The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

It had happened again. Minas Tirith was no longer moving. This time, fortunately, it wasn't Denethor's fault. He had not fallen asleep at the wheel. In fact, he was wide awake, steering the city, when it suddenly began to slow down. A mysterious dark smoke began to rise from the lower levels of the city, issuing from houses whose basements connected to the Engine Room.

It wasn't long after when Húrin and the rest of his staff fled the Engine Room in terror. They made their way straight to the Tower, where Denethor was about to send Faramir to see what had happened.

"An evil of the ancient world, it seemed!" Húrin reported in terror, "such as I have never seen before. It was both a Shadow and a Flame, strong and terrible!"

"It was a Balrog of Morgoth," agreed Ioreth. "Of all the engine-banes most deadly, save the One who drives the Fiery Mount!"

"Indeed, I saw within that Engine Room that which haunts our darkest dreams. I saw Taxi's Bane," said Beregond in a low voice, and dread was in his eyes.

"Alas!" said Faramir. "We long have feared that under Rath Dínen a terror slept. But had I known that the mechanics had stirred up this evil in the Engine Room again, I would have forbidden us to enter this race, us and all that would join us. And, if it were possible, one would say that at the last Dwarfy fell from wisdom into folly, sending us needlessly into the net of the Engine Room."

"He would be wise indeed that said that," said Denethor gravely. "Needless were all of the deeds of Gandalf in life. Those that followed him knew not his mind and cannot report his full purpose. But however it may be with the guide, the followers are blameless. Do not repent our our entry into the Race. If our folk had been stranded long and far from Gondor, who of the Dúnedain, even Faramir the Foolish, would pass nigh and not wish to restart their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons?"

"Erm, Father..." said Faramir. "We weren't talking about Gandalf... We were talking about Dwarfy."

"Oh. Right. Húrin, please continue. Can you tell me once and for all: are Balrogs wingéd?"

Húrin gulped really hard. "Well, uh... my lord... It's, ah, difficult to say... You see, it's shadow stretched across the Engine Room like two great wings... but I'm not sure if they WERE two great wings... Why don't we pass by Rivendell and ask Glorfindel? He fought one, after all, and ought to know if anybody does."

"And just how are we going to get to Rivendell if we can't move?" demanded Denethor. "The Engine appears to be completely inert at the moment, and may well be in a state of destruction, for all we know, and short of entering the Engine Room and confronting the foul demon, we have no way of assessing the damage or repairing it."

"I don't suppose we could lure it out?" suggested Faramir.

"What do Balrogs find alluring, I wonder?" said Denethor skeptically.

"I've heard they come flying if you're under attack by giant spiders," said Faramir.

"That's helpful," said Denethor sarcastically. "If we had known, we could have called on their aid at our last problem. What else?"

"Well, they are known to fly from the destruction of giant landmasses, so I imagine any sort of earthquake, flood, cataclysm, or something of that sort might drive it out."

"Oh yes, and we can definitely produce a cataclysm on demand," Denethor rolled his eyes.

"I didn't say this was going to be easy..." said Faramir.

"Milords, I've heard that Balrogs can be dropped off pinnacles to their deaths," said Beregond respectfully. "If we could lure the Balrog up the tower..."

"And then have to clean him off the fourth circle when we're done?" Denethor scoffed.

"How would we lure him up there anyway?" asked Faramir.

They sat glumly in silence for several minutes. Finally, Faramir took a deep breath, and turned to Denethor.

"Father, I know that you've always deeply regreted my association with Mithrandir, but I think being a Wizard's Pupil may come in handy here."

"Why? Are wizards known to be able to defeat Balrogs?" asked Denethor. Faramir nodded.

"Mithrandir defeated and killed the Balrog of Moria," nodded Faramir. "It just so happens that he taught me the basic skills that he used in doing so."

"And?" Denethor demanded. "What are they?"

"Well, to defeat the Balrog..." Faramir hesitated. "Mithrandir had to uncloak his native power as a Maia."

"You mean he was Mithrandir... Uncloaked?" Denethor's eyes bulged. Faramir nodded glumly.

"It is a dangerous ploy," he agreed. "But what options have we?"

"We could always abandon the city, get lost in the wilds of Angmar, lose our minds and join an ancient clan devoted to hedonistic worship of the Witchking," said Denethor.

"I'd rather do that one, milord," said Beregond.

"We cannot!" cried Faramir. "We have our honour as Men of Gondor, and to all those for whom we stand! We are charged with the keeping of the city until the King should return!"

"You don't need to remind me of my oaths," growled Denethor. "Fine. If you think you can do it... go do it... It is not enough, I deem. Go and rest as you may. Tonight's need will be greater."

[The Saucepan Man]

The Bridge of Camshaft-Doom!

Ted Handyman's horn sounded once more, more urgent than before.

Gandalf and the Hobbits dashed down the stairs to the engine-room, hurtling through a wall of thick black smoke. There they found Ted gibbering uncontrollably in a corner.

"Ai! Ai!" he wailed.

"Aye aye," replied Sam, nodding to him in greeting.

"No! Ai! Ai!" Ted persisted.

"Ai?" enquired Sam, blinking in confusion.

"Aye!" confirmed Ted.

"Eh? Ai?"

"Eh? Aye!"

"Oh!"

"If you're both quite finished, I suggest we get down to business," said Gandalf impatiently.

Cautiously, they advanced along the great camshaft that ran almost the full length of the unfeasibly large chamber which housed the engine of Bag-Endless-Fuel. The shaft bridged a vast chasm below them, over which the vehicle had conveniently come to rest. Thick smog obscured the far end of the chamber. Beyond it, a fiery light glowed and an ominous clanking and grinding could be heard, a sound which suggested that the Burrow-Buggy's delicate mechanical parts were being put to a use other than that for which they were designed.

As they reached the far end of the shaft, the black cloud parted to reveal a sight which filled them with dread. A demon of smoke and fire stood amidst the wreck of the engine, munching on what looked to be a piston. It was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it. As they watched, it wrenched a series of gears from the guts of the engine and, with sparks flying about it, set about chewing on them. Then it caught sight of them and with a rush it leaped towards them. Flames poured from the stricken engine and wreathed about it, and the black, oily smoke swirled in the air. In its right hand was a blow-torch and in its left it held a chain of many links.

“A Balrog,” muttered Gandalf. “Now I understand. What an evil fortune! Deep indeed did the Dwarves of Khazad-Zoom delve.”

"Ai!" wailed Ted

"Eh?" questioned Sam.

"Don't start that again!" said Merry.

The dark figure streaming with fire rushed towards them.

"Back over the shaft!" cried Gandalf. "Fly!"

"But Gandalf ...!" objected Frodo.

"This is a foe beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!"

“Fine by me,” said Frodo. “I just wanted to point out that we cannot fly, as we do not have wings.”

“I meant fly in the figurative sense of moving with great speed, rather than in the literal sense of travelling through the air,” observed Gandalf.

“Right you are!” replied the Hobbits, turning and flying figuratively back towards the stairs. On reaching them, they turned to watch in horror, as the Balrog reached the camshaft. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on his staff. His enemy halted, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. Sparks flew from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm.

"You cannot parse!" he said.

The Balrog paused and considered this for a moment.

“Cannot what?” it asked.

"Parse. As in to break something down into its constituent parts. You cannot do that to the engine. I will not let you. I have a lot riding on this. I am a servant of the secret bet, wielder of the odds of favour. This engine will not satiate you, devourer of turbine. Go back to the scrapyard! You cannot parse!"

A terrible, crackling roar came from the Balrog's fiery maw, and the Hobbits realised that it was laughing.

"Oh yeah, old man? Whaddya going to do about it? Uncloak?"

"Don't tempt me!"

The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly on to the shaft, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall. But still Gandalf could be seen, glimmering in the gloom. He seemed small, and altogether alone: grey and bent, like a penniless debtor before the onset of bankruptcy.

'You cannot parse!' Gandalf insisted.

With a bound the Balrog leaped full upon the camshaft. Its blow-torch sprang into flame and its chain whirled and clinked.

At that moment Gandalf lifted his staff, and crying aloud he smote the shaft before him. The staff broke asunder and fell from his hand. Sparks flew and the camshaft cracked. Right at the Balrog's feet it broke, and the section upon which it stood dropped into the chasm below. With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward, and its shadow plunged down and vanished. But even as it fell it swung its chain, and the links lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink. He staggered, and fell, grasped vainly at the shaft, and slid into the abyss.

“Fly, you fools!” he cried, and was gone.

"Gandalf!" cried Frodo and Bilbo in unison.

"Fly?" mused Sam aloud. "And just how does he expect us to do that, either literally or figuratively, with the engine being such a wreck and all?"

"Look!" cried Merry, pointing to the shadows which still hung about the ceiling above. "The Balrog's wings are still there. They must have torn from it when it fell into the chasm."

“But they’re not real wings,” pointed out Frodo. “The shadow just looks like two vast wings. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” said Bilbo. “They look real enough to me, spreading as they do from wall to wall. You think that you can fix them up to what’s left of the engine, Ted?"

"Quite frankly, Mister Baggins, nothing would surprise me at this stage. I’ll do my best. They may not last us long, but I may be able to make running repairs to the rest of the engine on the way."

And so it was that, before long, Bag-Endless-Fuel took to the air powered by the two mighty, shadowy Balrog wings which might or might not have been real, but which were real enough for present purposes to convey it Due North.

[Boromir88]

Medel-zoom, of Dwarfbots and the Balrog Bagman (cont.)

Sometime later....

With Theoden on the roof dressed like Gandalf and two Bots on each side of the roof hidden with rope in hand to trip the Balrog, the plan was almost ready.

Eowyn heads inside with the last two Bots, taller than her now and dressed up like Gandalf in a tattered white robe and matching hat (left over from Halloween) and sheep wool formed as a beard and to top it all off, a large stick to serve as a staff. Eowyn directs the Bots to the basement hatch and has them stand in front of it. She runs over to the fire and pulls out a large coal and places it infront of the Bots/Gandalf. She leans in and gives the Bots a brief run through off the plan, then she flings open the door and hides herself.

The Balrog was having fun reeking havock in the basement, when he became aware of a light coming from above...with a figure standing there..

DwarfBots: *in a thunderous Gandalf/Computerized voice* "YOU SHALL NOT COME TO THE TOP OF THE ROOF!" Then the Bot lifted his "staff" and brought it smashing down onto the coal, creating sparks and the effect of wizardry.

Eowyn: *smacks her forehead and rolls her eyes*

Infuriated by the challenge?...the Balrog roars and begins to climb out after the figure.

In the meantime the Gandalf Bots took off out the doors, just as the Balrog was emerging. As he made it outside the bots had stripped off their Gandalf facade and shreeking, pointed to the roof. There stood Theoden/Gandalf and he shouts down : "Wow what took you so long? First day with your new legs?"

Balrog: *roars* and heads up the roof towards Theoden.

In the meantime........One of the Bots manning the ropes, notices that he is standing on gold.....he pulls out a little pick and begins pinking away....

Theoden: * walks a bit towards the Balrog making a taunting motion* "Come on you panzy!"

Balrog: *roars again; picks up speed and nears the rope*

The three DwarfBots did their job, they pulled the rope and it caught the Balrog, just above the ankles, but with the missing Bot the rope was not tight enough to bring down the beast. Teetering at an awkward angle, swinging his arms back and forth, the Balrog tried to regain his footing on the edge.
Noticing the problem Theoden walks a safe distance towards the Balrog, raises his stick and pokes him right in the shoulder, sending him toppling head over heels down the roof and into a pre-readied mud puddle with a steaming hiss and a sickening, crunching snap!!!
The beast was smotten.

Theoden grabbed the mining DwarfBot and clambered down off the roof towards Eowyn and the other Bots.

Professor: *runs over to the huge hissing mud puddle* "What have you done? You've killed Rocky! You bastards!.......Oh I mean Yay!! you killed the Balrog! *grumbles* My wife is going to kill me!" *He lets out a long whistle* "One hour up now! Thank you come again!" and he sped off with his six DwarfBots in tow.

Theoden: *Looks at Eowyn* "Did you see that?! He was like AAAAAHHHH, and then I was like POKE.... and then he was like ...PSHSHSHSHAAAAHHHH!!!" *making a falling gesture with his hands*

Eowyn: "Yes Uncle you got rid of the Balrog! All by yourself, you did!" *rolls eyes and thinks I will never hear the end of this*

Theoden: *looks smug* "You better believe it. But, you know, I'm gonna miss those little dwarf buggers."

Eowyn: *rolls eyes again* "So, will I uncle. We'll have plenty of time to talk about your heroic fight to the death with the Balrog, but right now we have to figure out which way we want to go."

Theoden: "I say we head North, North West, towards the finish line.."

Eowyn: "Ok lets! I will be in my room, changing if you need me....."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Movin' on.

Releasing some more of the racers from the trouble of the Balrog, Dwarfy the Dwarf flew high in the sky and peered out at each of the racers. There was a little trouble with Barrad Dash...

***Bonus***

Well done! You have come to the Moria Bonus! This be a good bonus! You ride the Kazad-Vroom motorway all the way to Ettenmoors! It cost you five gild coins, or three orcs, but it was slaves well spent!

***

As the great city of Minas Taxi began to ride ahead a little faster than the others, it suddenly came to a stop! In fact, all of them did. Once more the little Dragon flew out to inspect the trouble. The news was rather amusing to Dwarfy.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Singing Elves Silliness

As the vehicles ride along, they are stopped by the enchanting song of elves. Not even the Dark Lord himself could resist and they all fall into a trance. When you awake you are tied up in the corner of the engine room and the Elves are having a party in the driving room! They sing songs of silliness that make your ears hurt.

Get them out!

You have until Wednesday 31st of May.

Good luck!

[Valier]

Medul-Zoom "Do you smell that?"


*Eowyn opens her eyes and finds herself tied up in a corner, she proceeds to wiggle her Oh-So slender hands free from her binds.She turns to Theoden who is bound beside her*

Eowyn: "Uncle! Wake up!" *Jostles Theoden*

Theoden:" I'll tear you into pieces! You'll never take me alive!"

Eowyn: *confused look* "I won't even ask anymore. Uncle! Where are we at? What's that dreaded singing? Why am I in these rags? What's going on?"

Theoden: "Ackkk! Stop with the questions. I got a blistering headache."

Eowyn: "Come on now, we have to figure out what's going on."

Theoden:" I just need to get these noises out of my head. Noise, noise, noise, never goes away!" *perks up* Oooh ale!

Eowyn: *surprised* "I never imagined you as a ale person!"

Theoden: "I prefer the harder stuff, but anything to get rid of my headache." *Goes and opens a case of ale*

Eowyn: "Stop goofing around Uncle. We have to get ourselves out of this mess, or I'll go insane from this singing."

Theoden: *Now drinking from a bottle of ale* "You and me both, my head is going to explode."

Eowyn: "The last thing I remember is hearing the wonderful voice of Elves singing, then the rest is blank. Then I woke up here. But these songs...these are just silly songs."

Theoden: "Stupid elves think they can just come into my Medul-zoom and party the night away without inviting me! Well, they'll get what's coming to them."

Eowyn: "We have to get them out of here, or we'll lose are heads."

Theoden: *On his 3rd ale bottle...he starts hiccupping and slurring* "What d'you got in mine?"

Eowyn: "I suppose we have to scare them off some how. But there's so many of them."

Theoden: "How 'bout we go in dere an say "boo!" Ya, that should do it."

Eowyn: *sarcastically* "Sure that'll do it, an old man stumbling in saying boo. Good thinking!"

Theoden: *starts fifth bottle of ale* "Why thank you."

Eowyn: "What would drive the elves away in total disgust and fear?"

Theoden: *hiccup* "I know! Your singing...I remind of the time when you sang at Theo's funeral, and that right there scared the crap right out of me."

Eowyn: "Uncle!"

Theoden: "It's true, I wus jus' thinking, I need to get you some choir lessons!"

Eowyn: *face growing red, but subdues it* "Ok, if it will get these Elves out of here it is worth a try."

Theoden: *on 8th bottle of ale* "Shure worked on me."

Eowyn: "But these Elves are skilled. It's going to take more than awful opera singing to drive them away."

Theoden: *farts* "Hehe, wooh, scuse me."

*A lightbulb appears over Eowyn's head*

Eowyn: *Downs two ales of her own* I think I've got it Uncle!! Grab a few more ales and follow me."

(To be continued...)

[Valier]

Medul-Zoom "Do you smell that?" Continued...


Eowyn and Theoden are crouched behind a door peering at the Elven party.

Eowyn: "Oh kay Uncle you go first, then I follow you and we party hardy!" *Sways from side to side*

Theoden: "Umm we need more ales...we drank them all..."

Eowyn: "Don't worry they have lotso ales in there, lets go and get some." *stumbles forward*

Theoden: "Oh yeah...mmmmmm...more ales." *hiccup*

Random Elf: "Do you smell that? something noxious is coming this way!"

The elves became momentarily quiet as they looked towards where the smell was coming from.

Theoden and Eowyn burst through the hall doors, arms outstretched, both severly intoxicated swaying and hiccuping

Theoden: "TAAAAA-DDDAAAAAA!!!!"

Eowyn: "WHAT A NICE PARTY YOU HERE HAVE! BUT I'M AFRAID WE HAVE NO MORE ALE TO CELEBRATE WITH YOU'S! OH THERE'S SOME ALE, GIMMY, GIMMY!! *dives towards the ale*

Theoden:" WHY IS EVERYBODY YELLING? *sways dangerously* I LIKE TO MOVE IT, MOVE IT! *moves hips round and round* COME NOW CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG? I KNOW WHAT WOULD MAKE THIS PARTY EVEN BETTER!!"

Eowyn: "WHAT WOULD THAT BE MUNCLE?"

Theoden: "WHY..... A SONG OF COURSE!!"

Elf 1:"you are ruining our party! *pouting* Go away now!"

Elf 2: *whispers to Elf 1* " Something smells like it's rotting in here and I think it's them!"

The Elves stared at the two in horror,as they began to muster themselves to put on a show.

Theoden: "Ok,Ok I know you all know this one, so don't be shy and feel free to join in!"

Eowyn: "YA TO JOIN IN! *hiccup*

Eowyn begins to clear her throat and ready herself for her solo.."HHHAAAACCCKKKK AHEM,AHEMMMM!!"

Elf 3: "Ewww She sounds like a cat bringing up a hairball!"

Elf 1: " Shhhhhh just let them finish and maybe they will go away. How bad can it be?"

Eowyn: *on the top of her lungs* "OOOOOHHHHHH BARUK-KHAZAD. KHAZAD-AIMENU...............*lots of loud dwarvish gibberish spews forth*

Theoden began to do a little Jig...he hopped from one foot to the other and waved his arms in the air. But his face began to crunch into a slight grimace...He began to hop a little faster keeping up with the fast paced singing of his niece.

Elves in unison: "DWARVEN MUSIC! ARE YOU KIDDING? EWW EWW EWWW STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!!"

As Theoden hopped faster the grimace on his face began to change into a more relaxing smile...he hopped even higher now, as Eowyn came to the climax of the tune.

Elf 2: *holding his nose* "Why is it beginning to smell worse in here?"

Theoden: "OH YEA SORRY! I HAD TOO MUCH SOUP OF SOME GOAT.. AND UH, THE ALE IS WORKING IT'S OWN MAGIC!"

Elf 1: *gagging* " You call that magic?"

Theoden: *overtop of Eowyn's horrible singing* "WE LIKE TO PARTY, WE LIKE TO PARTY! PARTY, PARTY, PARTY PARTY!!!" *does a weird little happy dance*

With a loud groan Theoden falls to the floor in a drunken stupor, but not without letting out the loudest, longest, most vile expulsion of gas ever heard or smelt before.

Theoden: ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSS SQQQUUEEEKK!
"DANG THOSE..... BARKEN SQUIRRELS! they always stinkin up the joint....ya stinky....and ya *starts to snore*

Eowyn begans to twirl around singing with all her might, the smell in the room gets so strong she must also plug her nose, but she continues to belt out the drinking song that Gimili son of Gloin had taught her in a high pitched whinning voice.

All around the room the Elves were in an up roar. They were being tortured by the sounds and smell of the two.They began to attempt to plug their ears and noses at the same time. Gagging and yelling the Elves began to run from the room, leaving Eowyn still spinning and singing amongst the noxious cloud.

Eowyn: " AAWWWW DOES MY MUSIC BOTHER YOU? BOTHER, BOTHER, BOTHER, BOTHER.... *spinning wildly* BOTHER, BOTHER, BOTHER!!"

She slowly stops her body from spinning, but her head still seems to be going round and round....

Eowyn: "BOTHER......bother?..... *tries to focus eyes* HAMA!? WHERE ARE YOU? YOU CAN STOP HIDING NOW AND COME OUT! HAMA, HAMA, HAMA, HAMA, LETS GO NORTHWEST AGAIN!! WE NEED TO GET TO THE FINISH LINE SOON SO WE CAN DRINK MORE....... AND PARTY!! *her eyes unfocus* FARAMIR? NO NOT NOW!!......HAMA!! HAMA? *falls to the floor in a heap* "AH THERE YOU ARE FARAMIR!....OH of course.... *trails off into whispers and snores*

Hama: *emerges from the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to his boot* "Oh geez! What the heck is that smell?" *looks around and smiles as the last Elf runs for the door holding their nose* Now I Hama, am in charge!! *looks back to make sure he wasn't overheard then he runs like a little girl up the stairs and to the drivers seat* "TALLY-HO THEN...NORTHWEST IS WHERE I THE GREAT AND MIGHTY HAMA CHOOSE TO GO!! *puffs up chest and smirks as he starts the engines*

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Bag Endless-fuel drove over the hills faster and faster as Mount Zoom thundered over the horizon behind the buggy. Bilbo urged the engineers to get the fireworks going at full speed, for Sauron's laughter could be heard getting louder and louder. Frodo stood at the controls, watching in horror as the cutlery and fine china flew across the room and the steering wheel looked as if it were about to fall off.

"Bilbo!" Sam cried, "We're going too fast! We'll crash!" The Blue Mountains came to an end and the buggy trundled over the rock and hills. Suddenly, the smell of the sea filled Sam’s nostrils and he forgot his fears for a time. The Grey heavens were near! The fire works gave one last blast of fire, sending Bag Endless-fuel zooming towards the finish line with all speed.

Dwarfy the Dwarf stood atop of the high white tower looking out over the lands, peering into the distance for the slightest glance of one of the racers. The crowd was growing restless and full of anger for Dwarfy had promised the winner within an hour, it had already been two. He bit his lip and had one last look across the horizon, and there he saw Bag Endless-fuel zooming towards them at an insane speed. In it's wake, however, was the towering mount Zoom, black smoke belching forth from its summit and ash falling all about it.

Bilbo ran to the control room, out of breath, he lent on the door way and tried to get Frodo's attention, "There’s," he began, "there’s no- no- ah... wait... just a moment... phew... there’s no... Phew... there are no breaks. Yeah, that was it. No breaks."

"WHAT?" cried Frodo, pulling the break leaver and seeing that nothing was happening, "We're all going to die!" he shrieked.

The Buggy smashed through the white tower, sending Dwarfy the dwarf into the sea, Sam lent out of the window and shouted, "No breaks! No breaks!" the crowd screamed and dispersed as the barrow buggy flew through the stands and out onto the peer before being sent sky high by an exploding firework. Bag Endless-fuel came hurtling down towards the sea, the hobbits yelled and screamed as the water came closer and closer.

All of a sudden, a freak time vortex opened up just below the buggy and it was sucked into it and sent thousands of years into the past. Some say that they were all destroyed in that vortex of Doom, but many like to believe that Bag Endless-fuel will race again. Perhaps in some other time and place, back when the world was different and Sauron was just the servant of another...

Meanwhile, Mount Zoom flew into the grey heavens and stopped right on the edge of the water. The black smoke poured forth and choked many in the audience while Dwarfy the Dwarf climbed out and peered up at the great mountain. From the crack of Doom, Sauron himself issued forth followed by Mouth and the rat wraiths. The crowd were filled with fear, as the Dark Lord stood before them, menacing and horrible to look upon.

"Well," he said, "Where is my award?"

[Maeggaladiel]

"THIS IS AMAZING!" Sauron yelled happily. "I CAN'T BELIEVE WE ACTUALLY WON! IT DOESN'T REALLY SEEM RIGHT, YOU KNOW?" Saruon hefted the trophy above his head and shook it. The crowd went wild. This may have been out of fear rather than admiration, though.

"Yes," Mouth mused. "It was really convenient of Bag Endles-Fuel to disappear like that..."

"GOTTA LOVE THE RANDOM TIME-SPACE VORTEX, HUH?" He looked down, unhappy. "I AM, HOWEVER, SOMEWHAT CONCERNED WITH THE FACT THAT THEY STILL HAVE MY RING OF POWER. WHAT IF THEY DO ONE OF THOSE WEIRD TIME-ALTERING THINGS, WHERE THEY, LIKE, STEP ON A BUTTERFLY OR SOMETHING AT THE DAWN OF TIME AND THAT CAUSES SOME CHAIN REACTION SO I NEVER EXIST? OR THAT THE NABISCO COMPANY IS NEVER CREATED?"

His eyes widened, a feat that was near impossible considering that his eyes are two holes in an iron helmet.

"WHAT IF THEY GO BACK TO THE TIME WHEN I WAS BUT A SERVANT OF ANOTHER?!!"

There was a moment of silence as he pondered this.

"NAH..."

"My lord..." Mouth began, kicking the dirt.

"YES, MINION?" Saruon prompted as he waved to the adoring crowd. At least, he pretended they were adoring. Really, they were probably all cheering in fear of his horrible wrath should they do otherwise. Or they were screaming obscenities. Or choking to death on the Mountain's exhaust. It was hard to tell when there were so many voices screaming so loudly.

"Well, my lord, we won, and I was wondering if you'd keep your promise." He suddenly looked very small as the Dark One turned and fixed his attention on him. For a moment, Mouth feared his life would end.

"I ALWAYS KEEP MY PROMISES!" boomed Sauron. "WHAT WAS IT I PROMISED YOU AGAIN?"

"A promotion, my lord." Mouth looked hopeful. Saruon pondered this for a moment.

"AH YES, I REMEMBER. VERY WELL. MOUTH OF SAURON, YOU ARE HEREBY BEING PROMOTED TO RANK OF... MOUTH-AND-LOWER-SINUS-AREA OF SAURON!!"

Mouth's nose suddenly got much larger and redder.

"Oh... lovely." Mouth said flatly.

"YOU ARE WELCOME."

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank, Grima, use the Force!

As Saruman sat in his study busily studying maps, calculating distances, figuring out what happened to the seven dwarven rings, eating chocolate fudge and all those other things geniuses do he began to ponder on what exactly those screams from down below were. Of course, he could always go and check but whats the point, Grima would burst into the room in a bit and tell him about it anyway. In fact, that should happen in...

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

Right about now, Grima burst into the room panting heavily. He ran up to Saruman and fell before his feet. Saruman smirked and said, "Come now Grima, I know you love me and hold me in the highest respect but there is no need to bow before me." "I tripped." muttered Grima, getting back to his feet which earned him a bonk on the head from the staff of Saruman. "Now fool, speak! Why are you here?" "Well you see sir... theres a... a... ba..bu..bar.." Stammered the frightened Grima. "A burgular? This is grave news indeed." Said Saruman stroking his beard.

Grima looked at Saruman and took in a deep breath, "No sir, its a balrog!" After saying so he began to run round and round in circles for no apparent reasons. "A balrog? 'Tis gave news indeed..." Muttered Saruman. "Come Grima, we must head to the Weapons Hangar... we have preperations to make!"

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank, Showdown

And so it would end, Saruman had acquired certain glowy swords he called lightsabers, one for Grima and one for himself. With these weapons they would face the Balrog and his evil dorc army. Grima's eyes burned with revenge, those Uruk-Hai that died... the Balrog would pay.

The two headed down to the basement, standing before the giant double doors that seperated them from their foe. "Come!" Said Saruman and the two shoved the doors open. It was time... for honor, glory and vengenace.

The Balrog throws switches on a control panel. His Interbasement Wing Ship is guarded by a squad of super battle dorcs. The giant double doors open.

Dorc Captain: Your excellency!

The Balrog turns as Saruman and Grima run in through the giant double doors. They draw their lightsabers. The dorcs raise their weapons.

The Balrog: That won't be necesarry, Captain. Stand down and leave them to me.

The dorcs lower their weapons and back off to the walls. The Balrog looks at Saruman and Grima with slight amusement.

Saruman (To Grima): We move together, you slowly on the...

Grima: I'm taking him now!

Saruman: Grima, no!

Grima: You'll pay for all the Uruk-Hai you killed today Balrog!

Grima charges across the open space at Balrog, who smiles faintly, watching him come. Grima raises his lightsaber. At the last moment, Balrog thrusts out an arm, and Grima is lifted up, hurled across the room, and slammed into the opposite wall. He slumps to the foot of the wall, semi-conscious. Balrog moves toward Saruman.

Balrog: Saruman, isn't it? As you can see, m Ring power are far beyond yours. Now, back down.

Saruman: I don't think so.

Saruman lifts his lightsaber. Balrog smiles.

Balrog: Ah, but if I must.

Balrog draws his lightsaber. He and Saruman start to circle each other.

Balrog: I have spent the last ten hundred years learning to use the power of the One Ring. It gives me infinitely greater power.

Saruman: You fool, thats my role. I know everything you're going to do but I'll lose anyway just so that we have an excuse to end this in a cool way.

Saruman comes in fast, swinging at Balrog's head. Balrog parries the cut easily. As they fight, it quickly becomes clear that Balrog is the complete swordsman - elegant, graceful, classical - a master of the old style.

Balrog: Grand Istari Saruman, you disappoint me. Aule holds you in such high esteem.

Balrog parried another cut.

Balrog: Surely you can do better...? (parries) No, I'm surprised. Has Istar swordsmanship degenerated so quickly, or are you trying to make fun of me? (cuts) Which is it?

Balrog thrusts. Saruman steps back quickly, panting for breath.

Balrog: Come, come, Master Saruman. Put me out of my misery.

Saruman takes a deep breath, gets a fresh grip on his lightsaber and comes in again. For a moment, he drives Balrog back. Then Balrog's superior skill begins to tell again, and he forces Saruman to retreat.

Balrog increases the tempo of his attack. Saruman is pushed to the limit to defend himself. Balrog presses. His lightsaber flashes.

Saruman is wounded in the shoulder, then the thigh. He stumbles back against the wall, trips, and falls. His lightsaber goes skittering across the floor.

Balrog raises his lightsaber. Saruman looks up helplessly. Balrog's lightsaber flashes down and clashes against... Grima's lightsaber! Balrog and Grima stare eyeball to eyeball.

Balrog: Thats brave of you, boy but foolish. I would have thought you'd have learnt your lesson.

Grima: I tripped...

And Grima charges at Balrog. The force of his attack catches the Balrog slightly off balance. Grima's lightsaber flashes. Balrog draws back, putting a hand to his arm. He takes the hand away and looks at the smear of blood whee Grima has nicked him.

Balrog: You have unusual powers, young fool. But not enough to save you this time.

Grima: How do I get myself into these messes?

Saruman: GRIMA!

Saruman uses the Ring to catch his lightsaber and he tosses it to Grima. With two lightsabers, Grima attacks. Balrog parries and ripostes. It is no contest. Grima is driven back against the wall. He loses one lightsaber. Finally Balrog, in one flashing move, sends Anakin's arm, cut at the elbow, flying still gripping his lightsaber. Grima drops to the ground in agony. Balrog draws himself up to deliver the coup de grace.

Suddenly, the great doors slide open. The dorcs turn fast, raising their weapons. Through the thick smoke, emerges the heroic figure of Aule. He stops on the smoke-filled threashold, four dorcs lined up on either side of him, bows pointed. Meanwhile Grima reveals he had his hand hidden inside his shirt and it was only his sleeve that got cut off.

Before the dorcs can get off a shot, Aule raises his hand, and the dorcs are flung against the far walls and crash to the floor in heaps of smoking metal.

Silence. Balrog steps away from Grima to face the Valar. His lightsaber whirls in a formal salute.

Balrog: Master Aule. At last we shall know who is the most awesome.

Aule draws a miniature lightsaber out of his cane. He salutes formally.

Aule: Balrog. I have no interest in contests foo'!

Balrog charges across the space at Aule. He rains down blows upon the tiny figure. Aule doesn't budge an inch. For the first part of the contest, he parries every cut and thrust that Balrog aims. Nothing the great swordsman tries gets through. His energy drains. His strokes become feebler, slower.

Aule attacks! He flies forward. Balrog is forced to retreat. Words are insufficient to describe the range and skill of Aule's speed and swordplay. His lightsaber his a humming blur of light.

Balrog's lightsaber is sent cartwheeling from his hand. He staggers back, gasping and spent, against the control panel. Aule jumps onto Balrog's shoulders, and is about to drive the lightsaber into the top of the Count's head.

Aule: End o' da line, foo'!

Balrog: NNNNNNOO!!!!!!!

Balrog raises his arms and knocks Aule off his shoulders and then, with all his might, he uses the Force to pull on one of the cranes in the hanger. It comes crashing down on Saruman and Grima. But in the blink of and eye, Aule is under the crane, holding it up, using the Ring. Aule closes his eyes and concentrates.

Grima is hungry, and Saruman tries toget out from under the crane. The fallen crane trembles and starts to life. Behind it, the sound of the Wing Ship's engines are heard starting up.

Aule concentrates harder. Slowly, the crane rises. The sound of flapping wings increases. Aule exerts every scrap of his powers. The crane lifts clear of Grima and is thrown to the ground. Balrog's wing ship takes off. Saruman and Grima struggle to the exhausted Aule, but it's too late. The Wing Ship rises into the air and flies away...

It is now time to carry on, they shall head north-west, towards Isengard...
Begun the Mount Zoom Challenge has...

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Denethor and Húrin met Faramir at the entrance to the Engine Room. Faramir was clad in a long, white robe.

"Is it not enough that you are a wizard's pupil?" scoffed Denethor. "Or do you think yourself the equal of the head of the Istari?"

"It's the colour of the Stewards, Father," explained Faramir. "I thought it would be appropriate. Besides, if the Balrog thinks I'm that powerful, so much the better."

"So it's not enough to shame us by Uncloaking in the first place," bemoaned Denethor, "you also have to deliberately tie it to my office!"

"Well, it's too late now," said Faramir. "We have a job to do."

"No, you have a job to do."

They entered the Engine Room, and a terrifying sight met their eyes. The once clean and well-ordered Engine Room was dark, lit only by the fiery light of the Balrog. Machinery littered the floor, torn from the walls, mishapen and bent. The Balrog was twisting a long rod into a pretzel as they entered.

Faramir drew himself up. He spoke sternly. "You will be a fool if you continue, Balrog! You make that clearer with every piece you break. It has got far too much danger for you. Let it go! And then you can go and be free."

"Wot's that?" the Balrog blinked, shadowy eyelids temporarily obscuring his fiery eyes. "I'll do as I choose and go as I please."

"Now, now, my dear Balrog!" said Faramir. "All your long life you have been careful, and you owe yourself something. Come, do as is safest: stop it."

"Well, if you want my Engine Room for yourself, say so!" said the Balrog. "But you won't get it. I won't give my Engine Room away, I tell you." His hand strayed to the handle of his fiery whip.

Faramir's adam's apple gulped. "It will be my turn to get angry soon," he said. "If you say that again. Then you will see Faramir the White Uncloaked!" He took a step towards the Balrog; and he seemed to grow tall and menacing; his shadow filled the room.

"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of shadows! Leave the Engine Room in peace!"

The Balrog backed away to the wall, looking wary, his hand clutching at his whip. He answered in a cold (for such a hot being, it was quite cold indeed) voice: "Come not between the Balrog and his lair! Or he will slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, why thy flesh shall be rended, and thy shrivelled corpse be left naked to Flaming Whip."

"Do what you will, but being Uncloaked was my plan!"

"Uncloak at me? Thou fool. No living (or dead) wizard may Uncloak at me!"

Then Denethor heard of all the sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Faramir laughted, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel. "But no living wizard am I! You look up a man. Faramir, I am, Denethor's son. You stand between us and our race. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will Uncloak at you, if you do not depart!"

Then apparently winged creature screamed at here, and yet the Balrog made no answer, and was silent, as if in sudden doubt. He approached Faramir, tall and threatening, towering above him. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears, Faramir let fall his cloak.

The Balrog shrieked in horror and pain, and Denethor and the others saw the room lit up with a pasty whiteness. The Balrog began to contort and twist, losing his form, becoming a mere swirling mass of shadow and flame. Then all was silent. For a second.

"Faramir! Put that cloak back on right now!"

"Yes, Father!" Faramir, somewhat stunned looking, hastily donned the cloak. "Well, it seems that the foul beast is defeated... Now what? He has wrecked our Engine Room."

"Sirs," interjected Húrin, "the swirling mass of shadow and flame is still there. I bet you that my men could jury-rig a way to harness it's energy to power the city, at least until we can get the engine repaired."

"Make it so," said Denethor. "Faramir, go get changed into something decenty and un-wizardy. I shall be in the Control Room. We make WEST-SOUTH-WEST"

[Gurthang]

South of the Isen

Ringwraith #4 woke up and looked around. He had no idea where he was. Furthermore, he had no idea how long he had been out. *Crap* he thought, *I bet I've been out for weeks and the race is over already. He slowly got up. *Man, my head hurts! I thought those Goblins would jump at the chance of joining us, but instead they jumped us!* He started to wobble around a bit. After a short time, he was able to stand up straight and move around without any trouble.

Soon he found the Witch-King, who was still knocked out. *Best let sleeping dogs lie* he thought to himself. He headed up towards the steering platform, and when he got there he tried to figure out where they were.

It was fairly cool out, so he guessed it was morning. By looking at the sun, he figured out which way East was. Minas Mor-go was sitting on a decent sized plain. Just a few miles to the North was a good sized River. He followed it with his eyes as far as he could to the West, and could just see that it emptied into the sea. *Ah, so we're fairly close to the Sundering Sea. Whoa! How'd we get over here!* He looked down to the South and he could see some mountains in the distance, and away to the West... there nothing but the river and plains.

At that moment the Witch-King came up, still slightly wobbling.

"What day is it? And where are we?" he mumbled.

"Well, I'm not sure about the date, but I've figured out where we are. We're just South of the Isen. See, that's the Sundering Sea over there, and those are the Western end of the Ered Nimrais." #4 replied, very satisfied by his deductive capabilities. Not to mention his geographic knowledge.

"Well that sucks." the Witch-King exclaimed, "But it looks like we've just been out for a couple days."

"How do you know that?"

"Simple." the Witch-King stated, "See that ham sandwhich I left by my chair? If we'd been out for more than 72 hours, that would be all shriveled up and moldy."**

Ringwraith #4 rolled his invisible eyes. It was true, though. "So what are we going to do? I guess head north?"

At that moment there was a commotion down on one of the lower levels of the city. Looking over the edge, #4 could see a chaotic mass of orcs rushing out of one of the first few floors of the castle. They appeared to be running for their lives. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a firey strand came out of the doorway and took of one of the orc's heads. The other orcs ran faster, but a couple more did not get away. Suddenly, an orc captain stepped onto the steering platform.

"What do you want?" demanded the Witch-King.

"Wee hafe eh probum!" the captain replied. "Thur's eh Balrog in thi city!"

"Oh, just what we needed. Another thing to slow us down!"

"Sir, it shouldn't be too much of a problem." #4 said patiently.

"What?! How can this not 'be too much of a problem'!"

"Well, we have the River Isen right there at our disposal. Here's what I say..."


**No, I do not know if this is scientifically correct, but it doens't matter. It's just a story.

[Alcarillo]

The balrog is defeated

The Witch-king listened carefully to #4's plan. His idea was to fly Minas Mor-go to the Isen, and dip the bottom levels into the river. Once they had flooded, the balrog's fires would be quenched, and from there the balrog would be easy to handle.

"That's the craziest idea I've ever heard!" said the Witch-king. He called the other Ringwraiths over. "Does anybody have another idea?"

"I've got one," said Khamûl. "We fly the city to the river and we dip the lower levels into the water. With the lower levels flooded, the balrog's fires will be quenched and we can easily deal with it."

"That was my idea!" shouted #4.

The Witch-king ignored #4's complaints. "Excellent idea, Khamûl! Let's get started! Get the flying beasts flapping their wings! To the river, and quickly! I can hear the balrog roaring beneath my feet!"

The Ringwraiths whipped the flying beasts into flight and Minas Mor-go rose from the ground, drifting slowly through the air towards the river. Every few moments, the Witch-king sent an orc to peer down the tower stairs to check on the balrog. It was risky business. One in every few orcs was grabbed by the balrog's long whip darting out of the bowels of Minas Mor-go, and the orc would be dragged screaming into the city's basements.

"Hurry up! Faster!" shouted the Witch-king, "We're losing orcs!"

Soon the city was over the river. "Dive, dive, dive!" the Witch-king commanded. The city was carefully lowered, and it dipped into the river. Everything remained silent. Soon a deep gurgle was heard as water seeped into the city's lowest dungeons. And then there was violent splashing, and a deep roar rumbled through the floors. Steam billowed from every window. Soon the entire city was wrapped in the misty steam.

"The balrog! Its flames have been put out!" said #4. "My idea worked!"

"Ahem, my idea," said Khamûl. He then turned to an orc. "You there! Go see what's happened to the balrog."

The orc nodded meekly, and crept towards a door in the side of the main tower. With one frightened look back at the Ringwraiths, he disappeared into the steam.

Minutes passed. #3 checked his watch. Khamûl yawned. #s 6-8 began a game of poker. The Witch-king frowned, having realized he had left his paperback novel in the steamy towers.

Finally, the orc's blood-curdling screams were heard. His footsteps echoed from the steamy doorway, and finally he appeared and flung himself on the floor outside the tower. He was dripping wet and a foul-scented mud had smeared his ragged clothes.

"The balrog!" he shouted, "It's alive! And it's coming!"

"Impossible!" said the Witch-king, "We've drowned it!"

"No! It still lives! But as a thing of mud and slime! He follows me! He saw me in the steam, and he lunged after me! O, he is coming here and we are doomed!"

"Quiet, fool!" the Witch-king commanded, "Now tell me, did it have wings?"

"It was too steamy to tell!"

"Oh well," said the Witch-king, "But there are more important things to attend to! Like how we're going to deal with the balrog once it arrives."

"I have an idea," said #4. "When the balrog arrives on the walls, we can just tip the city to one side. The balrog will slip and fall into the river below."

"Sounds like a last resort to me. What else can we come up with?"

"Well," said Khamûl, stepping forward, "When the balrog arrives, we can just tip the city to one side. The balrog will slip and fall into the river below."

"That was my idea!" #4 said, "You stole my idea, again!"

"Quiet, #4. Stop accusing Khamûl of idea-theft just because his ideas are better than yours." #4 crossed his arms and sulked. Khamûl stuck his tongue out at him. "And now we can just wait for the balrog," said the Witch-king, "As soon as the balrog appears, I want the flying beasts on the opposite side of the city to fly higher. The city will tilt and we'll be rid of that balrog."

And so the Ringwraiths and orcs waited in quiet anticipation. The grouped to either side of the doorway and the predicted path the balrog would take as he slipped. They could hear the balrog's gurgling roars deep inside Minas Mor-go. As each moment passed, the roaring grew louder, and the squelch-squelch-squelch of the balrog's footsteps were heard. Soon its wet, slimey head appeared in the doorway, roaring, and it reached out with a slippery claw.

"Aaagh! It wants me!" shouted the orc-scout.

"Now! Now! Tilt the city!" shouted the Witch-king.

The city lurched to one side and the Ringwraiths grabbed whatever solid, sturdy thing they could get their hands on. The balrog slipped head-first out of the doorway, over the walls, and he splashed into the water, followed by a handful of orcs. The city righted itself, and the Ringwraiths peered over the walls. The balrog slowly sunk to the bottom of the river, splashing and clawing at the orcs in the river.

"Well, he's taken care of!" said the Witch-king. After a quick head-count to make sure no Ringwraiths had fallen into the river, the Witch-king declared which direction the city would move in next.

"I say we head north!" he shouted. The flying beasts pulled the dripping city out of the river, and off they went.

* * *

For three days, there were strange reports across Eriador of a marvelous rain cloud. It flew with amazing speed, and, by some atmospheric phenomenon, it always seemed to look like a castle to all witnesses.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

The Chronicler of this portion of the tale is believed, from evidence in the manuscript to have been a Burrahobbit. One will note the characteristic brevity.

It was most easy for Denethor and Faramir to defeat the Silly Singing Sindar: they cut through their bonds by rubbing them on the sharp machinery. They stuffed earplugs in their ears to blunt the horrid noise. They scared the Elves out of the city by pretending to be 13 Dwarves and a Hobbit crashing a hunting party. They restarted the city and headed West-Southwest. They did so with an abundance of anakronistic humour.

[The Saucepan Man]

Tra-la-la-lally-ho!

The loss of Gandalf had been hard enough for the Hobbits to bear. But all hope seemed to fade when the Balrog’s wings finally gave out some 300 miles short of the Shire. Trailing the shadowy remants of the great wings, Bag-Endless-Fuel suddenly lurched into a dive and began to plummet towards the earth below. Straining with all his might, Merry was able to pull the vehicle into a glide and it hit the ground with relatively little damage. Sadly, however, the havoc wreaked by the Balrog on the little Hobbit hole’s delicate machinery had taken its toll. Ted Sandyman had done what he could with the few spare parts available to him, but the motorised Burrow was now running at less than half capacity.

“Well, that’s it I’m afraid,” Bilbo remarked ruefully. “The game’s up. We have no chance of taking the chequered flag now.”

“But surely we can … uhhhn!” replied Frodo, sliding gracelessly to the floor. Still wondering how they might uhhn and why they would want to, his companions promptly followed suit.

************************************************
When they came round, the Hobbits found themselves sitting in the engine room, bound and gagged. But that was not the worst of it. The unmistakeable sound of Elven voices tra-la-la-lallying in unison could be heard ringing out from above. And the very quaintness of it filled them with despair.

O! What are you doing, and where are you going?
Your engine needs tending! The brakes need a-mending!
O! tra-la-la-lally! Here down in the rally!

The owners of the voices suddenly appeared in the engine room and began to circle the stricken Hobbits, singing at them mercilessly.

O! Why are you dawdling, when the race needs a-winning?
The cylinder‘s shaking! The dynamo‘s breaking!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly! The rally is jolly!
Ha! ha!

But, as they sang their quaint song, the Elves began to attend to the engine, hammering here and cranking there, uniting the broken mass of metal with their shockingly twee melody.

O! Where are you going, with gears all a-grinding?
No knowing, no knowing what makes Mister Baggins,
And Frodo go so slow,
No time now to tarry, here down in the rally
Ha! ha!

And, as the Hobbits watched, the engine began to pull itself back together, brought back to life by the woefully whimsical song. Before long, it was as good as new, gleaming and sparkling under the glow of Elven faces.

O! Will you be winners, or will you be losers?
Your chances decreasing, your lead disappearing!
To lose would be folly, to win would be jolly,
So hurry and hasten! Now suitably chastened,
By our tune
Ha! ha!

The gags and ropes were removed from the Hobbits and one of the Elves addressed them.

“Quick now, my little friends,” he said in a voice so light and airy that was almost too much to bear. “You must be on your way.”

“But … why …?” spluttered Bilbo.

“Elrond sent us,” the Elf replied, forestalling Bilbo’s confused questions. “He has a lot of money riding on this, you know. So come now, make haste and don’t disappoint him.”

“But why did you bind and gag us?” asked Frodo.

“Ha! Ha!” the Elf cried, and the Hobbits steeled themselves, fearing another distressingly droll song. “Would you have let us anywhere near the engine if you had heard us singing first?”

“Point taken,” nodded Bilbo.

“Now be off with you,” laughed the Elf. “You have a race to win!”

And with that, the Elven host departed, leaving the mobile Hobbit home to trundle on North West towards the Havens.

[Gurthang]

Some Idol Noise

Ringwraith #4's invisible eyes fluttered open. His head hurt again. Hadn't he just been through all this? His ears were ringing, too. Wait, not ringing, but singing... or at least he was hearing some singing. It sounded awfully merry and nonsensical. It was strange, though,... because somehow... it brought back memories...

*Picture blurs out for flashback sequence*

King Gnick (the previous persona of Ringwraith #4) stood in his throne room, his loyal subjects standing all around him. The people's garb and the arichtecture tell that it is far to the East of Middle Earth. The room is large, with a high ceiling, as well as the usual four walls and a floor, and large stone pillars at regular intervals. Tapestries depicting hunts and victories at war adorn the walls and low tables and cushions are scattered everywhere. The guests have long finished eating, and servants are just finishing removing the remains of the feast.

The King stands. Everyone turns and looks at him. He speaks:

"Truly this is a grand day. I am so happy to have so many fine subjects to fill my hall with gladness on this feastday. It is very nice that I have such servants and a palace to hold so grand a party." (A band in the background begins playing softly) "It is very nice that we have this time of peace to enjoy such festivites." (Music picks up) "It is so nice that I am king of our fair land." (Music swells) "It is so nice... to be... King!"

And with that King Gnick launches into a rather long musical number titled So Nice To Be King. The lyrics are not recited due to the sheer length of the song, and in fact were written down only once and kept by the King. He did not want others to be able to sing his song.

But, as the King sang, much did happen. The crowd joined in chorus as the King strutted down the aisle in front of them. A few fell in behind and formed a V shaped following that perfectly mirrored Gnick's sweeping motions and graceful dancing. The music rose and fell, and then rose higher again. Around the hall the procession went, the King swinging himself around a column here, dancing atop a table there, all the while releasing his every gladness through his song. Once around they went, then the King stood atop his throne and was regally silent as the chorus rose around him. The crowd split, and dancers emerged in the center. Singing and swaying to the tempo, they sang their (short) verse, and the crowd closed around them again, only to part once more for the King. He made a few more rounds around the room before beginning the emotional finale where the music swelled and the crowd lifted him up on their shoulders and strained their voices to hold that last note of joy. And then...

*ZZZZZZZZZZZZRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPPP*

"Number 4? What are you doing?"

"Er... um.... ow my head...?"

"You lazy bum! The rest of us woke up hours ago. Lucky we decided to untie you. Come. We have another problem."

Number 4 got up unsteadily and followed after the Witch King. Not until then did he notice Khamûl, Number 3, and Number 5 were also there. He followed them down the hallways, up the stairs, and through many rooms before they stopped. Even after walking all that way, Number 4 could still hear that blastedly blissful singing. They were in a conference room. The rest of the Nine were there, acting as if they had been waiting forever. Shaking himself to ward off another flashback, Number 4 went over and poured himself a cup of coffee while he listened to the Witch King explain the problem.

"Elves." he started, "about 12 stinking elves somehow managed to get here on Minas Morgo. We must have picked them up when we were on the ground after getting attacked by those Goblins. Well, they've occupied the driving tower and won't stop singing for anything. We need a way to get them off this ship."

"Why don't we just kill them?" asked Number 7.

"If we attack, they might damage the driving mechanism, or more importantly my chair, so we need to get rid of them without making them mad."

"Can't we just sneak up and knock them out?" questioned Number 3.

"You're gonna knock out 12 elves, all at once, without any of them seeing you first? Good luck." the Witch King scoffed in response.

Khamûl interjected, "I have a plan. We make them think it's a contest. A singing contest, they'll love that. Anyway, we say we'll pick them off one by one, an elf per round we'll say, 'worst' singer leaves the platform."

"Okay, and then what? We stuff them in a room?" interrupted Number 9.

"No, once we have each by themselves, we'll knock them out and drop them off the edge. So it'll take a little time, but we can get them out without any hassle this way."

"Great," exclaimed the Witch King, "We'll name this contest Minas Morgo Idol. Khamûl, it's your idea, you'll be the host. Numbers 3, 4, and 5, you guys are judges."

"But how are we going to stand that blasted singing! And they shine so brightly when we look at them." complained Number 5.

"Here, take these." The Witch King tossed Khamûl, 3, 4, and 5 a few sets of earplugs and a pair of sunglasses for each.

"But with earplugs we won't be able to hear them." Number 4 noted.

"Well, duh!" retorted the Witch King, looking at him strangely, "Now get up there and get started. I'll be in my chocolate vault if you need me."

----------------------------------------------

"Welcome contestants!" shouted Khamûl as he jumped out of the doorway. "Congratulations on making it here!"

The elves stopped singing for a second and looked at him confused. They had no idea why he was wearing sunglasses. Then they shrugged and continued singing. Khamûl continued unhindered... after all, he couldn't hear them.

"Welcome to Minas Morgo Idol! Today one of you will be the next big star! How will we find out which one? Well let's meet our judges!" And with a sweeping motion of his arm he brought out Numbers 3, 4, and 5. They sat down behind a table that just happened to be right there. "Let's just call them Number 3, Number 4, and Number 5... and now that that's done, let's get this show going! First contestant."

And so the show started. But something was amiss. Unknown to any of them, Ringwraith Number 4 sneakily dislodged his left earplug. He actually wanted to hear the elves sing! The result was that he randomly flashed back to his 'younger days' and didn't have his head in the contest at all. The other two Ringwraiths had their earplugs firmly in place, and so the contest did not go over exactly as planned. The last two contestants were actually the best and the worst singers of all the elves.

The two, named Katharine and Taylor(), came up and sang their numbers. The judges looked at each other. Well, Number 3 and Number 5 looked at each other; Number 4 was off in flashback-land. Number 3 voted for Taylor (who was the better singer) and Number 5 voted the opposite way like they had done for every round. Number 4 did nothing. He just sat there, still in his flashback. Number 3 gave him a sharp jab in the ribs and he jerked back into real life. He looked around dumbfounded for a second until his eyes fell upon the two finalists. Strangely, he had actually heard the two during some of the previous rounds, and knew Taylor was better. So he picked him for the win. Katharine left the room in tears, that is, until she was knocked out and tossed down to earth.

"Congratulations Taylor! You are Minas Morgo's Idol!"

Suddenly the three judging Ringwraiths gasped. They all just realized a shortcoming to the plan. There was this one last elf, but no way to get rid of him! But Khamûl just looked at them and smiled an invisible, understanding smile.

"Now Taylor, I know this is a big deal for you, and it will mean great fame and fortune in your near future. But for now, I've got something else to give you." And with that he opened a nearby doorway.

No more had he turned the handle than a stream of overly eager record label spokespersons rushed out. They all set their eyes on Taylor, intent on having him sign with them and only them. Out the door they ran, like a streaming tide, and rampaged across the platform. Taylor turned to run in terror, but there was nowhere to go! Before he could think of anything to do the wave of spokespersons hit him, and he was swept over the edge by the rushing mob, never to be heard from again.

The Ringwraith's took out their earplugs and breathed a sigh of relief. No more singing! The Witch King emerged from one of the stairways, having been alerted by the lack of singing that the elves were gone.

"Great work fellows. Now, let's get this city moving again. On to the North-West!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Pit Stop

The Vehicles were battered and bruised after so many challenges and interruptions. Some of the Drivers were getting over worked with all the repairs, it was getting silly. Bereft of ideas, Dwarfy took up the palantir and called all the vehicles...

"Alright, you lot," he said, "We're going to have a little break now. I'm sending some repair houses to your locations to fix up your vehicles. You won't lose your position in the race, I won't let anyone go until I say so!"

All the vehicles slowed down and stopped, except Mount Zoom. Dwarfy could hear Sauron's evil laughter from a mile in the air. He sent the baby dragon down to burst his tyres.

So, the race stood still. Here, then, are the positions so far...

1st place: Bag Endless fuel
2nd Place: Mount Zoom
3rd Place: Medel zoom
4th Place: Barad Dash
5th Place: Minas Taxi
6th place: Minas Mor-go
7th place: Orth Tank

[Hookbill the Goomba]

End of the Rest

The tires were repaired, the fuel tanks filled up, the windows patched, suspension un-rusted, the engines all working a little better and the Mount Zoom Challenge was ready to continue! All at once, the vehicles zoomed off towards their goal.

They road along quite nicely for a good while, but then, as was becoming usual, something was slowing the vehicles down and yet another challenge was up ahead!

[Alcarillo]

Auughhh!!! The Horses!!!

#9 ran panicked to the Witch-king. "We've been boarded, lord!" he said. "By man-eating horses! They're threatening to devour the orcs and flying beasts if we don't hand over the city!"

"Why on earth would man-eating horses want a flying city?"

"Beats me, lord, but we'd better hurry! They've taken #3 hostage!"

"#3… nearly as useless as #4... I declare an emergency Ringwraith meeting. Gather all the Ringwraiths you can and bring them to me. I'll be on top of the gates, by the helm."

"Aye, lord!" #9 said and ran off to collect the others. Some minutes later they had gathered around a conveniently located table near the steering wheel.

"Listen here, comrades!" the Witch-king said, strutting around the table. "We are faced by a ruthless band of man-eating horses, and they have already captured one of our own! We need a plan!"

"Can't we just attack them?" asked #7.

The Witch-king rolled his eyes. Were they always so simple? "To attack them would be utter tomfoolery. Does anybody have any smarter ideas?"

"Can we…ask them to leave?" said #4.

"No! Nobody ever drove a band of merciless horses from their vessel by asking them to leave! What's gotten into that head of yours?" #4 slumped lower in his chair and his head drooped. "Well, if nobody has any good ideas, I suppose we must use mine. #5 and #6! Tell the horses to meet Khamûl and me up here in an hour for 'negotiations'. #7 and #8! Prepare this table for a tea-party! #9 and #4! Round up all the butterknives, toothpicks, pins, and needles you can find! My brilliant plan will become apparent soon!"

The Ringwraiths split up to complete their tasks. #5 and #6 ventured deep into the heart of Minas Mor-go to deliver their message to the horses, #7 and #8 searched high and low the finest silverware and china, and #9 and #4 raided every chest, desk, and cabinet for all the pointy items they could find. A pile of pointed objects soon accumulated at the table.

#5 and #6 soon returned to tell the Witch-king they had delivered their message, and he told them to begin putting a Morgul pin/toothpick/butterknife under each cushion of each chair.

"But why, lord?"

"Don't you see? The moment the horses sit down for negotiations, each shall be pierced by a Morgul blade (or point), and they shall be transformed into harmless wraiths!"

"But what if we create wraith-eating horses?"

The Witch-king rolled his eyes again. "You can't eat wraiths."

Soon everything was ready: the table was set, the cushions were booby-trapped, and soon the man-eating horses would emerge from their hiding place to negotiate with the Witch-king.

The hour came and emerging from the shadows of Minas Mor-go came a great band of horses. In their train they dragged a bound and gagged #3. The horses' leader came forward and neighed to the Witch-king. The horses were about to take their seats when the Witch-king shouted "Wait! Listen, horses! We will be negotiating over tea, and so, this being a tea party, there will also be party games. The first shall be musical chairs."

"What are you doing, lord?" whispered Khamûl. "Why are we playing party games?"

"Because if each horse sits one at a time, they'll realize what we've done with the cushions! Then there'll be no hope of turning them into wraiths! They need to sit all at once, so none will know before what we've done before he sits." The Witch-king now turned to #4. "#4, please supply us with music from your clarinet."

#4 ran downstairs to fetch his instrument and assembled it as quickly as he could. Unfortunately he was fresh out of cork grease, and had to run into basements for some more. And when he found that his reed was torn, he had to go back downstairs for another. The chief horse stamped his hooves in impatience.

"Don't worry, my guests! #4 is a musical virtuoso. Just wait until you hear him play!"

Finally #4 began to play a meaningless tune, along the lines of pop-goes-the-weasel. The horses pranced around the table, and when they could feel the music was ending, each positioned himself above a chair, and when #4's tune ended, they all sat down as one. But instantly they rose up again, having pierced their horsie bottoms on the pointed objects hidden under the cushions.

"Haha!" The Witch-king taunted. "You've been hurt by Morgul blades! Now you'll all become shadowy wraith-horses!"

The angry horses stamped their hooves wildly and trampled the chairs and the table and the china, but by the Witch-king's dark arts, they became wraiths within the hour, and from that day forward, Minas Mor-go was known throughout the world for the ghosts of horses that haunted its halls.

After untying #3, the Witch-king proclaimed that Minas Mor-go would be headed north-west.

[Maeggaladiel]

Sauron slammed a gauntleted fist down on the dashboard, causing the Morgoth dashboard bobblehead to shake violently.

"MOUTH!!" Sauron bellowed. "I DISTINCTLY REMEMBER TELLING YOU TO RUN THE HORSES OVER!!"

Mouth cringed at the noise.

"I tried to, O Evil One," Mouth said through clenched teeth. "But somehow they got inside."

"I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW SO MANY CREATURES CAN WEASEL THEIR WAY INTO MY IMPREGNABLE MOUNTAIN FORTRESS OF DOOM!!!" Sauron complained, resting his elbows on the dash and cradling his helmeted head in his hands. "I SWEAR, SOMETIMES IT'S ENOUGH TO MAKE ONE GO MAD." He sighed haggardly and looked at a security screen, seeing the horses chase down and devour random orcs and the occasional Rat Wraith that was too slow to get out of their way. He frowned, although Mouth couldn't tell because he was still wearing the helmet. "AND ANYWAY, AREN'T HORSES SUPPOSED TO BE VEGETARIANS?"

"It would appear that these are man-eating horses, My Lord," Mouth remarked casually.

Sauron nodded, as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

"THEN IT IS SIMPLE," he said. "ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS INVENT THE BAZOOKA AND DISPOSE OF THEM."

"I don't think so, My Lord."

"YOU ARE RIGHT. IT WOULD BE MUCH BETTER TO INVENT THE GUIDED MISSILE LAUNCHER."

Mouth sighed.

"NO, My Most Evil and Highly Audible Master."

Saruon's eye sockets glowed dangerously.

"WHY NOT?" he demanded.

"The horses have just eaten our Invention Department." Mouth tapped the monitor, where a series of lab coats lay on the ground, with bits of orc scattered around them. "We can't invent things ourselves anymore due to labor union issues."

"BLAST," cursed Sauron. "OH WELL. I HAVE A BETTER IDEA. COME ALONG, MOUTH."

**************************************

A few moments later, Sauron and Mouth were standing in the engine room. A small, terrified orc lay before them. The creature was bound and had an apple shoved in its mouth, and Sauron and Mouth had placed him on a large silver platter and surrounded him with a delectable-looking vegetable medley.

"Tell me again why we're serving up our engine crew," Mouth asked. He picked up a large red bottle that was next to the orc. "And why we're giving them our best wine."

"SIMPLE," Sauron said. "WE'VE CREATED A VERY FORMAL DINING EXPERIENCE HERE."

"Yes, I noticed you've set out a tablecloth and have added a candelabra."

"AND NATURALLY, YOU CAN'T EXPECT TO HAVE A NICE ROAST WITHOUT A GLASS OF WINE TO ACCOMPANY IT." The orc looked ill.

"I'VE POISONED THE WINE, YOU SEE," Sauron continued. "WHEN THE HORSE COMES UP TO EAT... UM... WHAT DID YOU SAY YOUR NAME WAS?"

He took the apple out of the orc's mouth.

"Waturs, sir!" the orc squeaked. Saruon shoved the apple back in.

"WHEN THE HORSES COME TO EAT MR. WATURS HERE, THEY'LL HELP THEMSELVES TO THE WINE. VIOLA! NO MORE HORSES!" He puffed himself up proudly. "SOMETIMES I'M SO BRILLIANT I SCARE MYSELF."

Thus saying, Sauron shoved the wine, the orc-roast, and a pair of wine glasses out into the room where the horses were feasting. He and Mouth hid behind an overturned table and watched.

The horse walked up to Waturs. It sniffed him. Waturs looked terrified.

"YEEESSSS," Sauron whispered, or at least yelled slightly less loudly. "GO ON..."

The horse sniffed the wine.

"THAT'S RIGHT..."

The horse ate up Mr. Waturs and left.

"CONFOUND IT!! HAVE YOU NO MANNERS AT ALL!?! I OFFER YOU WINE AND YOU REJECT IT!!" Sauron jumped up and down furiously. Mouth patted him on the shoulder.

"Well sir," he said. "You know what they say. You can lead a horse to Waturs, but you can't make him drink."

"MOUTH."

"Yes my lord?"

"SHUT UP."

**************************

Ten minutes later, Saruon and Mouth had concocted Plan C.

"Hey horses!" Yelled Mouth. "Look what we've got!" He pointed to the large wooden crate next to him. The horses walked forwards curiously.

"VIOLA! THE ONLY THING CAPABLE OF TAMING UNRULY HORSES!" Saruon opened the crate. Ten creatures walked out and reached for the horses.

Fifteen minutes later, the beasts were harnessed and were pulling Mount Zoom along.

"Wow," Mouth said. "It actually worked."

"YEP," Sauron replied. "IN EVERY HORSE MOVIE I'VE EVER SEEN, ALL IT TAKES TO CALM THEM DOWN IS TO GET AN EMOTIONALLY-DISTURBED TEENAGE OR PRE-TEEN GIRL ON THE SCENE. WE HAVE SOME BONDING MOMENTS, SOME ANGST, SOME EMOTIONAL RIDING SEQUENCES, AND PRESTO! GRAND FINALE! NICE HORSIES!!"

"Except, what are we going to do with all these teenagers?" Mouth asked warily, as a handful of said teens were now setting up makeover stations around the volcano.

"THE HORSES ARE STILL MANEATERS, AND WE'LL HAVE TO FEED THEM EVENTUALLY!" Sauron replied cheerfully. "AND NOW, WE HEAD NORTHWEST!!"