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Old 12-03-2004, 10:19 PM   #227
The Saucepan Man
Corpus Cacophonous
 
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Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: A green and pleasant land
Posts: 8,468
The Saucepan Man has been trapped in the Barrow!
The Eye

A great white seabird glided majestically over the western reaches of the Blundering Sea, heading homeward to roost on the cliffs that spread north along the coastal regions of Valleyum. Beating her powerful wings against the wind, she wheeled and passed over the Isle of Toll Entrihëa, where the VIA (Valleyum Immigration Authority) diligently enforced Valleyum’s rigorous immigration policies. None born in Muddled-mirth entered Valleyum without passing via VIA, and few that attempted to pass via VIA were permitted to enter Valleyum. They had a strict “Elves and Those seeking to save Muddled-mirth from ruin only” policy.

Catching a thermal, the magnificent bird relaxed once more, gliding high above the Laurinandon Bridge, which led from Toll Entrihëa to the port of Valleyfornia on the mainland. The water sparkled brightly beneath her as the westering sun caught the sails of the beautiful vessels of the Calamari, the Squid Ships of old, which bobbed and ducked prettily in the sea. Nearer to the sandy shore, which swept southwards from Valleyum, a multitude of tiny figures could be seen perched proudly on carved wooden boards, the legendary sërf-flets of the Elves, as they navigated through the coasters that rolled into Valleyfornia’s beaches, while others paddled out to meet the towering waves. The art of sërf-fletting had long been forgotten in Muddled-mirth, but was carried on by the Elves of Valleyum, the Calamari and the Vaniti, since they had little else to occupy their time. The craft had been taught to them by the Velour in the First Page of the Light-Fittings, although the Velour themselves sërfed only on private beaches reserved for their sole use.

As she approached the shore, the great bird of the sea caught the first strains of the Musac of the Velour, its hypnotic, melodic, yet somehow bland, tune accompanying the pulsating rhythm of her wings as she once more wheeled, turning north towards the wilder northern coastal regions.

Had she carried on inland for perhaps ten miles, she would have come eventually to the modest country cottage where dwelt Häulié and Yawanna. Yet, although the dwelling itself was humble, the grounds were extensive and bounteous. Every plant that had ever put up shoots in Muddled-earth, and yet more that were native only to Valleyum, grew there amongst its fragrant gardens. The scent was intoxicating, and it was said that few that passed time there could resist becoming overpowered by the ambience of Yawanna’s gardens: the legendary gardens of Kïuw.

A radiant figure clad from head to toe in green hummed softly to herself as she tended to the gardens. Her skin was olive green and her verdant hair was bedecked with flowers. With tender care, she clipped an errant shoot here and soothed a fresh leaf there. She was in her element. As always, when Häulié was away on business, toiling in his workshop under Mount Tangential, Yawanna found solace amongst her flowers and shrubs.

“Hello Princess!”

The voice stopped Yawanna in her tracks.

“Mel?” she called out uncertainly, her voice wavering with emotion.

Slowly, Môgul Bildür stepped out from the foliage.

Yawanna stood blinking in amazement as a series of staccato drumbeats rang out, quickening in rhythm as they reached their climax.

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THENAMIR'S LONG-DELAYED POST
or, Long Ago and Fur Away

During the voyage Gateskeeper remained alone on most days in the cabin he shared with Soregum, seeing that on deck there was nothing to see but sea. (Soregum usually spent his time away from the cabin, alternating between filling his stomach in the galley, emptying his stomach over the rail, and following-Pimpi-dodging-Vogonwe.) Ever since the revelation of his former association with the Dread Developer, the All-aboard-for-Valleyum-ship had understandably withdrawn from him somewhat. Kuruharan would come down on the pretense of being friendly, but after a few pleasantries he merely pressed him for his inner-circle product secrets and high-pressure sales techniques. Pimpi and Merisu did check in on him from time to time in a motherly fashion to make sure he was alright, and to encourage him to join the rest on deck for a new game that Orogarn Two had invented.

O2 had taken the Brick-that-was-Broken, the memento left to him by Earnur before their departure from the Pay Havens, and rounded it off at the sharp corners, polishing the side opposite the inscription to a flat smoothness, intending to use it as a paperweight when (or if) he returned to Grundor. As he worked with it on the deck one sunny day, the stone slipped from his grasp and, to his surprise, slid scross the deck on the smoothed side for a considerable distance. Inspiration hit him like, well, a brick. By the end of the day, he had with Cirkdan's permission created a set of marks on the deck to use as targets with differing point values. By pushing the stone across the deck with the tip of his sword he could cause the stone to come to rest atop the targets from the other side of the ship with some accuracy. He decided to name this new game Schuphilboerd (after a half-remembered Muddled-Mirth children's story about a toothless dwarf and an orc-midget) and invited everyone else to take turns at the new diversion.

In spite of the levity, the inferior Maia still sought some way to show that he was "with them" in their quest now, despite the now-almost-continuous throbbing of his gloved hand. Perhaps a gift of some kind, especially for the two ladies which had shown him such kindness. It was at that moment that Captain Cirkdan poked his head through the door to announce that they would be stopping briefly for rest and resupply at the small and totally non-canonical island of Tol Kayssevin. Gateskeeper marvelled -- Cirkdan's skull must be thick indeed to poke through a solid-wooden door like that. "Nay," replied Cirkdan, "the only way to make the ship light enough to lift off the ocean for Valleyum was to use balsathrond, the lightest of all woods." "That's not exactly what I meant, you could have just opened the door" muttered the wizard under his breath as Cirkdan withdrew his head, leaving a splintered hole.

For Gateskeeper, the timing of this landing could not have been more perfect if the author had intended it that way -- which of course, was the case. Being a waypoint on the way to Valleyum for immigrating elves, what passed for the mall on Tol Kayssevin was actually a strip of duty-free shops selling mostly cheap miruvor,, low-quality pipeweeds, and knock-off Silmaroil-baubles -- but there were deals to be had for those with a keen eye. Once the ship had made berth, Gatesy wasted no time in disembarking (a term at which the Entish Pieces seemed to take some offense) with Kuruharan secretly following along to watch a master at his craft.

While the rest of the So-far-so-good-ship rested or shopped a figure that appeared to be a lame elf boarded the ship, introduced himself as "Mobilhench", and asked for the Captain. Cirkdan was otherwise occupied, having invited a local lovely down to his private cabin in hopes of boldly going where no man had gone before, and was not happy about the interruption. Eager to return to his guest, he swallowed the stranger's story about wanting to finally go to Valleyum and being weary of Muddled Mirth, etc, etc, and accepted the new passenger without the normal screening. After all, reasoned Cirkdan, aren't the folks at VIA supposed to keep out the undesirables? The new passenger laid his bundle on the bed of his cabin and opened it up straightaway, pulling out a gleaming Cell-antir. He poked a few buttons on its screen, waited a moment, then said only "I'm in." before snapping the cover shut.

Gateskeeper made his way from store to store, as Kuruharan took notes -- it was amazing how quickly he could sidestep the fluff and frippery and persuade proprietors to bring out the "good stuff" for his perusal. Nevertheless, the wizard bought nothing, obviously looking for something special, until he arrived at a small and exceedingly overpriced bar to take refreshment. As Gateskeeper nursed his beverage Kuruharan sauntered in as if by coincidence, hailed his shipmate, and dropped his pack by a chair at the table. "Friend dwarf," Gatesy began unexpectedly, "you are a trader of some reknown, and carry a store of things both useful and bizarre -- I wish to repay a kindness."

"Male, female, elf, dwarf, human, or other?" replied the subtle and crafty dwarf with a grin.

Gateskeeper retold most of the foregoing post to the listening dwarf, who nodded with the practiced sympathy of a successful used-car-salesman. "I think I have something that might do the trick," said Kuruharan, reaching into his pack and rummaging around. In a short time (and after discarding a small mountain of miscellaneous other items onto the table) he cried, 'Aha!' and produced what appeared to be a fist-sized cream-colored ball of fur which trilled and cooed. "What is that?" asked Gateskeeper out of morbid curiousity.

"This, my friend," replied the It-ship's master of the garage-sale-in-a-bag, "is a troubabibble." .

"Come again?" replied the sharp mind on the other side of the table.

"The perfect cute pet. It's soft, furry, and makes a pleasant sound."

"So would a chinchilla trumpet. I fail to see..."

"Look, Gatesy, I know it's not a guy-thing, but you know women and cute furry animals. They'll be swooning over it as soon as they see it, and you'll be restored to their good graces."

"Hmmm. Do you have more?" said the wizard in hopeful tones.

Kuruharan put the troubabibble back in his knapsack along with a cookie. "Any moment now." There was a brief crunching sound and then a strange pop noise, after which the diminutive trader pulled no fewer than eight Troubabibbles from the knapsack.

Gateskeeper returned to the Ent's Surprise with both his spirits and his pocketbook a bit lighter, with Kuruharan following after. As soon as they boarded the ship he bowed deeply to Merisu and Pimpi and handed each one of his newly-purchased Troubabibbles. The adorable furballs immediately began purring and trilling in a manner that would make the disposition of the most amiable cat look like that of a hemorrhoidal cave troll. Before his morning coffee.

This of course set up such a truly nauseating chorus of "awww", "so sweet", and "aren't they just darling!" that the rest of the crew and passengers gathered 'round, making even more such noises, except for Vogonwe, who glowered that his love was fawning over something other than himself, and Soregum, for the same reason. Gateskeeper winked at Kuruharan, but the dwarven entrepreneur was too busy to respond...he was selling the rest of his troubabibbles to those gathered around at a high markup. It was capitalistic greed enough to warm Gateskeeper's heart. Everyone was so enamoured with the new fuzzy arrivals that no one noticed when the ever-present comestibles in Pimpi's hand were suddenly and inexplicably not present.

Later at dinnertime, taken for once onshore at a touristy but moderately priced inn, the Ship-O-Ship was introduced to their new passenger. Everyone seemed to accept the newcomer right off, except for Merisu. Being practically perfect in every way ( as was her sister, Meripoppins) she was conflicted in her heart, suspecting something not quite right about the lame elf, yet not wanting to point it out and ruin the convivial dinnertime atmosphere. She did feel compelled to point out something that immediately had everyone on their feet, swords drawn: Pimpi was late to dinner.

Reeperneep immediately piped up, with good leaf too, before waving his rapier and shrilly crying out, "We must find out what foul play is afoot, and I will challenge the villain to single-combat..."

"Sorry I'm late everyone!!" Cried Pimpi as she ran into the room clutching something bound up in her pillowcase. "I couldn't get away because my troubabibble was having...kittens? babies? troubabibblettes?" The assembled gathered around to see the new arrivals and began another round of positively puke-inducing cuteness. All except Mobilhench, who backed tenuously away from the sack of furballs. Merisu, holding one of the adorable hairballs walked up to their newest guest and fawned, "isn't he just the most precious snookie-wookums? Here, see for yourself." Suiting the action to the word, she held the creature almost under the nose of Mobilhench.

Perhaps not surprising to some, the troubabibble began to screech and hiss in a most appalling fashion. Merisu raised an eyebrow. "How odd," she began, "it doesn't like you." She gestured around the room. "They like elves, humans, dwarves, wizards, halflings, half-halflings, and even parrots...but not you. I wonder why? Doctor McCaw, if you would be so kind?" Mobilhench tried to remain still, but the cold claws and sharp beak of the medical mockingbird made him flinch as McCaw mumbled things like, "no heart...heavy makeup...fake ears...foul stench...Dim, this man is a orc-Klingon!"

Dimwi T. Cirkdan jumped to his feet again. "Tones...what..do you mean...orc-Klingon?"

McCaw replied in a yelping screech, "Blast it, Dim, he's an orc, clingin' to my feet and wings -- he's taking me hostage!!"

Once the groans at the long-expected punny had subsided, Merisu wailed "Mobilhench -- Mogul Bildur henchman!! Why didn't I see it sooner!!"

The malevolent miscreant bellowed, "That's right, and I mean to blow holes in your ship and keep you here until The Dark Lord can arrive to deal with you right and proper. And if any of you makes a move to stop me, I'll rip this cockatoo's wings off."

"Blast it, I'm a parrot, not a cockatoo!" squawked the purloined parrot before Mobilhench wired his beak shut.

"You'll never get away with this," spoke Merisu the expected line.

"Ah, but I will," Mobilhench sneered, "All I have to do is escape through the kitchen door here behind me, and if you follow me, the bird dies!"

The What-do-we-do-now-ship stared in frozen horror as the parrot-carrying-shifty-eyed-ex-lame-elf-now-orc tried to open the door, which seemed to be stuck, causing the horror to thaw just a bit. At last the door slid to one side, and the would be Docnapper tried to make good his escape.

Unfortunately for him the kitchen was filled to bursting with troubibabbles, thousands upon thousands of decendants of one lone creature which had managed to roll itself into the restaurant's pantry stores of grain. With nothing to hinder them, they ate and reproduced at will, and boy did they have a lot of will. The mountain of fur tumbled out of the kitchen doorway, and in surprise the orc to released the hapless Doctor McCaw who wasted no time flying out of reach.. The troubibabbles, though, finding themselves piled atop the one thing in the universe they hated, screeched and howled with fear and rage, tearing into the orc which was rapidly disappearing under the accumulating balls of fluff. The Never-Seen-That-Before-ship, seeing that (a) the problems with the newcomer were being taken care of by the troubabibbles, (b) there would be no dinner forthcoming from this particular kitchen, and (c) the troubabibbles were still eating (and therefore multiplying), beat a hasty retreat from the restaurant and back to the ship.

Once all were back aboard, Orogarn Two and Cirkdan counted noses to make sure no one had been left behind. All the noses were there, but one snout was still unaccounted for -- Chysophylax! All of a sudden there was a thundering boom and a flash of light from where their restaurant once stood. A few moments later Chrysophylax himself could be seen taking off from the site of the explosion, alighting a short time later on the quay beside the ship. Casually breaking a plank off from the wood of the dock and picking his teeth, the fiery dragon burped, and said only "Tastes like zerl."

It was not long after that the Oops-we-did-it-again-ship was again under sail before they could be caught.
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