Theoden thinks: 'If I could just reach out and smash that little staff, then maybe that pompous windbag would keep his sturm and drang elsewhere. Must restrain self from clawing apart his perfect clothes, from ripping out his hair...aiieeee!'
Theoden finds himself glued to his throne.
[img]smilies/rolleyes.gif[/img]
Peace
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'Dulaman na Binne Bui, Dulaman Gaelach/ Dulaman na farraige, 's e b'fhearr a bhi in Eirinn!'
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