Assigned to Mordor RPG

[piosenniel]

A crowd had gathered in the early overcast morning in the courtyard of Caer Pairadocks, the major port on the Nurnien Sea, from which two great docks stretched into the waters of the sea. The people stood in eager anticipation, for from their number would be chosen that day a small group of people who would be given the chance to escape from Mordor ... on condition that they could pass the tests set by the Grand Anakronist .

The land of Mordor held only the memory of the Dark Lord who had once ruled there with a cruel, iron will. The cataclysm that had come hard upon the heels of the Ring's destruction had changed Udûn and the Plateau of Gorgoroth into a string of deep chasms. Roads snaked from chasm to chasm for the sake of the king, who's Assigned Prisoners worked the gravel pits of old Udûn and Gorgoroth, from which stone was quarried for the buildings and roads of the empire. Luckier ones worked in the grain fields and cattle farms of the Nurnien plains, or the fisheries of the sea. The least fortunate worked the mines of the mountains, where it was said nameless evil things still crawled.

At long last, flugel horns flaired, and out from Caer Pairadocks strode the personage they had all been waiting for. Every last member of the crowd strained their necks to catch a glimpse of the august figure in whose staff was held the mystery of the Anakronism Dweomer. His black, wide brimmed hat hid his features, and his black robe shrouded his lanky frame. He came to a stop at the centermost point of the platform. Behind him rose the pinnacles of the Caer; to one side spread the sea, to the other, the town and fields beyond. The man's name was Anakron Istkon Vayor. All knew him by sight. He surveyed the crowd, and addressed them in his austere manner.

"On this auspicious day, a lucky few of you shall be given the chance to overcome the Anakronism Dweomer, to escape from Mordor, and to receive the clemency of the king, may he live forever. As you know, the Anakronism Dweomer has rendered the empire, but especially Mordor, a land cursed with all manner of evils from a terrible future time. It is most distressing to know that a future age of Middle Earth will have fallen to such depths as to be filled with so many degradations as we have seen in this land; but such is the fate of Middle Earth.

"The lucky few shall be known as the Offending Party. Their task, should they choose to accept it, is to confront three/five/seven/ten anakronisms as tests to be passed, trials to endure, or challenges to be overcome ... or all three at once, depending upon the nature of the anakronism. Should the Offending Party succeed, they shall be free to go wherever they will in Middle Earth, perhaps even to Rohan, with the king's and moderators' blessings.

"And now to choose the Offending Party."

At this, Anakron raised the Anakronist Staff, which issued what sounded like a shrill meow followed by a feline hiss, and before the eyes of all gathered, a shiny, many-coloured box rose from the ground, accompanied by oohs and aahs from the crowd. When it had stopped rising, it stood as tall as Anakron himself, and seemed to look out at the crowd with its single, dark, square eye. It was an Anakronism Transaction Mechanism, otherwise known as ATM. Anakron spoke.

"I shall now insert the king's writ, which I hold in my hand, into the slot on the right, and out of the other to the left, will come the names of the Offending Party."

Anakron inserted the card. Runes appeared in white on the dark screen, in a language and lettering formerly unknown, and by some held to be worse than the Black Speech of the Orcs, but which had now become all too familiar in Mordor: Modern English. The screen said: Deposit, Withdrawal, or Transfer? Anakron pressed the button to the right of transfer. The screen produced new runes: Please wait while your transaction is processed. The crowd groaned as one with impatience; they had become familiar with ATMs during their tenure in Mordor. An "aah" went up from the crowd as a card came out of the left hand slot, accompanied by a new message on the screen: Please take the record of your transfer. Anakron took the slip from the slot, after which the screen's message changed to Thank you. Please come again. Anakron read off the names of the soon to be Offending Party: "Alumìn-E Umfuìl." The following transactions in turn produced the following names: "Panakeia of Harad; Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfists; Wilhelmina Brochenbach; Mardil II; Sai Onara; Valde Delego".

-- littlemanpoet

[piosenniel]

Feanor of the Peredhil's post


Alli stood moping in the back of the crowd gathered at Caer Pairadocks and glared moodily at all those who jostled her. It was not nearly late enough in the morning for this sort of thing, and the fact that she had been all but ordered to attend this... this... this ceremony, as it were... it boiled the blood in her veins. At least she wasn't at work, she thought with disgruntlement. The job of affixing wings to balrogs was a difficult one, trying to work in shadow, and the worst was, all balrog-wingers tended to get burned on a regular basis by the foolish beasts that refused to adopt the reality of the situation with grace. She grimaced at the raw blisters on her hands. They would heal quickly... if the mostly inept physicians that populated Mordor had one thing going for them, it was that they were excellent at treating burns. Suddenly the very flugellic sound of horns met Alli's ears.

It had to be horns, she thought. No hope for any creativity... She glared with renewed passion at the men that shoved past her to reach the front of the crowd. Suddenly there was a hush. An austere voice split the air like lightening, leaving the crowd tingling with anticipation. Even Alli perked up, morning though it was. A chance to get out of Mordor? she thought. An inconsiderate smoker lit up in front of her just as the wind decided to caress Alli's face. She forgot the ceremony as she choked, her eyes beginning to water. Gasping for breath, she was grabbed by a nearby nurse.

"On a scale of one to ten," the woman said, "how much does it hurt?"

Alli ignored her, stumbling her way through the crowd and away from the smoke that burned her lungs. Suddenly she realized that she was standing right beside a tall man, clad entirely in black. As she fell forward, catching herself just before she skinned her knees, the man turned to her with an aristocratic sneer. She gasped as she noticed the Anakronism Dweomer in his grasp. He turned from her, caring little for the antics of a girl barely into womanhood, and addressed the ATM before him. Alli whispered to the kindly looking old woman next to her.

"What are you in for?" she asked, curiously.

"Me? Well, my word. How that's any of your business, I'll never know." Alli looked incredulously at the easily offended woman and turned away from her, looking for an understanding face. She found one in the form of a very good looking young man. He seemed to be stifling laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked as the ATM took an absurdly long time to continue its processing.

"Sure I am. Are you going to get offended?" he responded. She looked at him in momentary shock and then laughed. "I'll bet you're wondering what this whole ceremony is for."

"How did you know!?" she gasped.

"I'm am a Seer... in the distant future, I will be called "psychic". I tried to explain my foresight and was put here by the King's writ. But this..." he gestured toward the crowd, the man... the ATM. "There's been news. A certain number of Assignees are being given a chance to leave Mordor."

"Wha-" she began, suddenly remembering the voice that had reached even over the bustling crowd. "Oh, yes... I heard that part. How are they chosen?"

He responded with an ironic smile. "The ATM. The ATM handles all transactions in these parts."

"I should have known."

Suddenly the crowd went silent as the proverbial grave. The ATM had spat out a piece of paper. Anakron took it with his abnormally long fingers and glanced at it for a moment.

"The first member of the Offending Party is..." he began. Alli recognized the look in his eye. It was the look that never failed to accompany a mis-pronunciation of her name. She hoped and prayed, and then, remembering that hoping for proper speech had never worked before, merely prayed. She could not bring herself to be excited... she simply murmered over and over the right way... He continued finally. "Alumin--" Don't say it! she thought annoyedly. The letter is superfluous. It's not supposed to go there! You don't need to say it! "Alumìn-E Umfuìl." he finished at last.

"Alli!" she cried, stepping forward. "My name is Alli. If you can't say Alumine Umfoil properly, just," she now paused between words for effect, "say," she paused again, "Alli." Suddenly it struck her properly. "Wait..." she murmered, incredulous. "I can go home? I can see Enaichel play his games again? I can tell my parents that now that I've had a real job, I actually appreciate how well I had it before?"

Anakron looked at her with disdain. "If the ATM says it is true, then it is." He turned from her with a cold swish of his cloak as another name was expelled from the machine.

[piosenniel]

Celuien's post


Near the back of the crowd gathered on Caer Pairadocks, a small disturbance was growing around Panakeia of Harad, Seller of Health and Beauty Products. Her shrill voice rang out over the crowd “Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly! Only two silver pennies. Two silver pennies! Step right up.” A few purchasers hurried up to her stand, but a pair of stern guards swiftly chased them off. There would be no selling on Caer Pairadocks today. At least, not without a properly sanctioned license, sealed in triplicate with official red tape.

Panakeia glared at the officials, a look of annoyance on her face. Coming here was such a misuse of valuable time. There was work to be done, and now she couldn’t even take advantage of the presence of the many assembled Mordor assignees to hawk her wares. But the day hadn’t been a total waste. A smile flitted over Panakeia’s lips as she thought of the Westron to Black Speech dictionaries she managed to sell on the journey to the meeting. Ordinarily, she would never have thought of selling something so far out of her usual line, but being factory rejects for gross mistranslations, she had picked them up for a pittance. And with all of the new people sent to Mordor recently, there had been a large demand for dictionaries in the Black Speech. She made a tidy profit from that transaction, but she hoped that no one would have the opportunity to use the dictionaries until she was safely on her way back to her own hut.

Panakeia closed up her product case and headed over to a bench to sit down. Her feet were killing her. Several people near Panakeia ostentatiously shielded their eyes as she walked past. She was wearing her trademark tangerine and chartreuse robes with plentiful gold jewelry. Panakeia noted the gesture and swept past in her grandest fashion, clinking her bracelets as she strode along. A titter rose in her wake.

“Idiots! Simpletons!” she thought. These people who laughed at her were the same ones she knew would flock to her stand the instant she was able to open for business. She would show them all, selling them potions and poultices as ineffectual as a posted speed limit. But even though she knew the Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution, like most of her other creams, was nothing more than a variation on sawdust mixed with potato starch and a bit of beet juice (just for color), as her 50th birthday approached, Panakeia had started to use the creams too. Despite flattering herself that she really did look the 29 year old she claimed to be, deep down she knew that this was not the truth. Was she really all that different from the customers she despised in her despairing struggle to hold on to her vanishing (some would say vanished) youth?

Fortunately for her composure, Panakeia’s introspective mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She turned her attention to the proceedings at hand. She had only been giving half of her attention to Anakron’s grand speeches, and his use of the ATM barely registered on her mind. She tapped her high-heeled foot impatiently. Would this day ever end?

“Alumìn-E Umfuìl,” droned Anakron’s voice. Panakeia watched in amusement as the young girl stepped up to the ATM and corrected The Grand Anakronist’s pronunciation of her name. Then she sighed. It was always the young, pretty ones who were chosen. Panakeia kicked a stray pebble aside. Why would she want to leave anyway? Business was good in Mordor. “There’s a sucker born every minute, and it seems that they’ve all been sent here,” she mused. But somehow, a yearning for freedom to wander Middle-earth was growing in Panakeia’s mind, despite the favorable sales prospects she had found since arriving.

The ATM whirred again. Anakron announced the next name. “Panakeia of Harad.”

Panakeia blinked in astonishment. Here was her chance to leave! At the thought of freedom, the vision of a new sales empire reaching from Harad to the Grey Havens danced in her head. Quickly recovering her usual brashness, she strode up to the ATM and stood beside Alumìne Umfuìl. “Here, Anakron. Glad to see you’ve come to your senses at last and decided to let some of us out of here. All of this fuss and bother over Anakronisms was nonsense in the first place. When’s the first flight out of here?”

Anakron shook his head at the Anakronism in Panakeia’s speech. Without a word, he returned to the ATM screen to select the next member of the Offending Party.

[piosenniel]

Encaitare's post


"Oh, very well, Mr. Swanky. You may have some licorice even if it's not quite lunchtime yet." The old woman unscrewed the cap from the handle of her walking-stick and removed a licorice whip. She broke a little piece off the end and appeared to feed it to her garish hat.

"Daddy, look, that lady is giving her hat lunch!" a small girl noted, tugging on her father's sleeve.

The man took a look and said to his daughter, "Never you mind, hon. That's just old Wilhelmina Brokenback. She's crazy."

Luckily, Wilhelmina was a bit deaf and didn’t hear the exchange; otherwise the man would have gotten a smart whack with her walking-stick for calling her crazy and mispronouncing her name in the same breath. Instead, she slowly chewed the rest of the licorice herself, waiting for the selection of names to begin. If anyone deserved to get out of Mordor, she did. She'd been in the wretched land for more than fifty years, and although she'd gotten used to it, it would be nice to live in a place where speeding drivers didn't try to mow her down on her way to the corner store. Yet she had dwelt there for so long that she felt quite patient to wait for the names to be drawn. What were a few more minutes compared to the years already gone?

Around her, people were chatting excitedly. "The first thing I'm going to do if I get out of here..." was the phrase that was flying about. One shrill voice cut through the din; "Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly!"

"'S that Panakeia loony again," Wilhelmina muttered to herself. "If you ask me, she could use some of that face cream stuff herself. Not that I'm one to talk, of course," she added, as though someone had called her hypocritical.

Suddenly, the crowd hushed as the Grand Anakronist stepped forth and cleared his throat. He announced that it was time to choose the lucky few who would comprise the Offending Party. Hundreds of eyes watched as the ATM rose from the ground, and everyone seemed to hold his (or her) breath as the transactions were completed.

"Alumìn-E Umfuìl," Anakron read. A pretty young girl pushed her way forward, griping about how he’d said her name wrong. "Panakeia of Harad," he continued. The saleswoman joined the first girl at Anakron’s side. The machine spat out a third card. The man squinted at it for a moment, and then read, "Wilhelmina Brochenbach."

Wilhelmina grinned and made her way to the front. "Good man!" she said jovially. "Got the ach-Lauts and everything! Did you hear that, Mr. Swanky? We’re going to get out of here!"

[piosenniel]

the guy who be short's post


Much as Fléin would have liked to have left Mordor, he simply didn't have enough energy to be enthusiastic. Being woken at four ante meridian by twittering songbirds was hardly the best way to start a day, but when said awakening is accompanied by discovering you have conjunctivitis - well, it's hard to deal with. After discovering that he was not, in fact, blind, but merely lacking in eyelid mobility due to a gooey discharge, Fléin had tried to rush blindly to the well. Unfortunately, fate was smiling down in a particularly twisted manner that day, and before he had taken five paces, Fléin was face down on the ground due to excess phlegm coating the floor.

Life in Mordor was never easy, but people have especially bad days even in the Black Land. So far, this appeared to be one of them. He had been in Mordor for only two years, maybe less, but the longing to leave was like a manic kitten in his heart - painful and stingingly noticable.

So it was that Fléin found himself behind a large crowd at Cair Pairadocks, hoping beyond hope that he would be chosen to leave Mordor.

The noise of flugel horns startled Fléin, causing him to blink, or rather, causing him to perform half of the action that is generally thought sufficient to be considered a blink. His eyes stuck shut.

"Blasted Conjunctivitis!" the Dwarf swore. He had visited a nurse just before coming to the docks, but she was a know nothing and hadn't been any help at all. In a way, it was perhaps nicer having ones eyes sealed shut. One didn't have to take into account the blasted landscape, or the even more blasted aspects of civilisation that had made their way into Mordor.

"Excuse me," Fléin intoned into the air at large. I've just gone temporarily blind. Little help, someone?"

"Blindness? How positively bestial. Do stay away from me, be a good fellow," a snotty upperclassman had replied.

The Dwarf sighed. Sometimes it was better to say nothing at all. He stuck his fists into his eyes and forcibly peeled them apart.

By this time, the Grand Anakronist had already declared the name of Alumìne Umfuìl as the first member of the Offending Party. Though he had freed his eyes (albeit they were streaming pus all over his face and into his beard) Fléin couldn't see her through the press of human bodies around him. From what he heard, he instantly disliked the girl. Here she was, given the chance to leave this curséd land - what a chance! - and all she could do was moan about her name.

Panakeia, the next name to be selected, turned out to be a woman who sounded even more annoying than Alumìne. What a buffoon, he thought. Thank goodness I'm not her, even if my eyes are melting.

Wilhelmia Brochenbach was next. What a disgusting name. And yet another woman? Suspicions about the Grand Anakronist's honour whizzed through Fléin's mind. But then again, why would he choose a whiny child, an idiotic saleswoman and an old bat out of all the women in Mordor?

The possibility that he was being bitter about his bad morning and taking it out, completely unjustifiably, on those running into a bit of luck flittered through Fléin's mind. He tried to make it go away.

"Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfoots" the Grand Anakronist cried, his voice rolling through the courtyard.

"Ironfeet!" injected an annoying English teacher.

Fléin couldn't believe it. What a piece of luck! How wonderfully harmonious the universe seemed, that he should be given the chance to leave with those three fine women! "That's me! That's me!" he screamed. "Out of my way!"

The crowd parted around him, and he made his way up to the ATM and the Grand Anakronist himself. The latter eyed him with disdain. "It is, is it?" he intoned, looking down the length of his nose at the Dwarf.

"Er, yes, sir," Fléin meekly replied, but the Grand Anakronist had already turned to read the next card the machine had just excreted, so he stood there, smiling jovially at the whiner, the nutter and the old bat.

[piosenniel]

Kath's post


Sai opened her eyes and immediately closed them again as the world’s strange new habit of spinning was making her feel sick. Keeping her eyes closed she slowly sat up. As she did so she realised that every part of her body ached, like the time she’d sneezed and fallen off the climbing wall. Wondering what had happened she gingerly opened her eyes, and sighed in relief when she saw that her surroundings were still again. Her sigh was followed by an exclamation of surprise and shock. Where in all of Middle-Earth was she? Looking around she could see hundreds of things that would never be found in the normal world. There were hundreds of ATMs, with the people lining up in front of them all trying to cut the queue at the same time. There were small groups of people all over the place, arguing about language and spellings and the misuse of apostrophes, things Sai had always wished to speak about but was unable to because of their Anakronist status. As she was just thinking that these people would be dragged off to Mordor any minute, she suddenly realised, when she fainted she must have fallen off the cart as they passed through the gates. She must be in Mordor!

Along with this realisation came the fear. She was in Mordor! With all the nasty anakronisms that had been sent there over the years, along with some really nasty people. Speaking of people, she noticed a large group of them all crowded round a man who seemed to be standing on a large platform. Deciding that she wasn’t about to lie on the floor all day and feel sorry for herself Sai jumped up, ignoring the protests from various parts of her body, and began to make her way over. An osteopath, who came towards her with arms outstretched, just ready to try and crush her, immediately interrupted her progress but Sai was already unhappy with her situation, and just kicked him in the shin and carried on.

Reaching the edge of the group she began to squeeze herself through the barely there gaps, suddenly grateful for her slight stature. Still, she was constantly shoved and pushed by intolerant people all the way, and so she felt no guilt about lashing a foot back at the last person to do so as she reached the front. She could now see that there were four other people in the centre with the strange man and sought to satisfy her insatiable curiosity.

“What’s going on?” she whispered to the man standing next to her. He glanced down at her disdainfully and muttered something about teenagers answering back to their elders before turning away and ignoring her completely. Irritated about this since he had not said anything she could answer back to, Sai sidled over to another person and was about to ask them the same question when she heard her name being called.

“Sai Onara is the fifth person to have been chosen by the ATM!”

The voice came from the man in the middle and Sai looked at him in surprise. She half turned, expecting to see another person who happened to have the same name coming forward, but nobody else was moving. The man repeated the name a couple of times, and eventually Sai thought she’d better step forward. As she did so he swivelled round to her.

“You are Sai Onara?” he asked.

“Er, yes but I don’t . . .” she never did finish the question as he interrupted her.

“Go and join the others over there.” He said waving a hand in the general direction of the four people she had seen before and turned back to his machine.

Sai reluctantly did as she was told, hoping that at least this motley crew would give her some answers. The Dwarf didn’t look like he’d be much help, since he had yellow pus from what looked like conjunctivitis pouring from his eyes he probably didn’t even know where he was. Seeing another girl about her own age she finally got the chance to ask what was going on.

“Don’t you know?” she had replied in astonishment. “We’re getting out of Mordor!

[littlemanpoet]

Just as the Offending Party were choosing vehicles, six yellow vans descended upon the scene, each bearing the words, Blimmin' Barblecashing Corpulation on their sides. Karís Mâtiktwít jumped out of the first one and started screaming orders at various and sundry goblins, orcs, uruks, and trolls, who ran around in a seemingly disorderly fashion, setting up kamuras, my crow phones, and other such paraphernalia.

One goblin each ran up to each of the Offending Party and pinned very tiny my crow phones to their lapels, earrings, strands of hair, or whatever was most ready to claw. Meanwhile these goblins lisped directions at the competitors, who, after the directions had been completed, had to wipe their faces clean from all the flying spit.

Here is an example of what they had had to go through:

"You have to weaw thith my cwow phone becauth you'we on the BBC weality tv thyow, an' if you don't weaw it, you'll be in vewy vewy big twoubow. Theiwill be a kamuwa twoll in youw caw at awl timeth. You may not go anywhewe without him, or you'll be in vewy big twoubow. Thith ith the biggetht hit of the theathon wight now, an' if you co-opewate, maybe thewe'th thomething it it fo' woo."

Six sets of eyes rolled and six pairs of hands rubbed six faces. As each member set out, sure enough, a BBC van followed each one.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli had slept through the night and woke up rather irritably the next morning. She had no idea where in Mordor she was but the tent in which she seemed to be located was full of sleeping Offenders. She resisted the urge to kick the prone Mardil (barely) and wasn't all together happy with Sai either, though she at least felt no violent inclinations toward her.

Leaving the tent, she sat shivering and watched the sun rise, taking deep soothing breaths. She wanted to go back and find out what it was that Roggie had been trying to tell her but she had no idea where she was or how to find him. A few tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt lonelier than usual, even for being in Mordor. She was in the middle of a terrifying new city with nobody for company but strangers that were prejudiced against her friends. Roggie was hurt and wingless and she couldn't do anything to put him to rights. Mardil, whom she had just been starting to like, had allowed her to be drugged. She missed her family and her friends from home... she really just wanted to go home. She sat on the cold ground hugging her knees, crying softly as the sun broke the horizon, staining the dirty grey sky an almost pretty shade of dirty salmon. Suddenly she heard a noise.

Anakron stood before her. "Up. There are things to be done." He walked away as the rest of the Offending Party began to gather, all looking remarkably bleary eyed. Alli hastily rubbed her eyes free of all traces of upset and joined the group once more, pointedly ignoring Sai and especially Mardil. They both looked at her concernedly but she pretended, hopefully convincingly, to be far more interested in the state of her fingernails. She picked at her chipped black nail polish. They probably think I'm some annoyingly weak and angsty emo-kid or something. Well let them. See if I care.

Of course she did care... they just didn't need to know it. It was easier to lie than to admit that she was vulnerable. Now Anakron gave his instructions. Alli looked at the selection of vehicles and decided instantly. The moment he stopped speaking, she pushed her way to a little French car with no guts, loaded it with spares, and opened the door. There was a man sitting in the passenger's seat holding a kamura. "No freaking way." she muttered. "Get out of my car." she ordered. "You aren't coming."

Anakron tapped her on the shoulder and sneered aristocratically down at her. "Yes. He is. And this van will be following."

She set her jaw, about to argue the point when she decided against it. She got into the driver's seat (turning orcish immediately) and apparently from nowhere, Lûgnût appeared. He didn't speak. Alli looked at him quizzically for a moment before shaking her head and ignoring him completely.

Now what do I do first? she thought, the kamura lightly humming just enough to annoy her. There was a small red light on the side of it that kept flashing. She felt the urge to throw it out the window when inspiration struck. Well... first I must get my driver's license. She put her seat-belt on and adjusted the mirrors. She turned the key in the ignition and to her surprise, it actually worked. And then it didn't. The car died where it sat. Jumping out of it (and transforming back into her usual form), she fumbled with the thing until the hood popped open. A rather large amount of smoke that seemed to convey the idea that something wasn't quite working right poured upward like a demented coffee pot defying gravity. She coughed and her eyes watered. She had no idea what to do so she kicked the car a few times and, much to her even bigger surprise, the smoke cleared and the car began to run smoothly in very unorthodox circles around the parking lot. She assumed that she'd better go catch it, but before she could, Lûgnût descended upon her with a small piece of paper-like substance with a picture of a suicidal monarch decorating it. Alli grinned, thinking along political lines, and then realized that her grin was a bit maniacal, not at all appropriate, and that if she got caught snickering over regicide, even if she escaped from Mordor, she'd be locked up. That sobered her and she noted that her name, Alumìne Umfuìl, was emblazoned on it with her date of birth, her eye color, and a lot of truly pointless information such as her favorite brand of mobile phone and the name of the last boy she had after-date paranoia with, and it all typed neatly in bubbly comic sans lettering.

"Your licence, madame." offered Lûgnût with a bow. Alli had no idea just what she had done to deserve her driver's licence. That was ridiculously easy, she thought, now putting her brilliant scheme into action. She went to the passenger side door (on the right of the car, no less), and pulled the filmer out of it. She then forcefully led him to the driver's side and shoved him in front of the wheel, taking the kamura from him. "You drive." As he began to protest, she whispered a long and quickly spoken message into his ear about the state of the company he kept and how he'd be judged by it, his former profession as a scary professor, the fact that he makes his kids practice job interviews with him, and the way she had seen the used handkerchief in his pocket and wasn't afraid to tell the world about it. His eyes grew wide and he handed her the kamura without hesitation. She climbed un-orcishly into the passenger's seat, happy that since she wasn't driving, she wasn't an orc. He climbed in and his body took grotesque form. She flicked the switch of the kamura and began talking into it as the little car peeled out of the parking lot that had been paved once paradise was destroyed, spraying Mardil with mud, and jumping a few curbs. Ignoring the bumps and jostles, and happy to get away from her companions, she spoke.

"You want reality?" she asked the kamura, ignoring the road. "This is reality. My companions are idiots. Not all of them... that Valde is pretty hot. Sai's a nice girl. But the rest? Morons. Especially Mardil. I couldn't be happier than if I never saw him again. And Anakron... where does he get off telling us what to do? He's probably being paid by Gondor's oppresive government. Have you seen the way he represses us? Some watery tart probably jumped out of a lagoon and handed him that staff. Real legit basis for leadership, that." Alli turned the kamura to the road and took a few seconds feed of the landscape. Craters broke the ground every few feet. "The reality of life here is that it sucks. You want beauty? Look for stars at night through the clouds that never leave this place." She pointed the kamura at the moodily dark sky. She then turned the kamura back toward herself as the engine began to sputter. "And I'll bet that you are all idealistic enough to believe that even in Mordor, love can flourish. Well you're all a bunch of idiots too. Love is for the people who are too weak-minded to accept that life sucks and then you die. There always has to be something for you to strive for. Well quit striving. Following your dreams will get you alone and friendless here." There was a pregnant pause in her bitter monologue. "[deleted]." she muttered. "The car just died." She turned off the kamura and got out of the passenger's side, popping the hood open again. This time the smoke was followed by flames. The kamuraman got out of the car (returning to human form) and yelled for Alli to run. For the first time in her life, she didn't question this.

She grabbed her bag and sprinted just in time to be propelled upward, outward, and finally downward into the unforgiving ground by the explosion of the small car whose full tank of gas had just decided that being trapped in a tank wasn't what it felt like doing. As the bald tires kept burning, Alli glared at the vehicle, the kamuraman, and the world. "[deleted]" she muttered and sat moodily on a large rock, contemplating what to do next. The yellow van pulled up and set up a tripod, recording with few visual flaws, the girl sitting. One kamuraman offered her the yellow van to drive, but just then, the transmission fell off of it. Alli couldn't be certain, but she was pretty sure transmissions were important.

[the guy who be short]

One thought rushed through Fléin's mind: PT Cruiser! PT Cruiser! PT Cruiser! Well, perhaps two words, then. Growing up in a business family, the calculations had been performed in his head almost instantaneously, and he headed towards the purple Cruiser as fast as he could - the colour of nobility, that was for him!

That idiotic charlatan, Panakeia of the Dubiously Authentic Face, tripped over him before rushing on. Luckily, this only served to push him forward - he was the third to reach a car, and rushed into it as quickly as possible.

He looked to his left and was startled by an orc. He shuddered, then turned to look in the back seat. There was another orc there, with an odd machine.

An expectant silence followed, with Fléin looking pointedly at the orcs in turn.

After about three minutes, it was clear the orcs weren't getting the message.
"Well...?" he ventured.

"Well what?" replied the orc in the passenger seat.

"What by Mahal's beard are you two doing here?" the Dwarf roared. "Did I order two imbecilic, debased, disgusting life-forms with this car?" The night hadn't been a particularly restful one; he had been tense about the next task, and having to share a car with two orcs definitely wasn't making his day.

"My, what a shocking display of profane prejudice, if ever I saw one... I should tell Anakron, I should. You Mordorian-haters disgust me... we're people too, and deserve as many rights as you do. Probably more."

"Well ruddy go and tell the freak! Get out of my car! You're not wanted here, you... you Orc!"

The creature hissed at him. "Fine then... fine, I'm going. We'll see soon enough... yes, you'll see." He snickered, threw a piece of paper at Fléin, and exited the car. "Do... enjoy your ride" he smirked, and went off.

"Good riddance," Fléin muttered under his breath. He picked the little slip of paper up - apparently it was a driving licence, with his name and everything. That was horrendously easy... no wonder there were so many accidents in Mordor, if all you had to do to obtain a licence was roar at an orc.

The very thought made him chuckle. He turned around, in far better spirits, to the orc in the back seat, whence came a low murmuring sound, presumably from the kamura. The orc's expression caused him to break out into a roar of laughter.

"I'm not going to bite your head off," he exhaled once it had passed. "What do you need then? Will a shout get rid of you too?"

But apparently it was not to be so. The kamuraman would stay. Fléin wouldn't let that bother him. "Stay in the back and stay quiet, will you? I don't much feel up to conversation with an Or- Dorian. Mordorian." With that, he turned back to the wheel.

He frowned a little. His knowledge of cars was hazy at best. Pedals... there were pedals to make you go forward, pedals to make you stop. But... how was he to reach them? These cars weren't designed for Khazad, that was certain. And if he couldn't reach the pedals, he couldn't drive... A fleeting thought of attaching little sticks to his feet rushed through his head before he disposed of it.

Well, he could deal with that later. He lined himself up, and placed both hands on the wheel.

Something like an electric shock passed through his body. He convulsed a little, then lay still a little, then yelled a lot.

Well, at least the transformation had leant him a little height. He noted with glee that he could reach all three pedals. Perhaps he could get used to being a goblin.

[the phantom]

After Anakron was finished explaining the newest challenge, Mardil turned to Sai and asked, "Are you going to follow me?"

"Do you know the way?" she inquired.

"Yes."

"Then of course I'll ride with you, Mardil."

"I didn't say 'ride with me'- I said 'follow me'."

"But- I don't want to drive!" protested Sai. "The roads of Mordor are murder, and I am not an experienced driver!"

"Don't worry about that," said Mardil dismissively. "Just grab a PT Cruiser and pass your test. I'm sure you're good enough to do that."

"You don't understand, Mardil, I can't handle a Mordor Interstate! I'll probably die!"

"You don't have to worry about the Interstate. Trust me," he said with a wink.

"You seem to have some sort of plan, but I really wish you'd tell me so I wouldn't have to worry any more!" said Sai, feeling a bit relieved but at the same time annoyed with Mardil for teasing her with hope but not revealing what he was up to.

"The fact that I have a plan should be reason enough not to worry," countered the ever arrogant Mardil. "Now go hop in a Cruiser."

Mardil began walking over to one of the PTCs, but before he was halfway there, Alli's little French Car peeled out of the parking lot and somehow managed to spray mud on the back of his cloak despite the fact that the parking lot was paved.

Mardil removed his cloak and grabbed a passing reality tv crewman. "Get this cloak cleaned and bring it back here and wait for me. I'll be leaving but I'll be back within the hour." The crewman hesitated for a second, wondering if Mardil was allowed to give him orders. Mardil grabbed the man's tie and yanked him forward. "I am one of the stars of your program- THE star most likely, if you judge by who is likely to be the most entertaining to watch. Now, go get this cleaned- NOW!"

The man scurried off to do Mardil's bidding and Mardil continued over to the PTC he wanted. Upon reaching it, he opened the driver's door and lowered himself into the seat. A tiny orc with a clipboard was sitting in the passenger seat. "Ready for your driving test?" he squeaked.

"Certainly, but I thought it would be Lûgnût administering it," answered Mardil.

"He's busy doing her test," said the orc, pointing at the Cruiser Sai had just gotten into.

"Okay, let's get this over with," said Mardil as he turned the key. The car started just fine, but Mardil was disappointed to see that the tank was only two-thirds full. "Just a minute," said Mardil to the orc.

Mardil jumped out of the car and trotted over to the next PTC. He opened the door, leaned in, and turned the key. "Ha ha! This one is nearly full!" he thought to himself. "Come over to this car!" he shouted at the orc. "I'll take my test here!"

"You already passed!" shouted the little orc as he climbed down out of the other car.

"What?" said Mardil in disbelief.

"You know how to get in and out of a car and read the gas gauge- that's plenty good to get a license," explained the orc as he approached, holding Mardil's license in his hand.

"Are you kidding? That's lunacy!" shouted Mardil. "It's no wonder there are so many accidents and traffic jams- any idiot can get a license!"

"Are you saying that the driving test is too easy?" asked the orc, who seemed rather shocked. "I know several people who had to take their test more than once before they passed it."

"That doesn't mean the test was hard," said Mardil. "It means that they are stupid."

"My daughter had to take the test three times- are you calling her stupid?!" screamed the little orc, stamping his feet with rage.

"Yes," said Mardil. "Now, give me my license."

"Forget it! You don't get one!" With that, the orc turned around and stomped away.

Suddenly, he tripped and fell. He looked back at his foot, and saw that it was pinned firmly to the ground by one of Mardil's knives. "Yahhhh!!" he yelled, as the pain finally reached him through his slow neurological pathways.

"I passed my test," said Mardil as he approached, "So give me my license." Mardil pressed his foot down on the orc's neck and held his hand out to receive the license. With a look of sheer hatred, the orc handed it over. After examining it to make sure it was legit, Mardil removed his foot from the orc's neck and his knife from the orc's foot and strutted over to Sai, who was finished with her test as well.

"Load your spares while I talk to Anakron," he told her. "After you see me leave, wait two minutes or so and then drive half a mile down that road over there. When you see my car, park next to it. It will be on the right side of the street in an empty lot next to a used car dealership. I spotted it yesterday evening when we emerged from that hole in the park. It's right across the street from it. And also, don't mention to the reality tv people that we are going to be traveling together. Otherwise, they might think they only need to send one van with us."

"What difference does that make?" asked Sai.

"You'll see," replied Mardil, as evasive as ever.

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

"You haven't been overly impressive thus far, Lord Mardil," said Anakron as he walked with Mardil towards his PTC.

"What are you talking about? I didn't spend any of my trolls, I arrived on time, and I rescued a damsel while I was at it," stated Mardil.

"Why did you bother with her? It was an unnecessary detour. What if something would've gone wrong? What if a stray shot had caved the tunnel in on top of you? What if you would've stumbled when the beast came after you? There are many things that could've gone wrong. You should've gotten to Edge-Where and left her alone."

"But- she was my companion. She trusted me to get her to Edge-Where, and I was just keeping up my end of the bargain!" argued Mardil.

"Your first priority should've been yourself," said Anakron firmly.

"It was," said Mardil.

"Good," said Anakron, nodding his head. "But Mardil, I have to ask- you say you rescued her out of a sense of duty, but are you sure you didn't do it because she is attractive?" asked Anakron.

"Well... I don't know. Maybe that did make me more willing to rescue her, but-"

"Would you have gone to those lengths to rescue Fléin or Wilhelmina if they had been your companions, or would you have, in the name of prudence, left them to their fate?"

After a pause, Mardil answered, "I don't know."

"Listen to me, Mardil," said Anakron, turning Mardil's head with his staff and looking him in the eye. "The rescue was either the right thing to do or the wrong thing to do. If it was wrong, then you were lacking in wisdom when you rescued Alli. If it was right, then you are lacking in nobility when you say you might not have rescued someone else."

Mardil turned away and began to load his ten spare tires into his vehicle. Anakron put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Either way, you have fallen from what you once were. I realize that fate has been cruel, but if you let it make you less than what you should be, your enemies have triumphed."

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

Mardil shifted the car into drive. As the shifter clicked into place, a tremor ran through Mardil's body. He watched in fascination as his skin began changing to a grayish green. His hair became dark and course, and his ears grew points. "Well, I guess that answers the question about orc ears," he said to the cameraman in the passenger seat as he pulled out of the parking lot. A yellow BBC van followed him.

"Grand Anakronist!" said Lûgnût. "Mardil is going the wrong way."

"I'm sure he knows what he's doing," said Anakron.

[littlemanpoet]

Back at Edge-Where, Anakron considered the state of the Tests. These Offending Party members just had it too easy, with road construction at an ebb. He would have to have a talk with old AzFalt, the Orc in charge of MRC (Mordorian Road Complications). In the meantime, he would have to take matters into his own highly capable hands.

Anakron raised his staff. The Siamese Cat began purring with pleasure.

"Konvay the Dweomer!" Anakron said. The Cat yowled gleefully. Fog thick as pea soup descended upon Lûndûn and all points within fifty miles of the metropolitan area. It stayed for hours. And it got cold; not freezing cold, but only barely.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli was terribly cold. Her work clothes were not very warm as she was usually standing next to shadowy creatures of flame and perceived [but not really existant since they're just misunderstood] malice. Her cloak had been in the car that exploded and most of the kamura crew had gone off walking a while ago to find a sketchy repair shop to see if there was anything that could be done about the precariously dangling transmission. Alli tried to get warm by sitting by the tire fire but the acrid smell of burning rubber turned her stomach. The dratted fog that had all but blinded her meant that she ran the risk of being run over. Well... at least in this case, this stupid reality television crew also stands the risk of being hit. They had begun to ask her questions. She had begun to give smart alecky answers.

"Miss Umfuil, how does it feel to have been Assigned to Mordor?"

"Like a walk in the park, dear man. There is nothing more appealing to me than being stranded on the edge of a dirty road in clinging fog while trying to stay warm by the loving caresses of heat coming from the tire fire which is all that is left of the small car that I was travelling in that so recently exploded."

"Is it true what they've been saying about you and Valde?"

"That I'm pregnant with Valde Who Be Short? Of course." The man's jaw dropped. "You wouldn't know it though, looking at my fantastically lean and fit figure. We've got an appointment with the Jerry Springer Show soon though... I'm supposed to be telling Valde live on the air that not only is the child not his, but it's also a figment of my imagination. Sigmund Freud will appear shortly thereafter to deal with my neuroses. A bit later he'll be guest conducting the band on Saturday Night Live, but they may disinvite him due to his fraudulent criticisms that the flutists have pianist envy." The man picked his jaw up from the dirty ground and reattached it, complaining all the while about faulty manufacturing.

"There have been rumours that you have feelings for Lord Mardil II. Is there any basis to this gossip?"

Alli blanched for a moment. "Of course there's no truth to it."

Now she left the fire and began to wander down the road. She was done with this interview. The questions had ceased to be a source of entertainment. If she was going to get to Mount Doom Casino and Resort, she certainly couldn't do it moping on the side of a road or waiting for help to arrive. Shivering against the damp cold, Alli walked away from the group. A lone kamuraman followed her. She duly ignored him in favor of wallowing in self pity.

[Celuien]

"10." Panakeia had just finished lugging the last of her spare tires into her lime green PT Cruiser. She brushed a stray piece of hair, still pea soup tinted, out of her eyes. Hard work that was. Best be setting off. She pulled at her hair again, shaking her head. I have a quick stop to make along the way.

As she was about to climb back into the car, pandemonium descended upon her once again. A bright yellow Blimmin' Barblecashing Corpulation van pulled into the lot, tires squealing. It cut a sharp turn to come directly in front of and perpendicular to her Cruiser. Panakeia was blocked in.

A tiny orc came flying out of the van and grabbed one of Panakeia's necklaces. He attached a my crow phone to the golden chain.

"What do you think you're doing? That's no pendant. Even if it is, it's ugly. Take it off!" Panakeia tried to yank the bird-shaped black object off of her jewelry and hurl it to the ground, but the orc snatched her hands away.

"Dhoun't thouth the my cwow phone," he scolded. "Woo have to weaw it for the weality tv thyow or we canh't hwer whath you'we saywing." A troll lumbered over with a kamura on his shoulder. The orc went on. "Dhith ith Bewt, youw kamuwa twow. He'ww wide whith woo an' woll the fiwim." Bert pulled open the passenger-side door and took a seat.

"Now just a second, don't I have anything to say about this? I don't want to be on any reality show."

The orc pulled out an official document and waved it under Panakeia's nose. "Ith's parth of the deaw for you to be in the Offending Pawty. Thayth tho wighth hwer. You have to be on the thyow, ow ewthe it'th vewy big twoubow for you. But of couwse woo wanth to be on the thyow. Ewryone wathes it. Woo'll be famouth."

"Famous, eh?" That sounded more appealing. "Well, maybe we can work something out."

The orc sprayed on. "Thath the thpiwit. See woo awound." He got back into the BBC van. It pulled into position behind the Cruiser and made ready to follow.

Panakeia's face was soaked. She stood for a moment, wiping her face clean. Then she turned around, hopped into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. She instantly transformed into an orc.

Now that Panakeia was expecting the transformation, it was almost welcome. She turned to Bert. "Stay out of my way," she hissed through jagged yellow jaws, "and we'll get along fine." She slammed her foot down on the accelerator and sped out of the parking lot.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

“A Hospital? In Mordor?” exclaimed the rather unnerved Hookbill as he was dragged into the University hospital by the ears, “I don’t know anything about Orc anatomy. Or any anatomy for that matter!” He was cast upon a table and three Orcs sneered at him with eyes like green flame and faces like they had been burned by it.

“Look here,” sneered one of them, “You’re going to work here. So shut up about it. Doctor Hookbill.” He laughed and pushed the helpless Goomba onto the floor with a thud. “Here, you’ll need this.” Sneered the Orc as he cast a white coat at him, “Hope you have more luck than it’s previous owner.”

The Orcs left and many other University doctors looked at him for a second almost ready to snigger. To avoid their gaze, Hookbill inspected the white coat. It was covered in blood. He hadn’t been surprised. With a sigh he sat in a near by chair and held his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. Another Doctor rushed past and tripped over Hookbill’s foot, he swore and then looked up at the sobbing figure and swore again.

[littlemanpoet]

When the Offending Party, reality show crew, and various hangers on had arrived at Urukapolis, Anakron gave them their marching orders.

"Report first to the first floor of Cirith Ungol, where you will meet Dr. Hookbill, who will schedule your physical. From there, proceed to The Shelob's Lair College of Psychology where you will meet Dr. Sigmund, who will schedule you for your psychological evaluation. Third, go to the registrar's office, located in the first floor of Minas Morgul, where you will be told which classes you will take. Finally, report to Poisoned Vale where you will be assigned a dormitory room. Classes begin at dawn. Be on time. You are dismissed."

[Kath]

After Anakron had finished rattling off the list of things they would have to get through to pass the next task he stalked off, leaving the Offending Party to work out what to do. Sai was just wondering what exactly had been meant by 'surgery' when a voice behind her cried out,

"Youngest first!"

And she was shoved unceremoniously into an elevator. She turned and tried to get out before the doors closed, but they were already half shut and her phobia of getting trapped between them forced her backwards. She watched in trepidation as the numbers flashed before her eyes - 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . wait! She was supposed to be on the first floor not the third. Jabbing at the buttons she barely noticed the doors open, and only looked up as an overly large man got into the lift with her. Sai briefly considered the possibility that his weight would cause the lift to fall anyway, but quickly berated herself for such a thought and moved back as he hit the button for the next floor down.

Through some cruel law, the lift went straight down to the first floor rather than stop off at the second, and by the time Sai got out she felt completely squashed. Still, she was at least where she was supposed to be, and soon saw a door with Dr. Hookill written on the glass pane. She only had a few seconds to read it though, as it was suddenly shattered by a flying . . . something. Ducking to avoid the glass Sai bent and looked at the object that had narrowly missed her head. Just as she was wondering why this doctor would have a Jack Russell in his office and why he would have thrown it through the window, a little man flung open the door.

"Who are you!" He barked, before bursting into tears.

"I, um, I'm Sai, Sai Onara. Anakron sent me up here to . . ."

"Well Sai Sai Onara." Came a voice through the sobs. "Get in here so I can diagnose you and leave this dreadful place."

Hoping doing as he asked would stop him crying, Sai didn't even bother to correct him about her name, but simply picked up the dog and scurried inside. He motioned her to a chair, so she sat down and awaited his prognosis.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Sai Onara sat down in front of Hookbill's desk as he frantically looked at the bookshelves. He twitched nervously and mumbled to himself incoherently, there as some Elvish thrown in there, incorrectly, as Sai noted. Hookbill took down a large volume that was covered in dust, the binding seemed to have been repaired several times, unsuccessfully. Hookbill blew some of dust off and looked at the title, "Medical Textbook".

"Ah!" said the little man, "This may help." he opened it up to reveal hollowed out pages holding a small bottle of whiskey. Hookbill groaned. He hated alcohol and it wasn't going to help his situation. He slammed it shut and placed it on the table before picking up a clipboard. Clearing his throat several times, Hookbill succeeded only in creating the impression that he had a cold.

"Do you..." began Hookbill plucking questions out of thin air, "Do you have any diseases?"

"I was rather hoping you could tell me that," said Sai with a smirk, "doctor."

"Well quite," the little man adjusted his collar; "of course." he wrote some things on his clipboard. "Read this." he said holding it up.

"'I need a cup of tea.'"

"You do?" cried Hookbill, "me too, lets leave this terrible place!" He rose and tried to scuttle away.

"Doctor?" Sai said, "what about my health?"

"Oh that..." he scratched his head, "erm, let me see." he took a magnifying glass from his coat pocket, wiped the blood off it and examined Sai's eyes. "Well, I sorry to say this," began Hookbill before something bit him on the leg. It was a crab that had been living under the bookcase.

"What is it, Doctor?" pressed Sai.

"I'm afraid its Gandalf's syndrome." he said, picking a name at random. Sai looked puzzled. "It’s a mysterious condition, but I've caught it in the early stages. Tell me have you had the uncontrollable urge to uncloak." Sai shook her head, "good, its not too far gone. Although, it will require surgery."

"What kind?" asked Sai, getting a little nervous.

"Oh nothing major," said Hookbill lifting a saw from a cabinet draw, "just the removal of the... erm... the," he paused, "the euphonium?"

"Isn't that a musical instrument?"

"No," coughed Hookbill, "It's a very important... liver... like... thing." Sai wasn't convinced. "I need to check the doctor's manual." said Hookbill hiding under the desk. Sai heard sounds of gulping and a lid being screwed. The little man rose again looked wide-eyed. "Right, lets get you down to theatre!" he began to leave, letting her lead the way, "Ah, I'll just get the manual." he said.

As he tried to leave, the intercom beeped at him. "Your next patient is here, Doctor." but before Hookbill could ask how there was an intercom in Middle Earth, a nurse pushed him back into the room and told him to wait before doing any operations.

[the guy who be short]

When Sai finally emerged, looking rather shaken, she found the rest of the Party had gathered around the Doctor's door. They watched as she walked off, shaken and pale, and apparently without the doctor, who had been shoved back into his room to accept - Fléin.

Dear Mahal, what was this imbecile going to do? Was the first thought to flitter through Fléin's thubconscious. The man's coat was stained with what looked disturbingly like blood. Though this pseudo-Psychoesque appearance would usually strike fear into normal people, the pathetic look on the man's face nullified the effect completely.

Fléin sat down in a chair and sighed.

"Let's get this over with, then," Doctor Hookbill suggested. "I've never, ah, studied a Dwarf before, but I'm sure it's much the same as with humans, eh?"

Fléin sighed again, louder. "I'm a Dwarf, Doctor. Of course I'm not the same as a human. Otherwise I'd be classified as a short person. A guy who be short, if you will."

"Oh." Hookbill's face fell. "Well... there must be something wrong with you."

"I'm a Dwarf. We do not develop disease. Everybody knows this." Fléin voiced the obvious immediately before realising that this wasn't quite true in Mordor.

Hookbill eyed him suspiciously.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The injury to Alli's leg wasn't that serious, really. But that didn't stop Hookbill from making a fuss about it. "So, we'll have to amputate?" he asked nervously. When an Orc picked up a rusty saw, Hookbill shrieked and hid under a table, but the nurse picked him up and told him that that wouldn't be necessary.

"Okay then," said Hookbill at last, "Then we'll have to remove it... via the... liver?" the Orcs nodded and grinned; one lifted a saw and made the first incision. Hookbill squeaked and pushed the Orc out of the way before he did too much damage. He wiped his brow and picked up some random instruments. However, as he did, he knocked over a mysterious bottle with a label on it that resembled skeletal thumbs up. No one actually knew what it did, but as it poured out, they saw that it was grey in colour, although it had orange spots. Hookbill fell over backwards as it dripped into he open wound. There was sent a huge shudder through her and the crab's claw flew out and broke a window.

Mardil stood near the exit trying to see if he could get past the Orcs, when he found that they would not budge for love or money, he gave up and sat down. When the Crab's claw flew past towards the window, he leaped to his feet and looked in astonishment. How in the world had this silly little man achieved this? It made absolutely no sense.

A huge uruk came and placed a heavy hand on Hookbill's shoulder. He turned to look into the horrid face of an accountant Uruk. He held up a piece of paper and a quill.

"Sign this," insisted the uruk,

"Why?" asked Hookbill, shakily, "What is it?"

"A death warrant."

"For whome?" cried Hookbill trying to sink to the ground, but being picked up by the Uruk.

"Oh, some guy named" he placed some small glasses on, "El-ess-arr."

"Why don't you get someone more senior to do this?" inquired Hookbill.

"Well," explained the Uruk thrusting the paper into the small man's hands, "you are the senior doctor. It says so on your badge." Hookbill looked and saw that the badge bore the name "Sinyore Ductor" the previous owner of the coat. He sighed and said he would do it later.

"Look," said the uruk, "I need this signing soon! Get it done."

"Okay," cried Hookbill, "I'll try, but I'm a little busy!" the uruk stormed off. The Uruk pushed Hookbill to the floor as it passed

Hookbill stood up and went to where Mardil was sitting with a look of pure shock on his face. "Look doctor," he said, "it seems you know what your doing, so get on with it."

"That’s the thing," mumbled Hookbill, "I have no idea of what I am doing. Its just coincidence that what I diagnose seems to come true. I'm not going to push my luck." Mardil shrugged and let him get on with it. Hookbill took a stethoscope and with a quivering hand examined Mardil's head, chest and back. Then the little man picked up a clipboard and took a quill. "Any history of insanity in the family?" he asked.

"I think my grand-father has psychodelia once," chuckled Mardil.

"I always thought that was a cook book for mental patients." said Hookbill, cocking his head to one side, "Oh well... Do you have back problems?"

"Yeah, it keeps trying to kill me."

"I see,"

"I was only-"

"Any occasions where you've found you can't think of anything to say?"

"Erm..."

"I see." Hookbill wrote frantically and illegibly. Mardil grew wrathful and picked up the little man by the throat.

"Look here," he said, "I am not insane, I have not got a killer back and I can always think of something to say... No I am not in denial!" He threw the little man towards a window, which smashed as he flew through it.

Hookbill looked up at the trees that hung over the cliff edge, he watched as they slowly got smaller and further away. Why they had built the university hospital so close to a cliff was beyond Hookbill, but this was Mordor. The wind grew faster as it flew past his ears and the faint sounds of Mardil being arrested fluttered into the distance. How was he supposed to do the final diagnosis now? The rocks were getting darker now, and the light was further away.

Finally, everything stopped.