The Mount Zoom Challenge - GAME

[Hookbill the Goomba]

For days it had been there, on a little signpost just outside the Lonely Mountain. Many Dwarves had pondered it long and wondered what it could be, for the terror of Mount Zoom had lain heavy on their hearts for many years now. What with other places joining in the 'fun' and all, who knew which monument or building would end up driving away next?
As the end of the week approached, the Dwarves looked out at the morning sun and breathed the early air, before work. But something was different... Something was not quite right... There were seven great mounds all covered with some sort of curtain. Six were in a semi-circle around the seventh and all had a different coloured curtain.
The first on the left was yellow and covered a thing that almost looked like a house shape. The next was grey and covered a huge circular thing with a great point at the top. The third was dark green and covered something equally big, yet more spiky and irregular. Forth, there was a dark red curtain covering an immeasurably tall thing that seemed to be glowing at the top. The fifth was much smaller, about the size of a bungalow, yet it was circular and covered by a light green curtain. And the sixth was dark grey and seemed to be another tall thing, not as tall as the other, but still pretty tall.
In the centre was a very strange shape, almost like a mountain, but the top was too flat to be one. Its curtain was red.

Before all these things, on a raised platform, was a young Dwarf . He had a short brown beard and a silver helm. He wore a red tunic with black trousers and huge grey boots. Across his body was a dark green belt and holding his trousers up were two yellow braces.
Then the Dwarves noticed that they were not alone. For hundreds upon thousands of people were gathered around. Elves, men, Orcs and other creatures, all waving flags and eating popcorn.

"Greetings good people!" cried the dwarf, "I am Dwarfy the Dwarf, and I warmly welcome you to the first Mount Zoom Challenge!" the crowd went wild with applause and cheering. Dwarfy raised his arms in a gesture of silence, and the crowd soon died down. "I'm afraid that my associate is not able to join us at this present time, but he will be here soon enough. Now, on with the show!"
There was an aghast silence as Dwarfy pointed towards the large yellow lump.
"I give to you, Medul-zoom!" the curtain was raised off and all beheld the Golden halls, raised upon wheels with a great exhaust pipe at the back. At the doors stood Théoden and Eowyn. Dwarfy then looked towards the grey lump, and the curtain was moved off that also.
"Minas Taxi!" The white City of Gondor stood shimmering in the morning light, the tower pointing straight up, and leaning out of the window of the highest window were Denethor and Faramir. Next the dark green curtain was removed.
"Minas Mor-go!" The city of the Ring wraiths in all its horror was reviled! The unexplained green glow was rampant, and stood upon the top of the gate was the Witch King himself, along with Nazgûl #4.
"Barrad-Dash!" the dark red curtain was removed and there stood the dark tower itself! Tower upon tower, battlement upon battlement! Yet it, like the others, was raised upon a platform and had mighty wheels! Stood by the fake Eye of Sauron at the top, was Gothmog and his faithful servant, Orc #429187943. Yet, this Orc fell from the great height and his ruin was scattered on the floor. So he was replaced swiftly by Orc #429187943b.
"Bag Endless-fuel!" the small green curtain fluttered away to reveal the grand old Hobbit hole, mounted upon wheels of wood and gold! Just outside the door, smoking pipes, were Frodo and Bilbo Baggins.
"Oth-Tank!" the dark grey curtain was taken away and burned, so that Saruman's tower could be seen. Like, and yet unlike to Barad-dash, it was merely an attempt at its majesty and terror. At the foot, checking the wheels were Saruman and Wormtong.
"And finally, ladies and gentlemen," said Dwarfy, "The original-" there was much cheering, "The greatest-" the cheering rose, "You love it! It the one and only...
MOUNT ZOOM!" there was a clamour of fireworks and loud music as the final curtain was stripped away and the great Mount was reviled! Blackened by years of eruptions, its top was a crown and its sides were traitorous. At the Crack of Doom stood Sauron in a black cape, with his huge helm, towering high. He couldn't decide weather to be necromancer or Dark Lord, so he went half and half. Next to him, stood a small man with a serious dental problem. It was the Mouth of Sauron.
"There are cakes over there, by the way." said Dwarfy. Many people dashed over to the buffet tables and scoffed as many as they could. While they did this, the vehicles lined up ready for the beginning.

At about the seventh hour, everyone was gathered together at a great height, observing all the vehicles. Dwarfy the Dwarf stood nigh, holding a great chequered flag. The anticipation was growing and the crowd was about to explode with merriment. So finally, Dwarfy waved the flag and with a loud call, shouted,

"GO!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Okay, here are the things:

MOUNT ZOOM
= Maeggaladiel (Sauron) + Glirdan (Mouth of Sauron)

Bag-Endless-fule
= The Saucepan Man (Bilbo) + Caranlondien (Frodo)

Orth-Tank
= Sleepy Ranger (Saruman) + Meneltarmacil (Wormtong)

Barad-Dash
= Morsul the Dark (Gothmog) + Gil-Gallad (Orc # 429187943b)

Medel-zoom
= Valier (Eowyn) + Farael ... Replaced by Boromir88 after Spider Challenge (Théoden)

Minas Mor-go

= Alcarillo (Witch King) + Gurthang (Ring Wraith#4)

Minas Taxi
= Formendacil (Denethor) + Spawn (Faramir)

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Minas Tirith cruised smoothly to the starting line. Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord High Steward of Gondor, peered out of the tower, down to the crowd, where a huge section of the crowd, clad in black and gold, had turned out to support the Gondorian team.

"Father," he heard his son and copilot say, "Aragorn's on the palantír. It's something about being a good steward of his city, and making sure to return it with a full tank."

Denethor scowled. Minas Tirith had been his ride! His!

"Yes, yes," he grumbled to Faramir. "While I head over to the podium to speak to the crowd, you go find Húrin, Keeper of the Keys, and get the spare set. I don't want to be stranded somewhere in the middle of Rhovannion just because we misplaced the one set.

"I've never misplaced anything in my life," said Faramir.

"What about that Ring?"

"I didn't misplace it! I sent it on it's way!"

"Whatever. You go get the keys, while I go talk to the crowd. Got to drum up some more fans, you know. I think the Arnorian crowd could be persuaded to root for us instead of that silly Bag-End, if we appeal to their Númenorean side."

Faramir rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He and Denethor descended the long stairwell down to the citadel, then followed the road down the seven circles, weaving back and forth until they reached at last the great, re-wrought gates of the city. It was a quick jump to the ground, and then Faramir was off to find the support team for Minas Tirith, while Denethor headed off to the podium, where Dwarfy the Dwarf was welcoming the Drivers.

"And now," announced the Dwarf grandly, "to introduce to each of you our charming and heroic drivers, who will represent us in this daring race!"

Denethor glared at Saruman (Palantír thief!), at Sauron (eyelidless git!), Gothmog (the waffle-faced!) and the Witchking (imitation city-driver). He spared a glance for Éowyn, barely acknowledging that she was his son (and copilot, he thought with a grimace)'s girlfriend. He looked right over Bilbo (old fuddy-duddy).

When his turn came to be introduced, Denethor stepped up to the mike, raised his arms in greeting to the crowd.

"FOR GONDOR!!" he cried, clicking on a lighter in his right hand. The lighter caught flame, and in the crowd, the Gondorian fans waved their own lighters, torches, and other flaming objects in solidarity with their driver. Except one.

"Uh oh..." muttered Boromir. "Dad + Fire = Not Good!"

Sure enough, a wind arose out of nowhere, and the flame caught on Denethor's cloak, spreading.

"Oops..." said Denethor. "Quick! Something to douse the flames." He caught sight of a barrel just behind the podium, and hurried to extinguish himself.

"No, no, Dad!" cried Faramir. "That's fuel for the engines!"

Denethor paused long enough for the para-healers to catch up to him with a bucket of water. Pretty soon he was soaking, steaming, and scowling.

"I look like a fool," he muttered to Faramir, as Dwarfy continued to introduce the drivers.

"At least the crowd loved it," whispered Faramir.

"Did they now?" grumbled Denethor. "Well, that's one good thing. Was it the Arnorians, do you think?"

"No, I think it was the Balrogs who enjoyed it the most."

"Silly pyromaniacs."

[Gurthang]

Ring Wraith #4:

*hiss-hiss* *unearthly screech* *hissy-hiss-hiss*


Translation:

"Wait a minute, Witch-King! We have a problem with Minas Mor-go! I think the Orc-powered engine is revolting! Give me a minute to knock 'em back in line.. If they don't cooperate we can always just resort to using them as fuel for our furnace. Either way, we'll be up and running a double time!"

[Farael]

The words of the King.

The moment for the grand unveiling was near at hand. After much positioning and bargaining, he had managed to convince the other racers that his very own Medul-zoom should be the first one to be shown to the expecting crowds.

The beautiful Eowyn was standing next to him, as the sunlight glittered on the golden structures, banners proudly flying and waving on the soft morning breeze…. Now the beautiful Eowyn was glancing at Minas-Taxi that had just been unveiled. Faramir again.

“Better keep an eye out for those two… Faramir might be a good man but I do not trust that Denethor. I’ve never forgiven him for trying to steal my thunder. It was MY tragic death that everyone should weep for, not some crazy pyromaniac’s” Grumbled Theoden.

The unveiling ceremony was done, and Theoden walked proudly out of his racing-structure to give his speech. Sadly, trade-offs had to be made and his turn to talk was right after Denethor. The old man just couldn’t, he couldn’t give a normal speech and be over with it, right? No, he had to do his “oh, look at me, I’m in fire, literally” routine. Well fine, He’d show him. He’d show all of them! Theoden King stepped into the slightly scorched podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Hobbits, Dwarves and Elves and some re-adjusted to society orcs”

“And Balrogs!!” roared the left wing of the stands.

“And Balrogs,” continued Theoden. “I am here to claim yet another victory for the proud people of Rohan. Who else but us has the knowledge and experience necessary to travel great distances at fast speeds? We, the care-takers of the Mearas, fathers of all horses, we the Rohirrim shall once again ride to victory!” Mild cheers arose from most of the crowd, while the Rohan fans blew their horns and tried to explain to some dull witted trolls the concept of “the wave”

Theoden went on,
“Arise!!! Arise!!! Riders of Theoden!!!
Harsh quests await: Rivers and Mountains!
Bridges shall be built, shortcuts shall be found,
An insane-day, a racing day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!... erm I mean To the Grey Heavens!!”

With that last scream, the whole centre of the audience that was mostly occupied by Rohirrim and some Rohan-persuaded men from Dunland rose to their feet on a standing ovation. Signs of “Theoden you are my hero” and “Eowyn we love you… sorry Faramir” were common among them, as were cloaks that said “I went to the unveiling ceremony, cheered for my lord Theoden and all I got was this silly cloak”

It seemed Marketing, and lame marketing at that, has its roots on the ancient days of Middle Earth.

Bowing out of the podium and leaving some space for the Witch King of Angmar, Theoden walked again into Medul-zoom and ordered Hama to warm up the horsengine

[Alcarillo]

The Witch-king of Angmar

Frodo Baggins had eluded him at every turn . . .

Saruman and Gothmog had usurped his place in Sauron's heart . . .

Eowyn had stabbed him straight through the head, in front of everybody at Pelennor . . .

Those measly Gondorians had defeated his armies battle after battle . . .

And now the Witch-king of Angmar wanted vengeance!

And his time had come! A great race would prove that he, the Witch-king, was superior to all of those fools! When he had caught wind that all of his former rivals were entering the Great Mount Doom Challenge, he could not resist entering his own city into the contest. He attached wheels to Minas Morgul, installed airbags in every wall, and voila! Minas Mor-go was born! He and his sidekick, the fourth Nazgul, had driven their vehicle north to Erebor, where the great race was to begin.

And now, as the dark green curtain was pulled aside, the Witch-king finally felt that he was certain to beat those idiots! The dark green curtain parted, and Minas Mor-go, the city of the Ringwraiths, long ago called Minas Ithil, was revealed! Every sharp and pointy tower and rampart was lit by the eerie green glow of the city. The Witch-king stood at the gate, and as the crowd applauded madly, he raised his hands towards the sky and laughed a deep, frightening, maniacal laugh:

"Mwahahahahahahaha! Mwaha! Ha! Ha! Mwahahahaha! I shall win this race, and all of those pathetic mortal fools will be crushed beneath the wheels of Minas Mor-go! Mwahahahahahaha!"

Ringwraith #4, standing beside the Witch-king, tugged on his sleeve. "What is it? Can't you see that I'm busy?"

Ringwraith #4 backed away a good couple of feet, trying not to anger the Witch-king. "Yes, sir, but the other drivers are going to make their speeches right now." The Witch-king, disappointed to be interrupted, crossed his arms and pouted.

The first driver to make his speech was Denethor, the driver of Minas Taxi. He came up to the podium, and lit himself on fire. "Typical," said the Witch-king to Ringwraith #4. "He's always showing off to the crowds like that. Fool." But the Witch-king could not help but be amused by Denethor's third-degree burns.

Then it was King Theoden's turn. "Ha! Remember how I killed that mortal fool?" said the Witch-king, "He was, and still is, a weak old man." And after Theoden's speech was done, the Witch-king said "That cheap old coot. He took that speech straight from Pelennor, I swear it!"

Soon it was the Witch-king's turn to make a speech. He whistled once, and his great flying steed swooped down from where he was perched on a black, spiky tower. It landed on the gates and howled for the crowds, who went wild with applause.

"Wait a minute, Witch-King! We have a problem with Minas Mor-go!" said Ringwraith #4, receiving a message from an orc slave, "I think the Orc-powered engine is revolting! Give me a minute to knock 'em back in line. If they don't cooperate we can always just resort to using them as fuel for our furnace. Either way, we'll be up and running a double time."

"Just threaten to throw them under the wheels if they don't cooperate," snarled the Witch-king. Stupid orcs. They can never just do as you tell them.

As Ringwraith #4 hurried to the dungeons and basements where over a thousand orcs turned Minas Mor-go's axles day and night, the Witch-king mounted his steed, and glided to the podium with an inhuman shriek. He leapt off of his steed, and unsheathed his Morgul blade with a brilliant shhhinnng! He searched the crowd for the wraiths and wights, waving deep green banners, and waved his sword around his head and gave one last shriek. His fell beast bellowed, too, raising its head toward the sky, which seemed to darken though there was not a cloud anywhere near the sun. The crowd applauded and the green banners waved more madly than before. The Witch-king, satisfied, leapt back upon his steed and swooped back up to the gate of Minas Mor-go.

"Ha! They loved me! But now I should go see if Ringwraith #4 has gotten those stupid orcs to work right."

Note: All speech between Ringwraiths is in the screechy, shrieky language of Minas Mor-go, but has been translated into Westron for the ease of the reader.

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank Not quite the Mach 5

It was a rather annoyed Saruman that was behind the wheel of the Orth-Tank. He could indistinctly be heard mumbling something about Grima not installing the turbo as he was supposed. "That good for nothing free loader. When I was merrily on my way to get my turbo powered engines that fool of a Wormtongue said he'd get it for me but did he? No he very well didn't. Why that no good Grima." though Saruman to himself. "Oh, seems they're about to start soon!" exclaimed the wizard. "Better find that good for nothing Grima and go over the maps for a final time before we set off." with that the wise one retreated to the interior of his vehicle to seek his assistant.

After a few minutes of searching Saruman found Grima asleep on the navigation table. Not seated on a chair with his head between folded arms on the table but asleep on the table, why that good for nothing man. Saruman roused him with a quick bonk on the head from his staff. "Keep awake, we've much work to do." Saruman bonked his assistant on the head again before the fool dozed off again. "Have you built the profiles on our foes and their potential risk yet?" The man nodded and hit the play button on the projector. Two midget orcs pulled themselves out of the rather large machine along with a few large screens. They placed the first one on the wall.

Vehicle: Mount Zoom; A wonderful vehicle.
Driver: Sauron; Dark Lord, owe him tribute.
Passenger: Mouth of Sauron; Arrogant and talks too much.
Potential Risk: Yes.

Saruman grunted angrily, what sort of profiles were this? They told him nothing of his enemies. Owing to Grima this may actually end up being a hard race to win but they would cheat anyway. Saruman walked over to Grima and smiled at him. "Well, lad, have you at least hidden the Uruk-Hai in the crates as I asked you to?" He asked to which Grima nodded, "Yes, sire!" Saruman's smile widened, seemed the fool had done something right, "Excellent! Maybe you aren't as big an idiot as you look. Do you know what we are to do with them?" To this Grima shook his head, "No, sire." Saruman let out a cackle and said, "We shall deploy them along our course so that they hinder our opponents!" Grima was shocked at what he had heard, "But sire, wouldn't that be cheating?"

Saruman gave him a blank look, what sort of idiot had he picked as an assistant? "...Yes..." "But sir, isn't that what the villains would do?" Saruman sighed and shook his head causing his beard to move from side to side rather violently, "We are the villains you idiot." Grima smiled, "Well at least now our motto makes sense, 'Win or lose always cheat.' Only one problem." Saruman frowned, "What is it now Grima?" "I forgot to pack the crates." Jolly good Grima, you've done the deed but forgotten to carry it along for the results. Saruman sighed and shook his head but what had been done had been done, it seemed the Mach 5 had been left tool-less. But enough of that, it was now time to check the maps.

"Grima, what way do you think we should go?" Saruman asked his assistant, studying the maps. "How about we go East sir?" "East? Yes, I've been east before but we shall eventually run into the sea." "Nonsense sir, by moving east we shall move off the edge and end up on the other side." Grima said, beaming proudly. "No more 2-D side scrollers for you, you're enough of an idiot as it is. Now hush, let me think." So Grima let his master be and went back to his little nap.

Saruman though for a while, he thought as he stroked his long white beard.

Those wretched hobbits were in this race. They had beaten him in the Finest Pipe-Weed Battle. Damn them.
And that Sauron and his Mouth? Hmph, they had won the Villain's Baking Contest, Saruman's cookies weren't pretty enough. Damn them.
And oh look, if it wasn't dear Eowyn and Theoden. They had beaten him at Helms' Deep somehow. Damn them.
Denethor and Faramir. They had been beating him in the Garden Variety Show for three years now. Damn them.
And the Witch-King and that other guy with him. They had been on the cover page of 'Evil Glorified' over him. Damn them.
And then there was Gothmog and his orc. They were probably filler. Damn them.

And that about summed up what Saruman thought about his foes. Now, back to thinking about where to go. He continued to stroke his great white beard, where should they go? Which way would lead to victory? Perhaps the ought to move South-West till they arrived at the Gap of Rohan or they could always cut West and head for Rivendell. Choices, choices... it was time to awaken Grima once more. Saruman hobbled over to Grima and the staff did the rest. "Listen Grima, we must decide which way to head. It seems the time to set off has arrived. Come I shall speak to you as we drive."

Saruman walked to the large balcony of the Orth-Tank and on the mark, he set off. "Now Grima we could head South-West and make for the Gap of Rohan but I hear we're not liked there, I wonder why... or we could cut West for Rivendell. What say you?"

---
Menel, I'm not sure if you're still here or not (kinda forgot when you're going and too lazy to check) but if you are then reply to this if you can. I'll check back every now and then and post again with the final direction before the deadline.

[Alcarillo]

The Problem with the Orcs

The Witch-king of Angmar, having swooped back to the gates of Minas Mor-go, withdrew a hunk of fetid meat from his tattered robes and fed it to his steed as a reward for its good work. It gobbled down the meat and swooped back to its perch on the spiky towers of the city. "Let's see what Ringwraith #4 has been doing down in the dungeons, and if he's got those orcs in line yet," he said to himself. He descended from the gate by steep, winding staircases lit by the eerie green glow that permeated the entire city. Down and down he walked, through windowless towers and down onto the desolate city streets. He now walked through the empty streets, where the buildings lay abandoned for thousands of years. He soon came to the great tower, which he entered, and descended more steps straight down into the gloomy innards of Minas Mor-go. The groans and shouts of a thousand orcs reached soon reached his ears, and in no time at all, the Witch-king of Angmar had arrived in the dungeons of Minas Mor-go, where over a thousand orcs toiled day and night to spin the huge axles of the city, propelling Minas Mor-go across the land.

He now entered the main dungeon, one gigantic hall, with a great beam of ent-wood crossing the entire space, a beam as wide as a man is tall, and suspended three feet off the ground. This was the great front axle, extending all the way from one shadowy end of the hall to the other, the entire length on Minas Mor-go, and along with the back axle supporting the entire city. All along one side were hundreds of orcs, chained in place to the floor, and all howling like madmen. Right at the middle of the axle was a horrible stain of blood, and dead orcs were piled all around it. Ringwraith #4 stood nearby, flogging an orc to death.

"Did you kill that orc, the one whose arm is missing?! Did you!? I swear, if you did, I'll feed you to the furnaces! Bad orc, bad orc!" He continued flogging the orc mercilessly. The orcs continued to howl.

"SILENCE!" shouted the Witch-king. "What happened here? Why are some of the orcs dead? Why aren't they rolling the axles?"

Ringwraith #4 stopped flogging for a moment. "Well, sir, it seems that those orcs on the left end of the axle were taunting those on the right end of the axle. One of them spat at another, and pretty soon a fight started. Some of the ones in the middle got killed. I think we need to shorten their chains."

"I see that," the Witch-king said. He now addressed the orcs in his best orc-speech, "Any one of you seen fighting will be thrown under the wheels and crushed like a worm! That means you get killed! Do you understand me!? Killed, and your guts will splurt out!" The orcs fell silent. Now he addressed Ringwraith #4, "Start chaining the left-axlers to the axle. Let's show them what happens to disobedient orcs. Make sure to space out the right-axlers to even out the spacing. Bring some back-axlers up here to the front axle if you have to."

"Yes, sir!" said Ringwraith #4, and began his duty diligently. "So, sir, where will we be headed to once we've got the orcs started pushing again?"

"I've been thinking that we should head due west, into Mirkwood. We've lost precious time with this orc problem and I think the quickest route possible will be best. What do you think?"

"I think that's a fine idea sir," said Ringwraith #4, "But don’t you think heading south could be better? Mirkwood won’t be in the way, after all."

"And let Gothmog and Saruman get ahead!? No way. We've lost precious time and we need a direct route straight to those Havens. My old realm of Angmar also is in the west. I've still got some buddies there. West it is."

"West it is then."

"I'll be up at the steering wheel on the gates. Join me when you've finished chaining those orcs and we can get started."

"Yes, sir."

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

The introductions may have been going on yet (Denethor wasn't sure), but already those who had been introduced were beginning to confer with their copilots regarding the direction they should take.

"East would be utter and complete lhunacy, as it takes us away from the end goal," said Denethor.

"Well, it would probably keep the others from following us," said Faramir. "We could double back to southern Rhovannion, jump the Anduin at the Undeeps, cruise through Rohan to the Gap, and then shoot north-west to the Haves."

"Are you saying you want to go East!" said Denethor. "What kind of a hobbit-loving fool are you? It's all very well to pass up the One Ring of Power, saving grace of all hope of defeating Sauron, but it's quite another thing to give them an unfair advantage in this race!"

"Calm down, father!" said Faramir, painfully aware that the last time he had disagreed with Denethor, he had been sent (ironically enough) East to Osgiliath- a rather nasty episode that had resulted in Black Breath illness, being saved by Gandalf (possibly Uncloaked... Faramir was grateful he had be unconscious) and, apparently, a near-death episode by fire, from which Gandalf had saved him- again.

"I was just saying," he continued, "that it may not be the worst tactic ever to head East. Maybe South-South-East or North-North-East or something wouldn't be such a bad idea. There's merit to it, you know."

"The Valar started out the sun and moon going East," muttered Denethor, "and they all agreed it was a foolish idea..."

"It doesn't have to be east at all!" said Faramir. "We can go straight west if you want- smack into the Mountains of Mirkwood!"

"Are you saying that going west- towards the finish line- is foolish?"

"Not at all!"

"Then why all this insistence on going east?" Denethor demanded to know.

Faramir gave a long-suffering sigh.

"I don't WANT to go East. I'm just keeping our options open."

"Then which way DO you want to go?"

Okay, Spawn, here's your cue to come in. If you don't get on (I'm fairly sure you're abed right now, assuming I read my timezones aright), then I'll pick us a direction if I have time before the Cut-Off.

Hookbill: If neither Spawn or myself have time to post before you make the Cutoff, Minas Taxi will be going NORTH-WEST.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Possibly to get the idea that he wanted to go East totally and completely out of his father's mind, Faramir had advocated going North-West.

"We can skirt the edges of the Grey Mountains, avoid Mirkwood altogether, and hopefully avoid the other racers, who will probably opt for a more direct course- right over the Elvenking's halls."

"Skirt the mountains, eh?" mused Denethor. "You seem to have a powerful attraction to anything in skirts."

"It's a natural term of the Westron language," retorted Faramir. "It's your dirty mind that's hearing what it wants to hear."

"I can hear things perfectly well," said Denethor. "And you said 'skirt'."

Faramir rolled his eyes.

So North-West it was, Denethor clicking Minas Taxi into overdrive, and away they went, passing over the Desolation of Smaug, and ever nearer to Mirkwood and the to-be-skirted Grey Mountains. Occasionally, Faramir descended down, down, from the Tower of Ecthelion to confer with Húrin of the Keys and the rest of the support staff of the city about a minor detail regarding the city's performance, but by and large the nuclear-powered city ran like a charm.

"Ha! I told you all those millions of castar spent on developing a nuclear bomb wouldn't be wasted! Pity the War of the Ring ended so soon," Denethor chuckled to himself.

"I'm half of the opinion that the ancient Númenoreans must have had nuclear technology, and that we just rediscovered it. The radiation could account for the decline of the Númenorean lifespan. Since the lifespan began to decline about the time of Tar-Atanamir, then I think we can possibly assume that nuclear technology was first developed in the aftermath of the War of Eregion, nearly employed by Ar-Pharazôn in his invasion (the real reason Sauron surrendered), and then lost in the aftermath of Númenor."

"Did you get that crackpot theory from Mithrandir?" scowled Denethor. "That sounds like the sort weed-induced nonsense he'd come up with."

"Actually, it's my own theory," said Faramir.

The control room fell silent.

"Well, at least she has a reliable fuel source," said Denethor. "That's the important part. Besides, if Saruman didn't spend all those millions of castar on developing us nuclear technology, then what DID he spend it on."

"Scuba gear and genetic research," replied Faramir.

"Scuba gear?" said Denethor. "What kind of a nonsensical theory is that?"

"Well, to find Morgoth's notes on the creation of the orks, he'd have needed scuba gear," replied Faramir.

"Only a weed-deluded old reprobate like Mithrandir would try a plan as foolish as that. It's almost as bad as the "let's send the One Ring to Mt. Zoom" theory."

"Well, Saruman is a smoker, and he's rather old, and reprobate does fit," said Faramir.

"Thorongil fits all of those qualities too," mused Denethor. "Any chance we could have him impeached on those grounds?"

"Arwen would kill you."

"What would she do?" demanded Denethor. "She's a seamstress, not a swordsman! She's admitted herself that the whole Ford of Bruinen sword-thingy business never happened."

"Of course not," agreed Faramir. "That was actually her size 88 embroidery needle."

"Why'd she only make Aragorn a flag!" said Denethor. "She could have knitted him a whole sail for those *CENSORED* black ships of his! That would have saved me a lot of anguish!"

"I'm sure she did it for the sole purpose of antagonizing you, father," said Faramir sarcastically.

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest," muttered Denethor.

To himself, Faramir muttered. "It's a good thing the Númenorean lifespan declined. I'm not sure I could take another 300 years of this."

Minas Taxi cruised on...

To the Reader: Yes, that's right, we haven't even made it to the Troll yet. What's your hurry? We've got in the neighbourhood of 40 hours left...

[Farael]

A shameless ripoff

The race had barely begun when Medul-zoom began to slow down. Concerned, Theoden made his way to the horsengine room, where Hama had a big STOP sign up for the horses.

“Hama, you fool, what is this? We need to make it to the Gray Heavens faster than the other towers!! I guaranteed a win, it’s my word what’s on stake…. And quite a few gold coins”

“My liege! It is not allowed for those who are involved to bet on themselves, you cou…”

“Oh, faithful Hama, do you think that I am still the old, weak man who was poisoned by the words of Wormtounge? Have you forgotten that Gandalf has restored not only my striking good looks but also my sharp mind? Of course I did not bet on ourselves, it was Eomer. Now pray tell, why are we stopping?”

“There is a troll on the way, My Lord”

“A troll on our way?”

“Yes, Sir. A troll on our way”

“Why is there a troll on our way?”

“I know not”

“Then go and ask him!”

And so, the brave Hama escorted by a chosen group of riders approached the Orc. After what seemed like a short deliberation, Hama came back into Medul-zoom.

“He is asking for a toll, my King”

“But we have no money!”

“I know, I offered him a horse, but he said he was not hungry. Not hungry. These trolls are as uncivilized as they get. What are your orders now, my Lord?”

“Muster the Rohirrim, we will charge against it. He will run away or perish under our lances.”

[Start= Sound of a horn of Rohan] Time=5*Seconds Pitch= Rather High and whiny [/End= Sound of a horn of Rohan]

“Riders of Rohan” *cheers* “I call on you once more to defend all that is beautiful in this middle earth. A troll, spawn of the Dark Lord whom we defeated yet somehow appeared again (not that I’m complaining because I died in the battle and yet I’m here as well so it’s kind of a good deal… besides he does make some good cookies) is blocking our way, but we need to get through” *A few isolated claps, many confused looks*

“oh, ahem well… what I mean is…. [Start= Sound of horn] Forth Eorlingas!!!! [continue horn sounding dramatically as Theoden King quickly gets ahead of his column] “What the…” [/End=Sound of horn in a rather abrupt fashion]

“Hama, what is this? Why are you all just standing in place, making bubbles with your mouth? What kind of dark treachery is this?”

“My liege, we follow your orders”

It was only then that Theoden realized what had happened. “I should have never abolished the law of compulsory bathing, things are getting out of hand here” he grumbled

“Riders of Rohan!” he began, “I must ask that you listen to me, and listen well. My order was FORTH Eorlingas, not FROTH. See? Forth, as in forward, attack.”

Riding back into Medul-zoom, Theoden ordered all his riders to go take a bath while he plotted another way to get around this rather large Troll.

“I know!! we could catapult ourselves over the troll.”

“Theoden, have you been hanging out with Boromir again?” Interrupted Eowyn, who had just walked into the room.

“Well, daughter of my sister, I might have been. He is a very nice fellow. I know he would have helped me find a better way rather than criticize my ideas”

“Now, who do you think yo…”

“I do not meant to interrupt, my m’lady…” interrupted Erkenbrand “There is one way… but it is very dangerous”

“Well, speak up good man”

“Before we left, I trapped this beast… it used to terrorize the folk of the Westfold. I thought it might be useful in a situation like this. I could… I could bring it here if that is what you wish”

With Theoden’s approval, Erkenbrand stalked off the room and came back shortly with a small cage covered by a blanket. He placed it on top of a table and waiting a few seconds for the proper dramatic effect, he removed the blanket.

“Here it is, my Lord, the great beast of Westemnet.”

“Where, behind the rabbit?”

“It is the rabbit”

“But it is only a cute little rabbit!.... cruelly trapped on a cage” said Eowyn

“No, m’lady, he is a ruthless murderer, we lost ten men trying to trap it”

“You should have used the Holly Grenade” said Theoden, which drew many an odd look.

“Uncle, copyright….”

“Oh, yes Eowyn, you are right. I meant the…. Eh…. Well, nevermind that, tell us Erkenbrand what can we do with this…. Rabbit?”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Well Done, folks!

Dwarfy hovered far above Mirkwood, he could just see Minas Taxi in the far north as it dashed over the rocks at the foot of the Grey Mountains. He lifted his Palantir and spoke into it.

"Well done racers!" he called, "Those Trolls are troublesome!" Sauron swore at him, but Dwarfy ignored it, "I can see that your all going on smoothly. Ah! But what's this! One of you seems to be pulling ahead. It seems that Bag Endless-fuel is a head after the first challenge! Keep up the good works!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Rats in the Air?

Dwarfy flew somewhere between Mount Zoom and Minas Taxi. All of a sudden, Mount Zoom let fly from small black things that screeched with a terrible noise. With not a second to spare, Dwarfy pulled a small baby Dragon from a secret compartment in the Eyrie copter and pulled its stomach. The Dragon let forth a stream of fire that consumed the RatWraiths.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

[Sleepy Ranger]

Orth-Tank A little big problem

"Rats, rats, rats!" Cried Saruman. "And you say we feed them to get rid of them? What sort of idiot makes a plan like that?" Saruman shouted at his servant. Grima cowered and replied, "But sir..." "No buts, shut up and allow me to think you incompetent fool!" Said Saruman. So there they sat and they thought as Saruman stroked his beard. Rats in Orth-Tank, terrible, terrible, they'd need to get rid of them but how? All of a sudden Saruman smiled and raised his hand, he had an idea!

"Grima! Why do we not coax them out with their favorite food?" Said Saruman, Grima nodded, it was best to agree with him, "Yes, sire, brilliant plan! Shall we go and talk to our mad Uruk-Hai scientist about this?" "Very well, lead the way you wretched turkey." Saruman said lazily looking at his nails. So as Saruman commanded Grima led the way to the secret laboratory situated within Orth-Tank. There they found the mad Uruk-Hai scientist experimenting on nothing in particular. Saruman shoved Grima out off his way and went up to the Uruk-Hai.

"Ah! Mad scientist, have you any idea how to get rid of these rats that have decided to set up their base here?" Saruman asked him. "what? What? WHAT?" He screamed looking around aimlessly. Saruman bonked him on the head with his head as Grima winced, "You incompetent fool! I asked you if you know how to terminate a bunch of pests!" "Tests? I hate them!" Protested the Uruk-Hai which earned him another bonk in the head. "RATS YOU FOOL! WE NEED YOU TO ERADICATE SOME RATS!" Shouted Saruman impatiently and then bonked Grima on the head. "What was that for?" Whined Grima. "I'm relieving stress." Stated the wizard. "Uh... sir I may be able to come up with something, see me after an hour!" Said the Uruk-Hai gladly.

Now obviously Grima and Saruman do not know how to keep track of time because they returned in fifteen minutes. "So mad scientist, have you found anything?" Asked Saruman. "Why, yes indeed! I have discovered that these aren't ordinary rats! They are... ent-rats! They have been sent by Treebeard to hinder us!" Said the Uruk-Hai. "Oh I see! Grima round up an angry mob of orcs with axes and fire." Said the wizard. "No your sire!" The Uruk-Hai suddenly said. "We must coax them out with berry-cheese and then we grab them!" He said and added, "With this net!" He held up a huge net, big enough to net a troll. "Perfect! What do you say Grima?" Saruman asked, smirking.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:


At the gate of the fifth circle, Faramir turned down to the lower levels of the city whereas Denethor and Húrin headed for the engine room.

On the first circle Faramir found Beregond and Bergil. They knew nothing of the matter, so Faramir kept on walking from level to level questioning everyone who passed on his way, except on the fifth circle (his cheeck was still red from all the pinching), but no one seemed to know where the rats had come.

Tired and with his feet aching, Faramir finally dragged himself on the top of the city. "What's this?" he muttered to himself and stooped to pick up a scorched tiny cloak on the ground. Other than that, Faramir found nothing suspicious up there and returned to the engine room inside the hill.

"Have you found the traitor?" Denethor asked as Faramir stepped over the threshold.

"Not exactly", Faramir said, "but I found this", and he held the minuscule piece of cloth on his palm. It was black, but in the hem there was an embroided lidless eye and a little white tag.

"100% nylon, dry-cleaning only, keep off from fire", Faramir read out aloud.

"That's so low even from the baddies! Mount Zoom is sending us their laundry. Don't they have any idea how expensive dry-cleaning is?" Denethor snarled.

"Hold on a second", Faramir mused.

"There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand..."

"If Mount Doom can afford to ship their dirty clothes here, it really can't be very far off! We must get the rats out of the pipes immediately and-"

"AAIEEEEEEHHHHHH!" yelped Faramir shaking his right foot with a mousetrap clenched tightly around his toes.

"Careful now!" Denethor growled. "Húrin and I spent the whole afternoon setting those up, and the last thing we need is you to break them all."

Indeed, when Faramir looked around in the engine room, he discovered that the floor was coated with traps and each of them had a different bait. There were traps with marmalade and cheese, turnips and even Aragorn's gym socks, as Faramir noted as he wiped liverwurst off of his boot.

"Well, we didn't know what could lure the rats out, so we had to try a little everything", Denethor replied defensively to Faramir's sarcastic look.

"MWHAHAHAHA!" wheezed a voice in a corner behind the nuclear reactor. "You will never find the proper way to get rid of the little rodents", said a man stepping out of the shadows. He sounded and looked like a chainsmoker, and truly he smelled like one, too.

"Who are you?" winced Faramir stepping on a few more mousetraps (custard and sherry)

"I am Vérmïndil, son of Vérmïndur, from the House of Pár-Asitë. I am your nuclear technician", he explained as Denethor, Faramir and Húrin stared at him clearly confused.

"I smell a rat!" Húrin snorted. "He's not a member of my technician team. I haven't hired him, I assure you, my lords."

"Huh? What have I been doing here for the last three years then?" Vérmïndil exclaimed. "Oh well, no matter, I have reached my goal."

"I take it that you had your hands in this. Speak up", Denethor demanded.

"Why yes. It was my brilliant plan. Say no to nuclear power! Vote the Communists! Become a vegetarian! Never wear a yellow shirt on Monday!" the man chuckled and got an impressive fit of coughing.

"I think he might have got an overdose of radiation down here", Faramir whispered.

"No kidding", Denethor said glumly as Vérmïndil started picking his third ear while humming Happy Birthday to himself.

Faramir looked distressed. "What shall we do now, Father?"

[Glirdan]

Evil Sickness

Mouth looked up just in time to see the Rat Wraiths flying towards Minas Taxi. Just the, Dwarfy flew by and took out a baby dragon and made him shoot a fireball towards the Rat Wraiths. Unfortunately, it engulfed all the Rats that were flying. Their clothes however weer still flying towards Minas Taki and actually landed on it.

"OI! he cried to Sauron, "That’s cheating!"

"Because that wasn't our intention. Sheez!! We are bad guys after all!!" Mouth cried in exaspaeration(sp?). Out of no where, a shower of green smoke came tumbling down from the sky. Mouth and the Trolls saw this time and leapt out of the way. Sauron, on the other hand, was too busy gloating over his evil idea of using the Rats that he didn't see the smoke until it was over top of him. "YES!! EAT OUR LAUNDRY MINAS TAXI!! MWHAHAHA!! WAIT! WHAT IS- HACK HACK!! THAT STUFF!? COUGH!! IT'S-IT'S HACK COUGH VEGETABLES!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo........." he trailed off as he started to faint and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Master!!' Mouth cried and he rushed forward to his Master's side.

"Sire!?" Mouth cried. "Please my lord! Wake up!" And as he spoke, Sauron stirred.

"My Mouth," he whispered (which Mouth was grateful for). "Get me to my room. You will probably have to take over for the next few days. Lead us on cough cough to victory. I know you can hack cough do it." With that he slumped over.

"Master? MASTER!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" Mouth cried in pain. "How shall I go on without you?? Wait.. No more screaming? Yes!!! My ears are free from pain!! Finally!! Go Mouth! Go Mou-" he got cut off as he saw that his master was starring at him evily.

"I said get me to my room. NOW!!!"

"Errr...Yes my lord. Right away my lord."

__________________________________________________ _______________

Mouth sat at the steering wheel debating with him on which way he should take. "Hmmm, I could go North-West away from civilization, but that would lead me further away from the Grey-Havens. I could go West but I think post people will be travelling in that direction. Soooo... Rat-Wraiths!" Mouth screamed.

"Squeeeaaak?"

"Take us South-West, immeadiately!!"

"Squeeeeaaak!"

"Excellent!! I'm liking this head-honcho position. Wierd green smoke should fall from the sky more often!!! Mwha! Mwahaha! MWHAHAHAH- COUGH COUGH!! I wonder how master can laugh like that??...."

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Denethor paused for a moment to consider Faramir's question. What SHOULD they do with the traitor.

"Burn him!" said Denethor, following his first instinct. Faramir, Húrin, and everyone else in the engine room- except Vérmïndil- looked at each other uneasily.

"Unfortunately," said Faramir. "We can't. Or rather, we can't do it legally. The Steward of Gondor doesn't have the authority to order executions outside the Realm of Gondor, nor can he order them there without the King's permission, save at times when the King is in Arnor, or outside of his realms."

"Besides," interjected Húrin, "we need him alive to find out what will lure the rats out!"

"Burn it all!" swore Denethor. "You: Vérmïndil! Tell me, what is your deepest, worst fear?"

"You don't actually expect him to tell you?" exclaimed Faramir.

"Why not?" said Denethor. "I am the Steward of Gondor. He is honour-bound to obey my direct command."

"Then ask him what will lure the rats out," said Faramir. "Either way, he's not going to you."

"Says who?" piped up Vérmïndil. "I'll do what I like. My deepest fear is... is... is... is...."

"Well?" said Faramir impatiently, "what IS it?"

"I cannot speak his name!" Vérmïndil shuddered.

"It's a person!" exclaimed Faramir. "I know: Sauron."

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Aragorn! Gandalf! Elrond!" said Denethor. Again, Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Gothmog? The Witchking? Saruman?" Faramir questioned.

Vérmïndil continued to shake his head.

"Is he tall?" asked Denethor.

"Is he Gondorian?" asked Faramir.

"No and no," replied Vérmïndil.

"Rohirric?" asked Denethor.

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Is he Human?" asked Faramir.

Vérmïndil paused a moment, then said: "sort of."

"Sort of?" said Denethor. "How can one be sort of human?"

"I know!" said Faramir. "A hobbit!"

Vérmïndil nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Frodo! Bilbo! Sam! Merry! Pippin!" Denethor ran off the names of the famous hobbits. Vérmïndil shook his head to each.

"Sméagol! Gollum! Stinker! Slinker!" said Faramir. Vérmïndil and Denethor both looked at him strangely. Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Well, that's all the Hobbits I know the names of!" said Denethor.

"Me too," said Faramir.

"Can't you just tell us?" demanded Denethor. Vérmïndil shook his head in terror.

"Why not just tell us what will lure the rats out?" said Faramir. "Then we'll drop this whole line of enquiry."

"Never!" cackled Vérmïndil. "Never!!!"

"Húrin," said Denethor, "go to the Archives, and get me the Red Book. I'll run through every name in the Geneologies if I have to."

And so they did.

"The Gaffer!"

"Old Noakes!"

"Ted Sandyman!"

"Old Rory!"

"Fatty Bolger!"

"Folco Boffin!"

"Wait!" said Faramir. "He's shaking! Go back to Fatty Bolger!"

But on the second mention of the name, Vérmïndil began to shake uncontrollably.

"Fatty Bolger!" roared Denethor. "Fatty Bolger!!!"

"Yes, yes, it's him!" squeaked Vérmïndil. "Now PLEASE stop saying the name!"

"Not until you tell us how to lure the rats out!" Denethor told him.

"N-n-n-never," said Vérmïndil, biting his lip.

"Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger!" Denethor, Faramir, and the support staff began to sing.

"All right!" wailed Vérmïndil, big fat tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you! It's marmite."

"Marmite!!!" said Denethor in disgust. "Are you completely insane, man?"

"Oh come on, Father," said Faramir. "It's not that bad. It's especially good on toast."

Denethor gave his son a vile look.

"I swear to the Valar that it's true!" pleaded Vérmïndil. "Try it! You'll see. Just don't say... HIS name again."

"What? You mean 'Fatty Bolger'?" asked Denethor cruelly. Vérmïndil lost complete control of himself. Denethor turned to Faramir. "Find us some marmite!"

So, while the support staff cleaned out the engine room of banana peels, perfumes, liverwurst, Aragorn's gym socks, and other smelly miscellany, Faramir set off to retrieve his marmite. As soon as he'd opened it, rats began to pour out of the pipes.

"Quick!" cried Denethor. "Lead them out of the city."

"What do I look like?" asked Faramir. "A pied piper?"

"Do you want my honest answer?" said Denethor.

"Okay, okay! I'm going."

Faramir took off at a sprint for the gates, an army of rats streaming after him. The lead rats were drawing closer and closer, and Faramir was in a mortal panic that they would catch him and swarm him. In the nick of time, he reached the gates, which he burst through, tossing the marmite as hard as he could away from him.

The rats streamed past, dead set on reaching the marmite.

Faramir returned to the engine room weak-kneed, only to find Denethor gone back to the tower, and Húrin's team revving up the engine.

"Due WEST!" called Denethor from the tower. "We make for Mt. Gundabad!"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Third Challenge: Porcupine Predicament

There is a bit of a problem here! It seems that one of the younger Dwarves has preyed your wheels with Porcupine pheromone before you left. Now the little creatures have caught up with you and flattened your tyres. Having done their worst, the blighters have run off with one of your wheels and the spare you keep.
You need to think of a way to get back on the road!

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Bonus Level!

Orth-Tank has come to one of the 8 Bonus areas!

As soon as you have finished this challenge, you will be transported on the Anduin boat, going south. You can only get off at the Ent wash. You have no choice in the matter, seeing as how the little Gollum like creature that sold you a ticket also convinced you to re mortgage your Vehicle and buy 700 boxes of shoes. He's a darn good salesman.

[The Saucepan Man]

Out of the Porcupine, into the Tyre

A glorious midday sun shone down on the green, turfed roof of Bag-Endless-Fuel as it put-putted happily towards the Misty Mountains, multi-coloured sparks leaping prettily from its rear hill-mounted exhaust system. It was Pippin’s turn to keep watch in the Thrushes Nest and he whiled away his time munching contentedly on a large game-pie with a side helping of mushrooms garnished with garlic and red pepper sauce. He was just moving on to his seconds, a plate of five sizeable custard tarts, when some distant specks in the sky caught his eye. They were moving swiftly towards the little burrow-buggy, becoming larger and more distinct as they approached.

“The Eagles!” he suddenly cried. “The Eagles are coming! Frodo! It’s …”

But Pippin’s exclamation was cut short as a Hobbit-sized bundle was released by the lead Eagle, striking him squarely on the head and bouncing down the chimney, taking the unbalanced Took with it.

“Well, I’m back,” declared Bilbo, picking himself up from the hearth and dusting himself down.

“Uncle Bilbo! Boy, am I glad to see you,” uttered a joyful Frodo.

“Bilbo!” exclaimed Merry. “But how did you get here?”

“Air Gwaihir, my boy,” replied the old Hobbit. “It’s the only way to fly, you fools!”

*Groan!*

“Shame on you, Mister Bilbo, sir,” reprimanded Samwise. “For using that old chestnut simply to bump up the humour quotient of this post!”

“Gmmb fmwn gft moy awght!” piped up a hapless voice from the chimney breast.

So, once Pippin had been extracted from the chimney flue and settled with a large and reassuring plate of pumpkin pie and blackberries, the talk turned once more to Bilbo’s return.

“But I thought that you were peddling the translator conceit over in Rivendell, Uncle Bilbo,” said Frodo. “What brings you back to the race?”

“Well, when I arrived in Imladris, there was this group of Dwarves,” Bilbo explained. “Turned out to be another delegation from Mount Zoom Challenge Enterprises, led by a fellow called Bûrni Arkenstone. Well, one night in the Hall of Fire, they got drinking and talking with old Elrond. Gandalf was there too. I tried to warn Elrond, but after far more mugs of Miruvor than were good for him, he ended up placing a rather large wager on Bag-Endless-Fuel. I believe that I saw him waving the title deed to Imladris itself around at some point. Anyway, the next day, amidst bouts of moaning and clutching his head and calling for Lembacetamol, he tells me that it’s vital that Bag-Endless-Fuel wins the Mount Zoom Challenge if he is not to lose the Last Homely House and become the First Homeless Half-Elf. So he and Gandalf decide that it’s best that I return to oversee the enterprise – “to protect their investment” they said. And before I know whether I’m coming or going, Gandalf has got on his moth-piece, called up Gwaihir and, well, here I am.”

“Gracious me,” said Frodo. “So it seems that there’s a great deal riding on this race now.”

“Indeed there is, my boy. So let’s get going. Oh, and have you got that old Ring of mine? I should very much like to see it again …”

But that would have to wait since, as he was speaking, a series of sudden explosions rang out as the tyres gave way under pressure from thousands of porcupine spines. The little burrow-buggy veered first one way and then the other and only a concerted effort from Merry at the wheel managed to bring it under control. Gradually, he brought it to a standstill and the Hobbits emerged from the round front door to inspect the damage.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Second Challenge: Rats in the Pipes.

There are Rats in the pipes! Yes, unfortunately, someone let some rats lose on your vehicles. You must find out which member of your crew brought them on board and then get rid of them. To do this, you need the person who brought them to tell you the Rat's favourite food. Get those darn rats out o' them Pipes! Your vehicle cannot move until this is done!

[Meneltarmacil]

Everything was going well. There had been no need to make the Wargs run the tower, as the tree-chopper on the front had been mowing down Mirkwood steadily and feeding the trees into the steam engine for quite a while. The Orth-Tank was almost out of Mirkwood when suddenly...

Putt-putt-putt-putt-putt-PUTTOOIE!!!

The engine stopped, causing the massive tower to shake violently back and forth.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE, YOU PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A SERVANT?!" boomed Saruman's voice as the wizard charged downstairs.

"Duh? Guh? Bumble-bluh?" was all Wormtongue could stammer as he woke up to repeated whacking from Saruman's staff.

"Never mind," Saruman grumbled as he inspected the workings of Orth-Tank.

"YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!" he shouted.

Grima responded with his wittiest "Huh?"

"I don't suppose you could tell me where all these rats came from? You forgot to clean out the pipes like I've been telling you to. You're going to be Warg-fodder if you don't find a way to get these rats out of here!" The wizard really meant business.

"Maybe we could put a big plate of cheese for the rats outside? Make it extra-stinky so they'll know where to find it. Oh, and poison it as well so they won't come back. Either that, or we could flood the pipes with rat poison," Worm offered.

[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Minas Tirith continued to roar along the southern edge of the Grey Mountains, occasionally rolling over a foothill or two. Denethor had reassumed his position at the helm in the Tower, occassionally casting a glance down at his new hood ornament at the head of the great "keel" of the city. "Rather a commanding and forbidding pose indeed," Denethor thought to himself.

They were cruising along quite fine, when there came a gurgle from the depths of the city, and Minas Tirith began to coast, losing its propulsion.

"Faramir!" Denethor shouted. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, Father," replied Faramir. "We seem to having engine trouble. Maybe this nuclear drive isn't such a good idea... What if it blew!"

"Nonsense!" snorted Denethor.

"Well, the city's slowing down, whatever the problem is," said Faramir. "Perhaps we should go check."

Denethor put the coasting city in park, and they descended from the tower to the citadel, and then down to the engine room in the heart of the hill. Húrin of the Keys and most of his support staff were bustling around looking rather confused.

"What's the problem?" demanded Denethor.

"Well, we're not really sure, milord," replied Húrin. "We had to shut down the city because of leak in the pipes feeding the main reactor, but we haven't ascertained why there's a leak, and until we do, we daren't start the engine up again. The last thing we need is a Chernobyl up here."

"Wrong," said Denethor. "The last thing we need is a broken down city. Faramir, you'd better help them find out what's wrong."

"But what about you, Father?"

"Somebody has to handle the supervision detail," replied Denethor.

Giving a long-suffering sigh, Faramir set to work with Húrin and his crew, looking for what might have punctured the pipes.

"Oh, rats!" said Faramir loudly, poking around a corner.

"You've found it?" Denethor turned up almost immediately at his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I just told you."

"No you didn't, you said 'rats'," replied Denethor.

"Exactly," said Faramir. "Rats!"

"I get the whole 'rats' business," said Denethor. "Now what caused the holes?"

"Rats," replied Faramir.

"You mean... rats?" said Denethor.

"Yes, rats," said Faramir, with the air of explaning to a child.

"Oh, rats!" cursed Denethor. "Húrin! Come over here!"

Húrin of the Keys rushed over.

"Have you found it, milord?"

"Yes, I have," replied Denethor. "It's rats."

"Rats!" exclaimed Húrin.

"I feel the same way," nodded Denethor.

"No, I mean it can't be rats," said Húrin. "Minas Tirith is completely free of rats, and has been ever since the days of King Tarondor, who ruled after the Great Plague. They were said to have caused it's quick spread, and the King ordered all rats in the city destroyed. It took until the reign of Narmacil II to achieve that goal, but Minas Tirith has been rat-free for the thousand-plus years since. They must have been placed here deliberately."

"But who would have done such a thing?" said Beregond, naïvely. Denethor and Faramir exchanged dark looks.

"Sauron, I bet!" said Faramir. "He's downright evil!"

"Saruman," said Denethor. "He's much more cunning."

"Could've been the Witchking," said Faramir. "He's always had good luck getting animals to flee away from him. All he'd have to do would be to drive them this way..."

"The Halflings!" said Denethor. "Are they not also known as 'descendents of rats'?"

"I think that might be anti-hobbit rhetoric, Father," said Faramir. "But it could have been Gothmog- assuming he's smart enough."

"Fat chance there!" snorted Denethor. "But it might have been Théoden! That old bugger's always known where his real competition lies, and I wouldn't put it past a kingly pretender like him."

"Nay! Éowyn would never allow it!"

"Oh yes she would!" replied Denethor gleefully. "That woman's the devil incarnate!"

"You're mixing her up with Galadriel..."

"Well, they're both blonde!"

"Father, they're COMPLETELY different."

"Yes, Boromir, but anyway, Théoden wouldn't have to tell her about it anyway," Denethor persisted.

"I'm Faramir."

"Yes, I know you are."

"But you just called me Boromir."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"Ahem!" interjected Húrin. "Does it really matter, milords, who masterminded the plan? It might even have been Dwarfy. The point is, that they had to have been released into here by someone with access to the engine room. ONLY your lordships, myself, and the members of the crew have access. Even King Elessar wasn't allowed into the city after the game began."

"Get me a roster of your team," said Denethor. "Let's find us this traitor!"

"And then?" asked Faramir.

"And then we burn him!"

[Glirdan]

Rats!

"BLAH BL BLAH BL BLAH BLAH BLAH!!" Sauron yelled.

"May I ask why you're spekaing jibberish sire?" Mouth asked annoyingly. The yelling was getting REAL annoying and head-splitting now.

"BECAUSE IT'S FUN!!" Sauron cackled evily.

"Well my lord, by the sounds of that Dwarf up there who stole our money (CURSE HIM!!), we have another problem coming up."

"REALLY!? WHAT IS IT!? TELL ME! AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT!!"

"Well...uh...I....ummm...don't exactly know...." Mouth stated, quite embarassed and in fear. His master had an awful temper.

"WHAT!? WHY THE-" he got cut off by a loud. PUTT-PUTT-PUT-PUt-Put-put-pu-p-pfffft.....BOOM "WHAT WAS THAT!?" Sauron asked suspiciously.

"Umm...I think that was the engine dieing my liege. Would you like someone to go and check it out?"

[Maeggaladiel]

Rat Attack

"PREPOSTEROUS!!" Sauron bellowed. The windowpanes rattled at the sheer volume. Poor Mouth. His eardrums would never be the same after this trip.

"ABSOLUTELY PREPOSTEROUS!" Sauron repeated. "OUR ENGINES CANNOT DIE, MOUTH OF ME! THEY ARE ENGINES OF UNRELENTING EVIL!"

"Be that as it may, my lord, that doesn't change the fact that the engines have stopped," Mouth pointed out. "Listen."

The Dark Lord and Mouth craned their heads downward, listening for the soothing purr of the 250 troll-power engine cranking the gears of the ancient mountain and spewing forth molten lava. No such sound came.

"See, my lord? They have stopped. I think--"

"WAIT, MOUTH!" Sauron slapped a hand over Mouth's... er... mouth. This was unfortunate for Mouth, as Sauron was still wearing his metal gauntlets. "LISTEN!"

Mouth, trying very hard not to scream in pain or drop any teeth on the carpeting, watched as Sauron crept up to the wall. The dark lord knelt and pressed the side of his helmeted head to the wall. He pointed a gauntleted finger.

"SOMETHING IS MAKING SCRATCHY-SCRATCHY NOISES IN THE WALL, MY MOUTH," he said, in what he supposed a whisper would sound like. It was really more of a loud conversational voice, but hey, it was a step down from the usual yelling.

Mouth obediently knelt next to his master and listened.

scritchscracth... scratchy.... *SQUEEK!!* scratch...

"Sou's laeg ra's," Mouth said, trying not to lose any more teeth. "May'he we 'hould go--"

Sauron's fingers formed a fist, and he punched straight through the wall. Plaster chunks, pink insulation, pumice, and drywall flew everywhere. The dark lord fished around for a moment, searching for something. Finally his hand emerged, clutching an iron pipe.

"AHA!" he cackled victoriously. "I HAVE FOUND THE PROBLEM!" He shook the pipe and a terrified rat fell to the ground. Sauon placed his foot on the rat's tail, keeping it from escaping.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "OBVIOUSLY, YOU ARE A SPY, SENT BY THE HOBBITS TO KEEP ME FROM STEALING BACK MY RING!"

"Um," Mouth began, but Sauron waved him away. Sauron threatened the rat with a fate worse than death unless the rat revealed the name and whereabouts of its employer, but the creature didn't respond.

"YOU ARE A TOUGH GUY, AY? WELL HOW ABOUT IF I--"

Squeak! Another rat scurried between the dark lord's legs and headed into the kitchen. Sauron and Mouth turned, to see several more rats falling from the broken pipe.

"BLAST!" Sauron cursed. "THEY HAVE US SURROUNDED!"

Mouth leaped up on the passenger's seat as a particularly large rat mistook his boots for some kind of tasty dead animal.

"This is all the Witch King's doing!" he yelled. "I just know it! He's always trying to make me look bad in front of you, my lord!"

"HURRY, MY MOUTH!" Sauron yelled over the squeeking. "WE MUST FIND OUT WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS! TO THE TROLL-ENGINE ROOM!" Yelling out battle cries in the Black Speech, Sauron raced down the stairs to the depths of the mountain, where trolls ran the great engine.

Mouth began to wonder what was worse: the pain in his teeth, the pain in his ears, or Sauron, the pain in the neck.

[dancing spawn of ungoliant]

Faramir:


"Father", Faramir gasped, "This is just like in a dream I had a while ago!"

"Really now? I, for one, dreamed that I was on a vacation in Dol Amroth last night. The sea glimmered and the hot sand of the golden beaches run through my bare toes. I was just sipping a Balar Island Ice Tea under a sunshade when I woke up", Denethor said in a wistful voice.

Húrin of the Keys nodded wisely. "I can relate, my lord. I once dreamed that-"

"No, no, NO! Listen to me. In my dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the west a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:

Seek for the rats that run free,
In Engine room they dwell,
There shall be counsels taken,
To get rid of the horrid smell.
There shall be shown a token,
That Doom is near at hand,
For mousetraps shall be broken,
and a traitor forth shall stand.

What does it mean?"

"Either it means, my son, that the Black Breath disease damaged your brain more than Mister heal-it-all knew, or then... then... Then we shall go consulting Ioreth on this matter."

"Not Ioreth! She always piches me on the cheek", Faramir shuddered remembering the horrible times when he had been trapped in the Houses of Healing for weeks because of chicken pox.

"She is the only one who has saved all the volumes of Ranger's Digest since Mid-3rd Age. There might very well be something useful there, so pick up your courage and prepare to be pinched, Captain of Gondor", Denethor said, turned on his heels and strode out of the room a disheartened Faramir in his wake.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Goin' Goods!

The Eyrie copter flew nicely over the River Anduin. A small rope ladder lead down from it and flapped just over a small Dwarf who was filling buckets and flinging them on the small fire that had started in the base of the copter. One of the Baby Dragons had got out and gone to help Medel zoom, and upon it's returning it had got a little over excited.

Eventually, Dwarfy got the fire out and clambered back into the Eyrie copter and zoomed up into the clouds. Now, Minas Mor-go is a magnificent sight, even if it is a city of complete horror, it was staggeringly beautiful and, as Dwarfy has just discovered, a heck of a thing to get hit by in the small of the back.

"Oi!" he cried, "That’s not fair!" An Orc laughed and threw a brick at Dwarfy who ducked and then steered the copter away from the mad city in the sky. After getting the copter under control, at last, he climbed higher and used his patented Dwarf-o-scope to see the progress of the racers. It seemed that Minas Taxi was pulling ahead.

[Formendacil]

Denethor

Minas Tirith was again running, but Denethor was in a rather bad mood.

"Porcupines! Of all the nasty creatures! Why couldn't it have been platypuses or something?" he muttered. "We're probably leagues behind the other teams! Confound them all!"

He shook his head. It had been a long night, and he was tired.

"Father," Faramir poked his head into the control room, "you're looking very tired. Should I take the helm?"

"Nonsense!" said Denethor. "I'm as fit as a fiddle."

"More like a bass fiddle," muttered Faramir to himself.

"What was that?" demanded Denethor sharply. "You're starting to mumble. It's time you went to bed! It's hours past your bedtime."

"I'm a grown man!" protested Faramir.

"You're still beholden to obey the Lord and Steward of the Realm, though, are you not?" snapped Denethor.

"Yes, but you're no longer the Lord of the Realm- that's King Elessar," pointed out Denethor.

"I'm still the Steward though!" said Denethor, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You. BED. Now."

"But we aren't even in the realm..." protested Faramir.

"You are a citizen of Gondor, no matter where we are!" said Denethor with a glare, "and Minas Tirith is a part of the Realm of Gondor, no matter where she drives!"

"All right! All right! I'm going to bed!" said Faramir. "Maybe you should park the city while we both sleep."

"Nonsense!" scoffed Denethor. "We've been held up long enough as it is. You sleep, I'll drive."

Still looking hesitant, Faramir exited the tower. Denethor continued to mutter under his breath long after his son had fallen asleep.

"Thinks me senile... Ha! I'm only a year older than Thorongil- and you don't hear people calling HIM senile... Fall asleep indeed.... Calls me a bass fiddle does he? At least it's manly... He's nothing but a piccollo! Why isn't Boromir here, anyway? Great man, Boromir... Takes after his father... Good man, his father.... Wise man... never uncloaks, him... Yes, I never uncloak... Confound Mithrandir... definitely confound him... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......"

The next thought that Denethor remembered came to him when he awoke suddenly, face splayed against the helm. Faramir was shaking him awake.

"Father! Father! Are you all right? Have you had a stroke? Or heart attack???"

Denethor roused himself, and stood up.

"Nonsense, I just dozed off... How long have I been out?"

"Probably three hours," said Faramir. "Húrin said he noticed the city start to veer at that time, but he assumed that you were just taking us on a new course. But when we got stuck in giant spiderweb, he went and got me- and here I am."

"It can't be three hours," said Denethor. "It was just a moment or two, I'm sure. Wait- you said something about a giant spiderweb?"

"Yes, the city is stuck in one," replied Faramir, and gestured out the window. Denethor peered out. His jaw dropped. An huge orb web hung between two tall peaks of the Misty Mountains. And the front of the city was stuck right in it, from the bottom circle up to the top of the spine of stone on which the troll statue was set.

Denethor licked his lips anxiously, swallowed, and turned to Faramir. "Any sign of the spider?"

"Not yet..." replied Faramir.

[Meneltarmacil]

A bit of a problem...

While Saruman had gone upstairs to get some rest, Grima had been driving Orth-Tank steadily along.

He soon grew tired of this and began to hum some music to himself, not paying any attention to what the tower was doing. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

This didn't last long, however, as the tower came to a sudden stop with a loud SSSSQQQQUUUUIIIISSSSHHH. A huge spiderweb held them fast.

Saruman charged downstairs to where Grima was still sleeping on the job and woke him up by bellowing the usual set of curses, insults, and threats at him. Grima, as usual, responded with the best "Duh?" he could muster.

"Well," said the wizard, "no thanks to your lazyness, we're stuck in a gigantic web. I don't suppose you have any ideas as to how to get us OUT of what you've gotten us into?"

"I, uh, might," Grima responded, "but, um, uh, it would be a little, uhhhhh"

"WHAT?!" Saruman yellled.

"I was going to suggest you get your lawyer to sue the spider for being a hazard to navigation, but I thought it would be a little too evil even for us." finished Grima.

[Maeggaladiel]

Stranded!


Sauron was dreaming of pretty pink ponies and cupcakes, and innocent villagers being burned alive. It was a good dream.

He was just about to bite into a chocolate cupcake with mocha sprinkles when Mouth started screaming at him to wake up.

"My lord!" Mouth's voice cried out, forcing the cupcake to dissappear in a puff of turqoise smoke and miniature turtles with wings. "My lord!"

"BWHUZZZAH?" Sauron asked groggily as the dream fizzled away into nothingness. "WAIT CUPCAKE! DON'T LEAVE! I- OH. IT IS YOU, MOUTH."

The Dark Lord's head ached. Groaning, he raised his hand and scratched his iron helm. There was a large dent in the metal.


"HWUH?" Saruon asked. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"I'm not sure, my lord," Mouth answered honestly. "I think we were attacked and knocked out."

Sauron thought about this. He looked around him; the inside of Mount Zoom seemed much more.... natural.

"WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!" Sauron boomed. Mouth's headache became ten times worse.

"Yes, my lord," Mouth replied. "Someone stole--"

"SOMEONE HAS STOLEN THE INTERIOR OF MOUNT ZOOM AND REPLACED IT WITH OUTDOORS!" The dark lord stood and looked around.

"They stole ALL of Mount Zoom, my lord," Mouth corrected wearily. "And they've left us stranded here."

Sauron rubbed his chin thoughtfully, creating a horrible metal-on-metal squeal as he did so.

"I SUSPECT THAT GNOMEY THE DWARF FELLOW HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT," Saurons said.

"DWARFY the Dwarf," Mouth corrected.

"SAME DIFFERENCE. ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT WE FIND MOUNT ZOO-- WHAT WAS THAT?"

There were sounds coming from behind them. They were not alone in this place. Something deep inside of Sauron recognized the presence. It was... familiar, somehow. It was...

"HOBBITS!" Sauron roared angrily. "THOSE LITTLE RING-THEIVES ARE HERE, MOUTH OF ME! I CAN FEEL IT!"

"Well, maybe they're stranded too. Perhaps we should join forces or--" SMACK! Mouth got a fist of iron on the top of his head.

"COME BACK TO YOUR SENSES!" Sauron said. "US? JOIN FORCES WITH THE HOBBITS!? WE MUST DO WHAT IS IMPORTANT HERE, MOUTH."

"Find Mt. Zoom?"

"MAAAAYBE.... OR FIND MY RING. WHICHEVER WE COME ACROSS FIRST."

Mouth raised an eyebrow. Sauron finally stared down at the ground sullenly.

"FINE," he muttered. "WE'LL FIND THE MOUNTAIN...."

[Formendacil]

Denethor

Denethor and Faramir stared dumbly- and glumly- at the giant spiderweb for a good five minutes before saying anything. And by "dumbly", I do not mean that they were stupid- although some have said that. No, I mean that they were silent. Mute.

Then, rather suddenly, Beregond came tearing into the control room.

"Lord Faramir! We've found it!"

"What?" said Denethor, shaken out his his reverie.

"The Spider, milord, we've found it!"

"No, I mean what do you mean talking to Faramir first?" said Denethor. "I am still the Lord and Steward of this city, am I not?"

"Er... yes... but it was Lord Faramir who ordered that we find the spider," explained Beregond.

"You did this without consulting me?" Denethor narrowed his eyes at Faramir.

"You were asleep, Father!"

"That's no excuse! Anyway, where is this spider?" Denethor turned back to Beregond.

"It's just around that outcropping of stone, sleeping!" said Faramir. "We would have tried to pre-emptively kill it, but we found ourselves shaking too hard to hold our weapons steady, so we fled- that is to say, we retreated, back to the city."

"I think I hear something," interrupted Faramir.

"What do you mean, you hear something?" said Denethor.

"Be quiet and listen!"

"Are you telling me to be quiet!" Denethor roared, but the noise that Denethor was hearing was suddenly a great deal louder, as though the volume had been turned up.

"Is that... music?" asked Faramir.

"It has a beat," said Denethor, "but I wouldn't call it music."

"Verily, milord," said Húrin, "that is known as music. I believe the younger generation calls it 'hip-hop'."

Even as they were discussing the "music", the spider clambered over the outcropping of rock, and into their view. It began to wiggle and shake in time with the music.

"What is that horrid spider up to?" asked Denethor in revulsion. "And look at it's size- it must be the offspring of Ungoliant herself!"

"I think it's dancing..." said Faramir.

"A Dancing Spawn of Ungoliant!" said Denethor, amazed. "Now I've seen everything."

"We're still no closer to getting out of here," pointed out Faramir. "And now the beast is awake."

[Maeggaladiel]

Sauron and Mouth had been walking around aimlessly for some time, searching for Mount Zoom. They had made certain to steer clear of the Hobbits, because Mouth knew that the Dark Lord could be a little obsessive when it came to his precious ring. After all, if he had his ring again, he would have the awesome power to make Mt. Zoom far more fuel efficient. And what with the price of gasoline these days, he really couldn't afford NOT to have it.

"HOW COULD ANYBODY HIDE AN ENTIRE MOUNTAIN ON WHEELS?" Sauron grumbled. He grabbed a rock and lifted it. A centipede scurried away, robbed of its hiding spot. "NOT HERE, EITHER."

"My lord, how could--OW!" Mouth was interrupted as something small and hard fell onto his head. "What the ruddy Morgoth was that?!" He looked down. A shiny black rock was at his feet. He picked it up. "What's this?"

The Dark Lord leaned forward and took the rock from Mouth. He turned it over in his hand and looked at it with an experienced eye.

"OBSIDIAN," Sauron remarked casually. "VOLCANIC GLASS. TRUST ME; I KNOW A FEW THINGS ABOUT VOLCANIC ROCK. MOUNT ZOOM IS A VOLCANO, AFTER ALL."

"Why on Middle Earth would volcanic glass fall from the sky?" grumbled Mouth.

You could almost see the little thought lightbulbs appearing over their heads. Slowly, Mouth and Sauron looked up.

"HOLY WING OF BALROG!!!" Sauron cursed. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF EVIL IS THAT?!"

The great Mt Zoom was suspended in midair, wrapped in a shining white substance that was stretched between a rock cliff and some trees.

"Must be some pretty sturdy trees," remarked Mouth. "And some pretty strong rope. To think, Mt. Zoom was right under our noses the whole time."

"ABOVE OUR NOSES," Sauron corrected.

"Quite."

They stared at Mt. Zoom for a while, in silence.

"So what now?" Mouth asked.

"WE MUST GET IT DOWN," Sauron said. "I'LL CALL THE RAT WRAITHS TO THROW A ROPE OUT THE WINDOW. RAT WRAAAAAIITHS!"

Sauron waited, but there was no reply. He tried again. And again.

"WHAT COULD THEY BE DOING UP THERE?" he asked.

Finally, they heard a tiny sound drifting through the window.

"squeeekie... squieeekeesqueekiee! SQUEEEK."

"What do they say, My Lord?" asked Mouth. Sauron sighed.

"OH YEAH, LIKE I CAN SPEAK RAT." he said flatly.

If Sauron had learned to speak rat, and then the southern Rat Wraith dialect, he might have heard something like, "We're stuck to a giant web and can't come to the window right now. Please leave a message after the 'squeak' and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. SQUEEEEK."

[Meneltarmacil]

The spider crawled down the web, intent on devouring what it had caught. But standing before it on the balcony of Orth-Tank was a truly horrifying sight.

A man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase was reading some kind of important document.

"Your web, spider, is clearly a hazard to navigation in this area. Since you knowingly put this giant web up to catch food though this was clearly a major route of travel in the country of Rohan, you must pay a sum of money of at least..."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!" the spider shrieked. It fell off the web, extremely pale and extremely dead as well. Saruman's lawyer had destroyed it quickly, efficiently, and mercilessly.

The Uruk-Hai burned off the webs and the tower drove off WEST toward the Gap of Rohan.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The Fourth Challenge: Shelob's Lazy lob.

The problems just keep coming at the moment. Driving along, your driver falls asleep at the wheel. When the driver is awoken, you discover you are caught in a giant spider web. Fortunately, the Giant spider is asleep. It’s a Lazy lob. (And may well be a crazy cob).
You need to get out of the net and away from the Spider by any means possible!

Good luck!

************************************
BAD BONUSES!

Orth Tank has moved down to the Entwash due to their last bonus.
Mount Zoom and Bag Endless-fuel have come into a strange situation...
While climbing over the Misty Mountains by the High Pass, they came across some troublesome goblins. The Goblins captured the vehicles and nocked out the driver and assistant. When they awoke they found themselves in Drúwaith Laur near the river Isen.

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