ATM II RPG

[Lhunardawen]

"You're sure that's Roggie's warlordess, eh?" Maika remarked breathlessly. Then she swooned a bit and fell slowly, hoping someone - even Dracomir, who was still mesmerized by the Skittles's flying kiss - would catch her ere she hit the floor. No such luck. But touching the ground was a relief; the awful movement of the Mountain left her carsick. Had it been just minutes ago? It seemed hours to her. Moving on (and how), she glanced back at those events in distant memory...

"Wha-a-at i-i-is go-o-i-ing o-o-n?!" Lola had blurted out in fearful surprise. Maika could only grin in spite of her own rocking self.

"I-i-i ha-a-ave no-o-o i-i-ide-e-a-a. Ma-a-y-y-b-e-e," this is getting tiresome, and their voices did not really shake like that, anyway, "we should go back to the room. We'll be safer there, in case this is an earthquake."

Of course Lola should have known better than to believe her, but Maika had ingeniously taken advantage of her initial surprise to let the witch of a girl do what she wanted her to do. Quickly regaining her "I'm in charge" look, Lola turned around and walked briskly; Maika followed behind her. She felt a bit dizzy after a while and realized that they were against the direction of the mountain's movement. Before long the movement had stopped and they were back in the hallway towards the room, but how they got there Maika did not know because she was too busy trying to keep herself from throwing up. And that was when she heard Dracomir's voice and her own gasped reply and the rest became yellow polka dots...

"Uhh...now what?" Igör said.

[Diamond18]

"Surf's up!" Skittles cried, hitting the beach. Not literally, of course, as she held no particular animosity for the beach. She hit it at a run and skipped along the hot sand, kicking off her flip-flops and dropping her iPod as she went.

Being generally a nuisance wherever she went, Skittles rather predictably disturbed her fellow beach bums. She scattered sand onto beach blankets and startled topless sunbathers. She knocked over sandcastles and stole candy from babies. She kicked beach balls into the water and interfered in a volleyball game. Chaos was King and Skittles his Queen.

Eventually, all the ruckus awoke Psamothos Psamathides, who was napping nearby in the sand, and he rose from the sand (naturally) to see what all the ruckus was about (naturally). But by that time, Skittles had abandoned the beach with a cry of, "Cowabunga!" and ran into the water with her surfboard. Psamothos Psamathides looked around and saw the havoc she had wreaked, but could not ascertain to whom the wreakage could be attributed. This made him very grumpy. Very grumpy indeed.

Now, insert various surfer slang and jargon into this section and you will know pretty much how Skittles spent the next vaguely stated period of time.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Who put that there?" cried Psamothos Psamathides, "a mountain, on my beach? I'll soon sort this out. You up there!" He had spotted Smilog hanging out of a window by his head as Roggie threatened to drop him after his blueprints had got them lost, found, lost again, almost dropped into lava and now back where they had started.

"Help!" cried Smilog, "I can't fly!" He struggled as Roggie blurted out the most awful language Psamothos had ever heard in his life. That was the last straw! He got up out of the sand and started jumping around on his little rabbit feet, his pointy ears going red to the tip and his long nose blowing sand everywhere.

"Is that you, Roggie?" cried the sand sorcerer, "I'd recognise that anger anywhere. Pot and Jam him. Let that poor fellow go this instant, or I'll have your wings for breakfast!"

"But I don't have-" began Roggie, before he turned and fled with screams and shouts of "that sand man again! He's come for me!" while Smilog tumbled down the Mountain, but landed neatly in a large pile of sand that Psamothos had put there. But it didn't break his fall as much as he would have liked and he crawled out with his arm feeling like it had been hit with... well... a mountain. The Sand sorcerer picked Smilog up by his beard and stared at him for a moment.

"Is this your mountain?" he asked accusingly, "If it is..."

"No, not at all, mr... erm..." stuttered the Dwarf, trying not to rip his beard.

"Psamothos Psamathides!" he said, emphasising the 'P's very distinctly. "And you'd better not forget it! Who was that mad woman who went destroying my beach? A friend of yours?"

"Well, no, not really," squirmed Smilog as Psamothos put him down again, "she's this Roggie's affair, I believe."

"So, Roggies having an affair?" said Psamothos, not paying any real attention to the dwarf, "well, come on, we'd better go and find him. He'll be curled up in a corner if I know him." And with that, the old sand sorcerer leaped up the mountain quite quickly, with Smilog tucked under his arm and bounded in through the window, much to the surprise of Tollin who stood near by.

Roggie was hidden behind a corner and was panting heavily, old Psamothos Psamathides walked briskly up to him and took him by the ear. "You owe me, Balrog," he cried in a deep and threatening voice, "You owe me five hundred gold coins!" So this was why he was so afraid of sand.

[Celuien]

Panakeia watched Anakron's robes flutter down the hall. She was fuming. She had no idea what Anakron was? Panakeia thought she did. He was a pouting child, determined to wreak havoc and let slip the dogs of war on an unsuspecting world merely because...she didn't know why. If this wasn't a reaction to her earlier (admittedly bad) behavior, she didn't know what else it could be, unless Mount Doom really did retain some of its prior evil. That thought had not occurred to Panakeia. Womb of the Ring. Anakron was right, though Panakeia would have preferred the word tomb. The Ring was dead. Sauron was gone. And yet, she supposed it was possible that some of their evil lived still. Perhaps that, coupled with irritation with her, was why Anakron now behaved so badly.

Stop trying to figure him out. The reason behind Anakron's sudden change in character did not matter. What mattered was that a man in control of a powerful force was now behaving in a most out-of-control fashion. Panakeia had to stop him. It was her duty, not only because she cared about Anakron, but also because the planet was in danger of annihilation. Panakeia's thoughts hiccupped. Planet? What an odd word. She'd heard someone use it before. But who? She shrugged to herself.

Anakron's robes floated around a corner. He was leaving. No! He can't get away! The thought, urgent and frantic, screamed in her mind's ear. She had to stop him. She had to bring him to his senses, or at least pose a roadblock to his more malevolent behaviors. Yes. That was what she would do. Anakron had given her back her conscience. He now seemed to have lost his own. Panakeia couldn't convey the Dweomer and give it back to him, but she could serve in its stead until he found it himself. She chuckled grimly. Anakron would know what she had gone through when her own conscience took form and spoke to her. Only this time, Anakron's replacement nagging conscience would have both physical and mental form. Panakeia.

She was off in a flash. Racing down the hall, she caught up to Anakron and tapped him on the shoulder, a stubborn glint in her eye.

"Excuse me. You seem to have lost something."

Anakron looked her over, contempt in his expression. "Lost something?" he mocked. "You could not possibly refer to yourself, could you? I have the distinct impression I decided to be rid of you quite intentionally. No accident or mistake was involved."

Panakeia gritted her teeth. Anakron was going out of his way to hurt her. But she had a mission. Personal feelings were irrelevant.

"Not me. Yourself. Your conscience. You said I could leave. Well, I might. I'll admit the thought had occurred to me. But not yet. You see, Anakron, you gave me back my conscience. Now that you appear to have lost your own, I thought I'd repay the favor by being your conscience for you. At least until you come to your senses. After that...after that, we'll see. And you said it was only my pride speaking when I tried to help you. I won't reply to that. But whether I'm acting out of pride or love doesn't matter. It's your well-being that's at stake."

She stopped, more determined about this than anything in her life, past, present, or future. Yes, this was her mission. Of that she was certain.

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron closed his eyes in sudden weariness. She was doing the best he could have imagined from her. In any other circumstance, he would be basking in her glow, but she did not understand. He opened his tired eyes - for his thought had taken but a moment - and looked into her determined ones. He sighed.

"You don't understand, Panakeia. In all the malevolence I employ, I still have the will not to hurt you save with words ... for now; while I still have enough control. Don't you see? I am evil!" He began to pace and gesticulate.

"Anakron is evil, intended for evil! The Blue Istari intended the entire set-up for evil! So far I have been able to partly thwart their purpose because there was enough of Elempi still within." He thumped his chest. "But he's dying! He can't withstand the Dweomer! I'm getting more evil every day, and I can't-" he closed his eyes with the anguish "-I can't fight it anymore! Do you understand?"

Her eyes were wide and her lips still. She was getting it. He hoped that she believed him.

"That is why you must leave. I don't know how long it will be before I can no longer hold myself back from harming you. And if you pursue your present course of harassment, I fear it will be the sooner. Leave me! For your own sake! Can you not see that I am doomed!"

[Celuien]

Panakeia's eyes went wide with pity. Poor Anakron. He truly had lost himself. He wasn't evil - not really. She had to help him. It was her duty. Her mission.

"Evil? No, don't say it! Don't think it! You aren't intended for evil. No one is supposed to be evil. And you don't need to turn to darkness. You won't, if you won't let it. I won't let it!" A light like a fiercely burning wildfire came into Panakeia's face. Nothing could stop her efforts. This was her destiny. To save Anakron from himself. For her? She could have been saving him for her own sake, but there was more to it than that. More to it even than saving him for his sake. This was bigger than both of them. Her mission came from - could it be? - her Captain.

Yes! That had to be it. Panakeia would have come to Anakron's aid in any case. She cared about him. But now she held the certainty that she had to push on, not only for their own reasons, but because the Captain wanted her to do so. And the Captain's word was law. And so Panakeia approached her task with all the passion of both a woman in love and of fanatic belief.

"You say that you fear you'll harm me. That's good! Don't you see? It means that you aren't evil. If you were, you wouldn't care. And since I seem to be the only thing you do care about, I can't leave you! I'm the only thing standing between you and your dark side. I won't abandon you to it. No matter what the cost to me. Because it's worth it. Not just for us, but because this, Anakron, is what I'm supposed to do. What I'm destined to do. I know it!"

The light flashed over her features again. For an instant, she thought Anakron raised a single eyebrow. Maybe he did. Maybe he was scowling with both brows and she mistakenly thought one had a greater displacement. Maybe his face was blank and Panakeia, swept up in her visions of glory, only imagined it. But whatever, the case, she thought she saw one eyebrow move. It was a sign. Anakron understood. Or if he didn't he soon would. The brow of Spockú had twitched.

[Diamond18]

"Odds my bodkins, you two do go on."

Panakeia and Anakron both came up short and turned towards the sound of the voice which interrupted their dramatic interlude. Skittles stood behind them in the hallway, damp and sandy, with her surfboard under one arm.

Anakron sneered. "You have something to say, half-wit?"

"I just said it. You've been blocking the hallway for half an hour standing there whinging on about how evil you are. You've got Sylvester the Cat on your staff, for Looney Tunes' sake."

Anakron advanced upon her slowly. "You do not fear me, madwoman?"

"Pah. I fear poodles more than you." Skittles turned and addressed an imaginary camera; "Seriously, those things are terrifying."

"Skittles," said Panakeia impatiently, "We're busy."

"I'm not. I've been waiting around for you to clock the lout, and I'm getting kind of bored. So much for hell hathing no fury," she rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just slap him or give him a good kick in the gonads?"

"We are discussing matters you could not comprehend," said Anakron imperiously. "Begone, mindless child!"

Skittles began to dance an Irish jig. This gave her audience some pause, but Anakron was not amused. He raised his staff, a fey look in his eyes (well, feyer), and said, "Konvey!"

"Konvey what?" Skittles chirped. Then she waved her hand up and down in front of his face, making an odd, Curliesque noise, before poking him in the eyes with two fingers.

"Aaarggh!" Anakron fell back, clutching at his eyes in pain.

Skittles laughed merrily. "Who's the big evil Anakronist Konveyor now?"

"Oh no! Oh no! Oh no, no, no!" cried Panakeia. "Now you've done it!"

Anakron straightened with a cry of rage. Well, it was really more of a yodel of rage, strangely enough. He turned a pair of bloodshot eyes upon Skittles and something inside him snapped. Again. Apparently, there were a number of somethings inside him hanging together on wispy threads, waiting to snap. "Fool!" He lifted his staff and brought it down full force upon Skittles' head.

She fell to the floor in an explosion of sparks. "Hello, I am Elmer J. Fudd, I own a mansion and a yacht," she said, lying facedown on the floor. "Hello, I am Elmer J. Fudd, I own a mansion and yacht," she repeated. And again. With each repetition, her voice got lower and her speech slowed, slurring, till finally she dribbled off, "Iiiiiii ammmmm Elmeeerrrrrrrrrr...."

Anakron laughed in maniacal fashion.

Panakeia gasped, covering her mouth. "You've killed her!" she said, shocked.

Anakron continued to laugh in a maniacal fashion.

Panakeia bent over the inert, bikini-clad form of Skittles and reached out hesitantly to feel for a pulse. She could find none, and Skittles hand flopped down lifelessly when she released her wrist. She choked back a sob, horrified at what Anakron had done, and tried to turn the body over. "Oh, foolish girl... foolish... uh...." She stopped, blinking in confusion. Where Skittles forehead should have been was a large hole with mangled wires, switches, and diodes. Panakeia gasped (she does that rather a lot) and recoiled. "Why, she's a robot!"

Anakron continued to continue laughing in a continuous fashion, rather maniacally.