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Old 06-28-2007, 07:26 AM   #1
Morthoron
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The Dark Elf File

Over the years several different sites have asked me to furnish their members with Middle-earth material for their reading edification. So now I have this immense glut of such stuff clogging my hard drive, and I thought to myself, "Self, what better way to unload this glut than to drop it on the unsuspecting Barrow-Downs forum!" Anyway, I will offer these chestnuts for your consideration, and add to the file from time to time.

Exposé #1 -- The Shire

War-correspondent Morthoron the Moriquendi here in the troubled Shire, a once pastoral but peculiarly anachronistic hideaway for those harmless (albeit, dim-witted) Hobbits; but this Periannath paradise trembles in dismay and fear as a virulent storm threatens to hew the placid Hobbitish way of life right out from under the Halfling’s furry little feet. What we have uncovered is a sordid tale of graft, political intrigue, mismanagement, bullying, rampant urbanization and industrial pollution that could fill several cozy Hobbit-holes up to the bursting hinges of their quaint, but architecturally unsound, round doorways.

Here in Hobbiton, the once picturesque heart of the Shire, the Hobbits -- a jovial and overfed race thriving in the backwaters of Middle-earth -- have fallen on hard times. Sullen and starving after having their six or seven meals a day reduced to a mere three due to rationing, the rustic locals are also grumbling over the introduction of a new morality code that has forced the closing of their beloved taverns, those cultural oases of drunken merriment where handfuls of hammered Halflings would wile away the hours in the meaningless prattle and idle gossip that are the intellectual hallmarks of Hobbitish society. One spunky old fellow, known about-town by the odd nickname of ‘The Gaffer‘, had this to say:

“It’s an ill-wind as blows nobody no good, as I always said, what with them Shirriffs turning up my ‘taters and all! I don’t go in for all this tomfoolery, whether it’s s’posed to be by-the-book or no. That Lotho‘ll be answerable for his shenanigans someways, and the sooner than later, if you get my meaning.”

What the Gaffer actually meant, I am not sure, but he said it with such conviction that I was sure I was onto something. One thing was certain, the brunt of the senile Hobbit’s ire was directed at Lotho Sackville-Baggins, known throughout the Shire as ‘The Chief’ (or sarcastically as ‘Pimple’ in some dissident circles). Who is ‘The Chief’, and why is he so despised by rank-and-file Hobbitry up-in-arms? Finding the answer was not difficult. From the low set and grimy portal windows of the Hobbiton-Bywater Holiday Inn, one can see the grim results of an ambitious push for industrialization in this rural area primarily known for agriculture, particularly the crops commonly referred to as The Three P’s: pipeweed, potatoes and mushrooms (as the Gaffer readily admitted, “Edication aint a’portant for farming”).

The traditional Hobbit holes, praised by ecologists as Middle-earth-friendly, well-insulated and unobtrusive underground homes, have been unceremoniously dug up, and in their place one now finds haphazard rows of mean tract housing and slipshod shacks, which a middle-aged hobbit-matron referred to indignantly as “absolutely Orkish”. The town’s mill, which had long been powered by energy-efficient water propulsion, has given way to a monstrously ugly, brick-chimneyed megalith belching out black soot from an iron blast-furnace fired by fossil fuels such as soft coal and wood. In fact, the once tree-lined Bywater Road, the main thoroughfare through the city, has been totally denuded of trees for industrial use, and the clear-cutting of forests throughout the Shire has brought bitter complaints of erosion and de-elvestation. A particular root cause of irritation and disbeleaf among the Hobbits stems from the toppling of the ‘Party Tree’, which has some significance in a certain branch of local legend; but for the sake of time I will not bore the readers with the ludicrous fable of a well-preserved 111 year-old Hobbit vanishing into thin air, as it does not ring true (particularly since Oscar Wilde‘s ‘Picture of Dorian Grey‘ will not be written for several thousand years).

But why this aggressive shift from the time-honored practice of farming, with Halfling hoes and plowshares suddenly being beaten into grinding metal gears and fuel-guzzling, filthy contraptions? More to the point, how did the whole process of hyper-industrialization take less than one year from its inception to transform a bucolic and backward country of half-pint yokels into a decidedly modern and modular country of half-pint yokels? All short, stubby Hobbit fingers point directly toward that portly purveyor of pompous pronouncements, Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Sackville-Baggins, a former resident of Hardbottle, rose suddenly to power in a bloodless coup several months ago, using a seemingly limitless amount of laundered money (said to be garnered from the illicit pipeweed trade) for flagrant bribes, institutional takeovers and massive real estate purchases -- in effect, the time-honored method of buying one’s way to dictatorship.

Lotho, or “The Chief” as he demands to be called, refused several requests for an interview, but I did manage to catch up with him, along with his prudish prune of a mother, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, outside their somewhat less-than-palatial digs in the newly renovated area of Bagshot Row, the ancestral home of the Baggins Clan, a notoriously adventurous extended family of nouveau-riche Hobbits. My attempt to get at the truth was stymied by the confustications and bebotherments of the flummoxed pair:

The Dark Elf: “Excuse me, Mr. Sackville-Baggins? I am Morthoron the Moriquendi -- a reporter; may I have a word with you?”

Lobelia: “Lotho prefers to be called ‘The Chief’ by his inferiors, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, Lotho doesn’t wish to speak to the press. Good day.”

The Dark Elf: “Ummm…Chief Lotho, what exactly do you mean by ‘good day’? Are you referring to the weather as being good, in that you find it pleasant this morning? Or do you believe the day has been, in fact, good in a personal sense? Or are you merely using the ambiguous phrase ’good day’ as a vague abstraction for lack of an intelligent response?”

Lobelia: “All or none, it matters not to Lotho. He is a very busy gentle-hobbit, and has many pressing affairs. Again, good day!”

The Dark Elf: “Ah! So by ‘good day’, Chief Lotho, you mean it would be a good day if I refrained from asking any further questions and left immediately?”

Lobelia: “Yes, that is precisely what Lotho meant!”

The Dark Elf: “Hmmm…throwing your voice like that must be in big demand at birthday parties…but Chief Lotho, can you answer the claims of your detractors that you have usurped the reigns of power in the Shire for your own enrichment?”

Lobelia: “Detractors? Upstarts, gluttons and loiterers, the lot of them. They are against progress and morality, and Lotho has rightly placed these criminals in the Lockholes for breaking the rules -- particularly rules 5, 7 and 9 -- which are deemed acts of sedition under the ‘Gatherers and Sharers Act of Year 1419‘...that’s in Shire Reckoning, if you weren‘t aware.”

The Dark Elf: “Right. But political prisoners, such as the former mayor Will Whitfoot, are said to live in atrocious and degrading conditions in your Lockhole Detention Facility; yet even under such trying circumstances they declare that you are actually a puppet under the influence of the shadowy Sharkey, who is said to be the true power in the Shire. Will you comment on that, Chief Lotho?”

Lobelia: “It’s all utter nonsense, that’s what my Lotho has to say! The very idea! Rumors and gossip started by those jealous Brandybucks and Tooks, no doubt. Decadent aristocrats of the faded Squirearchy, that’s what they are, all part and parcel of the Shire’s stagnant economy! My Lotho was duly elected and operates in accordance with accepted practices of good governance as administered by the local authority.”

The Dark Elf: “Ummm…yes, whatever that means. And what of the rebels who are bravely holding out up in the Brokenbores?”

Lobelia: “My Lotho deems them to be terrorists, and promises the majority of decent Hobbitish citizenry that these traitors will be brought to justice…as soon as Lotho can find them. For the last time, Lotho says, ‘good day‘!”

Any further attempts at dialogue were squelched by a menacing band of rather ill-clad mannish paramilitaries that barred my way. It is said these uncouth mercenaries were first introduced here by the mysterious power-broker Sharkey, and they operate within the bounds of the Shire under the code name: Ruffian. These Ruffians tried to place me in custody, but when I demanded my rights as a journalist under the Gondorion Convention, their only doltish reply was “Garn!” (an undefined expletive particular to the men of this region). Incensed by the rude behavior of these ‘Aftercomers’, I had no choice but to mercilessly slay three or four of them before the remaining cowards ran off squealing like little girls. Pffft! Witless mortals, bringing clubs and cudgels to a sword fight.

This is Morthoron the Dark Elf, signing off.
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Old 07-03-2007, 07:34 PM   #2
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Expose #2: Morthoron the Dark Elf learns how to dissemble from Grima Wormtongue

The Dark Elf: Good evening, Mr. Wormtongue!

Grima Wormtongue: *Looking rather incredulous* Good? For whom? When you say "good" are you referring to a moral state? Or are you merely satisfied in the fact that one of your enemies has been poisoned?

TDE: Ummm....well...it is a pleasant evening.

GW: *Sulks silently*

TDE: Okay then, Mr. Wormtongue...

GW: It's Grima! Only my enemies would use such a horrid and utterly inapt title as Wormtongue! And they're out there, believe me. Lurking about like vultures waiting for the kill. Vultures and gossips! whispering, yes they're whispering, They're doing so even now, I am sure. And after all I've done for Rohan! Here am I, a mere servant of my masters...errr...master...singular....heh....move on, please.

TDE: Ummm....right....Let's get to the point, shall we? There's has been much talk about treason...

GW: Yes treason! Can you believe that ungrateful Eomer? Ever slinking about causing havoc with his damnable horses! Horses, horses, horses...Mearas, Mearas, Mearas....everywhere! I'm sick to death of the smell of horses and the traitors that ride them! Eomer the pious! Eomer the faithful! Eomer ever the fly in the ointment, wrecking our plans...errr...Saruman's plans....evil....plans...not my plans...I don't know where you got that idea from.

TDE: Hmmm...When I spoke of treason, I meant yours.

GW: *Wipes sweat from brow and chuckles* My? Treason? I am sure I do not know what you're talking about.

TDE: Well, it seems that Theoden was rather hale and robust until you became his...ummm....what exactly is your title?

GW: *Sticks nose up with an air of indignance* As I stated, I am but a mere servant of the king. But our majesty has recently given me the title of Grima, High Exalted Protector of the Realm, Lord Counselor Extraordinaire and Grand Vizier of all Matters Great and Small -- the First -- it's hereditary.

TDE: Impressive. The King gave you that title?

GW: Certainly! Why wouldn't he? I have the edict right here! *Pulls out an embossed parchment with title in gold signed with King's scrawl and royal stamp*

TDE: *Shrugs* Nice. Perhaps you should frame...

GW: Frame? Frame! I haven't framed anyone! Eomer deserved his banishment! I was following the will of the King. I have the edict right here...

TDE: Errr...that won't be necessary. Now let's get back to YOUR treason.

GW: *Bites his lip pensively* No...I believe you are wrong. Define treason. Who exactly am I being treasonous against? Certainly not my master.

TDE: Ahhh, but that's it, Grima: who exactly is your master?

GW: *Taps table, hums nervously* Well, isn't it obvious?

TDE: Obviously not.

GW: Yes, obviously not! And there you have it.

TDE: Huh? Have what?

GW: Have it! If you're not going to pay attention, I will stop answering your gossip-laden antagonizations!

TDE: *Rolls eyes* There is talk about you poisoning the King.

GW: Again with the gossip! Look, the King is a sick man; certainly he needs medication, but he is not being poisoned! If he were being poisoned, don't you think I would know about it?

TDE: Yes, it seems he was quite robust until you came to power.

GW: Power? I have no power except for what the King has labored me with! It's a tough job wielding the power from behind the throne...I mean behind the king...for the king, behind him...following him...of course.

TDE: And what of Saruman?

GW: *Upper lip quivers, starts sweating profusely* Why, I've never heard of that wizard!

TDE: Then how do you know he's a wizard?

GW: Who is a wizard?

TDE: The wizard Saruman!

GW: Oh...that Saruman! Nice fellow. Loves Rohan. Great ally and beloved master...of colors...master of colors...always well dressed, don't you know.

TDE: There is talk that you are his mole.

GW: Well, we can rule that out right now. Moles are small mammals that live underground and have poor eyesight. Obviously I am not a mole. The whole idea is preposterous!

TDE: What I mean is a mole: a traitorous spy hidden in the enemy camp!

GW: That's downright silly! I don't believe moles have the wherewithal to spy. And who would they spy on? Badgers?

TDE: *Rolls eyes again* This is getting us nowhere!

GW: Precisely my thought, After all, the good Professor despised analogies, so making sinister spies out of small, subterranean mammals would be like...

TDE: Making mountains out of molehills?

GW: Precisely! Oh, would you like some nice herbal tea? I've just brewed a pot for His Majesty...
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Last edited by Morthoron; 07-03-2007 at 08:46 PM.
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Old 07-07-2007, 03:54 PM   #3
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Expose #3: The Dark Elf learns you're never alone when you're with a schizophrenic.

The Dark Elf: Today we are interviewing that most famous of tragic-comic villains, Gollum. Ummm...excuse me, Mr. Gollum, would you mind coming down from that tree and talk to us?

Gollum: What does it wants, eh? Nasty Dark Elfses, we hates them.

TDE: Ummm....We'd like to talk to you, to get your side of the story.

Gollum: Nasty, tricksy Dark Elfses wants to put magic ropses on us...it burns us, it fr-e-e-e-e-zes! *gollum*

TDE: No...no ropes. I just want to talk.

Gollum: Just wants a talk, eh preciousss? *gollum* Then whats it got in it handses, eh? Looks like nasty Elfses' ropses to me!

TDE: Errr...This is a mic and a mic cord, not a rope.

Gollum: Mike? What's Mikes, precious?

TDE: Mi-cro-phone. It's to talk into.

Gollum: *Rolls eyes* Well, why doesn't tricksy Dark Elfses says whats it means, eh? We can't reads minds, can we, preciousss?

*Creeps sinuously down tree trunk head first*

TDE: That's better. Now, Mr. Gollum, what would you like to say to our readers?

Gollum: S-s-s-s-s! Where's these readers, eh? You means to tricks us! *gollum* We knows it has trickses for us all the time!

Smeagol: No, nice Elfses wants our story. Nice Elfses not like effeminate Legolas in tights. Oh how we hates him!

Gollum: Legolas! *shivers* Garn! Never says that name again! Worser than fat, stupid hobbitses, my precious, worser!

TDE: Ummm...Would you two mind pulling yourself together and get back to the interview?

Gollum: Eh? We never left. You says come and we comes! Silly Elfses!

Smeagol: Praps he means we sits here and chats with it a bitsy, my preciousss. It likes riddles, praps it does, does it?

TDE: Ummm...No, I don't care for riddles. I lack the patience.

Gollum: Does it find them hard? Does it find them crunchably, scrunchably hard? Chestnuts! It must have a competition with us, my preciousss. If precious asks, and it don't answer, we eats it!

TDE: *Fingers the pommel of his dagger* They'll be no eating of anyone, thank you. And I'll ask the questions!

Smeagol: If it asks us, and we doesn't answer, then we does what it wants, eh?

TDE: *Roll his eyes and sighs* No, I want to ask questions about you and your...ummm...better half...and you just answer.

Gollum: *Frowns* We sees no fun in that, my preciousss! It doesn't wants to follow rules! Cheats! Cheats! Tricksy Dark Elfses, we hates him forever!

TDE: *Bites his lip* Oh for the love of Eru...

Smeagol: Forgives him, nice Master Darksies, preciousss has been beside himself since we lost our birthday present.

Gollum: Bah, Bagginses! We hates them, preciousss, hates them forever! *gollum*

TDE: Yes, yes...we hates them...ummm...I mean, you hates...hate...them. We know that part of the story already...

Gollum: *Eyes squint angrily and a snarl crosses his lip* Ss-ss-ss....How does it knows our story, eh precious? Unless it has hobbitses as friends, praps? Yesss, my precious, nasty hobbitses and elfsies as friends!

TDE: Actually, I despise Hobbits. Almost as much as this interview. Ummm...would you mind not gnawing on my microphone!

Smeagol: *Spits and grimaces* Mean Master Darksies tries to poison us with Elfses' technology! We are starving, preciousss, starving! And no Academy Awardses nominations for poor, tired Smeagol!

Gollum: We tolds you the Master was bad, my precious! *gollum* Fat, stupid Jackson with bad hairses and crumply tuxes! Only thinks of itselves, never for the preciousss!

*The Dark Elf throws up his hands and walks away*

Smeagol: Hey! Where's Dark Elfsies going to, we wonders? Yes, we wondersss.

Gollum: Never you mind smelly Elfses, my preciousss. But we are hungry, what say we go get some nice fish and chipses?

Smeagol: Bleah! No nasty chipses. We wants rings...onion rings with fishes, my preciousss.
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Old 07-12-2007, 10:19 AM   #4
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Expose #4: The Dark Elf passes an afternoon engaged in rhyming repartee with Tom Bombadil.

The Dark Elf: Excuse me, Mr. Bombadil...

Tom Bombadil: Hey dol, merry dol, the wind is in the willows...

TDE: Excuse me, sir...

TB: Goldberry's got a bottom like a pair of silken pillows...

TDE: Ummm, Mr. Bombadil?

TB: I often like to think on them to help regain my wits...

TDE: Errrr....

TB: They're almost as pleasant to ponder as her perky little...

TDE: MR. BOMBADIL!

TB: Hey there! Ho, there! What you be a-doing here while I'm a-singing about me main squeeze-o?

TDE: Ummm...Hello, Mr. Bombadil, I've come to interview you...

TB: Naught worse than that, eh? Had a reporter up this away-o that done got eaten by Old Man Willow. Must've asked the wrong question.

TDE: Well, I'll try my best to...

TB: Old Man Willow, I said, what be you a-chewing? Spit out that reporter or it'll be your own undoing!

TDE: Interesting, but...

TB: Spit him out this instant or you'll live to regret it!

TDE: Well, see...

TB: Cos' I'm Jolly Tom the censor and you're about to get an edit! Heh, a little newspaper humor-o.

TDE: Yes. Very little. Now, let's talk about your avant-garde fashion sense.

TB: Tom Bombadil-o, such a fashionable feller: blue coat, brown beard and boots colored yeller!

TDE: Yes, like Santa Claus on hallucinogens.

TB: Tom pays no attention to trends. Tom was here before the first squirrel dropping. Tom is older than Cirdan's prostate gland!

TDE: Yes, and Tom talks in third person like an NBA star. Now, back to your fashion...ummm...sense?

TB: Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow; bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow!

TDE: Ah, yes...We've established that...

TB: Eh, what? I didn't quite hear you. Nay, I was singing...

TDE: Yes, I...

TB: Old Tom don't behave quite the way he oughter, ever since he's gone and knocked up the River daughter...

TDE: Knocked up? You have children?

TB: Hey-dol merry-dol, we bred like bawdy rabbits; hence there came the race as known as Tom's naughty Habbits!

TDE: Habbits? Are you implying that Hobbits...

TB: They're merry, write bad poetry and are prone to do a jig...

TDE: Well, yes...

TB: Their short on mannish stature and they eat like wee li'l pigs...

TDE: I suppose...

TB: They're known to be good gardeners and farmers in the wheat...

TDE: Ummm...

TB: But mostly they dress badly and have hairy little feet...

TDE: Hairy feet? Do you have hairy feet?

TB: No, nay, never! Tom aint got no hairy feet! He wears his yellow bootses so his toes stay smellin' sweet!

TDE: Then who?

TB: *Motions the Dark Elf closer and whispers* It's Goldberry...she's French.

TDE: I don't see what that has to do...

TB: Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o! Hey! Come merry-dol! Her feet are rather hairy-o!

TDE: *Rolls his eyes* This isn't Middle-earth! Come now, where's Mad Hatter and the March Hare?

TB: Tom don't quite know those folks. They mustn't be from around these here parts.

TDE: One can never be sure...

TB: Hey dol! Ho dol! Old Tom has got to run. Supper's on the table and Goldberry's got warm buns!

TDE: A double entendre, I am sure.

TB: Surely! I told you she was French!

TDE: Yes, I suppose you did...and don't call me Shirley.
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Old 07-16-2007, 11:50 PM   #5
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Expose #5: Wherein the Dark Elf talks with one of the Shire's most famousest denizens

The Dark Elf: Today we'll be speaking to Hamfast 'Gaffer' Gamgee, walking malaprop and 'tater gardener supreme. Good evening Mr. Gamgee!

Gaffer Gamgee: Eh? Where's yer weskit? I don't go in for iron-mongery whether it wears well or no!

TDE: Ummm...I'm not wearing chain mail!

GG: Eh? Wassatchoosay? Make bail? Them good fer nothin' shiriffs must be out and about again, eh? Dug up my taters, they did, without so much as a how d'you do!

TDE: Well...

GG: Heh...Now that's a deep subject, and make no mistake. But don't be a'hangin' 'round the lip o' one, you could fall off'n and get drownded!

TDE: Good advice...

GG: Head lice? My Sam used to get them a'feerful! Lazy slowcoach as he was, a'sleepin' in the cabbages and dreamin' o' faeries...errr...beggin' your Elfish pardon. But I find a'scrubbin' with a good lye soap'll get them critters but good!

TDE: You have trouble hearing, don't you?

GG: Who's been Disappearing? Well, truth to tell, there aint been none o' that since Mister Billbo went off adventuring and what not. Ill will come of it, as I said at the time. Taking up with all them queer folk aint natural, present company excepted, but the Bagginses done treated me and my Sam as good as gold, if you get my meaning.

TDE: No, but I hardly think that matters at this point...

GG: My point? Well, I guess I haven't come to one yet, truth be told. Never heard tell Elves were such hasty folk, but one thing chases out another, and there you have it!

*Long pause*

TDE: Ummm...have...what?

GG: What?

TDE: There you have what?

GG: What what, wot?

TDE: Never mind...

GG: The mind? Well they say that's the first to go, but I don't take no stock in such talk. I'm fit as fiddle and twice as loud, as you might say!

TDE: Please continue, don't let me stop you.

GG: Well, that's right kindly of you, and make no mistake. Never did much conversing with you Elfish folk. Too high falootin' for my tastes. My Sam now, he was ever traipessing off willy-nilly with the likes o' you. Sam, I'd say, them Elfs and For'ners are above your station! Know your place, I used to tell him.

TDE: Ummm...

GG: But he's done quite well for himself, my Sam. Bless his heart. Been mayor now for nigh on eleventy years!

TDE: Do tell...

GG: Got children fallin' out o' the woodwork, he does. Got his wife knocked up more times than a cathouse door on a Saturday eve, if you get my meaning...

TDE: I'm not sure, I....

GG: Sam! I told him, keep your trousers on and quit yer traipessing off! No good will come of either, as I always say.

TDE: I am speechless...

GG: Speeches? Well, Sam's the mayor and all, and Mister Bilbo was one for a well-turned phrase, but I aint one for speechifying...

TDE: One would never know...

GG: Lightenin' strike me if I lie! No sir, my Sam and I are hobbits of few words, and the less said the more's the better, and that's the truth as I sees it. Not cos' a cat's got my tongue, mind you. I'll say my piece if I reckon it's due, in a manner of speaking...

TDE: Well, I'd like to thank you for this illuminating talk...

GG: ...and I've been known to tip my lid after a pint or two of ale, but where's the harm in that, I ask ye? Nothing bad ever done come of it, as there aint no call for goin' off half-cocked, beggin' your pardon for the phrase.

TDE: I wish we had more time...

GG: Ah well, It's an ill-wind as blows nobody no good, and all's well as ends better, as I've always said...

TDE: Say good night, dear Gaffer!

GG: Deer laughter? Well, I heard tell of a fox doing some talking up Farmer Maggot's way, but I aint never heard tell of elk and such with no sense of humor. How'd that there deer get so jolly then, drinking? Heh, guess that'd make 'em a Merry Brandybuck!

TDE: I SAID, GOOD NIGHT, MR. GAMGEE!

GG: Now, now there's no call for yellin', and being a disturber o' the peace and all. Now, are you a'saying it's a good night cos' the weather's to yer likin', or are you a'saying good night...

*The Dark Elf sighs, turns and walks away, leaving the gaffer to continue his mumblings unimpeded*
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Old 07-18-2007, 06:30 PM   #6
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Expose #6: The Dark Elf discusses the finer points of cinema with a warg

The Dark Elf: Mr. Warg, it has come to our attention that the wolfish population of Middle-earth has been set on its collective furry ear by the dramatization of wargs in the film The Two Towers; which is to say, you feel Peter Jackson characterized you rather badly. That is, not 'badly' in an evil sense, which you certainly are, *The Warg nods approvingly* but rather ineptly.

Warg: Yes, my dear chap. Having reviewed the suspect footage, I must say I found it to be wanting in every respect. I mean really, the only time I have seen such a sunken gut on one of my kin was when poor Uncle Lupine contracted worms. Nasty parasites, those.

TDE: Yes, I suppose so. Then you feel misrepresented?

W: Certainly! As if to be continually associated with those foul Orcs wasn't bad enough, we are now portrayed as if we've been cross-bred with snub-nosed, gangrel hyenas! It's all too much, really.

TDE: How so?

W: Hmmm...aside from the horridly distorted image of wargs presented by Peter Jackson in his flawed film, another mischaracterization from a plot standpoint deals with warg-kind used as saddled were-ponies, which of course is patently ludicrous! This is primarily due to Mr. Jackson’s incessant pillaging of a non-canonical source: The Hobbit.

TDE: Then your characterization in The Hobbit was incorrect as well?

W: Good Lord, Man…I mean Elf -- pardon the slip -- The Hobbit was originally published as a children’s story; whatever resemblance it had with the Middle-earth cosmology as a whole was at first merely coincidental. This sordid juxtaposition was accomplished later via manic editing by the author in order to marry the plot of The Hobbit – however awkwardly -- with the far more serious storyline of Lord of the Rings. Nevertheless, the plot is rife with fairy tale elements. It’s Brothers Grimm meets the Völuspá! Talking trolls with Cockney accents? It’s absurd! Have you ever spoken to a troll? They are as dumb as doorknobs! One can’t expect more than a few grunts and a good deal of flatulence from the lumbering oafs.

TDE: And this rewrite of The Hobbit concerns your species in what manner?

W: Let's look at this logically, shall we? No self-respecting warg of some 500 pounds has the ability or inclination to carry about some pusillanimous Orc enmeshed in 50 or so pounds of chain mail. Their scent alone is enough to make one gag! We are not pack animals like those pompous Mearas (although I must say they are quite delicious in a bordelaise sauce with a nice glass of port to wash them down). I think it is a bit much to expect one of the proud lineage of canis lupus megaterribilis to accept the stirrup and bridle. It is far too over the top, even for a ham-handed director of Jackson’s ilk, don't you think?

TDE: Most definitely. Are there any formal protests planned?

W: No. The pack felt that picketing would be, if you will excuse the pun, merely 'crying wolf'. As nocturnal predators, we feel more direct action is called for. We shall be stalking Peter Jackson’s home in Wellington, New Zealand. If the bloated blighter should even pop his head out the front door, he shall make a tasty treat. After all, there is enough of him to feed the whole pack!

TDE: Hmmm...but don't you think large wolfish creatures slinking about in a modern city, even at night, would be cause for alarm?

*The Warg rolls his eyes*

W: Silly, we shall be in disguise, of course.

TDE: Ah, sort of ‘wolves in sheep’s clothing', as it were?

W: Quite.
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Old 07-26-2007, 06:49 PM   #7
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Expose #7: In which the Dark Elf bewitches the WitchKing

The Dark Elf: We’ve spent a considerable amount of time searching for that maleficent malefactor of malingering malevolence, the mightiest minion of Mordor, the WitchKing of Angmar, and finally our diligence has paid off. We’ve located the reclusive wraith floating languidly down a river just south of the Ford of Bruinen (which must be the summer vacation hotspot for the Nazgul set). Let’s see if he needs help getting out of the water.

TDE: Good morning, Mr. WitchKing. Can I lend you a hand?

*The WitchKing emerges in silent menace from the river, but becomes muddled in the weedy bracken along the shore, his black cloak soaking wet and his steel crown askew at a rather jaunty angle atop his hooded head *

TDE: Ah, there you go! Did you have a nice swim then? The current is rather brisk on this leg of the river, isn’t it?

The WitchKing: Fool! Do you not know Death when you see it?

TDE: Well, considering you are invisible, I am not certain how to answer that. Any reply I could give would be rather transparent. Heh, transparent…invisible…a joke.

*Dead silence*

TDE: Oooh…tough crowd. But tell me, Mr. WitchKing…errr…may I call you WiKi?

*Dead silence*

TDE: Alright then, WiKi it is! Tell me, WiKi, what brings you up north to these parts? Have you checked out Rivendell? Nice atmosphere…very elvish...

WiKi: Baggins.

TDE: Baggins?

WiKi: Baggins!

TDE: I met a Hobbit named Baggins once. He had this enchanted Ring that could turn you invisible…

WiKi: The Ring! The Ring!

TDE: Oh, you’ve heard of it then? Interesting novelty…great at parties.

WiKi: Baggins!

TDE: Hmmm…you’re not much of a conversationalist are you? Perhaps I should have interviewed the Mouth of Sauron instead. But please, forget about Baggins, I’d like to ask…

WiKi: Do not come between the Nazgul and his prey!

TDE: You’re hunting a Hobbit? Whatever for? In any case, you won’t find any up this way, they’re all in the Shire out west.

WiKi: Shire! Baggins!

TDE: *Sighs* And what exactly will the WitchKing do with this Baggins fellow once he finds him?

WiKi: He shall bear him away to the house of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where his flesh shall be devoured, and his shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.

TDE: Yes…right. Well…seeing that there is not much beneath that robe of yours, I’d say that was a rather hollow threat. Ahem, but see here, WiKi, bullying about little Hobbits is not becoming to one of your evil stature. Someone should try to stop you!

WiKi: Hinder me? Thou fool! No living man may hinder me!

*The WitchKing unsheathes his black Morgul blade and brandishes it menacingly*

TDE: *Backs away slowly* Well… errr…actually, I was referring to Glorfindel or Gandalf, or someone of that ilk. I’m not part of this story, really…I’m a reporter….

WiKi: Fool! This is my hour. Die now and curse in vain.

TDE: The hour? Yes, would you look at the time! I really must be on my way! I appreciate the insightful interview, your…ummm…Wraithfulness. Hey, isn’t that a Baggins over there?

*As the Witchking turns, the Dark Elf sprints away*

WiKi: Come back! Come back! We shall not slay you in turn. To Mordor we shall take you.

TDE: *Shouting as he runs* Thanks for the invitation, WiKi, very hospitable of you -- in an insidiously malign manner – but I must decline the offer. Give me a ring and we’ll do lunch some time. Oh…sorry about the ring reference.
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