[littlemanpoet]

"Valde Delego! Come forth!" cried Anakron Istkon Vayor.

The dour personage stepped out of the crowd, hat for once in hand. His tall and lanky frame was hunched at the shoulders, and his head drooped.

"How do you think you fared, Valde Delego?" Anakron asked.

"Well to be honest, milord, I think I failed."

"Why do you think so?"

"I never made it to my psychological evaluation, milord."

"That did not help you, I grant it."

"What do you think was your greatest moment?"

"It is hard to say for certain, milord, but being on stage in the classroom, as Lead Tragic Actor."

"Indeed. I will come back to that. Now for the scores. You were late in completing the first test, and won seven points. In the second, you and the others missed some obvious chances to be proper Mordorian drivers. The third, the celebrity hunt, as we call it, you failed and never made up. You seem to have avoided a physical and any surgeries that might have resulted as well, so I cannot consider you to have passed that either. On the positive side, you did not vote for a single lynched victim in the werewolf scenario, ten points; and your final exam was stellar; another ten points. Finally, for overall gamesmanship in all its forms, and any self-improvements achieved (other than the shallow kinds), I award you with twenty-five out of thirty possible points. Your total score is thus ..... sixty-three points out of one hundred. I am afraid that it is not enough. You have not succeeded."

Valde deflated. His shoulders sagged even. His face went sallow, his eyes dimmed. His hat folded in on itself. In a word, he was crushed. Figuratively speaking. "I - I did not expect any better, to be honest, milord."

"Even in that you are wrong, Valde Delego, for one thing has become clear. You are indeed a great performer, and not only performer, but an able teacher of performance in the arts, be they as they are in this Dweomer-ridden land. Thus, I am happy to be able to announce that the University & Hospital of Mordor at Urukapolis has determined that you are the best nominee to replace the retiring (in more ways than one) Dr. Trollianus Tyredazthaykúm. You shall, if you accept the post, become Head of the College of Performing Arts, and Director of all plays, musicals, operas, and skits; and, of course, tragedies. What say you?"

Valde looked stunned. In fact, he was stunned. His shoulders straightened. His eyes cleared. His hat uncrushed and became wearable. He was uncrushed. He was positively bubbling. Indeed, he was uncola. After a fashion.

"I - I - I'll need to think about it, milord!"

"You have time. I have six more dooms to declare. When I have finished, return to me with your answer. Is it well?"

"It is, milord." Valde Delego bowed, turned, and walked away with a bemused and whimsical look on his face.

Anakron smirked. It could have gone worse for that one. No doubt. And these trolls needed replacing. He hoped more Offending Parties might produce such rich surprises for Mordor in its various facets. He was tempted to tell the other six that they had failed as well, then place them where they would be most useful; but that would be unfair, for some of the others had passed as well. He turned his attention to the crowd that waited with bated breath, which was getting to be ridiculous for they were all turning blue, and he readied himself to announce the next member of the Offending Party to whom he would announce doom.

to be continued...