Assigned to Mordor RPG

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron had been waiting patiently for Alli's epiphany to conclude. When it did, he spoke.

"Fléin. You have succeeded in your most unusual quest. However, you were liberal with violence to your quarry. Granted, it was neither theft nor murder; however, there was the threat of murder not to mention severe battery. Eight points."

Anakron turned to Panakeia. "You have the quarry of choice. However, you achieved it by theft. Zero points. You have failed this test. You must make another attempt between now and the end of the fifth and final test, but not right now. It would be most unwise, as the next test will be much harder to pass, and we might as well not waste time on an easy one if the harder one has a much greater chance of ruining your hopes of leaving Mordor. Understood?"

Panakeia dropped the toupée to her side and pouted.

"Most convincing, m'dear."

Anakron turned to Valde. "You, sir, have one Spockian eyebrow. It was also achieved by theft. The deception was quite within bounds, but the theft was clearly against my word. That you have only one is irrelevant, though you should have two, regardless of what that silly Elempí said. Nevermind him. Zero points. You also must make another attempt to pass this test. But not at this time."

"Wilhelmina. I see you have a hat, a ferret, and a little dog, too. You were most wily in separating the pooch from the padiddle who owns her. You did not use theft, nor murder, nor violence, and as I said, deception is within the bounds of the test. However, you still have failed. You should see how it is that you failed. By what means did you separate the dog from the owner? Two things: glittery jewels and a mirror. Both items reveal that this dog here is not the most cherished possession of the padiddle, nor even the second. The padiddle in question happens to care for gems and jewels more than for her pooch; but she cares more about her face and appearance than about either; more's the pity, seeing as the face she has is not really that great in terms of beauty and seemliness. Be that as it may, you will have to take this test over again as well."

All three failures stepped up together and pointed at that which was in Roggie's fist. "What about him?" they asked in unison.

"Mardil, m'dears, has not even begun to do the least lifting of a finger to achieve his quest. Perhaps he is in one of his moods, silly as that would be. Or maybe something has happened to his mind. Whatever it is, the controlling mechanism that governs the wisdom and intelligence in the young man, is for the time being absent, and is expected to return to him at any time. Until it does, Mardil will probably not be much help nor fun nor a passer of tests. Hmmm......"

Anakron had stopped speaking because he was watching the scene upon the mountain. Roggie and Queen Quon had spotted each other. Worse, Rowling had spotted Mardil and had fallen into a fit of hysteria, as if Mardil was some evil entity from the worst of her nightmares. It couldn't possibly have been Roggie, now, could it? Queen Quon roared and beat her chest (with the one hand not occupied with carrying the screaming Rowling, which is somewhat of a shame, as it certainly would have shut her up). Roggie reached behind him and pulled out a black, flaming whip. They were about to exchange blows when a third roar came from the opposite side of the mountain. It was CoDzilla with all his nuclear heated breath.

"Where'd he come from?!" screamed Bleater Quackson.

"Oh, he's been hanging around hereabouts," Anakron drawled. "I thought his presence might lend a certain excitement to your monster battle."

"But- but- he'll change everything!"

"Since when has that stopped you?" Anakron retorted. "Now be quiet and watch."

CoDzilla breathed flame on both of his two opponents. Roggie lit up.

"But what will happen to Mardil?" Alli cried.

"You should have asked Illamatar while you had a chance," Anakron replied.

But the Offending Party member seemed to be protected by some spell the Balrog had cast over him. Meanwhile, Queen Quon's fur caught fire, and Rowling became a living, screaming torch. Well, make that a wick on a torch, because Queen Quon was acting rather torch-like herself. She danced on the volcano, melting the stones beneath her apish feet. Roggie lashed her with his whip, which caught her and dragged her to the gaping crater between them. CoDzilla breathed fire again. Roggie flamed hotter. Queenie fell to the ground with a thundering thump that caused the ground to shake. In another moment, she had fallen into the crater, shrieking in fear and rage. Roggie jumped in after her. CoDzilla looked wide eyed at the crater (which was a strange thing to see a reptilian monster do, with his inexpressive red eyes, but he did it; believe me). He stomped to the edge of the crater and breathed his fire down into it. The crater had been turning from cold gray to a glowing red since Roggie had jumped into it; now it changed to a fierce, hot red. CoDzilla dropped in, and the hot crater began to boil.

"Goodbye, Casino and Resort," Anakron murmured, "I will not miss you."

The volcano heaved. Magma flowed over the edge of the crater, in all directions.

"I suggest that we move a little farther back from the scene," Anakron said.

All those within earshot did as he suggested, looking back nevertheless with wonder at the cataclysm before them.

To make a longish story shorter than it might be, Elempí cut to the chase and explained that he could write all kinds of description about how the magma flowed down the mountainsides, how the casino and resort were engulfed in its river, and how screaming hordes of foolish betters fled as fast as their feet could take them, and some of them escaped. But that will have to do, for we have a main point to get to. And here it is. The magma rivulets actually just about made it to the feet of the Offending Party and the others who stood with them. At the farthest point to which the magma had flowed, something strange had happened. Each little stream finished in a finger-sized golden ring, looking very hot and very heavy, but very cool to the touch, for Anakron picked one up.

He held it up and said, "Who would like one?"

"I'll take it!" Bleater cried, his hands outstretched greedily.

"I always knew where your heart really lay," Anakron intoned, and handed him the ring. Bleater put it on. The finger on which he put it disappeared.

Bleater's eyes went wide. "My finger! It's gone."

"No, fool, feel it."

Bleater felt it. Then he grinned. "It's there!" Then his grin disappeared into a look of disappointment. "But it's only my finger. What good is that?"

Lurge, Sai Onara's orc, picked up another ring and put it on his finger. His head disappeared.

"But what about Mardil?" Alli asked. "Is he, um, well, dead?"

"No." Anakron replied. "He is safe as long as Roggie keeps him."

"Well, I have another question," Alli continued. "What did Bleater pay my Roggie to take a part in this flick? I know he doesn't give two maggots for a Troll, if you'll pardon the pun-"

"I won't," said Anakron.

"-but what did Roggie agree to?"

"Becoming the new Lord of Mount Doom."

Alli's eyes went wide and her mouth formed a perfect "O".

"And now," said Anakron, "it is time to move on to the Fourth Test. Fordim, Aimé, Offending Party, all of you must come with me. We have a flight to catch to a certain village." Anakron stopped. "Oh, and Bleater, go tell CoDzilla he'll be needed too."

"What's the village called?" Fléin asked.

"Dol Gaurgauroth."

[littlemanpoet]

The flight of the Offending Party landed in Dol Gaurgauroth, a pleasant little village; well, at least as pleasent as could be arranged in Mordor.

There were just two individuals missing; but that was quickly rectified, as CoDzilla came stomping up from the south (in which direction Mount Doom roiled and Roggie reigned), Mardil in paw. CoDzilla set Mardil down. The Offending Party and hangers on stood lined up before Anakron.

"You shall make of yourselves a happy village, named (for conveniences of plot) Dol Gaurgauroth. Choose an occupation for the time being, and settle down. On the morrow you will see what has become the Fourth Test.

"Oh, and I have one more individual to drop off at this particular place. Dweomer release!"

Before the eyes of the OP, 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. He is also our 'red shirt' for this occasion. Now get acquainted."

The Offending Party and hangers on looked at those others with whom they had been thrown together for this Fourth Test. Of course, there was CoDzilla, Aimé, and Fordim. Also to be found were Hookbill the Goomba still healing from various injuries. The others were Mormegil, Nilpaurion Felagund (who, they noticed, seemed stranger in appearance than the rest; but that shall be gotten into later on), SPM, and Feanor of the Peredhil.

Alli looked at the latter very suspiciously and said, "Anakron, why are all these people, and only these people here with us?"

"They have been (con)assigned to Mordor, of course."

"But Sir Anakron," said Valde, "everyone in Mordor has been so assigned. What difference these?"

"These have been involved in a most notorious pastime in the future, and have therefore been brought here to play out their worst and best nightmares in your company. I think by now you know what is in store for you. Your goal is to survive, plain and simple. Nighty night." With that, Anakron swirled his cloak around him and suddenly seemed to not be ther at all.

Panakeia felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see a bespectacled grin aimed directly at her.

"Hi! I'm Elempí! Nice to meet you. What's your name? What's wrong with your hair? Why do you wear so much make-up? I'll bet you're beautiful without it. Who's he?" This last was directed toward Valde Delego, who had begun to 'stage left' in their direction somewhat possessively.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli looked at Feanor of the Peredhil in a way that seemed to convey a bit of every emotion except immediate liking.

"Hi, Feanor." She said without much friendliness. She thought it the nice thing to do, if not the thing she cared most for.

"Hi. Call me Fea, please, not Feanor. The whole Peredhil thing was just me being a presumptuous fifteen year old that felt the need to add an Of The to everything. I wrote this really lame story once--"

"I don't care." Alli cut off sharply. "I don't mean to be rude, but I think that it would be far ruder if I actually let you continue in this vein long enough to let you think that I cared before springing it on you. Better to know early, right?"

Feanor looked at her with a bit of a questioning smirk. Uncharacteristically, she refrained from saying the first thing that popped into her head.

"Good. Glad we've got this straight. Listen... if you do anything, Fea, to screw up my chances of getting home, you're going to have me to deal with. I get cranky when I get stuck in situations that I don't like."

"It's happens." shrugged Fea, unconcernedly. "You just tell me what you want me to do and I'll seriously consider it for a few seconds before completely ignoring you and following my own agenda. And um... my agenda currently has zilch to do with you. And just so you know? If you don't want somebody to talk to you, you shouldn't initiate a conversation with them. You know... just for future warning. And if you want to snag one of those guys, which, by the way you're wearing your pants too low and your shirt unbuttoned a bit too far, you are, you're not going to do much a job with it if you act like a [deleted] to everyone you meet."

Alli blushed and cringed. She deserved it, she knew, but that didn't make the sting hurt any less. She shouldn't have been mean to this Feanor. With mere words, the pretty lass could make her feel the lowest of lows. Look, she could do it now: "Alli felt the lowest of lows."

Illamatar above, it was like listening to herself shoot down somebody else... only she'd deserved it and they usually didn't. Alli didn't look forward to an unspecified amount of time living in the same village as Feanor of the Peredhil. What if... what if Mardil? No... she wasn't going to think of that.

Alli watched Fea walk away from her and looked on as she struck up conversation in turn with everybody present.

"Hey Elempi." she smiled, shaking his hand. "Glad to finally meet you. The correspondence through all of this time has been most appreciated. Fordim, most sorry to say, I'm considering a transfer, but not to your school. I guess you'll still not be giving me that A you promised when I schpealed about feminism on your Hobbit thread. Mardil, I've heard your name. I'm familiar with your ancestors. Pass on my regards to the family, should the occasion arise. Hookbill, I'm glad to see you're doing better. No worries... the fiend responsible will surely be brought to justice. Mormegil, it's been ages. Remember that werewolf game? Fun times... We slayed them something fierce... Ah, Nilp. Or is it Alice today? I seem to remember seeing an Emily recently... how goes it with you? Saucie... most glad to see you." She bowed slightly, barely angling her torso from where it had been, but the small motion seemed to convey infinate respect. Alli looked on jealously. Did this girl know everybody? Ugh... how was this fair? Next thing you know, she'll go talk to... "Aimè, I'm glad to see you. This shall be fun, no?"

No. No. Alli told herself. This wasn't possible. How could this... this... this stupid know-it-all girl show up and start talking with everybody? How could she possible have the sort of people skills required to talk equally comfortably with everybody present? How the freak did she even know these weird people? They weren't Offenders. Doubleyooteeyef did Anakron have up his sleeve this time?

Suddenly a very oddly convenient rock flew through the air and knocked Alli out. Her body lay motionless on the hard ground for several moments as the follow song played for her alone:

Oh, give me a home where the dwarven folk roam
Where the hobbits and elf children play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day

Here, here does he range
Where the bad guys like Mario slay
Where seldom is heard a soft-spoken word
And the skies are freakin' cloudy all day.

Alli woke up at random, miffed that nobody had notice her get knocked out by a large rock that had come from nowhere. What in the world was with these stupid dreams?

"Illamatar, should I be paying attention to this dream too? Hm? This is some ultra-important vision that I just had?"

"Baaaaaa."

"What?"

"Oh [deleted]."

"Illamatar, you swear?"

"What?"

"You swore."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"Are you arguing with your Creator, missy?"

"No, sir."

"All right then."

With a poof, the disembodied voice disappeared without actually answering the question.

Oh this is going to be loads of fun, thought Alli sarcastically. First my side-plot turns corporeal, then Illamatar shows up to tell me that my dreams are of immense importance, but won't explain what, and now Anakron's got random people that seriously don't look Middle Earthian showing up. And I do NOT like the way that Aimè and Mardil are looking at this Feanor chick. And she's just soaking up the attention. Ooooh, she fumed. Adjusting her pants and re-buttoning her shirt (who was this girl to judge her anyways... it had been necessary to dress trashily to get back!), Alli vowed that no matter what this Fea girl tried, she would upstage her.

"No you won't. Baaaa." came from the sky. Alli grumbled unintelligibly at her Maker and waiting quietly next to Sai in order to figure out just what was going on. She knew that she needed to talk to "Aimè" again, but that could wait. After all... she didn't want the group to know exactly what was going on... knowing her luck, they'd all just gang up on her and kill her without bothering to listen to a single word she had to say.

Sai reached over and squeezed Alli's hand for a moment, giving her a reassuring look. Only Flein noticed. The rest of the group was too busy with its own issues.

[littlemanpoet]

The villagers stayed up late discussing the finer points (no pun intended ... at least at first) of Dwarven women's beards, getting to know each other, making friends and enemies, and generally choosing sides.

Next morning they were up late, and straggled out of the cottages they had chosen for themselves, to the center of the village.

There they found a newly built gallows. Hanging by the neck from it was none other than Elempí, his tongue blackened and hanging out of a ridiculous smile. His spectacles still bespected his visual orifices; however, written in blood on both lenses was the number '3'. The villagers noticed that Elempí's thumb and pinky had been removed from both hands. So had his big and pinky toes from his feet. The villagers were beginning to sense a theme.

"Three what?" one of them queried.

In answer, Elempí's blackened tongue fell out of his mouth and began hopping around, a set of vocal chords wagging along behind it. Somehow, they got a sound from this misapprehension that sounded something like "wer ..... w ....vzzz", a sound that it repeated over and over again.

Finally, one of the brighter ones in the assemblage said, "I think this means there are three werewolves."

"We must lynch them!" said another.

"Brilliant," came a sardonic voice from behind them. Anakron sat on a cushy lazyboy, his feet up, eating popcorn and nursing a six pack. "Just understand that here in Mordor, because of the Dweomer, the lynchings are always multiple, and there are cobblers amongst you. Yes, notice the plural. I think I'm going to really enjoy this."

"But this could take days!" Panakeia cried, thinking about the rapidly disappearing time she had to do her make-up test.

"Maybe, maybe not. Those who remain of the Offending Party after two or three days (I still have to decide how many I'll make you toil through) will be excused, and the rest of the village will be free to continue to decimate each other, or flee, or bury themselves in the mud, or run to Roggie and beg upon his gracious mercy. Proceed.

"Oh, and one more thing. Do not assume that fellow members of the Offending Party are not werewolves." He grinned malevolently, and continued to much and quaff.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

This was the most hilarious thing that Feanor of the Peredhil had ever experienced. She'd seen it coming, to be honest. She knew far more about everything than was strictly prudent to let on. She laughed really hard as she once more saw Alli staring at nothing that seemed to say "Baa."

Alli was slightly less amused. This wasn't good. No, this wasn't good at all. She was going to die. That was all there was to it. How could she ever escape Mordor at this rate? Anakron was actively trying to get them killed. Well, you know what? She had bigger things to worry about. She rubbed her head where the rock had hit and remembered all of the stupid songs and poems that had recently run through her head without her say so.

"Okay, so Mario's a bad guy. Well you know freaking what? Mario isn't here right now. We're playing a very lethal game and Anakron's probably--" here she muttered something too vulgar to even be appropriately [deleted]. "Wait... so what do I know? The Scotsman is innocent. Eomer of the Rohirrim is innocent. Wait... that's real life. That's Mordor. This is Dol Gaurgauroth. This is entirely different." Alli currently had no clue what she was doing.

She swore very colorfully in her customary way. She'd just had a thought. If Eomer of the Rohirrim is innocent and Illamatar had outright told her that she needed his help in real life, then she couldn't very well let him get killed in this deadly game. She hoped hard that he wasn't a werewolf, because she was about to start lying about how much she knew. Whether he was innocent or not, she absolutely needed him to survive.

She'd need to think hard about this. Maybe she'd take a nap. Maybe that'd be a bad idea. She could really use the sleep... her dreams hadn't been restful of late and she was getting exhausted. She needed a dreamless night... but they'd probably kill her as she lay.

"Anakron," she called out. "If we're killed in the game, does that mean we actually die? Because I'll be very put out if I die."

Waiting for his answer, she stared at Feanor of the Peredhil as the girl started talking in a very odd sort of way.

"I'm the Seer." said Fea. "You should kill me. I mean... I'm a wolf. You should hug me. Kiss me, I'm Irish."

Tom Felton looked at her in a way that suggested that he'd like to do all three. Alli groaned. This was going to be memorable.

[the guy who be short]

Fléin stood around awkwardly before heading off to talk to Wilhelmina. All these new people worried him. Wilhelmina was safe, and was standing off to one side, talking to Mr Swanky.

"How's he doing, Wilhelmina?" he asked softly as he approached, moving out of the gaggle of people introducing themselves to one another.

"Eh?" she replied non-descriptively.

"Mr Swanky? Since Queen Quon... fell," he euphemised.

"Oh, he's been doing fine. That kitten you brought into this world seems to have distracted him sufficiently."

"Really?" he asked, surprised. "I hadn't given a moment's thought to it. Where is she then?"

In reply, Wilhelmina pointed at her hat.

"Listen, Wilhelmina..." he started, but stopped abruptly. Had he just imagined that? Had Sai just slipped her hand into Alli's?

They spent so much time together too. Horror of horrors, could they be... lesbians?

Fléin was immediately repulsed. Mahal hadn't created female dwarves to be with female dwarves. It was bad enough that they flaunted their gender for all to see, these Humans - but this! It crossed his mind for a second that Mahal hadn't actually created Men, nor had he meant for Dwarves to feel for them, but he dismissed this. Evil was only evil when he wasn't commiting it.

"Yes?" the whimsical voice of Wilhelmina floated over him, bringing him back to reality. He looked at her and frowned, lost in thought. "You were saying...?" she continued.

"Oh. Oh... Nothing of importance, Wilhelmina. Let's go meet these new people, shall we? Get a sense of what's what?"

She signified her consent, and the pair wandered off together, Fléin keeping half an eye on Sai and Alli. Maybe he had imagined it, after all. Alli was staring hungrily at Aimé, while trying hard not to appear to be staring hungrily at him. Who should they introduce themselves to? "That man covered in boilers and bathtubs seems quite an interesting chap," Wilhelmina answered his unvoiced question conversationally. Perhaps they were forming a psychic bond? He revelled at the though.

The Saucepan Man, or Spam, as he was commonly known, did turn out to be quite an interesting chap. He had apparently been named for his helmet of saucepan (Fléin was reminded of the Cap-Tin Sparrow), but upon his way to Mordor, there had been a poor translation of some sort. He wandered off into metaphysical possibilities and quantum physics, leaving the two a little lost, but much comforted in their intellectual new friend. He could be a strong ally in this village. Once his little spiel was over, they discussed this and that long into the night, and he thankfully kept both his feet firmly on the ground.

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

The next morning, faced with horror the likes of which they had not contemplated, they huddled together instinctively. Already, clans were forming.

Those potential-lesbians looked quite suspicious in Fléin's eyes. They probably had some sort of satanic deal with Morgoth himself, usurpers of family ideals that they were. Potentially. He'd be keeping an eye on them, that was sure enough.

"Wait a second... Will we actually be killed? That wasn't in the contract!" he heard Sai yelp. And so it began.