The Reunification of the Entish Bow - RPG

[Diamond18]

And so then began the joyous celebration phase of the soaring climax. This required much feasting, dancing, feasting, singing, feasting, charades, feasting, and an all night Parcheesi tournament. The Velour and the MotleyCrewShip mingled freely for a time in the euphoria that comes from partaking of a Doubly Delectable Death by Chocolate Pudding Cake, and all were really deliriously happy.

Manuël himself was so giddy with the success of the rockin’ party that he got out his guitar and treated his fellow sentient beings to a jam session. Those who were not too dignified or jaded to do so danced and cheered as he got his groove on, and by the end he was feeling so exceedingly grooved that he made this noble proclamation:

“Like, dudes! And dudettes! It’s been a really non-bogus night, and I hope you’re all having an excellent time! This most excellent party couldn’t have happened without the help of you, our little friends from Muddled-mirth! And so, I, Manuël Santana, like, do hereby grant you all one wish, except for the hobbit-dude who already got more favors than he deserved!”

(This was well and good, since Windsor would probably have wished that an unfortunate accident befall Vogonwë in such a manner that Pimpi might be left in need of comfort, and Manuël, honoring his most non-heinous proclamation, would have rather heinously pushed Vogy off a cliff.)

Anyway, there was much cheering in the face of this proclamation. Unfortunately, since everyone was a bit punch drunk with the festivities, many of the Itship made silly and frivolous wishes. Leninia asked for a pair of shoes like Prada wore. The Gateskeeper yearned after a pair of rhinestone studded horn-rimmed glasses. Gravlox asked for a mirror. Reeperneep desired that another battle await him in the future. Halfempton hoped that he might have more face time if another battle should await him in the future. Kuruharan asked for many gullible and rich people to come his way. Chrysopholax wished that those people be fat and young. Sueim wished that certain people who insisted on calling him Grralph would just stop.

Merisu, alone did not make a wish, for she had everything she could hope to wish for right here: her beloved, better-than-the-last-model Gravlox, and her unrent Ent. Also it made her exceedingly happy to see all her friends exceedingly happy, so she could not think of anything to make it better. Yes, she is really quite cute and selfless, isn’t she?

Pimpiowyn of all Itshippers had enough presence of mind to remember that she and Vogonwë had come to Valleyum for more than just opportunities for epic poems and shieldmaidenry. In a piece of ridiculously good luck, it just so happened that they had come with a request for Manuël (which in all the hoo-fla-fla surrounding Mogûl and the Ent, had been put on the back burner. Waaaaaay on the back burner.)

“Manuël, sir, or dude,” she said respectfully, “my fiancé and I have a wish for you.”

“Yes, I would like to write the best poe--”

“Not that,” Pimpi hissed, silencing her true love with a well placed elbow. “Vogonwë here is half-elven, and would like to request you grant him permanently the immortality of an Elf.”

“Actually, I think I would rather write the best poe--”

“AND I, as his fiancée, would like to request that we both be allowed to stay in Valleyum, he as an Elf and me as an Elf-friend.”

“Done and, like, done!” declared Manuël jovially.

“Oooh, is there going to be, like, a wedding?” Prada gushed. “I just love weddings! Do you need a wedding planner? I love planning weddings! We could have another party celebrating the wedding!”

“Another party? Dudette! Rock ooooon!” Manuël said, and played an enthusiastic riff on his guitar.

And lo! throughout the Velour the news traveled that tomorrow would see another gratuitous celebration, and as each heard the news each gave each other high fives and exclaimed, “Dude/tte! Excellent! Party on!”

*

Morning dawned to find the Itshippers and Velour alike sadder and wiser, except for Pimpi and Chrysopholax, who were both ready for a healthy breakfast. Luckily for Pimpi there was enough food on hand to satisfy the most voracious of Dragons and Half-Halfthing things alike, though were it came from exactly and who prepared it was a mystery left unsolved due to apathy.

While Vogonwë moaned and worried what vast quantities of Doubly Delectable Death by Chocolate Pudding Cake would do to his pristine Elvish complexion, Pimpi set about the important task of Planning the Wedding. She wrote out invitations for every last Itshipper, even the ones who had died or were otherwise absent. Getting the invitations to these lost members proved rather difficult, as they were dead or otherwise absent. But, resourceful little holbytla that she was, she did not let this stop her.

She went out early that morning to Tan-Quickly-Hill, armed with a pair of invitations, a brandy tumbler, and a bottle of spirits. She ceremoniously filled the tumbler with brandy and dipped an invitation to Earnur Etceteron therein, then set it on top of Orogarn Two’s tombstone, pinning his invitation underneath lest the wandering wind blow it away. Then, the insane little half-halfing nodded in satisfaction of an utterly pointless and morbid job well done.

The tumbler sat on Orogarn Two’s tombstone for many years, until one day some hapless Elf came along and drank from it. Soon after he died in paroxysms of gut-wrenching pain, because everyone knows that to drink brandy off the tombstone of a Hero is in bad taste, and therefore cursed.

Pimpi, not knowing the fate that would befall this poor unnamed lout because of her symbolic actions, whistled happily as she went and delivered the invitations to the rest of the Itship.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

So lively had been the celebrating during the evening that none noticed the gradual withdrawal of two persons. Merisuwyniel and Gravlox conversed in low tones, for though they had seen each other in the fray of battle and during the tempestuous events that followed, they had not had opportunity to speak with one another privately. There was much to relate, for each wanted to know what the other had experienced during their separation, yet they felt a bit hesitant after such a long time. Had their love survived despite all that had happened?

Merisu gazed at Gravlox shyly; after she had seen his orcish face for so long in her memory and her dreams, it was strange to behold the handsome Elf that stood before her. Not that she objected, of course, but she felt some slight uncertainty when they were alone. He smiled at her, and his eyes reassured her with their familiar warmth. Then he moved closer to her and gathered her into his arms, reassuring her that he was truly risen from the dead. His hands caressed the soft material of her sleeves reassuringly (yes, she was wearing her beautiful Topfloorien gown, the one with the blue diaphanous material, embroidered as with stars), then moved to warm her back, which was covered with too little fabric to ward off the evening chill.

After a time, it seemed to be a good idea to find a more comfortable position for further, umm, reassuring words. Then words ceased and the curtain of darkness covered their own personal version of reunification.

Much, much later Merisu murmured, “Darling, do you think we should make that a double wedding tomorrow?”

“Not necessary,” Gravlox answered. “I had time to take a course in ‘Elven customs and laws’ while staying at Mantoes’ halls, and we Elves marry by simply, well, consummating our union. So we’ve actually been married a long time.”

“But what about your first marriage?” she asked, puzzled by the legal complications of his changed identity.

“Well, she divOrced me, so I was single again, then died, so I was a widower. Then we were together before I died, so I think that would constitute a marriage,” he went on.

“Then I was a widow all this time?” Merisu gasped. “Why, I should have been wearing mourning!”

“I’m sure black would have looked fetching on you, my dear,” he answered gallantly, “but it would be a shame to see you so somber. You look loveliest the way you are right now.”

She blushed, for her attire was rather scant at that moment. Or perhaps the rose that tinted her cheeks so becomingly was due to the rising of the sun.

“At any rate,” Gravlox chuckled, “there’s no doubt of our Elven marital status after this night! Now we should consider whether we wish to have a family.”

Merisu blushed again. “Not necessary,” she whispered. “We already are...”

[Kuruharan]

Kuruharan simply couldn’t take anymore of this. He’d already regurgitated everything he’d had to eat for the past three months. If Merisuwyniel’s hushed confession turned out to be what he was afraid it might be…he’d probably have a bout so severe as to cause him to retroactively starve to death. (Of course, he wouldn’t have been in this position if he hadn’t followed them in the first place in hopes that he might overhear something worthy of blackmail, or at least get some good pictures with a strange picture-box he’d bought in the Seventh Age…)

Suppressing his gorge, he tramped into the idyllic silvan glen and confronted the startled lovers.

”EEEEEEKKKKK!!!!”

Kuruharan affected to ignore their…ahem…state and looked down the mountain and toward the sea.

“Magnificent view,” he said to the world in general.

Merisuwyniel ran up and tried to slap him, but he leapt aside.

“For some reason,” said Kuruharan, “I’m having the most curious sense of déjà-vu. I believe we’ve done this scene before."

The irritation in Merisuwyniel’s heart suddenly dissipated into sadness and solemnity. She knew what the dwarf was about now. Annoying as he could be, she had a sinking feeling that life might prove just a shade…duller without the dwarf and his dragon.

There was another long moment of staring out to sea.

“It’s odd how things work out,” observed Kuruharan. “The last time Earnur was with you and Gravlox was…ahhh…quite dead. Now Earnur is dead and Gravlox is with you.”

“What are you implying?” said Merisuwyniel.

“Some people might think that you are bad luc…I mean, that Gravlox is a lucky, lucky orc…elf!!!” said Kuruharan hurriedly.

“You’re not even going to stay for Pimpi’s and Vogonwë’s wedding?” asked Merisuwyniel.

“Ummm…I’ve suddenly had my fill of elven wedding customs,” said Kuruharan. "I’m not sure I really want to. Besides, I’ve got this whole dramatic flying off into the sunrise thing planned and I’d really hate to miss it.”

There was a flurry of activity as Kuruharan made his announcement to the rest of the Gallowship. The news that the Gallowship were to see the first successful live escapee…uhhh…survivor…no…departure filled them with sadness. To further the melancholy, Reeperneep announced that he too would be accompanying the dwarf on his further adventures. When asked what those would be the glorious mouse only said that it had something to do with club bouncing…or was it a bouncing club…or something like that.

When all was loaded (including some of the watchers), Reeperneep took his station perched between Chrysophylax’s horns. He wore an expression of keen anticipation. He’d known that seeking the end of the world in the west would prove to be utter nonsense! Now they were heading in the right direction!! Eastward HO!!!

Kuruharan stood next to the dragon. He looked exactly the way he had the first time they had seen him. He still had neatly brushed light brown hair and beard, and twinkling blue-gray eyes. His clothes were still (somehow) very sharp. He still wore his cloak of the deepest crimson with silver fringe. Under that he still wore a full length coat of dark blue with gold embroidery along the edge. His tunic was still spotless and as red as a cherry, with more gold embroidery. He wore a gold belt with an axe thrust into it, and his boots were impeccably polished. On a gold chain around his neck he still wore a large golden dragon pendent. He either hadn’t aged a day or somebody had gone back to the original thread and cut and paste the same exact text and plopped it down here!

If the Gallowship hadn’t known any better, they’d have thought everything that had happened had been a dream and that he’d just landed back in the Hidden Farm…oh, how long ago was it…? It looked exactly the same…well, except for the fact that they were on a different continent, the fact that a fair portion of the individuals who had been present at that original introduction were dead through the ravages of war or the heroic over-consumption of alcohol, the fact that there were a number of odd new additions to the group (not the least of which was the mouse perched on the dragon’s horns), the fact that most of the surviving members of the Gallowship had married each other, the fact that they were surrounded by Velour…oh yes, and the fact that the Ent-That-Was-Broken was Broken no more! Other than all that (and maybe a few other things I’ve forgotten), everything was exactly the same!

There was another long pause.

“Well,” said Kuruharan, figuring there was nothing else for it, “here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea…”

“We’re not on the seashore,” interrupted Pimpi.

“brahum…” sputtered Kuruharan. “Here at last, dear friends, on the sides of the Mountain comes the end of our Gallowship in Muddled-mirth…”

“We’re not in Muddled-mirth,” interrupted Vogonwë.

“Ugh!” snapped Kuruharan. “Here at last, on the sides of the Mountain comes the end of our Gallowship in Valleyum!! There happy now?!! I would say ‘do not weep’ but I know that you just won’t be able to help it!”

With those words of benediction, the dwarf climbed onto the dragon and they were aloft.

There was much waving of hands and wishing of farewell as dwarf, dragon, and mouse rose to the clouds and set off.

Merisuwyniel just couldn’t resist getting in the last shot.

“Muddled-mirth is in the other direction, you IDIOT!!!”

After a sudden course correction from west to east, some embarrassed staring off in the other direction, and pretending he’d meant to do that…there was a last round of waving ta-ta as the Gallowship watched the trio soar through the skies until all sight of them was lost in the sunrise.

I suppose you probably want to know what happened to them after they got back.

They got back. Kuruharan used his gaming license to re-establish the great kingdom of Hazard-boom. He expanded the resorts and casinos until they exceeded in size and gaudiness even those of the Ancient Days. He also made King Gain Lotsamoola an offer he couldn’t refuse and got a hefty share of the take from the Trebor Resort and Casino. Reeperneep signed on as Kuruharan’s hired muscle and enjoyed a life of continually getting into brawls, battles, and total wars. However, he was always agitating that they hadn’t “gone far enough east!!” Chrysophylax received a franchise and set up his own shop in the Wight Mountains above Minus Teeth and preyed upon the hapless Grundorians who were still devastated at the destruction of their fair city. He also got into an unseemly brawl with Lord Dimli of the Glitzy Caverns Resort and Casino…but litigation is still pending in that case and the judge has placed a gag order.

However, from time to time, these three would occasionally get bored and go rampaging about the landscape again looking for adventure…so you just never know when they might turn up again…likely as not, they probably found some of their old friends someplace or maybe they’ll turn up in your story sometime!

[Diamond18]

“Oh well,” said Pimpi, crossing three names off the guest list, “more food for the rest of us, I suppose. Vogy, have you given any thought to who you want as your best man?”

“My best what?”

“Best man. Or elf, I suppose. It’s a human custom, don’t you know anything about that half of your heritage?"

“Er. I have learned a little from you, my dear, and the likes of Orogarn Two and Lord Etceteron, but I’ve never attended a human wedding.”

“Oh for pity’s sake. Well, the bride and groom each have a friend stand up with them. I’m going to ask Merisu to be my maid of honor. Or matron of honor. I’m a little confused about that. But anyway, you need a best male-of-the-species to stand up for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the custom.”

“Well...” Vogonwë seemed unduly adverse to the idea, and suggested, “what about hobbit wedding customs? Can’t we follow those instead?”

“Unless you want to do the Pumpkin Shoe Dance, no.”

“Well, I’m half-elven. We could just do it the Elvish way... you don’t even need witnesses for that....”

“No! We’re having a proper wedding!” Pimpi insisted. “One that’s followed by a big feast. Now go ask someone to be your best man. Maybe Gravlox will do it.”

“Are you insane? I killed Gravlox, and I let the dragon eat his pet bunny.”

“But it’s a new day and all is forgiven.”

“Look, maybe he’s not out for revenge, but you just don’t ask someone you killed to be your best man. Er, best orc.” He took a long look at Gravlox, who was canoodling with Merisu across the glen, and said, “Or maybe best elf. Whatever it is that he is nowadays.”

“But--”

“I’m not asking Goldilox over there to stand up in my wedding, and that’s final!”

“Fine. Windsor then.”

“No!”

“Why not? He saved my life, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s a big hero. I don’t want that short little twerp as my best man.”

“Best hobbit,” Pimpi correctly haughtily. “And need a remind you that I too was once short, before I ate the magic beans?”

“Never that short,” Vogonwë insisted petulantly.

“You have something against short people?”

“I have nothing against short people. ‘Twerp’ was, I believe the operative word in that declaration.”

“Fine. Be that way. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. Pick someone to be your best man, I’ll be over there asking Merisu to be my maid of honor.” With that, Pimpi flounced off.

Vogonwë pouted for a few minutes, and then wrote sullen poetry for the next half hour, while Pimpi and Merisu, giggling like schoolgirls, went off to find a wedding gown for the bride.

He was working on a bitter haiku when Halfemption ambled up and read over his shoulder:

If Kuru was here
I could just pay him to stand
Up as my best dwarf

“Very bitter,” Hal remarked. “Nice.”

“Hey, Hal!” said Vogy, brightening. “I forgot you were here. What are you, exactly?”

“That’s a good question,” answered Hal. “Hold on a moment while I go find out.”

He walked away and was gone for several minutes, digging into his genealogical information, and presently returned, declaring decisively, “I am a half-half-elf, or quarter-elf, if you will.”

“That’s great. Would you like to stand up in my wedding as the best-half-half-or-quarter-elf?”

A small tear glistened in the corner of Hal’s eye, and he said, “How kind of you to ask. What an honor. Best-half-half-or-quarter-elf? Me? But, surely you jest.”

“I have never been more serious in my life.”

“I’ll do it,” Halfemption said, and gave Vogy’s hand a hearty shake. “Shall I also make a toast at the reception?”

Vogonwë gave it a moment’s thought and asked, “Is that the custom?”

“Um, yes.”

“Then I think you’d better.”

“Splendid, I shall go work on that right now,” said Hal, and went off happy in the knowledge that he was currently a valued member of the Itship. Several years on an island can do that to a person.

*

Pimpi and Merisu, meanwhile, were digging through their trunks in search of Pimpi’s favorite gown.

“Pimpiowyn,” Merisu asked thoughtfully after a moment, elbow deep in taffeta. “Are you quite happy with your situation?”

“Eh?” asked Pimpi, untangling an old pair of socks. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just noticed that you and Vogy were fighting over something before. And it worried me,” replied Merisu with sweet concern. “You see, Gravlox and I never fight, or have disagreements, or elbow each other in the ribs. Ours is a romantic, lovey-dovey sort of relationship, and I cannot imagine being truly happy unless I were completely smack-faced in love with my intended.”

“Well that’s easy to explain. You’re an elf. I’m half hobbit. We’re the pragmatic sort.”

“Yes, I suppose. I just want to know that you are completely happy.”

“I am. This is my pragmatic hobbit version of being smack-faced in love. And besides, I’ve gotten so used to Vogy’s annoying bits -- the poetry, the insufferable elven haughtiness, the petulance, the.... er, what was I saying?”

“You’ve gotten used to all that.”

“Yes, I’ve gotten so accustomed to it that even his annoying bits are a like a comfortable old shoe. If I wore shoes. But anyway, if we should part I would miss even the worst of his poems. That, and if I found someone new I’d have to get used to all his annoying bits too.”

“Well. That’s... inspiring.”

“Isn’t it?” Pimpi smiled. “Oh! And look, here’s my dress!”

With a flourish she pulled out her favorite gown. It was the gorgeous gown that Lord Celery had bought her, oh so many years ago, in Topfloorien. A dress of black velvet, cut low at the neck, adorned with ribbons of golden embroidery, with flowing, gauzy, fluid, filmy, flimsy, diaphanous, gossamer, sheer, tiffany, ethereal, preternaturally gosh darn beautiful red sleeves falling gracefully to the ground and of a width and length that made any practical action of the wearer nearly impossible.

And this description is in no way cut and pasted from any previous post of any kind. Honestly!

*

The time finally came for the wedding, and Manuël Santana got out his Ever Lovin’ Guitar Strap for them to swear their vows by. It was a magnificent piece of leather, decorated with seashells, and all present gasped as one to behold its magnificence.

“Like, dude/ttes! Now the bride and groom will, like, exchange the totally groovy vows they both have written.”

Vogonwë, in an extreme fit of nervousness, forgot his vows and was forced to sheepishly dig through his pockets to find the scrap of paper he’d composed them on. He unfolded the crinkled paper, now damp from his sweaty palms (really, some days it just does not pay to be half-human) and cleared his voice.

“Oh I'm a lucky fella,
I'm a lucky boy,
I've got a new umbrella,
And it's me pride and joy!”

“What the...?” Pimpi said indignantly.

“Eep,” eeped Vogy. “Wrong scrap of paper. That’s, um, a children’s rhyme I was working on. Hold on a moment.”

He rifled through his pockets some more, but when he could not find his vows, he succumbed to a panic attack and fainted rather ignobly. Halfemption, fulfilling his duties as best-half-half-or-quarter-elf quite admirably, caught him in time to prevent him from cracking open his noggin on the ground.

“Smelling salts!” Pimpi cried, and an unknown personage helpfully provided her with some. She waved it under the groom’s nose, and he sputtered to life.

“Maybe we should, like, dispense with the personalized vows and just go with the usual,” suggested Manuël, and Pimpi agreed.

“Groovy. So, dude, repeat after me. ‘I, Vogonwë Brownbark, Son of Geppetuil, Elven-party-king and third cousin of Thranduil, thrice removed, do take Pimpiowyn Took, daughter of Éohorse Son of Needahorse, a Valiant Man of the Mike, to be my lawfully wedded wife, and I do solemnly swear by the ever lovin’ guitar strap of Manuël Santana, that I will love and cherish her for as long as we both shall live.’”

“Mama?” croaked Vogonwë. “Why are you sleeping in the dishwater? Mama? Can you hear me?”

Pimpi looked at the smelling salts dubiously.

“Duuuuude, just say ‘I do’,” Manuël said with a sad shake of his head.

“I do.”

“Groovy. Do you, Pimpiowyn Took, take this pathetic heap of half-elvenness to be your lawfully wedded husband, etc. etc.?”

“I do,” said Pimpi.

“Excellent! I now pronounce you, like, totally hitched!” Manuël played a riff on his guitar, and the deal was sealed. “Now, let’s paaaaaaaaaaaaaaar-tay!”

[Rimbaud]

And now, indeed, after an exceptionally lengthy guitar solo and a couple of impromptu line-dances, it was Hal’s turn to stand and make a brief speechlet.

Sadly, he failed in this endeavour, and produced a speech so mind-blowingly dull, long-winded and only tenuously connected with the nuptials at hand that it lulled the assembled into a stupefied silence. Here I will provide brief excerpts from this turgid tumescence of language; the most edifying and indeed edible selections of his pun-strewn prose.

“Pimpiowyn Took and Vogonwë,” he started promisingly, but it sank faster than a Pop Idol runners-up career after that. “Pimpi and Vogy. Pimps, and if you’ll allow me, the Voganator.” Here he paused, as if to let these mellifluous introductions float like scum on top of the placid, village pond of proceedings.

“So, yes,” he restarted. “Quite. Marriage. Getting hitched. The big knot-tying-thang. Yeah. Well, we all have to say after the ceremony that we’ve all just…enjoyed, that the two of them are distinctly more married than they were before. Definitely moving up the scale of being-marriedness. Hic!”

The audience began to shift, restlessly. It is, as many authors have failed to point out, rather difficult to shift in your seat without an attitude approaching restlessness, but still. Or, not still.

“Very suited to each other these two,” went on Hal, relentlessly. “Pimpi is strong, ambitious and loves a challenge – and Vogonwe is that challenge!” he looked up expectantly. Not a titter.

Hal launched into a couple of anecdotes about his late brother, and also some about the deceased Halfullion. His other brother arrived just in time to hear the end of these. Nobody seemed remotely interested.

“Knock Knock?” he cried.

“Who’s there?” replied one person in the audience, flatly.

“Control freak. Now you say control freak who!” cried Hal triumphantly. “Hahahahahahaha! Woo! Hic! Um, sorry. So, what is it with Seinfeld? There are all these clips where someone starts off with 'so what is it about...?'" And so on.

Eventually, Pimpi threw a particularly well-baked scone with such hobbit-power that Hal stopped talking and the party got into full-swing again.

However, sadly for all concerned, Hal awoke shortly after, to complete his toast.

“And I’d just like to say,” he slurred. “That of all the people I’ve seen get married, these are two that I really consider myself to have…met.”

There was some small smattering of applause, and Hal lurched over to latch on to one of the horror-struck bridesmaids for the rest of the evening.

[Thenamir]

Gateskeeper, his robes re-whitened by the gracious Yawanna (who graciously forgave him for the unfortunate accident so long ago), watched the matrimonial proceedings with a joy he’d seldom experienced as a second-rate bad-guy. It was a novel experience to be part of a team in which you did not need to watch your teammates with as much acuity as your opposition -- in which advancement was based on accomplishment and not assassination. It was a bit like being exiled from the cast of Dawson’s Creek. But such thoughts occupied the minds of no one except the poor slob transcribing this history. Especially when it’s time to PAR-TAY!!

And you can only imagine the party that can be thrown by almost-all-powerful semi-demigods. The food was all that Pimpiowyn could have ever hoped for, in quality and quantity, and yet as in her Mogul-induced fantasy she gained not a pound. Vogonwe composed and recited poem after poem, but the wines that Yawanna provided not only gave him tolerable talent but gave everyone else the ability to ignore him at will – and best of all, there were no hangovers! Leninia even tried to compose some music to accompany him, but without the Entish Guitar, her heart wasn’t really in it, and she wandered off to a corner table to introspect. Halfemption had to be carried off when he tripped over the light fantastic and sprained an ankle. The Reunified-And-Very-Grateful Ent even took a turn on the dance floor with Merisu, but he had two left roots, and afterwards it was all she could do to hide her limp so as not to make the Ent feel too badly.

As for Gateskeeper, Hal’s toast had given him a marvelous opportunity to catch up on some badly-needed rest. However, once everyone came out of their stupor and the party hit the dance floor, Gateskeeper, remembering the unfortunate accident with Yawanna in ancient times and thus anxious to avoid dancing at all costs, volunteered to deejay with his staff-mounted sound-khaard. Mantoes graciously gave him the gift of unlimited royalty-free access to the complete music vaults of the Lords of Khopy-wight, and thus the hot tunes flowed until the wee hours of the morning – which Manuel was gracious enough to stave off for a few extra hours so that all could party until they dropped. Manuel was a bit unclear, though, on until what dropped, and the sun rather unexpectedly rose when a platter of sushi rolls slipped from Pimpi’s fingers to the dance floor.

But all good things must come to an end, and as the remaining members of the Dance-dance-revolution-ship tottered off for a nap (and the newlyweds for for their nuptuals) Gateskeeper had some time to give thought to his future. Thus the rising sun found Gateskeeper sitting alone on the beach, though why it was looking for him remained a mystery. He was having a difficult time with his own inner conversation, since the second voice which had tormented him for so long was finally gone. It was a pity that Kuruharan had left so early – he had considered recruiting the capsulized capitalist and his fiery friend for the wars against the Eunuchs of the Pea Sea. But being a reformed bad-guy means not only having to say you’re sorry, but rethinking things like absolute power and might-makes-right.

The wars would have to cease, there was no question. The soft wares he created would have to become friendlier to those who used them. But, loathe to give up his high-spending lifestyle, he had to contemplate whether there was a souce of profit that could be as successful as the threatening and extortion with which he had hawked his Great Window. It was time to do a 360 and find new vistas, though he found taking advantage of the hype odd without those impy three players with whom he once associated back at the Networkgaard of Dorktank. But he’d severed all connections with the jobs and the buffets of days gone by, and there was no way to reset his way thru the tangled net of the ether of his past. He would have to shift, to escape, to enter a new line and rid himself of the numb lock that prevented him scrolling to a new page. In short, he would have to delete his past and find the key to getting himself home in CTRL of a new destiny. And then it came to him like a politician to a fundraiser – he could make people happy and make money at the same time by offering music on demand from Mantoes’ gift!

And so, The Gateskeeper was awaiting the assembling adventurous associates, now awakened and arisen from lying awhile abed. Having rid himself of oversupply of the letter ‘a’, the transformed thaumaturge was eager to begin his new life of profiting from good. The new Mr. and Mrs. Gravlox stepped into the new day, and the light of their magnificent coifs rivaled the light of the late-arriving sun. Truly they belonged together. “To the happy couples,” Gateskeeper effused. “I know I’ve not been officially reformed for long, but I’d be honored if you’d accept a token of my gratitude.” He then produced a small, thin box for each of them. “It contains a memento of our adventures together – with a press of this button you will be able to listen to all the songs which we composed, encountered, or mangled in our travels. Unfortunately, it does nothing to improve vocal quality, but perhaps I can do something about that in a later release.” Merisu smiled as she took the musical gift, then leaned in and gave him a quick and perfectly platonic kiss on his boyish cheek. Gravlox shook his hand warmly, thanking him for the gift and for his help in making sure that Merisu accomplished the quest. “And besides,” Gravlox continued, “this will give me some inkling of the things that happened on your noble way. Is there anything that we can do for you to express our gratitude?”

“I could use a ride back to Muddled-Mirth when you go,” Gateskeeper proffered, “and if you could, you know, talk up those little boxes, and let people know where you got them...”

Merisu and Gravlox both rolled their eyes, thinking in unison that the more things change, the more they stay the same. It had indeed been a long and very strange road, but home was awaiting. And who was to say that there were no more adventures to be had…

[Mithadan]

As the celebration stretched on, Sueim happened upon a group of Velour congregating about a punch bowl made of pure mithril. The punch steamed golden vapours as they dipped their mugs into the concoction over and over again. This they had to do because the ladle had been lost and the bowl was too shallow to fill their mugs fully. Thus, as they were half in their cups, they spoke to Sueim.

"Duuude!" cried Manuel. "Good job out there taking on Mogul and his Loyers!"

"Yes", added Mantoes. "You swamped him like a rogue wave."

"Thank you," replied Sueim.

"So, what are you going to do now, dude?" asked Manuel.

"Well," responded Sueim with a grin. "I'd rather hoped that you would take me back as general counsel now that my stint in Muddled Mirth is done."

"No way!" cried Manuel. "Now that Mogul's toast, we don't need no stinkin' Loyers. Actually, we're thinking about banning them in Vallyum."

"Alright then," said Sueim with a hint of a grin. "But you like the work that I did on behalf of Valleyum, right?"

"Yes," answered Manuel. "You were smooth, like the bay on a flat-top morning."

"Them I guess all that's left is to settle up my bill," said Sueim. With that, he produced a weighty scroll which he handed to Manuel. And Velour though he was, Manuel could barely hold the great scroll. "It's itemized," said Sueim. "It covers three ages of work."

Mantoes took the scroll from Manuel and unrolled it. This took some time, and it was nearly morning when he reached the end of the parchment. "One hundred twenty five million gold pieces?" sputtered Mantoes.

"That includes a ten percent courtesy discount," Sueim replied with an even broader grin.

"We don't have that kind of bread," cried Manuel.

"Unfortunate..." said Sueim with a frown. "I suppose I could sue. Maybe get a judgment and execute upon, say the southern half of Valleyum."

"We're all reasonable dudes," whimpered Mantoes. "Maybe we can reach some accomodation. You know. Cut a deal..."

Sueim's grin grew even larger.

*********************************

In later times, the legend of how Chief Justice Sueim received his appointment to preside over the High Court of Muddled Mirth was memorialized in a mighty lay that went as follows:

Mogul went down to Valleyum,
He was looking for an Ent to steal.
He was in a bind
'Cause he was way behind,
And he was willing to make a deal.

He came upon a Loyer
with a legal pad and Mont Blanc,
So Mogul jumped up to the podium
and said "Boy let me tell you what."

"I bet you didn't know it,
but I've got Loyers too.
And if you care to take a dare
I'll make a bet with you."

"Now you're a pretty good Loyer,
But give the Mogul his due.
I'll bet an Orc with hair of gold
Against that Entish soul,
'Cause I think we're better than you."

The Loyer said "My name's Sueim,
And it may be a sin,
But I'll take your bet and you're going to regret,
'Cause I'm the best that's ever been."

Round the Mountain, run Elves run!
Mogul's in the House of Valleyum.
Loyers in the courthouse,
Making lots of dough,
Ready if you are now,
Litigate, go!

So Mogul opened up his case,
and said "I'll start this show."
And Loyers crowded around as he sized up his foe.
Then the Loyers opened their briefcases and it made an evil hiss.
And a band of paralegals joined in and it sounded something like this:

Ipsi dixit, quid pro quo!
Habeas corpus, do si do!*

The Mogul bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat,
And he laid himself on the ground at the Ent's wooden feet.
Sueim said "Mogul just come on back if you ever want to try again!
I told you once you son of a gun, I'm the best that's ever been!"

*The meaning of this last weighty legal term has been lost in the mists of time. Some say it means "Justice shall be done." Others say it means "Pay up, Suckah!"

In still later days, the legend of Chief Justice Sueim grew. Until one day he decided a dispute between some Dwarves and an Elvish King over the damage caused by a dragon after the Elves failed to pay a casino bill. Among the Elves, it is said that Sueim retired under a cloud of scandal after he awarded Dairyland to the Dwarves. But among the Dwarves, he is praised and it is said that he went into the East and and there still, waiting for his next big case... and bill.