve?"

The Dwarf opened his mouth to reply, but before this was possible, there was a great screech, and Jack had bounded off his perch. He loosed the bolt, but it soared over the bird and hit the wall behind him.

Then there were talons, sharp little claws in his face. The screeching would not stop when he punched the bird, nor when he hit it with the crossbow. Still, the incessant clawing and screeching.

Finally, with another punch and a resounding smack, the bird fell flat on its back in front of him. He drew the net, but swiftly the bird drew its dagger, holding it in its beak, and jumped up, slicing at his foot. Only the thick leather protected Fléin.

But the bird must have been tired of the effort - he was scurrying rather than flying, and occasionally tumbling most ignobly over the ground.

In the end, Fléin stepped on him.

[Durelin]

Panakeia seemed very intent on her driving. Indeed, her orcish form’s brow was furrowed to the point that her eyes seemed to have been forced back into her head. Valde had heard of looking into the mind of another, but he now had a newfound image to associate with that. He made no bother to break the silence for several minutes, bored of words for the moment. Staring broodingly out the window at the passing landscape was more than enough entertainment, and he would thus allow the kamuramen in the back seat to get a few close-ups of his strikingly gloomy profile. Every few moments he would adjust his cloak, ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair, or would adjust slightly the way he sat. Sadly, his poses were simply that limited in a moving vehicle. No wonder only orcs drive cars, he thought, sparing a disapproving glance for Panakeia the orc. He still had yet to decide whether or not it was an improvement or if it simply her appearance worse that her face still looked as plastic as ever. Valde was just thankful that she had not yet tried to do anything to his face. If he had bags under his eyes, it was because of all those sleepless nights when he lay awake pondering the meaning of his life, the matter of his death, or if anything was really a matter at all. Or it was due to when he cried himself to sleep over his lost love, who he never did and never would find.

Suddenly lightening flashed in his mind as he was imagining himself staring down from a high, dark tower, with the ran pouring down and the thunder rolling all around him, shaking the ground beneath his feet. He realized something, and his life’s deleted scenes flashed from before his eyes. He had no idea where they were going. That had not seemed to matter in the last challenge, but he was getting tired of feeling as if he were being dragged along simply as an additional handsome face. Though now that he thought about it…

“No no no! Simply, no! That is your worst angle yet. This is not MTV, Fear Factor, or the Blair Witch Project. We do not want the off-road racing camera effect, nor any rude close ups.”

Valde’s head shot around to stare at the kamuramen in the backseat, who seemed to be having a debate about their kamura angles. His eyes were slightly wide with shock, and his lips were slightly pursed. He was supposed to look indignant, but it might have been more an appearance of a fish out of water. Or a fish who had just heard something about ‘rude close ups’ when he knew he was being filmed. If a fish indeed had any kind of self-awareness when being filled for a documentary on mating in particular, I am sure that he would have looked just as bug eyed as Valde did, and of course he would always have fish lips, no matter what he did.

“Rude close ups? What on earth are you talking about?!”

Both kamuras were focused on him. Now that he thought about it, it was rather intimidating to be on film twice at the same time. Did that mean that there were two of him? No, because that would be suggesting that he was his image. But then again, he was a Lead Tragic Actor, a specie of his own, and it was all about the image. It took the kamuramen a minute or two respond, though. It was a kind of deer in the headlights moment, except that Valde would never have allowed a deer in the car with him. Well, unless it was an emergency. Simultaneously, each kamuraman pointed their fingers at Valde in a motion that made him furrow his brow and wish he had the kind of death-ray powers that he had heard some strange creatures such as ‘Póst-Mëno-Pausál’ women had. Apparently they were cueing him now, since they had finally gotten the shot right after a number of alterations. Valde rolled his eyes, and turned to Panakeia.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but…do you know where we’re going?”

“Well, generally,” Panakeia replied. Valde was not comforted. “I’ve been on the lookout for signs with ‘Lost Angles’ on it. You’d best do the same.”

Valde folded his arms around his chest and ‘hmphed’ slightly, but he did start paying attention to the signs. Suddenly he had an awful idea, which cued a ‘Grinch’ smile to spread across his face. “Exit 666a, Bloodshot Row, Turnaround Pike, Turnback Key Parkway 17 miles…” He started reading every word off of every sign they passed by. It did not take long before Panakeia threatened to ‘pull a lemming,’ but soon after Valde let out a shout. “Lost Angles! That exit. No, not that one. The one off the precarious cliff there. Of course it’s that one!” He turned to the kamuramen in the back, a sideways grin untidily pinned to his face and threatening to slide off. “You’ll have to be careful now, or you might lose your angles!”

His butchered pun was met with silence, and Valde heard a derogatory and of course purely metaphorical cricket chirping in his ear. The grin slid from his face, leaving it look even more skewed. Panakeia raised an eyebrow at him, and suddenly stepped on the break, and the car came to a sudden hault with a loud screech. Valde observed that they had come to the bottom of the exit ramp, and every orc driver had to stop there, to increase the chances of at least one good fender bender every five minutes. It kept the ratings up for the whole driving thing, and apparently made someone tons of money.

“Now, before we get into the city, we have to discuss some plans,” Panakeia said.

“Are you sure it’s alright to stop here?” Valde asked, shooting a glance behind the car. The screech of their own breaks had been followed by several more, and he had sworn he had heard some kind of thud.

“Pfft, of course!” Panakeia said with a careless wave of her hand. A horn blared from behind them, and a whole chorus followed. The woman simply raised her voice. “I have heard tale of a strange cultic gathering of peoples who worship this William Shatner as a god, and Spockú as a kind of demi-god, through ritual prayers, offerings, pleadings, and effigies meant to honor them. Sometimes the Shatner and his underling will grace the most fervent of followers with their presence. And this is Los Angles.” She gestured out, referencing the land around them.

“Fervent,” Valde said simply.

Then they were off again, merging onto the Debauchémain Street of Lost Angles. “What is it you're after?” he asked, slightly hesitantly because he feared that if she turned to look at him at all his life would be in danger. “I’ve been eyeing the very brow that crowns the demi-god Spockú’s frozen face.” He paused but for an amputated second, and suddenly spoke again, before she could answer. “Say, do you sell him makeup?” he asked, resting a hand of pondering upon his chin as he peeked at her from a side glance. He received only a glare back, and a sudden jolt as the car stopped again. She had pulled over to straddle the sidewalk by the side of the road.

“Are you sure it’s alright to park here?” Valde had grown to dislike cities. The drama there was superficial.

“Chances are this was a parking lot at some point.”

“Ahhh…” They were always paving over parking lots in Mordor.

The two hopped out of the car, followed by their probing electric eyes who scene by scene were capturing the shear reality of their mission of subterfuge-ation of a religious ceremony. Panakeia quickly turned back into normal Panakeia, and Valde decided that the overly synthetic look of her face had certainly been detrimental to her appearance as an orc. He was not sure it helped now, either, but he still politely offered her his arm, though he did it stiffly, with a choppy bow and his jaw set. He couldn’t look happy about it; she should know that. It was always about the image: whenever, wherever. And today he even considered a little help from Panakeia’s makeup might not be a bad idea. They were, after all, in Lost Angles.

“Off to the ‘Cultivation Center,’ then?”

“And so the two contestants, with a temporary and tender alliance agreed to, set off to cause a cultic catastrophe at the ‘Cultivation Center.’ (‘Cultivation Center’ is a trademark of Zeal and Borg Industries),” Valde’s kamuraman narrated.

“I hope he finds the Kûl Aíd,” Valde muttered.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"That's a really great idea, Sai." Alli exclaimed. She didn't want to admit that she'd been half-hoping for Mardil to show up for that exact purpose. She didn't want to deal with him at all, but he was gorgeous and she'd had malicious plans of using him. He was hot... there was no way to get around it. She could handle some arm candy in the form of the ever-arrogant Heir of Stewardship (here she grumbled mentally about the state of politics and the Heir of Elendil Administration in Gondor) if it meant that she could completely take advantage of him. Who cared if it was ethically sketchy to use people and to be with a guy based on his looks. After all of his attempts to kill her and her friends, it's not like she'd be with him for anything else. But she was willing to bet that if she dangled Mardil on a string, Leggyboppers would come a'runnin'. But he'd gone mysteriously missing and Alli was bored with waiting. She considered drugging him and dragging him along but that struck her as too much like what he'd done to her in the tank. That would never do. Talk about hypocrisy.

"So that... Harry Potter actor kid... Yeah... he's pretty cute. I can't imagine him breaking Harry's nose though... but he's so deviously cute in that cloak-swishing "I'm supposed to be meeeeean" sort of way. I bet these girls have monster crushes on him. Let's go."

After a quick set of trials and tribulations including, but not limited to, almost getting hit by a biker gang clad in hobbit-skin (well... actually, as hobbit-hunting had been outlawed, they had on plastic hobbit-skin, more commonly known as plobbit, the Mordorian equivilant to that which had already been sent there, or at least should have been, pleather) and riding mopeds.

Very unexpectedly, Alli tripped again and gave herself a nice bruise. She laughed it off, feeling more affectionate toward the world than usual, and poking the tender spot a few times to test just how much it actually hurt. A lot, she learned quickly. She looked at the bag of refuse she had tripped over and saw a foot coming out of it.

"Sai, there's somebody in there! Help me!"

And so they sliced open the bag with Alli's pocket knife to discover a foul smelling teenage boy, golden-white haired and beautiful, with a delicate sneer and a lot of teabags and banana peels stuck to his clothing. He wasn't moving. Alli rolled him over with Sai's help and they saw that he was clad in black robes adorned with a snake and a bit of green and silver.

"Crap. I think he's dead."

"I'm not dead."

"Hm... I think he's alive."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"He doesn't look very alive."

"They attacked me."

"Who?"

"Those damned wolf wannabes. Badger my posterior, those goon "pacifists" and "loyal" tools huffled and they puffled and they blew my house down. And then shoved me into a bin."

"That's rather upsetting."

"Of course it is."

"Do you want to come with us?"

"Where are you going?"

"Wherever we're going, it's better than being half-conscious in a bin, no?"

"Good point. So where are we going?"

"To steal Orlando Bloom's fangirls."

"Oh, how are we going to do that?"

"It's a surprise."

[Kath]

Sai and Alli had returned to the garden centre with their new companion, whom they had now learnt was called Tom Felton. Both girls were keeping their distance though, as however cute he was, he still stank of rubbish bins. Realising this might be a slight problem if they were going to use him to attract the fangirls; Sai suggested that some kind of bath or shower might be in order.

Fortunately by some wonderful coincidence, the garden centre was right next to a film studio (which would explain what Orlando was doing nearby). The three of them snuck in through a helpfully unguarded back door and managed to find their way into an empty dressing room that was equipped with just what they needed. Sai and Alli left Tom in the bathroom and collapsed into a couple of chairs, sitting quietly for a while as it would likely be the last chance they’d have to do so for a while. They needed to get those fangirls and get back to Mount Doom and they didn't have long to do it.

As they were sitting there Sai heard singing coming from somewhere nearby. Standing up she moved towards the wall on the right side of the room and put her ear against it. Sure enough the singing seemed to be coming from the next room. She recognised the voice, and remembered her original plan for what to take from a celebrity. She wasn’t entirely sure that Anakron would accept the fangirls as being both her and Alli’s prizes, and thought she would have a go at getting one of her own just in case.

Informing Alli that she would be right back, Sai left the room, hearing Alli’s warning words as she went.

“Don’t get yourself caught!”

Heeding this advice, Sai crept slowly down the corridor, ready to run back if anyone came round the corner at either end. As she approached the next door down she could see that it was open, and she carefully poked her head through. She saw the object she was planning on taking first, it wasn’t exactly hard to miss, but for once was thankful for it as it meant the woman had her back to Sai. Still, now that she was here and actually had the opportunity to take it, Sai wasn’t sure how she was going to do it. She knew that pretty much anything was possible in Mordor, but she hadn’t been there long enough to know what worked and what didn’t.

She tried to think of Anakronisms, things that might have been sent to Mordor over the years that could help her, and finally came up with just one idea. Magic. Some high-minded fundamentalist type must have sent it to Mordor at some point, how could they resist? Desperately hoping that this was the case Sai tried to think of a spell, something that would work without causing any problems. She’d heard of consequences, and didn’t want to deal with them.

A movement behind her caught her attention and she turned ready to run, but it was just Alli.

“We’re ready to go!” she whispered. “Come on.”
Turning back Sai gabbled the first rhyming words that came into her head.

"I want to make J-Lo sad,
Make her weepy, make her whiney,
I think I know the perfect thing,
Take away her precious hiney!"

As she watched the giant moon in front of her slowly began to shrink, and as it did a small box appeared in her hands. Smiling, Sai opened it up a little, and saw a piece of paper lying inside with the words – "IOU one bottom". She’d no idea where the real thing had ended up but it was gone at any rate, she just hoped that was good enough for Anakron. Quickly pocketing the box, she ran back down the corridor, joined Alli and Tom and left the building.

A few minutes later they were back in the gardens, with a clean smelling Tom in tow. They had explained the plan to him on the way and had warned him to be prepared for the onslaught of fangirls that they hoped he was about to face. As they walked through the doors, every female head in the room turned from Orlando to Tom and back. Sai watched as the mental weighing up took place. The men were of similar height and build, with the same feminine, pretty faces. But Tom had the advantage being a new commodity.

Finally, with one movement, like a school of fish, every girl stood and headed towards Tom – the plan had worked!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After directing young Tom to the showers and nicking him some clothes from an unlocked room, Alli went outside to wait for Sai and to get their ride home set up. The pilot was now leaning against a wide stone wall, casually reading a magazine. Alli looked at her reflection in a window of the building and saw that she looked okay, but not shibang. She undid one of the buttons on her vest and loosened the laces of her blouse, showing a bit of collarbone. She loosened her belt so that her breeches would be slung low on her hips, revealing midriff. She pulled the ties from her hair, letting it fall heavily down her back and making sure that a few pieces were flirtily in her face so that she could flick it out of her eyes should the need arise. She fixed her posture to be alluring and slipped up to the man.

"What are you reading?" she murmered softly.

"Oh... just.. um... this article... thing... um..." he muttered, a little tongue-tied. She held out her hand with a look and he handed it over, looking right back at her, though not at her eyes.

She took a look at the title and immediately decided that keeping the magazine didn't constitute stealing, but rather desparate and somewhat important in a stretched-to-become-legitimate sort of way.

"So you're a pilot?" she purred, lifting herself lightly onto the stone wall and dangling her long legs subtly.

A very short time later, Alli had two plane tickets, a bit of reading material in hand, and saw a clean and far less odious Mr. Felton emerging from the baths. She bade goodbye to the infatuated fly-boy and took Tom by the arm and found Sai.

"We're ready to go." she whispered. "Come on."

Leaving behind a scene that looked to have a story behind it, Tom and Alli walked slowly down the hall, leaving plenty of time for Sai to catch up.

In the gardens, Tom asked once again what they were doing.

"Oh, not much. Can you stand here for a second?" Alli pushed him into the sight of the fangirls and he looked around, confused. They looked around, interested. Sai looked on with a grin and Alli, in her laughingly cheerful mood, reverted to chat speak and actually lol'ed. When, as one, the Leggyboppers became Malfanciers, Alli beckoned for him to walk toward her. When she saw that the girls were following like trained... well... she supposed she ought to think of a better example than hens, but the way that they occasionally strayed from the group and looked about worriedly, but very swiftly got back into the group when movement began again could only bring to mind... chickens. Alli wondered if her last sentence was run-on but didn't care enough to revise it.

Looping her arm through Sai's, Alli beckoned Tom forward with the hand that held the pilfered publication. He followed... and so did his fangirls.

As Alli, Sai, and their following left the gardens of Orlando, Tom looked remotely paranoid and rather worried, sneaking the occasional glance behind him as though to make sure none of the giggling girls were going to actually get close enough to talk to him. In the distance, Orlando Bloom was looking rather crushed.

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

On the plane, Alli apologized in advance to Sai for her anti-sociality and apologized a bit late to Tom and his admirers for the fact that they were going to have to travel in the hold, bagged and tagged. She bade them happy trip and hoped that none of them were as claustrophobic as she was. Now, seated in first class with a cool drink in front of her, Alli opened the magazine and began to read, trying to ignore that she was in an enclosed plane flying quite high above the ground and that when it landed, she would probably be hyperventilating at the lack of open spaces even as the plane moved murderously close to the unfriendly ground at speeds that were far less comforting than a distinct lack of them would have been.

Famous adventurer, Màrîo, has just today revealed his thoughts on the brutish attacks upon him by one kilt-clad Scotsman.

"It's the pinky." Màrîo spoke to this reporter. "You see, Brits are born with a sort of a genetic predisposition to the extending of little fingers. While it is perfectly harmless in terms of tea drinking, it causes a little known malfunction in the medula oblongata which inspires sheer bouts of insanity. The Scotsman had been drinking a cup of P.G. Tips, well known to be Feanor of the Peredhil's favorite tea, with his little finger extended when suddenly he was enraged and, with no provocation, attacked me as I was on my way to purchase a bit of lasagna.

"He ought to be locked up!" Màrîo added with a lot of gesticulation. "In a small padded room, with a straight-jacket so that he cannot hurt innocents ever again. However I do not wish that the world see me as unfeeling... I forgive him. I have offered to pay the salary of a large and strong looking guard to stay with him day and night and write whatever the Scot choses to dictate. His voice should be heard, though the public should remember that he has such a tragic case of little finger insanity and should not be taken too seriously."

Closing the magazine, Alli decided to close her eyes and pretend to nap. Should Sai have anything interesting to say, she'd wake back up, but until then, perhaps Alli could try to convince herself that she wasn't trapped far above Mordor in an uncomfortably cramped fuselage.

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron was walking through the environs of Mount Doom Casino and Resort, watching the mobs happily being parted from their Trolls, when his mobile phone yapped. The Siamese Cat hissed angrily from its perch atop Anakron's staff.

"Yes?" Anakron listened to an eager voice updating him on recent developments. "Very well. I shall be expecting you by mid-afternoon. Please be sure that all precautions are taken." The voice ranted reassuringly that all was prepared. Anakron rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, just be sure of it. I have an Offending Party to watch, so I would prefer no more than the most necessary of needless distractions, and yours, my dear Bleeter, borders on unnecessary." Bleeter bleeted most piteously into Anakron's annoyed ear. He grimaced at the headache Bleeter was causing. "Yes, yes, very well. I'm hanging you up now, and do not call back unless you have something absolutely essential to tell me. And one last thing. Make sure the two primaries, who will no doubt be quite primed for their roles, are safely contained. There's no telling what might happen if things should get out of hand. And knowing the Dweomer, it does not take much in Mordor. Good-bye."

Anakron put his mobile phone away and looked askance at the remains of Mount Doom, shaking his head.