[piosenniel]

A crowd had gathered in the early overcast morning in the courtyard of Caer Pairadocks, the major port on the Nurnien Sea, from which two great docks stretched into the waters of the sea. The people stood in eager anticipation, for from their number would be chosen that day a small group of people who would be given the chance to escape from Mordor ... on condition that they could pass the tests set by the Grand Anakronist .

The land of Mordor held only the memory of the Dark Lord who had once ruled there with a cruel, iron will. The cataclysm that had come hard upon the heels of the Ring's destruction had changed Udûn and the Plateau of Gorgoroth into a string of deep chasms. Roads snaked from chasm to chasm for the sake of the king, who's Assigned Prisoners worked the gravel pits of old Udûn and Gorgoroth, from which stone was quarried for the buildings and roads of the empire. Luckier ones worked in the grain fields and cattle farms of the Nurnien plains, or the fisheries of the sea. The least fortunate worked the mines of the mountains, where it was said nameless evil things still crawled.

At long last, flugel horns flaired, and out from Caer Pairadocks strode the personage they had all been waiting for. Every last member of the crowd strained their necks to catch a glimpse of the august figure in whose staff was held the mystery of the Anakronism Dweomer. His black, wide brimmed hat hid his features, and his black robe shrouded his lanky frame. He came to a stop at the centermost point of the platform. Behind him rose the pinnacles of the Caer; to one side spread the sea, to the other, the town and fields beyond. The man's name was Anakron Istkon Vayor. All knew him by sight. He surveyed the crowd, and addressed them in his austere manner.

"On this auspicious day, a lucky few of you shall be given the chance to overcome the Anakronism Dweomer, to escape from Mordor, and to receive the clemency of the king, may he live forever. As you know, the Anakronism Dweomer has rendered the empire, but especially Mordor, a land cursed with all manner of evils from a terrible future time. It is most distressing to know that a future age of Middle Earth will have fallen to such depths as to be filled with so many degradations as we have seen in this land; but such is the fate of Middle Earth.

"The lucky few shall be known as the Offending Party. Their task, should they choose to accept it, is to confront three/five/seven/ten anakronisms as tests to be passed, trials to endure, or challenges to be overcome ... or all three at once, depending upon the nature of the anakronism. Should the Offending Party succeed, they shall be free to go wherever they will in Middle Earth, perhaps even to Rohan, with the king's and moderators' blessings.

"And now to choose the Offending Party."

At this, Anakron raised the Anakronist Staff, which issued what sounded like a shrill meow followed by a feline hiss, and before the eyes of all gathered, a shiny, many-coloured box rose from the ground, accompanied by oohs and aahs from the crowd. When it had stopped rising, it stood as tall as Anakron himself, and seemed to look out at the crowd with its single, dark, square eye. It was an Anakronism Transaction Mechanism, otherwise known as ATM. Anakron spoke.

"I shall now insert the king's writ, which I hold in my hand, into the slot on the right, and out of the other to the left, will come the names of the Offending Party."

Anakron inserted the card. Runes appeared in white on the dark screen, in a language and lettering formerly unknown, and by some held to be worse than the Black Speech of the Orcs, but which had now become all too familiar in Mordor: Modern English. The screen said: Deposit, Withdrawal, or Transfer? Anakron pressed the button to the right of transfer. The screen produced new runes: Please wait while your transaction is processed. The crowd groaned as one with impatience; they had become familiar with ATMs during their tenure in Mordor. An "aah" went up from the crowd as a card came out of the left hand slot, accompanied by a new message on the screen: Please take the record of your transfer. Anakron took the slip from the slot, after which the screen's message changed to Thank you. Please come again. Anakron read off the names of the soon to be Offending Party: "Alumìn-E Umfuìl." The following transactions in turn produced the following names: "Panakeia of Harad; Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfists; Wilhelmina Brochenbach; Mardil II; Sai Onara; Valde Delego".

-- littlemanpoet