The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Diamond18]

Back in the Mire, the Midshipwo/men were mucking about in the literal mire on the road. Kuruharan continued to use vile language to express himself, and it is here again represented by various punctuation marks.

“^&%#! This isn’t a road, it’s a $!@#-($*#ing swamp!”

The Dipshippers ignored him, as was their wont, each of them also battling the muck. At one point Earnur drew his sword and heroically smote the ground, declaring in manful tones, “Thou shall not prevent us from passing!” Griper burst into tears as it sank to its hilt in the mire, but Earnur heeded it not, drawing it out and shaking it above his head. It was not clear what this accomplished, besides spattering Orogarn Two and the Gateskeeper with mud and other elements. Grralph, weighted down with his weighty cloaks, sighed as he pressed thinggedly along. Merisu, Pimpi, and Leninia wrinkled their noses and lifted their skirts as they skirted the puddles, but then they remembered that they had mounts to ride, and mounted them sensibly. Soregum’s little red-eyed pony, however, looked miserable as she sank to her knees, and so Soregum was obliged to remove his weight from her equine person and traverse the gloop on foot. Chrysophylax wrinkled his snout as the tenacious goop squished between his toes and coated his scales, though he did have to pause to admire his footprints. Only Vogonwë was unencumbered, leaping from his horse, the slow and mud-hassled Tweedledum, to walk lightly on top of the bog. He waved to the others and declared, “I go to find the sun!” It was not clear what he meant by this, but nobody bothered to ask as they feared it was a snippet of a poem.

“What an odd little land,” Merisu observed, kneeing Falafel forward through the mud. “The grass is beautiful and green, the sky is pristine blue, the palm trees sway lightly in the breeze, but whoever is in charge of the roads is just doing an awful job!”

“It is lush, isn’t it?” Leninia said, eyeing the pretty flowers alongside the road. “Lord Etceteron, would you be a dear and pluck that rose from its bush for me?”

Earnur had been slashing his way through the glop, and paused with brown splatters running down his face. “Rose bush?” he said slowly, looking around in a muddy daze. He spied the flowery flora in question and drew back the mighty Griper, with murder in his eye. He fell upon the rosebush and the rosebush knew fear. Leaves and petals flew into the air, showering the Whipshippers with a cloud of ravished pollen. Leninia and Pimpi lifted their faces to the sky and felt like Elven princesses on their wedding day, even though they did not, as far as we can tell, have Elven blood. Merisu on the other hand was a little nonplussed, even though she was Elven and probably a forgotten princess of some sort to boot.

“I say,” she said, “Lord Etceteron, what did that rosebush ever do to you?”

Earnur, done with vanquishing the bush, turned to her and quoth, “It was looking at me funny.” He then presented Leninia with a single, perfect pink rose, and returned to vanquishing the mud.

Vogonwë, moved by the spectacle, turned his face to the sun and quoth:

The bush was bushed
By Lord EE
With a whoosh
And the mud went ghoosh
Under the hoofs
Of the steeds
And the weeds
Grew abundantly
On the side of the road

“Where is everybody?” Merisu wondered out loud. “I see quaint little houses and odd little burrows with round painted doors, but no one is coming to welcome us.”

“Or throw rocks at Vogonwë,” Kuruharan added.

“I do hope we can find a bite to eat,” said Pimpi. “I’m starving.”

They came at last to a gate blocking the way over a bridge, and Merisu stepped up, calling out, “Yoo hoo? Is there anybody there?”

At that a window slammed, and a crowd of hobbits holding gigantic lollypops poured out of the house on the left. They opened the gate, and came over the bridge, circling around the Quipship. Then, to the Quipship’s surprise, they began to dance jerkily and sing; “We represent the Lollygag Guild, the Lollygag Guild, the Lollygag Guild. We represent the Lollygag Guild and we’d like to say something but we can’t remember the rest of this soooo-ong!” With that they each fell to one knee in the mushy path, extending their lollypops to the Popshoppers.

“Er,” said Merisu ingeniously.

One of the taller hobbits stood and said, “Welcome, friends, to the Mire! We represent the Lollygag Guild, otherwise known as the Welcome Committee and Road Crew. Mostly, however, we just lollygag with our lollypops. Would you care to join us?”

“Actually that sounds like fun,” said Vogonwë.

“Road Crew, eh?” Kuruharan stepped up. “I’d like to log a complaint with your customer service bureau, in that case, because your roads are simply rubbish.”

“Never mind that,” Merisu shook her head. “It’s kind of you to offer us your hospitality, but might you instead give us directions to the nearest inn?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to lollygag with us? We really recommend it. In fact, you might be sorry if you don’t,” the hobbit said, as he and his comrades ringed around the rosey just a little bit closer. “We take our welcoming committee duties very seriously.”

“Thank you, but no,” Merisu said patiently. “We want nothing more than directions to an inn.”

“And eatery,” nodded Pimpi.

“And spa,” Leninia paused from sniffing her rose to bat her eyelashes.

“And pipeweed stash… er… store,” Soregum tapped his empty pipe.

“And Chinese laundry,” said the Gateskeeper, ruffling his sodden robes.

“And karaoke bar,” said Grrralph, whose robes were self cleaning.

“And tattoo parlor,” said Orogarn Two, inexplicably.

“No,” said the leader. “You must lollygag with us. You must gag as we gag and lolly as we lolly, for it is written in the Lollygag Manifesto, ‘Let all who enter the gate go not from that place until they have first obeyed the whim of the welcoming committee’.”

Then Earnur fell upon the Lollygag Guild, and the Lollygag Guild knew fear.

They scattered from the roadway as his sword slashed among them, shattering their lollypops and griping that the sugar could not be good for its blade. “We shall pass!” he cried, a fey yet manful look in his eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Merisu murmured as the hobbits ran screaming into the house and slammed the door. “I guess we’ll just find our way around by ourselves. You know how men detest asking for directions and all.” The Calamityship then shuffled through the gate and over the bridge, Chrysophylax munching on bits of shattered lollypop and Earnur swinging his sword menacingly.

Vogonwë quoth:

They represented the Lollygag Guild
And he smote their ruin
Upon the riverside
And we walk over their ruin
And it tastes pretty good

[Estelyn Telcontar]

“Vogonwë,” Merisuwyniel said in her sweetest voice, which was very melodious indeed, “would you please run ahead and see if you can find some sort of road sign?”

The rest of the Muddyship looked at her gratefully, as mud and Vogy’s poetry were too much of a bad thing. Vogonwë smiled and said, “Let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf, snow, or mud – an Elf.” No one bothered to mention that he was only a Half-Elf, as they feared a debate on that topic would delay his leaving.

Merisu looked back at the bedraggled group of inter-racial heroes and their sidekicks when something that had been nagging at the back of her mind suddenly occurred to her. “But where is the cart?” she exclaimed.

The others looked around blankly, mumbling “Cart?” “Which cart?” “When did you last see it?” “It was there just a minute ago.” One brave member of the group commented (from the back, where s/he could not be identified – not so brave after all, apparently… ) “Do we really need it?”

“Of course we need it!” Merisu answered indignantly. “The Entish Wood is the reason for our Quest! Without it, we could just turn around and go back!”

More than one of the others would have liked to answer, “Great idea”, but they dared not. Whether this was due to the fact that they realized that turning around would mean going back through the same mud can no longer be determined.

As it was, they had to retrace their steps anyway; the cart was not really far behind, but it seemed double the distance. “My legs would be more willing, if the mud were less mucky,” Orogarn Two declaimed more dramatically than the situation deserved.

Vogonwë reappeared at that moment. “There is a sign ahead,” he shouted.

“What does it say?” Pimpi asked.

“It says: CART GET STUCK?” he answered.

“D’oh!” Merisu replied inelegantly, with considerably less feminine practicality than was her wont.

“Is that all?” Leninia retorted impatiently.

“Perhaps there is a second sign with more information,” Orogarn Two suggested. (He was used to thinking of second things.)

“I’ll run back and look,” Vogonwë replied, and was off in an instant.

The rest of the Glopship applied themselves to the task at hand, literally, hitching up the noble steeds to attempt to pull the cart free.

“§$%&/*#!” Kuruharan shouted in exasperation. Chrysophylax, who thought he had been called by his business partner, flew up to volunteer his assistance, but the nature of his fiery help did not bode well for the wooden artefacts, so he was politely requested to stay clear.

Vogonwë came back just as the males were pushing at the back of the cart while the females pulled the horses at its head. “I found another sign!” he beamed.

“What’s on it?” Gatesy wheezed between “heave-ho”s.

“It says GIVE IT A PUSH,” he said.

They looked at each other, puzzled. “D’oh!” Pimpiowyn commented.

“That can’t be all,” Grrralph mused.

“I know, I know,” said Vogonwë in a flash of unexpected brilliance. “I’ll run back to see if there’s another.”

“Look for two while you’re at it,” Leninia suggested with a foresight that came from her Maydayian nature.

Off he ran yet again. Merisuwyniel had paused to think while the others were pushing and pulling, for she carried the responsibility, the heaviest burden of the Quest by far. Now her face lit up with an idea. “I have it!” she exclaimed. “Let’s take the biggest pieces of Entish Wood off the cart, then we should be able to get it out of the mire.”

“I thought we were going into the Mire?” Etceteron queried.

“No, the mire, not the Mire,” their intrepid leader answered. “It makes a difference if you capitalize a word.”

They removed the huge Entish Thighs from the cart, strapping them onto Chrysophylax’ mighty back, where they deemed them to be out of danger. Then they pulled and pushed the cart free, finally able to continue their journey.

Before long Vogonwë rejoined them.

“Well?” Pimpi asked impatiently.

“There was another sign,” he said, carrying on hurriedly as he saw the flash in his beloved’s eyes. “It says: YOU’LL SOON BE AT…”

“Huh?” Leninia commented eloquently.

“There was one more,” he added. “It had a name on it: THE IVY BUSH”

“I recognize that!” Soregum shouted excitedly. “It’s an inn! We must be getting close to the heart of the Mire.”

Their faces lit up at the prospect of a homey fire, food, drink, and beds. With renewed effort, they pushed on until they finally stood before the door of a low building. The sign that swung above it proclaimed that this was indeed “The Ivy Bush”. Dusk was falling, and the lights that shone through the window shutters looked inviting. Next to the house was another building with a dilapidated sign that they could barely make out in the fading light. “Sethamir’s Stables and Chinese Laundry”, Merisuwyniel read. Turning to the others, she smiled. “It looks like we have everything we need right here!”

[The Saucepan Man]

Ever since entering the Mire, Soregum had kept his cloak and hood tightly wrapped around him for fear of being recognised. He had even pulled on his over-sized boots, although that was largely on account of the exceptionally poor state of the road.

“Can’t think why they have let it get into this state,” he had muttered to the others apologetically. “Although it has been a while since I was last here.”

At this, Grrralph had peered at him suspiciously.

As they stood outside The Ivy Bush, Merisuwyniel turned to her muddy and bedraggled companions.

“Now, remember,” she said in a commanding yet feminine voice. “We seek here only a hearty meal and a good night’s rest. I don’t want any of you getting us into trouble.”

“As if we would,” the Trouble-Magnet-Ship replied in unison and, astoundingly, without any hint of irony.

“Just try to blend in and don’t do anything to attract attention to yourselves,” she continued.

“And just how are we supposed to do that?” asked Orogarn Two, surveying the distinctly un-Hobbit-like company.

“This is the only road that leads to the Pay-Havens,” replied Merisu sharply. “There will be many travellers in an inn such as this.”

“Yeah, and I suppose they are all accompanied by Dragons too,” muttered Kuruharan.

All concurred that the Dwarf had a point and it was agreed that, in the interests of discretion, Chrysophylax should find himself a secluded spot to hide away while the company tarried at the inn.

“Keep yourself out of sight,” instructed Merisu. “And don’t go worrying livestock or toasting Hobbits.”

“Of course not,” replied Chrysophylax obligingly, his golden eyes glinting as he smiled inwardly in anticipation of the fun that he would have tonight.

As the great Dragon launched himself into the air and flew off, Merisu turned and, stooping, entered the lively inn.

At once, the room went silent and all eyes turned to the newcomers. A dart, missing its target, went flying into the wall. Trying to look as inconspicuous as they could (and failing miserably in the effort), the Sore-Thumb-Ship braved the glare of fifty pairs of Hobbit eyes and made for an empty table in the corner.

“Well that went well,” muttered Kuruharan.

“Oh, you think so?” said Earnur. “I was worried that we might have been noticed.”

Once they were settled, Merisu stood up and made her way to the bar.

“Good evening, sir. We require board and lodgings for the night, and stabling for our animals,” she said to the landlord.

“Yoom bee strayngerz in theezle ‘ere parrtz, bain’t yoom?” he said, peering at Merisu suspiciously.

The Shieldmaiden blinked momentarily, before replying in perfect rustic Hobbitish.

“Aye, tharrt weem bee, koind zirr. Weem bee in need o’ vittles n’ laardgin’ n’ stayblin’ fo’ theezle ‘ere noight.”

“Warrll, woi daadn’t yoom zay zo? Yoom beez in larrk. ‘Appen oi’ve garrt warrn spayre roome yoom can ‘arrve.”

“Now look here, my good man – er – Hobbit,” roared Lord Earnur Etceteron, striding up to the bar manfully as fifty Hobbit hands reached for their sling-shots. “We don’t want any trouble. We simply …”. His voice faltered as a well-placed knee cut him short in his prime.

“Just let me handle this,” Merisu hissed at him. Wincing, he turned and limped back to the table somewhat less manfully.

Within the hour, the horses and pony had been stabled in the adjoining building and a young Hobbit lass was serving the weary travellers with assorted food and drinks (in predictably prodigious quantities). Soregum launched into a particularly succulent leg of lamb, taking care to keep his face shrouded. Grrralph sat opposite him, his red eyes flickering like burning coals.

“So your journey’s over, my friend,” he said at length.

“Mmph ebble ob?” replied the Hobbit through a mouthful of beer and lamb.

“When we met you, you said you were on your way back to the Mire,” continued Grrralph. “Well, here you are.”

“Yes,” replied Soregum, swallowing hastily. “But now I think of it, it occurs to me that you need someone like me on this journey of yours.”

“Oh yes,” said Merisuwyniel. “And why should that be?“

“Yes, what use could someone like you possibly be on a heroic quest such as that with which we are charged – er - with?” interjected Vogonwë dramatically, seizing on the seeming opportunity to rid himself of this would-be rival for Pimpiowyn’s affections.

“In Grundor, little one, we let the children play when there’s adults work to be done,” laughed Orogarn Two, tousling Soregum’s hair patronisingly.

“Looks like your application’s about to be terminated, my friend,” added the Gateskeeper, smirking.

“No hard feelings, eh, old bean?” chimed in Earnur, proffering a hand.

“Face facts, darling, you’re just not wanted. Why don’t you take a hike?” spat Leninia, who had still not forgiven Soregum for outcome of the singing contest.

“Loser,” added Kuruharan, warming to the conversation.

“Well,” continued Soregum, steeling himself. “It seems to me that any delegation to Valleyum on behalf of the Free Peoples of Muddled-Mirth should comprise representatives of each race. You have an Elf, a Half-Elf, a Dwarf, assorted Men, er - whatever it is that Grralph is, and, of course, various Entish fragments. Even a Dragon. But you have no Hobbit.”

“The position of Hobbit is already taken” snorted Vogonwë, inadvertently coughing up a hairball.

“But Pimpi is only Half-Hobbit,” said Merisu. “Soregum is right. We need a full compliment if our company is to be truly representative.”

“Well, it’s no hair off my toes,” replied Pimpi, draining her fifth mug of ale top and letting fly with an impressive belch. Soregum looked at her in admiration as Vogonwë retrieved his fallen crest.

“What?” she exclaimed as he glared at her. “I’m just blending in like Merisu told us to.”

It was not long before their jugs of ale had run dry and Soregum, his eagerness to prove his worth getting the better of him (not to mention the six pints he had already downed), volunteered to have them refilled. But as he crossed the room, jugs in hand, his hood slipped.

[Editor’s note: For ease of reference, the following passages have been translated from the rustic Hobbitish.]

“Well, well! As I drink and smoke! If it isn’t Mercasor Gummidge!” exclaimed a grizzled old Hobbit. “There’s a face I haven’t seen in nigh on fifty years.”

Soregum stopped abruptly, his mind racing as he desperately tried to think of some way out of the situation. Looking back, he saw that his erstwhile companions had all taken a sudden and intense interest in the patterns made by the beer-stains on their table. There was nothing for it.

“Dodo Muddifoot,” he said with a heavy sigh. “How goes it with you, old friend?”

“Badly, as it happens,” replied the old Hobbit darkly. “But that’s quite beside the point. Where have you been all these years, Murky you old rascal?”

Inevitably a crowd had gathered round, and Soregum was forced to sit and spend the next hour fabricating exotic tales to account for his fifty years’ absence from the Mire. At length, the conversation turned to the Mire itself.

“These be queer times,” said Dodo Muddifoot ominously. “They say there’s wolves abroad on the North Moors at night.”

“Aye,” agreed Holdfast Buttonbelly. “My cousin Cal, him as works for old Mr Bodkin at Overthehill, said he saw a beetle big as a house up beyond Spooky not long back.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” sneered a mean looking fellow who had sat himself opposite Soregum. “Fire-side tales and stories fit for nought but to scare the bejeepers out of the young’uns.”

“Hush you, Ned Candyman,” said a pale Hobbit who had arrived shortly before looking rather shaken. “Just ten minutes hence, I saw a Dragon flying over old Farmer Gobbins’ marshmallow fields.”

“You saw a Dragon fly? That’s nothing! I saw a Horse fly,” declared Flabby Bulgebottom.

“I saw a Front-porch Swing and heard a Diamond Ring,” added Old Soakes.

“Well I’d been done seen about everything, when I saw an Oliphaunt fly,” intoned old Daddy Twobellies solemnly.

At this, the Hobbits could contain themselves no longer. As one, they all collapsed in great merriment. All except Ned Candyman.

“Get with it Daddy-oh!” cried Dodo Muddifoot, tears rolling down his face. “You’ve got to make it believable. Elsewise you lose the effect. Flying Oliphaunts indeed! That’s just plain ludicrous.”

“But I did see a Dragon,” said the newcomer quietly.

“Yeah, right!” snarled Ned Candyman as he headed for the door. “Well, it’s an early start for me tomorrow, Dragon or no Dragon. Sweet shops don’t run themselves you know, and business has been mighty brisk of late.”

As the confectioner departed, the mood became sombre once more. Dodo Muddifoot drew close to Soregum conspiratorially.

“All the same Murky, things ain’t right here in the Mire,” he said in hushed tones. “Not since old Sparkey* arrived.”

“Sparkey?” said Soregum blankly.

“Yes,” continued Dodo. “He turned up four weeks ago with a gang of ruffians from Beer in tow. Selling sausages in bread rolls he was. Well, as you can imagine, they were selling like hot dogs.”

“In no time, Ned Candyman was in league with him,” added Daddy Twobellies. “That’s why his shop is doing so well, you see. New recipes he says. But everyone knows it’s Sparkey behind it all.”

“Yes, there’s something queer in them lollipops, and no mistake,” Old Soakes chipped in. “Anyone taking a bite out of one of them comes over all strange like, if you get my meaning. Lollygags they call themselves, making out they’re all friendly like. Truth is, they’re just doing Sparkey’s bidding.”

“So, where’s this Sparkey now?” asked Soregum.

“Up at Bog End,” replied Dodo. “Holed up with his ruffians. He’s taken young Lotto Boggins-Ssmythe under his wing. And now we all have to do as he says. Those as don’t get dragged off to the Recycle-Bins.”

“There must be something you can do,” said Soregum.

“Not on our own there ain’t, Mercasor Gummidge. Mind, if a hardy bunch of adventurers were to come along …”

“Funny you should say that,” smirked Soregum looking back towards the Oblivious-ship.
_____________________________________

* A corruption of the Orcish, Sparkû, meaning “Cable-Man”