Assigned to Mordor RPG

[Kath]

Sai allowed herself to be moved around, needing every brain cell she had to try and figure out how she was going to keep the TV crew occupied for 30 minutes. Her life certainly wasn’t interesting enough to fill that time slot, and even if it were she wasn’t about to tell it to the whole world. She could usually think up a lie at the drop of a hat, but she seemed to be experiencing a brain freeze that was making it hard for her to do so. All too soon she was sat facing a kamura, and a man stepped in front of her and began to count down.

“3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . and we are live with Sai Onara, one of the 7 members of the Offending Party who had kindly agreed to tell us her life story. Over to you Sai.”

Suddenly he moved aside, leaving Sai in direct line of sight of the kamura. Terrified she sat in silence for a moment and then, seeing the looks of impatience on the faces of those around her she took hold of the lie that while not the most convincing was definitely one she could spin out for a reasonable length of time, and began to tell her ‘life story’. She just hoped that no one who saw the programme had ever been able to stomach Shakespeare or the old fairy tales!

"Well, I suppose it all began when my parents ànne Urotîk and Carb Onara met. Their courtship and marriage were both rather clandestine affairs, as their parents were rival families and would never have condoned the relationship. My mother carried me in secret for 9 months, but the truth was discovered when I was born and a trap was set to prove it. My father was followed to where my mother lay recuperating, and he was told that she had died from the stress of childbirth. Distraught my father tried to throw himself upon his dagger, but he missed and fell through the door into my mother’s bedroom, finally cracking his head open on my crib. Hearing the noise my mother awoke and got up to see what the commotion was, but she was weak and disoriented and slipped in a nasty puddle cause by a dog that couldn't be housebroken , falling forwards and impaling herself on the very dagger my father had used to try and kill himself. And so it was that they both died, just hours after my birth. I’m not sure I’ve ever really stopped blaming myself!"

Here Sai took a moment to collect herself, knowing that she needed now to show ‘appropriate’ emotions. Her tears weren’t entirely fake, as she was having to bite her cheek hard to keep her laughter in check. Still, they weren’t bad enough that she needed the used hanky that was passed to her. Looking up again she made a show of setting her shoulders and carried on.

"I was an orphan, alone and helpless. My father's brother took me in, and for a while I was happy for he was a good and kind man. But soon after my 8th birthday he married a woman who was neither good nor kind, but cruel and wicked, as were the two daughters she brought with her – Uglià Sin and Mary. Between the three of them they made my life a misery."

And Sai began to regale them with tales of the 'bullying' she had received at the hands of these three women, wondering just how long she was going to have to keep talking because she was running out of ideas! Just as she thought she was going to have to start making up some ridiculous story about fairy godmothers and the like, she saw Mardil out of the corner of her eye and quickly wrapped up the interview.

"Anway, to cut a long story short, my uncle finally saw the error of his ways and divorced my evil stepmother and we all lived happily ever after."

Jumping up she quickly crossed over to Mardil and hopped into the rather flash new car. After a small detour back to the starting point for Mardil's cloak they were on their way. Mardil had wanted to stop for some food, an idea Sai was certainly not adverse to, but there seemed to be no service stations along the road. There were plenty of signs but every time they reached the mile limit specified there was nothing there. The sleet that had begun to fall was making it difficult to even see the signs anymore, so Mardil began to drive as close to the edge as possible so Sai could see better. She was just straining her eyes to see the next sign when she saw a moving shadow. As they got closer she could make out the figure a little better, and caught sight of a distinctive looking chignon.

"Mardil! Stop the car - it's Alli!"

"What? Where?" came his reply. (And there was a "Who?" from the back as well.)

"Over on the side of the road, pull over. If her car's broken down we can give her a lift."

For a moment it looked to Sai as though Mardil was going to keep on driving, and leave Alli where she was, but a quick glance at the orc in the backseat seemed to convince him to stop, and he pulled over next to the still shadowy figure.

[Celuien]

Sleet poured down, battering the van with the fury of a . Panakeia sat inside glumly. This is horrible. Half the day gone and I've hardly even started. If only I could melt this horrid ice. She sighed.

Across from her, one of the grips, wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Escape from Mordor," pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Foul smelling smoke filled the air. Panakeia coughed. The grip glared at Panakeia. "So, you're one of the overly health conscious nuts who challenges my right to smoke?" He blew a cloud of noxious fumes into her face.

Of all the rude, insolent ways to behave! I should give him a piece of my mind. Panakeia was about to launch into an invective against the grip when an idea popped into her head. She broke into an enormous smile. Now that's a way to kill two birds with one stone.

"No, not al all. In fact," she smiled, "In fact, I was just going to ask you to share. May I?" She held out her hand.

The grip eyed her suspiciously. "Well, just one. These things are expensive with taxes and all." He handed her a small box, printed with the image of a man wearing a ridiculously large hat, along with a box of matches.

Panakeia snatched the box and scurried out into the driving sleet. To the loud consternation of the now very angry grip, she set the entire box ablaze and held it up to her Cruiser's door. The ice coating the handle melted. She pulled the door open. Bert pushed in ahead of her to claim the passenger's seat. Panakeia quickly seated herself behind the wheel.

The injured grip ran up to her. "What's the matter with you?" he shouted angrily. "10 Trolls up in smoke."

"Oh, do calm down. Up in smoke is where they would have gone anyway. Here, I'll give you something to replace it." Panakeia rummaged through her sample case. She tossed him a package of black licorice and a box of Hammered Armor Tooth Whitener. "There, that should cheer you up. And it's worth far more than 10 Trolls. Why, I would have charged anyone else 15." The grip disagreed. He continued to yell at Panakeia.

The orc scampered up to the group and ordered the grip back to the van. "Whewe awe woo goin'?” he cried out to Panakeia. “Woo can'th leave uth."

"I'm afraid I have to. I can't wait for your repairs. But I'm sure Bert here will capture anything of interest on kamura. You know where were going. See you at the Resort." Panakeia slammed the door and set off, sliding over the ice. Behind her, the crew sprang back into action under the orc's direction, struggling to replace the door on the van.

Just ahead, Panakeia spotted a sign over the road. "M25 to M1. Mount Doom Casino and Resort and other Recreational Facilities." An arrow pointed to a crisscrossing set of ramps, but gave no clear indication as to which was correct one. She asked Bert, hoping that a Native Mordorian might know the roads. "Which way is Mount Doom? Right or left?"

"Right. No, left."

"Left?"

"Right."

Panakeia gritted her teeth. She looked down at the controls in front of her. One was the likeness of a troll with a large belly. Lines circled the edges of the troll's abdomen, dividing it into portions from "F" to "E." An arrow pointed three-quarters of the way towards the F. At least we have plenty of gas. She turned to the left and hoped for the best.

[Encaitare]

Fléin drove a little way down the road while Wilhelmina lounged in the passenger seat and happily ignored the questions the kamuraorc persistently asked. She didn't much feel like telling the smelly little creature about her past, or her plans for after she got out of Mordor, "if," he said, "woo thouwd be tho fowtunate."

Yet the landscape was bleak, and the smog thicker than the kamuraorc's skull, which he was not pleased to hear. "It's really quite ridiculous," Wilhelmina said. "I think you're right, Fléin; there mightn't be a petrol station for miles. I don't want to be stranded in this awful smog."

"What do you propose we do, then?"

"We'll stop at the first hardware store we see. I think siphoning some gas might not be an entirely crazy idea," she told him with a devious grin that was, in fact, entirely crazy.

"I think there was a Wally Market back there somewhere," said the Dwarforc.

"Unless you want ugly holiday ornaments or squishy pillows, that store is about as useful as... oh, I don't know... frog-leg kabobs at a respectable dinner party."

Fléin wasn't sure what to say to that, so he remained silent.

In a few minutes, an orange glow became apparent in the distance.

"Oh! Wonderful!" enthused Wilhelmina. "I do believe that's a Home Despot store! We can get some tubing there."

"Home Despot? Sounds somewhat dictatorial," commented Fléin.

Wilhelmina waved a wrinkled hand dismissively. "Don't worry your little bearded head about it. As long as the owner's not about we should be in and out in a jiffy."

Fléin pulled into the parking lot, and drove about trying to find a space. Many of the parking spaces were occupied by ridiculously large vehicles, such as Hummers, and their brethren the Singers and Whistlers. "Damn double-parkers," he muttered.

"If woo'd gotten a wittwe Fwench Caw with no Guth, woo'd be abwe to thqueethe into one of thothe wittwe thpaceth," the kamuraorc noted helpfully.

"Wouldn't be caught dead in one of those," the two in the front seat said together.

At long last, Fléin managed to find a place to park the Cruiser, and all three of them passed through the mighty gates (Caution! Automatic Door!) of Home Despot.

O! the vast plains of concrete flooring, spread far in all directions as far as the eyes of Eagles could see! And lo, they beheld the flourescent lighting and the stark metal of the shelves, respectively as flourescent and metallic as really flourescent and metallic things! And they were stricken dumb by the brilliant orange of the shopping cart and the logo, and they fell on their knees before the monolithic statue of the Home Despot mascot, carven in the likeness of a large-schnozzed man clad an apron the color of pumpkins in the sunlight! Yet that was only because they had tripped over an inconveniently located pile of two-by-fours, and they did climb back to their feet, and verily, Wilhelmina was heard to declare, "Two-by-fours really aren't really two-by-fours. They're more like one-and-a-half-by-three-and-a-halves." And thus did end the pretentious narration.

Fléin and Wilhelmina, both being quite short, craned their necks and looked up at the signs suspended from the ceiling, hoping to find the plumbing aisle.

"It'th that way," lisped the kamuraorc. Wilhelmina was about to give him a sharp retort, but looked first and grudgingly realized he was right. Shortly, they obtained a length of plastic tubing, clear, "because," said Wilhelmina, "I don't want to get a mouthful of petrol by accident. Now, let's get out of here."

Suddenly, there came cutting through the stale smell of the store a nearly sickeningly fresh scent akin to flowers rotting in a sugar bowl.

"I've bought out Home Despot -- that's a good thing!" boomed a feminine voice. Wilhelmina just had enough time to say "uh-oh" before a woman appeared upon a makeshift stage. She was dressed stylishly but modestly, and her face suggested that she had been using products similar to Panakeia's wares. Behind her, curtains were swept away to reveal handmade tchotchkes, piles of books of holiday cookie recipes, and cans of perfectly-shaded paint.

"Is that -- Mârtha Stewârt?" Fléin gasped. Wilhelmina could do nothing but nod in horror.

"My new recipe book is chock full of delicious ideas which will be the envy of all your friends and family!" she declared. "And that's a good thing!"

"Let's get out of here, fast!" Fléin whispered. Wilhelmina was quick to agree.

"And you'll all just adore my new craft ideas!" boomed Mârtha Stewârt. "You there! You with the beard!" Fléin stopped and stared at her, dumbfounded. "You look like a learned man -- take note, it has both lovely handpainted flowers, and easy-to-read markings measuring each and every milliliter! Aesthetics and function," she said, thrusting the enormous piece of scientific glassware (which would have made any self-respecting scientist vomit on the spot) into Fléin's hands, "that's a good thing!"

Fléin and Wilhelmina tore out of the store at lightning speed, barely pausing to throw a couple of Trolls at the cashier on their way to the exit.

~*~*~*~*~

"We'll put the car in neutral, then," Fléin decided, "and push it towards the vans. That way they won't hear us approach. Then you can siphon their gas and we'll simply drive off!"

"Stupendous," approved Wilhelmina. And that was just what they did, the kamuraorc nearly wetting itself with the delight of devious activity caught on film. It stopped giggling when they made him help push.

When the Cruiser was next to one of the vans, Wilhelmina unrolled the tubing and inserted one end into the van's gas tank. "I need that beaker for a minute," she said to Fléin. "The gas can either go in there, or in my hat, and I'm not having Mr. Swanky drowning in dead dinosaurs." She sucked quickly on the end of the tube, and then let the gas move through the tube and pour into the beaker. She repeated the action from the beaker to the gas tank of their own car.

"Not bad for an old lady," she noted with satisfaction. "Let's do another one, just in case." In a few minutes, their gas gauge read "full".

As they entered the vehicle once more, Wilhelmina wrinkled her nose at Fléin. "I wish you wouldn't keep turning into an Orc. It's horrid."

In the backseat, the kamuraorc wearily protested, "Native Mordorian!"

Wilhelmina turned around and glared at him. "Every time you're politically correct, Eru kills a kitten," she said sternly, and then they were driving away in triumph.