[Mithadan]

At that moment, the door swung open with a sonorous groan. A tall, mighty thewed, figure trudged in, pausing only for a moment to oil the hinges of the door, which closed silently behind him. He wore a black leather apron which was soiled from his great and momentous toils, and a great belt swung on his hips in which were hung tools inumerable. Hammers, he carried, and wrenches great and small. Spanners and screwdrivers, tape measures, awls, drills, saws and many others besides, and about each of his mighty wrists were great rolls of silver, glowing duct tape. Over his eyes was a visor made of some magical clear material. Before him ran two odd little persons, each of whom carried what appeared to be a golden plate hanging from a string.

"I thought they were mithical..." whispered Merisu in awe.

"What manner of beings are these?" asked Orogarn.

"They are..." began Merisu. But before she could finish, each of the little persons drew forth from their belts a metal hammer which they used to strike the plates.

GONG

The room shook with the noise. As the tone faded, the figures bowed and retreated to the door.

"They are Gongs," answered Merisu. "Or Gongers, some call them. Long ago, it is said they were Elves who dedicated themselves to serving their master. They are now bent with their labors and..."

"Strange..." interjected Kuruharan.

"Yes," finished Merisu. "They are strange. And deaf."

The tall figure approached the table at which the Velour were seated. Mantoes grinned and cried out, "Woot, woot! Geek alert!" The great one, for clearly he was one of the Velour scowled, but did not reply. Instead, he nodded to Manuël. "Haulië..." muttered Manuël by way of greeting.

"I am sorry I am late," said Haulië. "I was working on my punchlist. Item number 4,678,242, in fact. I was fixing the plumbing of the great waterfall of the Holy Mountain..."

"You fixed the shower, how sweet of you!" piped Prada.

"... which you broke while snowboarding down the glacier," continued Haulië. "Next I will begin work on the great fjord whose walls you crumbled while sailboarding."

"Cool," replied Manuël as he examined his fingernails. They were all there.

"I came as quickly as I could once I received the summons," continued the legendary carpenter of the Velour. "What is happening?"

Tickle-me-Ulmo rose and gestured at the Itship. "These," he said with a sniff. "Were washed up on our shores. Which reminds me, add removal of the wreckage of their ship to your punchlist." Haulië pulled a voluminous scroll from under his apron and unwound it, which took the better part of a half hour. Then he scribbled some runes on it before rolling it back up. "I'll get to it in about 27 years," he replied. "Go on waterboy."

"They requested an audience which we oh so graciously have granted them," continued the dripping wet Lord. "They request that we fix some tree or other."

"I don't do trees," answered Haulië. "That's my wife's gig. So if there's nothing more..." He turned and made as if to go.

"Not a tree," piped up Pimpiowyn. "An Ent. We have come to ask you... great... wonderous... dudes..." Prada cleared her throat. "...and dudettes to re-unify a broken Ent."

"Well, that's still not my job," replied Haulië. "After I made the Dwarves we amended our Charter to clarify that I am not to mess around with making or fixing living things. An Ent would be within Yawanna's jurisdiction. Where is she anyway?"

"Like, last I saw her, she was communing with a tree, dude," said Tulk Hogan. "Why don't you throw her a vine?"

Haulië sighed. "Very well." He reached under his apron again and withdrew the thinnest, lightest, shiniest Cell-antir the Itship had ever seen. Gateskeeper's eyes bulged. "A T-2000!" he whispered. "Full color screen, messaging, net access, video, speakers with woofers, tweeters, sub-woofers..." Kuruharan kicked him and Gateskeeper fell silent as Haulië dialed.

A beep was heard, then a voice spoke. "This is Yawanna," it said. "I can't answer your osanwë right now. I'm busy... (tee hee, stop it) ... I'm occupied... (Shhh I'm recording)... I'm... uh, negotiating with Melvin about my new role as Queen of Muddled Mirth. Please leave a message and maybe I'll call." A second beep was heard, then a moment's silence which was broken by a few snickers.

"Duuude," laughed Manuël. "You've been dissed. Yawanna's dumped you like dirty laundry and hooked up with Mel again."

The Cell-antir fell from Haulië's nerveless hands. Kuruharan leapt forward and attempted to pick it up, but a miniature bolt of lightning shot from its screen and burned his hand. "Ow!" cried the Dwarf. "I was only going to pick it up for him..." Vogonwë and Orogarn exchanged glances and rolled their eyes. But then, Haulië's face turned bright red and he roared in anger. Seizing a huge hammer from his belt, he swung it about his head and brought it down on the floor before the council table with a mighty crash. Cracks appeared, then a portion of the floor fell in with a rush like the imaginary wings of a Balfrog. Flames leapt up from the newly opened fissure.

"Dude," Manuel intoned with a serious look on his face. "You better add that to your punchlist too." But Haulië ignored him.

"Mogul has gone too far!" he shouted. "He has come even unto Valleyum and soiled the sands of this shore. We must hunt him down and rescue Yawanna!"

"We agreed not to mess around with Muddled Mirth," Mantoes replied. "And next week is our annual clambake and beer-fest! Besides, I'm not sure Yawanna wants to be rescued."

"Of course she wants to be rescued," cried Haulië. "She loves me! Besides, who would want to hang with Mogul? I will go to Muddled Mirth myself if none will aid me."

This pronouncement threw the council into chaos, with some crying that Mogul must be stopped and others saying that the surf was up and who cares about a few trees, Elves, Men and Dwarves anyway. It may be that this debate would have gone on for some time, but the council was once again interrupted. Two Elves rushed in with wide eyes and impeccably coiffed hair.

"My Lords and Ladies," cried the first Elf as he raced forward. "There is... AUUUGGGHHHH!..." He screamed for a long time as he fell into the fissure that had opened on the floor.

"Pity," murmured Prada. "We really should put up a 'wet floor' or 'caution' sign or something."

The second Elf stopped just before the fissure. "My Lords and Ladies," he cried. "There is a great army or Orcs, Trolls, Elephants and Loyers encamped upon the plain before the Hill of Fish. They carry banners bearing the mark of the Red Nostril. They have sent this message." He tossed a scroll over the fissure to Manuël.

He read it aloud. "Greetings my boring brethren. Melvin Bluenote, also known as Mogul Bildur, sends his regards. I would like to offer Valleyum a covenant of peace and future trade with my realm in Muddled Mirth. In exchange, I ask only for a trifle that has caught my fancy. A little token of your friendship. I would like something returned to me that was stolen by a certain Elf, known as Merisuwyniel. Just some shards, pieces, fragments of wood that once were an Ent. In exchange you shall have my gratitude and friendship. If not, well I've come to party!"

Manuël slumped back into his chair. He pronounced a single word of great power and portent: "Bummer!"