ATM II RPG

[Hookbill the Goomba]

A shiver went down what remained of The Barrow Wight's spine. Flash was walking back from his confrontation with Alatar and Pallando. Tollin lent against a tree, but it collapsed; fortunately, none of the army noticed this and continued to talk amongst themselves. The Orange Wizard stepped up to where Smilog and the others were, his face was down cast and he gripped his staff tightly.

"Well?" said Smilog, "what did they say?" Flash lifted his head and then shrugged.

"The blighters are stubborn," he replied, "said they're going to destroy Mordor and then Gondor and whoever else they feel like having a go at. Pfft. You know what this means?" Smilog shook his head, "It means, I've got to go to Gondor! It looks like I've got a lot of work to do! Woof!" He lifted a hand and a mysterious length of rope dropped out of the sky; Flash took hold of it, saluted and then was off, swinging into the distance.

"I hate him," grumbled Smilog. They looked out over the vast mustering army, the end of it could not be seen; rank upon rank, battalion upon battalion, an immense force. "Could be worse, I suppose." the Dwarf mused, "wait... no it couldn't."

Making their way back to the graveyard, Tollin and The Barrow Wight noticed that a dim white light could be seen in the west. The Wight pointed at it and said, "I say, what do you make of that?" The others shrugged and they marched on. As graveyards go, this one was particular downcast; nothing moved, even the other ATM2 characters that were gathered there. A silence had fallen broken only by the occasional sounding of a distant war-horn, telling all that another battalion had arrived.

Smilog and Khuz noticed a large tomb near to where they stood, "Shall we... erm... investigate it?" suggested Khuz,

"You mean, 'shall we hide in there'?" corrected Smilog, "yes, I think that would be good." The stone door stood open like the gaping mouth of a particular stupid puffer fish. Tollin was taken back by the seeming lack of a stench of death which he usually associated with places like tombs.

"I say, this isn't right old chap," mumbled The Barrow Wight, "I've seen a fair few tombs in my time, and by Jove I was in one for a while, but this one doesn't-" they stopped as the sound of voices came into hearing. Footsteps also and the sound of someone breathing heavily; like an old man with a child's toy in his throat.

"Oh for cryin'-" said a voice, but it was cut off by the sound off battle cries. Smilog had learned to tune it out by now, but the atmosphere of the crypt had the effect of heightening it. Before you could say 'Why, hello thar', a sword was pressed up against Smilog's neck and a collection of figures towered over them in the dim light.

"I say," muttered the Wight, lighting his pipe, "aren't you that wizard fellow? The one who's been involved in all this trouble?"

"Erm..." said Elempi, "sort of, yes... no... a bit. It's complicated."

"Gosh."

[Formendacil]

"Not just any graveyard," said Elrogorn darkly. "This graveyard has a long history of association with forces of evil."

"Do you care to explain that cryptic comment?" asked Maika.

"No," said Elrogorn flatly. "It is a long and depressing tale, and would probably rend Lord Hyarmenwë's flesh from his ears with its anakronistic subtext. Let's just say we should leave post-haste."

"It seems safe enough... if dark and eerie," said Maika.

"I rather must disagree," said Elrogorn. "Especially as the Wereducks seem to be attempting to batter their way out of the tunnel. I give it no more than five minutes."

"What's the best way out?" asked Hyarmenwë, his sword drawn--perhaps a bit foolishly in light of his dwindling stamina.

"There is but one way out," said Elrogorn, "the main gate, over yonder."

Lightning lit up the sky as Elrogorn waved his arm in the direction of an iron-wrought gate several hundred yards away.

"Surely we can just hop the fence," said Maika. "This is just a graveyard, after all."

"A graveyard with an electric fence, electric chair, and guard-electric eels," said Elrogorn, to Maika's disgust. "I told you, it is a place of dark evil."

"Then let's move on to the gate," said Hyarmenwë, already setting in that direction.

"I wouldn't do that, personally," said Maika. "There's quite a number of dark silhouettes over there. Dark silhouettes in a dark graveyard being periodically lit up by eerie lightning is simply dangerous."

"I am ignorant of such anakronistic thoughts, and intend to remain so," said Hyarmenwë resolutely. "And if you ever wish to escape Mordor, I would advise you to not allow yourself to be ruled by such thoughts. They could be perfectly innocent people, or at least better than the... ducks..."

Maika looked at Elrogorn for support, seething somewhat at the old man's insistence that she intended to leave Mordor, but instead of supporting her as Mordor's most clichéd denizen ought to have, he agreed with Hyarmenwë.

"The Wereducks are right behind us," he said. "Lord Hyarmenwë is right-- not even Sauron and a death metal rock band of Balrogs would be worse."

Maika sighed, but followed the two men towards the gates. Lightning crackled overhead.

[Anguirel]

It was really very good to be a werewolf at night, Tom reflected. No one could touch you! Except Hunters, but they were usually sabotaged by the supplies of Seer-attracting crossbow bolts wolves had slipped them at earlier points...

"Sound editing team. You out there?" he growled.

"Yes", a sepulchral voice grinded in reply.

"Have you got Ominous Music Album #2 ready to go?"

"Yeah...wait...that would be Dies Irae, Verdi, then Beethoven's Mighty Fifth, a spot of Prokofiev, Shelter from the Storm, Joni Mitchell's 'River', Godfather, Marcia Religiosa..."

"All good so far."

"And then, maybe, The Two Towers, beginning of track 5, for the heroic moment when you're inevitably slain by some valiant warrior?"

"Er...is that negotiable?"

""Really, you haven't got the first idea of this Werewolf lark, have you, you silly little public-school boy from Kensington?" the voice crackled, in a tone that was not so much sepulchral as plain nasty.

Then it was stopped by a protracted, rather smug, howl, and from behind a convenient bush came a very, very, large wolf, with a funny little white object dangling at its neck.

"Your Night ends here, pretty-boy," it said, its voice deep, mad, and generally indicative of the fact that the wolf in question was none other than Fenrir Greyback, prime lupine nasty of the Harry Potter canon.

"You!" Tom gasped. "You've followed me all this way, eaten my sound crew, and stolen my iPod-nano-mega-hyper-infra-.3 player!"

"Yeaaah. And k'know what, your music's pathetic, boy. When I was a young wolf, I always killed to the sound of punk. Now...prepare to die!"

Tom Felton manouevred to one side as his foe charged past.

"If you attack, we both die, you know," he said hurriedly. "The Werewolf Rules dictate it."

"The Rules are subject to the Dweomer like everything else, boy. The Blue Wizards have sent me. Trust me, I'll be examining your entrails in no time..." and the older wolf pounced again, only for Tom to wriggle out of reach.

"Aunt Bellatrix and Professor Snape will kill you for this!"

"Wrong. They will, actually, kill you if you get out of this one somehow. You are no longer a Malfoy, Felton. You were disowned by a solemn family picnicking gathering yesterday. The vote was unanimous."

"Great," Tom remarked. "The schizophrenia was getting boring. But I'm still a werewolf. We have a common interest in getting the Seer. I know where she is."

"So do I," Fenrir answered. "In a cheesily spooky graveyard. That's perfectly obvious. I intent to eat Seer as plat principal; you, lad, are just the hors-d'oeuvre."

Wondering where Fenrir had learnt French, Tom decided to resort to desperate measures.

"Alright. Um, Illamatar is great, Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard ever, Sam Gamgee is pretty brave actually, and, er, I love Harry Potter, and all Muggles. Furthermore...I am a Muggle."

The effect of this wholesale sacrifice of Malfoy principles was instantaneous. Fenrir Greyback was struck by a bolt of lightning which singed off most of his fur and knocked him out, Snape, Bellatrix and all other Harry Potter characters were consigned to the Waste of Narrative Irrelevance, and Tom found himself a wolf no longer.

"Lumos," he said, holding out his wand. As he had suspected, nothing happened. He chucked the stick over his shoulder and ran, as fast as he could, towards the graveyard.

[the guy who be short]

Angawen woke up suddenly.

Escape! Escape!

All Gondorian restraint gone, she jumped out of the bed. It was dark, but she could see stars framed in the entrance of the cave, and she made for them. Aiya Earendil elenion ancalima! Aiya Varda, tari i elenion. She mused on how the stars so often gave hope to the West, and ran with all the energy she could muster.

She felt surprisingly strong for all the days of capt - no, she would not think of the anakronistic spell, or of the whereabouts of Voldemort, her captor. She did not know that it mattered little anyway; they had been consigned to the Waste of Narrative Irrelevance.

Making the entrance of the cave, she saw a great field of tombs in the moonlight. The cave she had been held in was in the base of a cliff bordering a graveyard.

She ran out into the graveyard, stumbling, wanting only to escape from her captivity. She saw gates in the distance, and she made for them, hoping thus to find civilization - what passed for it in Mordor - and gain directions to Mount Zoom.

Suddenly, she saw that on a path to her left and some way ahead of her were three people, also making swiftly for the gates. She recognised the tall gangly figure of Hyarmenwë, and the slight Maika. With them was a man whom she did not know.

Regaining her posture, she called "Hyarmenwë! Lord Hyarmenwë!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

When Aimè left Alli momentarily, she spared no time for logic and went off on her own. She stumbled over bones and managed to leave the tomb without anybody seeing; an impressive feat, given her own Sight was a bit off kilter.

She walked on two planes. In one, her boot lace snagged on a jaw and it crackled along behind her. In the other, stars shone brightly all around her and it wasn't so much as she walked as that she floated very calmly and certainly in the center of the universe. Illamatar was by her.

As her hroa fumbled into the night, her fea was, quite frankly, pretty chill.

When Aimè returned, his reaction went unnoticed by Alli's lack of proximity.

"Illamatar, why have you forsaken us?"

"I haven't. Do you doubt me?"

"I can't see."

"You're looking at me."

"Illamatar, that isn't fair. Why have my dreams disappeared? I used to know everything. I was the ideal spymaster. It was the economy of Mordor, for your sake. I didn't need spies, I just employed them. All of them. I shuffled papers and had Lola schedule and break appointments for me, and all of my workers had steady jobs and steady pay. None of them needed to work, I already had all of the information."

"You're whining."

"It was so easy! What did I do wrong? Why did you take away my dreams? The entirety of Mordor is ready to collapse! We're on the brink of war! Look--" She gestured to the reality in which her body lay sprawled over damp earth where she had tripped over a headstone. From their otherworldly vantage point, it was clear that the Ambassadors were surrounded.

Smilog and Co. strove with various wizards. Panakeia was busy with Anakron-istic love stuff. Angawen was... well... no sense in repeating the obvious. They were all busy, and they were all being closed in on by were-creatures of every make and model. Thunder boomed. Things were grim. The wizards cackled.

Hundreds of miles away, a surprise ending was beginning to occur. Roggie, King of Mordor, was ushering a cloaked stranger into his office, gesturing toward the warm fire.

In the cemetery, the sounds of howls kept getting louder. And louder. And more dangerous.

"Illamatar... why have you let the Blue Wizards do this to us?"

"I was bored."

Alli shrugged. It kind of made sense, after all. "But... we're all going to die--?"

The All-Mighty baaed.

Back on Middle Earth, Alli opened her eyes to find Tom Felton looking into them.

[Anguirel]

Tom Felton stepped from behind a rather art-deco sarcophagus and gave Alli a startled look. Then he glanced quickly away, as if pretending he had not seen her, and started creeping off back into the shadows.

He reappeared a second later, having emitted a muffled cry, rather as if he had been kicked. Tom was, to be candid, a complete mess. His previously conveniently unobtrusive racing broom was now lugged over one shoulder, though he knew he would now be quite unable to fly it. Indeed it hindered his attempts at stealth slightly.

"Er, hello, Alli," he said weakly. "Sorry I'm er, a bit late..."

The scene suddenly blurred as Tom advanced. He tripped entirely over a crumbling headstone and fell on his face, covering himself in mud. He rose, staggered on and then contorted as if a hippogriff and slashed his arm. Desperate, he threw his hands forward...

"They're trying to stop me... the Ithr..."

An elder tree that simply had not been there before was in his way, and he had to stagger through a succession of branches that tore his robes apart. Cold, and rather modest, he swathed a silvery spare garment, forgotten about till now, about himself, then leant towards Alli in relief.

"Ha! I've triumphed over them," he said in satisfaction. "They could stop Malfoidacil, but they can't stop Tom Felton. Alli, I'm going to explain in detail. You see, I was once a werewolf, but I surrendered to the Power of love and worshipped Illamatar, so, if you get it, I'm, like, not a werewolf now, nor a wizard, if you know what I mean. I'm just a pretty straight kind of guy, y'know. Now, we have to act quickly. I need to warn your Hunter friend where to shoot. We're about to be threatened by Fenrir Greyback, who is now bald due to a fortuitous lightning bold but was not explicitly killed by the laws of narration; by Wereducks; and by Mario, again. Then we need to foil the Blue Wizards, and I have to apologise to Maika and confess my undying love to Skittles."

Alli really was a splendid spymaster, he reflected. So remote, untouchable, poker-faced. He admired her insouciance in the face of his stunning information; though she did look slightly puzzled.

The Inaudibility Cloak glinted around the excited ex-wizard's shoulders.

Somewhere, in the distance, wolves howled, one in French, one in Italian...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Barrow Wight stood atop the tomb of some great king of Mordor. It was tall and made of black stone, smooth to the touch and smelled of beans. His long black cloak swirled uncontrollably about him as he peered into the darkness where the great army was mustering. Smilog and Tollin were sitting on the edge of the tomb roof, throwing stones at passing birds and grumbling about the ill treatment Wizards had given them.

A fire leaped up somewhere in the distance; yet it was in the opposite direction to the army of the blue Istari. The Barrow Wight swung around to look at the new thing that was approaching. He gave a slight gasp.

"What is it?" asked Smilog, standing up

"It looks like..." replied the Wight, straining his eyes, "the casino staff from Mount Zoom. They are wearing armour made out of gold and bear swords made from what looks like beaten snooker tables."

Tollin picked up the telescope and looked out, "There are," he mused, "five hundred of them. Men and Orks." The new army filed into the Grave yard and began forming ranks in a circle about the great Barrow in the centre. The three oddlings (as they were later called) clambered down from the large tomb and made their way towards the centre of the Grave yard. Atop the hill they could see the flame that The Barrow Wight had spotted. It seemed to be burning bright, as if it were a challenge to the Wizards.

There was a large Orc holding a large stick that was on fire. He made a great cry and began to beat his chest. The rest of the army joined in until the noise was unbearable. Smilog leaped behind a tombstone.

"Gosh" said the Barrow Wight.