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Old 03-21-2004, 06:42 PM   #152
The Saucepan Man
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Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: A green and pleasant land
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The Saucepan Man has been trapped in the Barrow!
The Eye

Soregum sat on the stool that had been allocated to him at the side of the great stage and fidgeted uncomfortably. Matters were not turning out at all as he had planned. It was all very well for this Leninia character to force him against his will into her dark and fearful, yet surprisingly well-appointed, mansion, render him unconscious and then, upon his revival, insist that he adjudicate upon a contest in which the very souls of the Quest-On-The-Edge-Of-A-Knife-ship were at stake. But it was the poor quality of her hospitality that really irked him. Tea was all very well in its place. But its proper place was seated comfortably in an armchair before a roaring fire and accompanied by a reassuringly large plate of assorted teacakes. Yet he hadn’t been offered so much as a biscuit. It really was too much to bear.

Pensively, he drew upon his pipe, sending great clouds of acrid smoke billowing across the auditorium. Thankfully, the stock of Old Toothrot that had been delivered from Moredough remained with him. He hoped that a pipe-full would help clear his head, which felt as though it were hosting an enthusiastic game of stomp the Zerl between rival regiments of Uruk-Hai. He attributed this to the effects of the rather less familiar smoke which had greeted his arrival at the Marrow Bones Studios. But his central nervous system, which had no little expertise in such matters, knew better and was busy attempting to analyse and neutralise whatever exotic substance it was that Leninia had slipped into his tea.

Soregum’s gaze fell on the contestants. Merisuwyniel was busy pulling the Rehearsal-ship into some semblance of order, offering a word of encouragement here, a gentle admonishment there, and both in equal measure to a singularly bemused Earnur, who was having difficulty deciding whether the Dun Sóbrin drinking songs which had immediately sprang to mind would be appropriate to the occasion. Kuruharan was doing a brisk trade in Tinúlizziel’s “Voice of a Nightingale” Throat Spray (sold in hastily re-labelled snake-oil jars), while the Gateskeeper was consulting his soft wares for káräokë and émpîdhrïe spells to charge his mystical I’pód. Adjusting the headband which he had surreptitiously slipped around his mane of dark brown hair, Orogarn Two offered up a silent prayer to Spândèx, the Muse of the Rocks, while Grralph, who had apparently taken to the challenge with great relish, was hard at work practising his scales and running through his voice exercises, the red embers of his eyes positively gleaming in anticipation within his black hooded cowl. Chrysophylax simply lounged disconsolately on the far side of the stage, blowing smoke-arrows through heart-shaped smoke-rings.

Towards the back of the stage, Soregum spotted Pimpiowyn, and his heart leapt, only to fall back to earth with a resounding thump when he saw that she was consoling a distraught Vogonwë, whose suggestion of a poetry recital in place of a song contest had been soundly vetoed all round. Soregum tried to catch her eye, but gave up on realising that the black hooded cloak which shrouded him from head to foot was inherently (and happily) unconducive to his clumsy attempts at flirtation.

His thoughts turned to the contest which, for reasons that utterly eluded him, it was his lot to adjudicate upon. The prospect of sitting through a series of vocal performances did not exactly fill him with good cheer. He had had quite enough of that sort of thing back in Moredough, courtesy of the Thingwraiths. Nevertheless, it was vital that he kept his wits about him (such as they were), for the outcome of the contest was likely to have serious consequences, whichever way he chose. Môgul Bildûr would, no doubt, be extremely interested in Leninia’s talkative wooden guitar, which the contestants stood to gain in the event that they won. And, since his orders were to seek entry to the Ent-Part-Collector-ship, Soregum strongly suspected that his Master would rather it were with them than with Leninia. And, of course, there was always Pimpiowyn to consider. So he really had very little alternative but to find in favour of the Pop-Idol-ship. On the other hand, Soregum fancied that Leninia would not take kindly to any result which did not place her firmly at the top of the leader-board, and he really had no wish to be parted from his soul, having become quite attached to it over the years. Soregum’s mind raced, seeking some – any – solution to this fine dilemma, on the horns of which he now found himself firmly impaled …

His thoughts thus occupied, Soregum drew deeply on his pipe and settled back to watch as Earnur, Kuruharan, Vogonwë and the Gateskeeper shuffled nervously to centre stage.

Last edited by The Saucepan Man; 03-23-2004 at 06:47 PM.
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