ATM II RPG

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Smilog stomped his way from Mount Zoom in a fierce and frenzied way; in all respects, this was a Dwarf who had had a bad day. He grumbled and moaned, swore and spat until he just frowned as he stomped. "I blame you for this," he muttered, "Roggie! You and your blasted mountain." Khuz hobbled along a little behind his son and eventually had to cough loudly in order to get his attention. Smilog turned swiftly on his heel and then sighed in annoyance as he watched his father hobble closer.

"You do know that there is a huge battle about to start?" queried Smilog, "only, by the time we get there it'll be over and maybe a whole different battle will have started; one that we have nothing to do with."

"Shut up!" shouted the old Dwarf, "my legs aren't what they used to be. Why couldn't that lass take us to the Battle in the Zoom?"

"She said it was too dangerous and quite frankly I'm glad to see the back of it."

They marched on, slowly and angrily; stomping their feet as hard as they could and with great intent of making as much dust fly up as they could. Weather this was to try and make a mysterious effect was was a mild coincidence, no tale tells, but most accept that it was the latter.

Above the black clouds of Mordor the moon was rising, it's great face's light unable to penetrate the rush hour like traffic of the clouds and so the moon felt rather unhappy and left out and so went off to sulk. Birds flew just below the clouds, circling around the grave yard awaiting their feast or, at least, light snack depending on who won. The stench of upturned soil and bellowing geezers filled the air, forcing the Dwarves to cover their noses and make unsavory faces.

There was a disturbance in the air; the silence of the land was broken by a most unearthly sound....

CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP

Mixed with an eery and haunting;

BOOM... boom-boom-boom... BOOM...boom-boom-boom... BOOM

"War drums," murmured Khuz, "we have little time." forgetting their annoyance, the Dwarves hurried along the path with as swift a pace as they could. Leaping over rocks and roots that lay in their way and panting like fat children in a cross country marathon. Within a few swift minutes they came to the gate of the grave yard, yet as they stood beneath the arc of the gate, an eery voice trailed over their heads...

"Trruuueeeeee loooovvvvvveeeeeeeee."

"Blue gloves?" said Smilog, "who's going on about blue gloves at a time like this?"

***

Tollin's eyes fixed on where the sound of relentless quacking was coming; wereducks were something one didn't forget in a hurry. The Barrow Wight's golden hilted sword some how managed to glisten in the dim light of the Mordorian night. A red gem glowed in the guard and the pommel bore words in the Numenorian language. Not that The Barrow Wight had ever read them, that Sword had spent most of its life on a shelf above his fire place, he wasn't even sure if it was sharp.

"Looks like a terrible business, old chap," said the Wight, "they say were ducks can bight your face right off!"

"Who says?"

"Erm..." The Barrow Wight looked upwards and rolled his eyes around, "I'm not sure. But I'm sure whoever it is that said it, did indeed say it."

"I've never heard that," mused Tollin, "in fact, you're the only one I've heard say it. For all I know, the 'they' you speak of might be you. You don't have schizophrenia by any chance?"

"QUACK!" from behind them, the ghastly noise rose like... well... a rising sound. Almost instinctively, Tollin lifted his Morning Star and sung it down in the direction of the sound. There was an almighty 'splat' and a fading 'quack'. They lowered their heads and there, beneath the spikes and ball of the Morning star, lay the body of a wereduck; splattered.

"By Jingo," said The Barrow Wight, "looks like the blighter died instantly."

"You!" came an oddly familiar and probably bearded voice, "I thought you were surly dead!" Smilog trotted up to the Minotaur and the dead man and remarked, "you look right at home here, Mr Wight."

"Gosh." said The Barrow Wight.

[Kath]

Igor stood alone in the corridors of Mount Doom, having watched as Smilog and crew, Anakron and finally Skittles all ran off in different directions and in varying degrees of madness. He had the strangest feeling, as though he was supposed to be somewhere else, but as he didn't have any idea where this other place was he headed down to the now unoccupied chambers that had housed the Gondorian negotiators and fetched his ear instead of worrying about it. After all, these things generally seemed to sort themselves out in the end.

Even with both ears now attached the mountain was eerily quiet. Igor had got used to the antics of the other diplomats, as well as the steady noise of the orcs and guards that constantly moved around, but now there was no one in sight. Walking past an open door he saw a chair lying on the floor with papers scattered around it. In the great hall a goblet was slowly spinning in circles on the table, as though it had just been dropped there. He heard a cry from the hallway outside the room and darted out to see what was happening, watching in astonishment as an orc vanished into thin air with a quiet 'pop', his uneaten dinner falling to the floor with a crash.

The Dweomer? Igor wondered to himself as he crept towards the site where the orc had disappeared, but he dismissed the idea. He hadn't seen Anakron or heard his maniacal laughter in too long for it to be him doing this, and since the thing was stuck on ISMs at the moment it seemed unlikely to be the cause of all these strange events, unless there really was such a thing as a vanishISM.

Still musing to himself the sudden appearance of two tall men clothed all in blue caused Igor to emit a very undignified shriek and fall backwards, wincing as he felt himself land in the peas and gravy the orc had been about to eat. Glaring up at the culprits of this embarrassing incident Igor opened his mouth to give them a piece of his mind (not literally of course, he could unpick a few stitches, remove a bit of brain and give it to someone but he'd found he didn't tend to get it back very often and so rarely did it these days) but as his eyes travelled up he realised that perhaps that was not such a good idea.

"You're the Blue Wizards." He told them, and then rolled his eyes at himself. 'Way to be Captain Obvious.' He thought, before cursing at the valley girl language he'd just used. "What are you doing here?"

"Quack." Was the initial confusing answer, or so Igor thought. But as his mind caught up with his ears he realised that it had not been a person that had said that. Fear gripped him.

"Getting that." Came a grim reply, this time from above him.

Dreading what they were about to see after that noise Igor's eyes followed the extended finger of the Wizard closest to him, one moving somewhat faster than the other. Eventually though both eyes found themselves staring at the same horrifying sight. Leaping up out of the mess and behind the Wizards Igor peeked round their robes in shock.

"A - a - a Wereduck? In Mount Doom? Why? How?"

"It does not matter. It is in the wrong place and it will be moved. As will you."

Igor opened his mouth again to protest but found himself interrupted by the same small pop he had heard before. The noise echoed, getting louder all the time, and a blue light surrounded him as the corridors faded away. Suddenly the noise stopped and Igor lurched forward, landing on his hands and knees in what looked very much like a graveyard, facing a very disgruntled looking Wereduck.

Petrified Igor didn't so much as wait for the creature to blink (if indeed Wereducks do). A sprint start from his position on the ground had him heading away from certain death and into uncertain possible harm, as well as towards the voices that were, thankfully, coming from somewhere the Wereduck was not.

[littlemanpoet]

The balding, bespectacled, and grinning man who had tapped on Panakeia's shoulder, watched Panakeia as her face twisted from blankness to surprise to consternation to .... well, to something he couldn't quite make out: wonder? curiosity? the need to find a restroom? Unsure which it might be, he shrugged.

"You know, you really do look prettier without all that glop on your face."

She was still staring at him as if she had not been able to get her mind quite in gear.

"Say," he asked, "do you remember the last time we had words? Do you even know who I am?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Blue gloves and true love being what they were, the entirety of the tomb knew this situation was simply built to be dramatized.

"Aime..." Alli whispered to his lips in the shadows, "we're not alone. How have they not seen us yet?"

"I could stab them all swiftly."

"Aime, that's not my point. Maybe it is. Oh, Aime! Panakeia and Anakron and various and sundry extras, and I'm almost certain I heard Smilog, though I could so easily be wrong... and a man from Panakeia's past and blue gloves, Aime, blue gloves!"

"I know..." He didn't.

"Aime, everyone knows that blue gloves are symbols. Ceremonial garb for those serving the darker powers. Blue gloves! Oh, Aime! Blue gloves, and from Panakeia and Anakron, oh what shall I do! Where shall I turn!? We are trapped in this very small, cramped, dark, badly lit, slightly smelly, certainly damp and a bit moldy tomb that may or may not contain corpses, and we are not alone!"

"Shh, they'll hear you."

"Aime, there is only one exit, and they are between us and it, and the wolves," the sound of howls punctuated the moment, "are closing in, and blue gloves! They've turned on me, Aime. The Wizards and Wolves aren't enough, but my friends have betrayed me and block my escape! How shall I ever survive?"

And thusly, Alli swooned into his arms and whether their companions in the former resting place of the former Grand Anakronist heard any of their exchange, they did indeed block Alli's exit, and Alli did indeed believe them to be secret wearers of Blue Gloves. Things, to put it lightly, had just taken a turn for the worse.

[Celuien]

"Do you even know who I am?"

Panakeia continued to stare. Slowly, she answered, "Yes. Yes. I do know who you are. Elempí. We met in Dol Gaurgauroth." Her mind traveled back, as it was wont to do, and she relived the first moments of their acquaintance.

Anakron seemed to split in two. Out from Anakron walked a balding, bearded, and bespectacled nincompoop who smiled stupidly at everybody else, trying hopelessly to fit in as quick as possible.

"This, my friends, is my abstemious alter ego, Elempí, a most embarrassing figment, no doubt you can see right away."

Yes. That same man now stood before her. Elempí, Anakron's usually carefully hidden alter-ego.

"Well that's good. For a minute there, I thought you forgot."

"No. I didn't forget. I - I just wasn't expecting - Phizzick! What happened?"

The miracle-healer shrugged. "Beats me. I guess this was the part of him that was still alive. The part that was talking about true love and such. If you don't like it, talk to my lawyer."

Elempí looked ready to pout. "What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me?"

Was she? Could she accept that Anakron was no longer Anakron, but instead had transformed into his alter-ego? Would Elempí turn out to be the holder of the good in Anakron, as the Grand Anakronist had claimed more than once? Would Panakeia and Elempí live happily ever after, after all? That future all hung upon Panakeia's reply to a simple question. Was she happy to see Elempí again?

Panakeia's lips began to form their answer, but just then a soft thump echoed in the chamber.

"What's that?" she whispered, startled by the disturbance.

In drew his sword. "We shall see." With the expert swordsman in the lead, the group turned towards a dark corner of the crypt, not knowing who or what they would find in its recesses.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The noise of the war drums was getting louder and faster; the earth was slowly begging to shake, causing some of the older standing stones to crumble or fall down. A great stomping began somewhere in the south accompanied by the faint sound of fell horns.

Smilog ate some jelly babies.

"I say," mused The Barrow Wight, "what the devil do you think those fellows will do?"

"Kill us all?" suggested Khuz, "but just why is another question. Those Blue wizards really do have a bee in their bonnet about something."

"It's times like this," said Smilog, "that I wish I had paid more attention during those political meetings." They agreed that this may have helped. But now they faced the south and could see a great black mass in the distance marching to join the greater mass of the main army. A blue flame leaped up from somewhere in the middle of the army, revealing, for a second, evil faces covered in fur and nasty stuff. The Barrow Wight trembled and placed his sword back in it's scabbard.

Tollin walked forwards and said, "I think we should investigate. Look, there is a ridge over there that we might get a good view from and not be seen." lacking anything else to do, save sit and wait for death, the others agreed and they tracked along the path with their heads down. Smilog cast his hood over the top of his helm and placed a hand on his axe haft while The Barrow Wight wrapped his torn cloak close about his person. Tollin alone seemed confident of, well, anything.

Within a few minuets of walking from the cemetery, they came to the ridge and lay on the floor. Smilog crawled to the edge and peered out. "What can you see?" asked Tollin.

"Terrible things," replied the Dwarf, "there are millions of them. Werewolves, orcs, trolls, were ducks and I think there are a few rhinoceroses." He bent his eyes to where he thought the blue flame had come from, then, holding out a hand to The Barrow Wight said, "pass me your spy glass, I want to see if the Blue Wizards are out there." The dead man obliged and Smilog fixed it to his eye.

He swooped across the terrible force, it's banners displaying the most awful symbols imaginable. Then, all of a sudden, he dropped the spy glass. "Oi!" cried The Barrow Wight, "do you know how much that cost?" The Dwarf scrambled off the ridge desperately.

"I think he saw me!" he cried,

"Who?" asked Tollin,

"Pallando!" said a voice from behind them. They turned to see the Wizard standing tall and menacing, his staff pointed towards them. He laughed and cocked his head, "did you really think you could spy on me? Well, what think you of my little... party?" he grinned.

"I've seen bigger." said Tollin

"No you havn't!" objected the wizard, turning to face the Minotaur, "I've researched middle Earth history, there has never been such a force! Now. I seem to remeber that Alatar was about to kill you, Dwarf, but he's a bit busy at the moment, so I'll do it!" He stepped closer, a blue light illuminating his staff and an evil grin covering his face. He took another step...

All of a sudden there was a cry from above and an orange blur flew out of the sky and landed on Pallando, knocking him over the ridge. the Orange wizard, 'Flash', stood before them, obviously at the end of some long song and dance routine.

"And that's why I'm so great! Woof!" he cried in an upbeat tempo. He threw back his head and laughed upon seeing Smilog and the others. "Well, paint me purple and call me Sharon, it's you, Beard man!"

[littlemanpoet]

"Thump."

It was soft and echoed. The narrative insisted it. One cannot disagree with the narrative. Elempí chose not to. He was too intent on going with the flow as long as the flow meant a happy Panakeia that he was what was left of Anakron.

Wolves howled in the distance. The not so distant distance.

Elempí took a turn, to the left. Which was for the worst. Because it faced the crypt. The swordsman led the way, which was just as well as far as Elempí was concerned. He tried to make sure that he was as close as he could be to Panakeia, preferably in front of her, or at least by her side. So it was with (only) mild chagrin that he found himself following her.

Wolves continued to howl in the distance. The not so distant distance. Quite near, actually.

The swordsman yelled. Another swordsman, or so Elempí assumed, for swordsmen were wont to yell in the midst of battle - and this sounded bloodcurdling and ferocious enough to be a battle cry.

But their cries didn't drown out the howling wolves in the distance. The not so distant distance. Quite near, actually. In fact, Elempí felt a very unwelcome tap on his shoulder. How did I end up behind everybody else? He turned, the hair on his neck rising, and looked at a very unpleasant maw that was opening wider.

"Lûgnût, don't yawn so close to me. Your breath stinks. And the wind of it raises the hair on my neck. What do you want, anyway?"

"Sorry. But I'm scared."

"Oh for cryin'-"

The wolves howled. The swordsman battlecried. But no swords clashed. Elempí began to wonder if they were just putting on a show of courage. At least it was free.