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Alcarillo · 04-14-2006, 08:28 PM

The Rats are Defeated!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell us your true name, orc!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what is the rats' favorite food?"

"Or-or-orc meat!"

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

"I burned them, sir."

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

04-14-2006, 08:28 PM	#61
Alcarillo Shadow of the Past Join Date: Jul 2005 Location: Minas Mor-go Posts: 1,007	The Rats are Defeated! The Witch-king kicked at Ringwraith #4 again. "Get up, #4, you have a lot of orc toes to count." After several minutes, Ringwraith #4 slowly stood, with confusion and bewilderment. "Where am I? Wait, why are we in the dungeons? Eek, rats!" He clung to the Witch-king's arm again. "And what's that smell?" "That smell is the scent of orc feet, which you'll be looking at, you fool. Now get off my arm." Ringwraith #4 did so, but trembled as the rats scurried around his feet. "Don't you remember? We're infested with rats, and we're counting the toes of the orcs to see which one let them loose." "Oh, yeah. Now I remember," said Ringwraith #4. "But sir, why, if we know these rats eat orc-meat, don't we just throw a dead orc out the window? The rats will follow it outside, and our problem will be gone." The Witch-king sighed. "Are you always so simple-minded? You weren't like this before the war. Did the war make you go loopy on me? Well, no matter. We need to find the orc who did this to punish him, and to find out who he's working for. He would not sabotage our race if he weren't paid to do so. Now go count those feet!" He gave Ringwraith #4 a little shove in the direction of the orcs. Eeeew, were #4's thoughts as he stepped through the rats. He was up to his ankles in them. He also went pale when he saw how the orcs were playing with them: letting the rats crawl all over their bodies, petting rats, sticking rats in each others' shirts as jokes. Good Melkor, why? why? why must I work with these filthy orcs for eternity? #4 patted his pocket, just to make sure his lucky bottle of hand-sanitizer was still there, and approached those orcs, closely followed by the Witch-king of Angmar. "Alright orcs, show me your hands and feet." And the orcs did indeed, shoving both into Ringwraith #4's face. He nearly fainted again, but the Witch-king caught him as he fell and stood him back up. "I don't want to see anymore fainting out of you! Now count those appendages!" And count he did. "This batch is missing a few, but that's normal," Ringwraith #4 told the Witch-king, so they moved down to the next batch, and so in this manner they made their way down the entire length of the front axle. Meanwhile, the rats were multiplying. "Wait a moment," said Ringwraith #4, "Weren't the rats a foot shallower when we started?" "Hey, rats multiply. You can't expect them to sit here and do nothing. And you'd better hurry up with your counting. We don't want this place flooded." None of the orcs of the front axle were missing an exceptional number of fingers or toes (the most missing on a single orc was three), so Ringwraith #4 and the Witch-king moved to the rear axle in the next dungeon. The rats were now up to their thighs, and the Witch-king cut a path through the rats with his sword. "Go ahead, the path may be a bit bloody, but it's fine." Ringwraith #4 could not find words to express his disgust at wading through dead rats. And so they continued down the rear axle, checking the hands and feet of each orc, racing against the tide of rats. Ringwraith #4 felt faint many times, but the Witch-king was there to whack him over the head with a dead rat and tell him to keep counting. Hundreds of orcs were passed and thousands of fingers and toes were counted. It soon seemed like finding the culprit was hopeless. At least an hour after they began, the Witch-king and Ringwraith #4 came to the very last orc. He sat on his hands and would not show them. "Show your hands or we'll chop them off and look at them ourselves!" shouted the Witch-king. The orc, slowly and grumpily, revealed his hands. He only had three fingers! "Aha! And now for your feet." The orc stood. He had only three toes! "Aha! We've found our culprit, #4! Tell us, orc, what is your name?" "Um, Bill – um, no, I'm Bob. Bob's my name." "Tell us your true name, orc!" "Gah, fine. I am Jên-iphûr Destroyer of Men son of Glob the Uncombed." "No, you're not!" said the orc next to him, "You're just Jên-iphûr, with none of that fancy stuff attached to your name." "So, Jên-iphûr," said the Witch-king, "If that is indeed your true name, come with us! There are too many rats in here." The Witch-king commanded Ringwraith #4 to unchain Jên-iphûr, and he did. They led the orc back up the spiral staircase to the interrogation chamber. It was a grim stone room, with a steel chair in the middle. They rechained the orc to this chair and the Witch-king began his interrogation. "So, Jên-iphûr, why did you infest Minas Mor-go with rats? Spit it out! Who told you to do so?" "It was nobody. I, um, don't know what you're talking about." "Don't play dumb with me! Don't make me torture you. We can fill your mind with the incessant buzz of teenage girls slobbering over a Mirkwood prince, cause you to go crazy and hear nothing but elvish tra-la-las for the rest of your life, show you images of uncloaked Maiar so horrible to behold that you'll go blind, expose you to achingly painful debates of canonicity and balrog wings, assign you to Mordor, and lock you in a room full of werewolves! Now tell us, who told you to unleash the rats?" "Never!" "Ringwraith #4! Pull back that curtain!" A red curtain hung across the wall facing the chair. Ringwraith #4 tugged on a little rope, and the curtain whooshed away, revealing a painting of something so horrible I cannot describe it to you, though you might be able to guess at what it showed. The Witch-king grabbed ahold of Jên-iphûr's head and pointed it at the painting. He pried Jên-iphûr's eyelids open, too. Tears streamed freely down Jên-iphûr's face, and his pupils began to wildly dilate. After only a few seconds he shouted out: "Good lord, I can't take it anymore! Cover the picture! I'll tell you everything!" He thrashed his head, sobbing. "Excellent, excellent," said the Witch-king. Ringwraith #4 tugged on another rope and the curtain whooshed back. From where he stood he could not see the picture, but didn't care to after seeing how the orc reacted. "It was…the elves! One…of them jumped onto the city when they had followed us…sob shiver…I was headed to the bathroom when it found me…it said it would hunt me down and torture me with tra-la-la-lallies if I didn't do as it said…sob it gave me two rats to unleash in the city…and that's what happened. Please don't kill me!" "Only if you answer these two questions!" said the Witch-king, "First of all, is the elf still hiding in the city? And secondly, how do we get rid of the rats?" Jên-iphûr sobbed once more and wiped some tears from his face. "I-I don't know where the elf is. It- it-it d-disappeared! But I do sob know how to get rid of the rats!" "How? Tell me, or I'll show you the picture again!" "No! sob You-you lure it out with its favorite food." "And what is the rats' favorite food?" "Or-or-orc meat!" "Oh, ahaah! So that was why you were feeding them your own fingers and toes," said the Witch-king, "Ringwraith #4, what did you do with the remains of the orcs killed in the riot?" "I burned them, sir." "Idiot. Oh well, we'll just have to kill fresh orcs then." Jên-iphûr turned pale. "My lord, you said you wouldn't!" The Witch-king shrugged. "Oh well. Just think of it as a noble sacrifice for the greater good." * * * * * The Witch-king exited the interrogation chamber, with Jên-iphûr's head in hand. Ringwraith #4 followed him, dragging the body. A horrible din of squeaking could be heard somewhere off in the passages. "Hear that, #4? Those are the rats! They've smelt the orc's blood and are coming!" "Great," said Ringwraith #4, not without sarcasm. He was having trouble dragging the body, and slipped a few times in the orc juice that oozed from it. He had even worse trouble ascending the stairs with it. "Hurry up! What are you, a snail?" the Witch-king called from the top of the stairs. When Ringwraith #4 had reached the top the two hurried out the door over to the city walls. "Wait. Not yet, you fool," said the Witch-king to Ringwraith #4, who was already hauling Jên-iphûr's body over the wall. The squeaking from inside the tower grew louder and a faint trembling was felt beneath the feet. The rats were coming! The Witch-king got ready to throw the head into the forest. "Not yet…" he said again. Then suddenly rats exploded out of the tower doorway, flying in all directions, scampering wildly across the walls towards Jên-iphûr's body. Their squeaking cries were deafening, and Minas Mor-go lurched to one side from the weight of so many rats moving at once. "The rats are coming! The rats are coming!" shouted an orc somewhere. Ringwraith #4 pushed the body over the wall, and fainted as the rats crawled up his robes. This is my tale, and it is ended now. Good-bye! And his thought fled far away and his eyes saw no more. But the Witch-king was still conscious. With one mighty roar he threw the head far over the walls and into the forest. The waves upon waves of rats leapt after it in one squeaking cascade of fur, and crashed into the forest below, maddened by the scent of the orc's blood deep in the forest. When it was all over the Witch-king kicked Ringwraith #4. "Why do you faint so much? It's not like they would've killed you. They're gone now anyways, and we must continue our journey. We can't slow down every time you feel like taking a nap."