(TATW AAR) Home to Midgard

[Maltacus]

______________________________Part 27½ Tedious Royal Readings__________________________

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The annual reporting for the period 2987-2988 was a dull affair. King Dain yawned his way through the long series of grey summaries and documents presented to him. Budget this, staff that, foreign affairs whatever. Being king was certainly less glamorous these days. He reached out again to grab the reports he had just read when losing focus and bemoaned the dullness of them. Hmm, this was in itself a bit interesting, it was just that the way it was described and presented by the official clerks was so…grey and dull. The dwarfs of Erebor and the iron Hills were the grey dwarfs, as opposed to the blue ones living in the Blue Mountains, but that did not mean that everything had to be grey in King Dains admittedly not often decisive opinion.

Edoras had at last fallen to the surprise of no one. The only surprise was that the city had not fallen earlier. This would mean that the invading armies were on the way home and that sometimes meant that they took some unlikely paths when crossing your territory which was quite worrying. With Erebor and Kugavod well defended the danger was not very great for the dwarfs but the men of Dale could be more troubled.

The recruitment of the new ranger army was about to finish. The last companies of crossbowmen and axe throwers had graduated and were about to be sent north with the others to meet Gimli and Balin. Dain was thoughtful. With such large forces tied up in Kugavod, even larger than the town could pay for, there were not enough funds to raise a full army to send west. In the desolated and hilly northlands a smaller force could be used effectively but eventually they would have to face the goblins in the open fields of Stingland around Wrakyaburg and maybe also Framsburg.

The financial situation would be quite the talking point in months to come. For some reason, some people could never stop debating the simple fact that a kingdom is broke, or at least has a stagnating economy. Everybody spend enormous effort on trying to conclude just exactly how broke it is and in what way everything has stagnated.

Hopefully Gimli and his new army could reclaim Dains Halls. There was a rumour that the goblins had built some sort of wooden fortifications blocking the entrance. Hmpf! The insolence! That would have to be conquered. The emissaries Runar and Halvdan would probably not be happy since they had taken great risks to tric…persuade the goblins to sign a peace agreement but the allies of Erebor were too pressured, especially the Wood Elves of Mirkwood. Dain hoped that they would not be doing as bad as some hearsay would claim but at the same time recognised the fact that such would probably be the case, just because the thought had just crossed his mind this very moment.

[Maltacus]

_________________________________Part 28 Yes, Minister_____________________________

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While the government amused themselves with the grey reports Runar and Halvdan had a journey across the windy plains of Rohan that was of equal merriness. The wind was biting and there seemed to be no shelter anywhere except in the middle of the day and in the middle of their path.

Because Edoras was always being invaded, the seat of Rohan administration (which was where the where the true power lay) was since long shifted to the less known town of Appleby. It was so less known it did not appear on any map which was just as well since the Civil Service of the realm preferred to do their work without much public insight. With the known limitations of the royal intellectual resources, Rohan needed some political power elsewhere that could handle the administrative affairs (meaning everything from roads to warfare) of the kingdom. That political power was the minister of administrative affairs, Mr Jimorl Paulwulf of the Eddington clan. He was usually called Jim in daily speech, and he held many daily speeches. His habit of holding (according to himself) stirring and engaging speeches about hacking down the enemy in the same way as Eorl the Young of old had earned him the nickname “the Hacker”. Minister Jim Hacker liked nothing more than public attention and the opportunity of rousing an audience with encouraging exclamations such as “Forth Jimorlingas!” and “Our unit statistics are facts but their facts are merely statistics!”.

To administer all the tiresome work of the minister and the department of administrative affairs he had the aid (well, for lack of a more appropriate term) of Sir Humphrey Nigelric Hawthorne, a thorne in the side of all political will. It is said that the voice of Saruman possessed magical qualities and could turn almost anyone into an ally. The voice of Sir Humphrey was of matching power, as it could and did turn everyone confused, be they hobbits or Ainur. He could speak for ages without stopping and seemingly not drawing a breath, or beginning a new sentence for that matter.

Sir Humphrey had many allies of varying reliability. There were Sir Arnoldric, the semi-retired old master and mentor of corrupt administrators, the outspoken, almost frank (well, if you compare him to Sir Humphrey at least) Gorda – head of the treasury, the notoriously unreliable secretary of the minister Bernard Wulfsey and of course Sir Humphreys subordinates such as the scribes Jay and Lynn. Minister Hacker on his part had the aid of an insignificant weasel and the spirited secretary Dorothy Wainwright, one of the few people really capable of countering Sir Humphrey. Ages ago Gondor had been attacked by the so called Wainriders of the east which Eorl the young and his horde of riders had aided with the defence against, leading to them being given what was today’s Rohan. Sir Humphrey fervently claimed that Wainriders were nothing compared to Wainwrights when it came to causing trouble for the administration. “Wainriders bring trouble – Wainwrights create it” was his illuminating way of putting it.

Appleby was situated between Foldburg and Edoras, slightly closer to Edoras. Runar and Halvdan passed through the town on their way towards the capital before Edoras fell to a vast Haradrim army.

To keep the costs down the minister always lived in the unglamorous parts of Appleby, namely Downtown Street 10. Runar and Halvdan just so happened to pass by the door when the sound of loud arguing greeted them from beyond the opening door of number 10.

- No Bernard, I will NOT stand for this. Sir Humphrey is not running this country, I AM.
- Shall I tell him or will you, minister?
- Let me make one thing clear, I…who are these two?
- Greetings and well met minister of the to us not yet known department. We are Runar and Halvdan, emissaries of Erebor, said Runar as customary.
- Foreign emissaries… Of course, this could be brilliant. How much do you want for…aahem, could I do anything for you, honoured guests?
- Well, we are looking for information about the foreign realm of Midgard and would really like any help you could provide with finding it.
- Listen, why don’t you come by my office just this afternoon? At half past three? I am sure I could make the official archives available to you.

As the two parties parted ways the dwarfs discussed the unusually accommodating ministerial behaviour. Halvdan advocated suspicion and further scouting. Runar consented, as long as it could be done discreetly. The scouting, that is, not the consenting to the scouting. They discreetly followed the secretary Bernard to and inside a large office. He entered a pompous-looking room and closed the door, but Halvdan picked the lock on the next door and the two dwarfs entered and listened close to the wall. Apparently the political or administrative part of Appleby had favoured budget cuts over reliable construction for the wall was so thin one could hear what was said with ease.

- …so, Bernard, what is on your mind?
- I have this problem, Sir Humphrey, that is to say, I would ask your advice on a purely hypothetical situation.
- Yeees…
- Suppose a ministerial secretary found out that the minister in question was drawing up plans for a new defence policy consisting of plans that would not be totally in line with what a hypothetical civil servant of the higher levels had previously suggested and perhaps even, gosh, counterproductive when taking the civil services stand as a whole on defence policies into consideration, should this ministerial secretary bring this knowledge to the hypothetical higher civil servant?
- Bernard, I am but a humble civil servant. It is not for me to dictate the comings and goings of the political apparatus of the realm which I am merely seeking to serve, which I am right now in the middle of serving by revising the pay roll of the new year, a task that has by the most extraordinary coincidence chanced to make me have a look at your pay grade and employment this very moment. But I am sure that can wait until further deliberation is done should recent events come to alter the result of the evaluation of your contributions to the civil service. Now, is there anything you might wish to share with me?
- Well, hypothetically…
- Of course.
- The minister, the hypothetical minister, has decided to revise the defence policy of the realm and put the defence of various territories in the hands of the local town councils, giving each a monthly sum to…
- Bernard! This is OUTRAGEOUS!
- But isn’t there a bit of a point in this, seeing as the royal armies have met with such disasters following their staked spear tactics?
- It is the PRINCIPLE! Freely giving power to, to, to local councils! Of ordinary people!? To decide for themselves!? It will be the end of civilisation as we know it!
- If the current development continues, civilisation as we know it will probably end anyway… Edoras is just about to fall to the Haradrim.
- I will speak to the minister! This must be stopped!
- But, Sir Humphrey, remember it was hypothetical…
- I keep that well in mind, just as you should keep your future career!

Runar and Halvdan quietly went out for lunch. It seemed that the secretary Bernard was as untrustworthy as the higher secretary Sir Humphrey was demanding. They wondered if the discussions about defence would interfere with the promised help with researching. Judging by their experience with humans, both counted on receiving demands for help of various kinds in exchange for the chance to look at the archives. They were half right.

- Ah, Humphrey, come on in, said the minister.
- Thank you, minister.
- Allow me to introduce two emissaries from Erebor, Runar and Halvdan.
- An unexpected honour, how do you do.
- Now, about our last meeting; I think I will have to postpone the overview of the civil service pay grades until the current defence situation has stabilized. We simply can not go on like this with invading armies all over the kingdom and our own just impaling themselves! Therefore I want you to draft a proposition about the transfer of executive powers regarding the defence of the realm to the local town halls and castles.
- Minister! I can not believe you could consider something like this!
- Why not? The defence is in bad shape and as you know, the whole of Middle Earth is in grave danger. Just now these two emissaries have come, pleading for aid at our doorstep…

Now hold up there, Runar and Halvdan thought. They were not pleading for aid like that. Just asking about the local archives is not the same as pleading for aid. Obviously the minister was using them to illustrate his point about dire situations. Hmpf! Silly humans!

…a turning point of the nation, this grand plunge into the unknown…this…
- If I may be so bold to interject, minister, I think it would not be in line with the standards of servitude to which one strives to hold oneself to avoid giving voice to ones presently upcoming suspicions that, not to put too fine a point to it, the course which this department is currently about to take might not be the most impeccably flawless one when considering the developments that are about to unfurl in the timeframe that one would hardly be able to name anything else than immediate.
- Uh…alright…what?
- I believe the honourable secretary means that he finds the decision bad, given the current situation but nothing more specified, Runar interjected.

Sir Humphrey looked appalled but quickly found his focus again.

- As you know, minister, the treasury is overloaded with work and I think it would be most imprudent, not to say inadvisable, to heighten their load in this manner.
- Nonsense, the treasury doesn’t need to do anything, I’m only transferring legal powers.
- Quite so, minister, which makes it a severe stress for the communications secretariat…
- And how is that? Is drafting simple letters to the respective governors that time consuming?
- Not at all minister, but think of the consequences this will have on the public opinion and the extra workload that will generate for the civil service. Answering outraged peasants, explaining to furious lords, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, ne bis in idem, status quo, ad astra…
- Furious lord…what do you mean by that, Humphrey?
- Well, minister, while it is hardly up to a humble civil servant like me to judge the political aspirations…
- Well!?
- …I foresee alls sorts of unforeseeable problems when it comes to the constituencies and the constituents when the news start spreading about the minister Jim Hacker shedding his undertakings and casting off the mantle of responsibility for the protection of the realm.
- But I am not! I am simply dividing the decision-making powers to increase our defence capacity!
- Minister you need not convince me, I am on your side. The population, however, will see things differently.
- Aided by one or two “untraceable” leaks from the civil service, I guess?
- Minister! I do not believe my ears! Are we not ensuring the strictest policy against leaks with interdepartmental investigation committees set up every time a leak happens?
- Was it not you who said that such committees are set up to ensure that the right answers are found, not that the true answers are found?

In this moment, Runar decided to intervene. There would obviously be no end to the bickering and quarrelling between these two and decisive action was needed before he and Halvdan would fall asleep and turn to stone out of boredom.

- If I may be so bold to interfere, gentlemen, may I add an international aspect of the issue, he asked.
- Why, um, of course.
- Thank you, minister. As representative of the King under the Mountain and Erebor I would like to point out that it will be my painful duty to report the ineptitude of Rohan defences at the present time, leading no doubt to a widespread recommendation to all the allies of Erebor to avoid any fraternisation with Rohan, if I was to suggest that course of action strongly enough. On the other hand, if a new policy was implemented my reports would perhaps be more focused on the dawning of a new era of Rohan defence policy and the expecting optimism such a development was bound to stir.
- That’s it! “Jim Hacker forges a bond of fellowship across Middle Earth…united together the free peoples make their stand…a new era of unity and the salvation of the brave people of Rohan no longer needing to struggle alone…”, the minister said with great satisfaction about the public relations opportunities.
- And what could possibly be a better way to demonstrate this than by sending the foreign emissaries off with a generous gift…such as access to the Rohan archives?
- Ah, hmm, agreed.

Runar and Halvdan thus got to go through the tomes and documents of the Appleby archives. It took all of Halvdans subterfuge skills to actually find all the documents since Sir Humphrey had done his best to put them in the darkest and dimmest of corners and the least accessible bookshelves. After many days of searching the dwarfs had found something that actually seemed like a clue.

Guarding the bridge Bifrost to Valhall and Asgard is the vigilant Heimdal. Ask for him during normal work hours for instructions and travelling issues. Office will be closed at Yuletide, Midsummer’s Eve, randomly occurring feasts and Ragnarök. For travelling to other locations than Midgard or Valhall be sure to notify Heimdal of absence. Einherjar and Valkyries are required to present written authorization from Odin if undertaking such journeys.

- Aha! Apparently this strange Bifrost bridge can be used to travel to and from other locations as well as from Midgard. Perhaps this “Valhall” is some sort of crossroad or rainbow road network centre?
- It sounds a bit like a place with Valar. Hall of the Valar. I wonder if there is a hall of the Maiar as well? Maihall…May-hall, only open during May…Mead-hall, hehehehehe…
- Yes, yes, keep dreaming. Let’s proceed east now.

Runar and Halvdan approached Edoras and were greeted by the foul sight of invading armies devastating the countryside. Haradrim and Mordor forces had scattered the armies of Rohan and caused great terror to everyone near them. Especially the commander of Mordors armies, MasterB…ahem, The Witch-King of Angmar, was incredibly scary and caused the two protagonists to hide their faces and turn back in fear.

If only there was someone in Rohan capable of chasing off these kinds of terrible wraiths, laughing at their faces, slicing the heads of their monstrous mounts and cleaving their crowns and insubstantial heads in two…

If there were, those persons had evidently not come of age yet, as evident by the state that Rohans defences were in. East of Edoras lay a relatively peaceful village that the dwarfs passed through. In a field next to a remote mansion there were some strawheaded children playing. A boy and a girl fenced viciously while shouting battle cries at each other.

- I would cut off your head, if it stood but a little higher above the ground!
- I fear neither death nor pain!

- Good day, mighty Rohirrim.
- Hello, dwarfs. Dif you see my fine hit on Eomer?
- You didn’t! Eowyn is always such a liar, don’t listen to her!
- You shut up! I hit you!
- No you didn’t!
- Did!
- Didn’t!
- Please, save your viciousness for the legions of Mordor, Runar interrupted. Could anyone tell us if there’s a tavern in the village?
- Yes, there’s one. But the barmaid is grumpy.
- Thank you. We will take the risk and send for you if we encounter great trouble we can’t handle on our own.
- I’m going to chase away all the wraiths that invade Rohan, said Eowyn. I will bust their sorry backsides across the Anduin and into the swamps north of Mordor! They will dread the Ghost Busters of Rohan and all shall call for us when in need!
- I’m going to hunt the orcs and trample them under my big horse, said Eomer. Especially the Isengard ones. They are the ugliest.

Quietly thinking that the honourable ghost buster and orc hunter had evidently not seen the face of the Gundabad king, Runar and Halvdan politely bid them farewell and proceeded into the village to look for the tavern. When they were to set out the next morning they were greeted with a very unpleasant letter. The Council of Erebor wished them to establish diplomatic relations with…the Haradrim. The same brutal armies that camped in the newly invaded Edoras and surrounded themselves with ringwraiths from their ally, the Dark Lord of Mordor.

Needless to say, Runar and Halvdan were not too optimistic and promptly set up an interdepartmental committee of their own. The committee decided that relations with the Haradrim would be established at the appropriate juncture, in the fullness of time, at the suitable time and place, when the intelligence and foreign affairs departments - represented here by their respective delegate - would deem it to be feasible to the point where a new meeting could be set up to set up the framework for a new wide scale investigation on with a fairly broad objective that would at the end of the day deliver it’s report which would be serve as grounds for the decision taken by the new committee on whether or not the question should be subjected to a further, deeper, investigation in preparation for an advisory opinion which would, potentially, be forwarded to an executive board whose preliminary decision would be reviewed by an administrative joint commission in order to determine whether or not it should be regarded as eligible for decision by the respective delegates and… Never let it be said that Runar and Halvdan had not learned quickly about the foreign cultures they came in contact with!

When passing the great stables (Rohan equivalent of a fortress) of Aldburg there could be seen some scary sights north of the settlement. At least they were far away. On second thought, not so far but further away. Hopefully they would be even further away soon. Runar and Halvdan marched east along the road to Anorien, towards the border of Gondor. There there would hopefully be less ghosts and more living things. On the path to a bridge on the road, they heard some thundering hooves. They quickly slid off the road and hid next to it under the roots of a great tree. It felt sort of undignified to do so, almost like the sort of thing a bunch of hobbits would do, but it turned out to be prudent for another wraith came riding along the road. It dismounted and sniffed in the air, as if having caught a scent. Halvdan quietly admitted that their coats hadn’t been up to the standards of cleanliness one could wish for. Travelling across a country riddled with stables and muddy riding trails had its consequences. Luckily the wraith seemed blind as a fold and absent-minded like a grey wizard. It was almost as if it was a blind wizard or sorcerer haunting Middle Earth. But something that stupid could not exist in Mordors ranks. Or could it?

Now, finally, they were in Anorien just as the weather went over to snowing again. Here among the Bulwark of the Free Peoples, and all other things pompous braggers like Boromir called it, there would surely be no scary riders haunting the roads. There was a border fort south of the road but strangely enough it was unmanned. Obviously the Gondorians put great effort in maintaining their often praised (by themselves) vigilance… As Runar and Halvdan continued along the peaceful road, an eerily familiar thunder of hooves and cackling mad laughter announced that it was time to search for a better place to hide.

- WHY CAN’T HE LEAVE US ALONE!?
- GET AWAY YOU ROTTEN WRAITH! LEAVE US BE!

[Maltacus]

______________________________Part 28½ Violint Plans for Dwarven Ranger Violince__________________________

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Gimli climbed the podium at the large square of Erebor with reluctant steps. What was he going to say? A large crowd of spectators and newly recruited militarily dwarfs stood before him and waited eagerly.

- Hrm, ah, hello. Nice that so many of you could come…It is an honour to have been chosen to command this soon-to-be western army of Erebor. As you know we’re soon starting our march west and…ah, it will be cold. It will probably rain a lot and everyone’s tent will be flooded and the spare clothes will probably get soaked and rot. When the snow comes we will have little shelter and no time to construct more than the most basic camps. We must pack all the provisions we will need and can not count on being able to live off the land once we reach goblin territory. Well, goblins…right, the goblins outnumber us at least ten to one by the most optimistic calculations. The real relation is probably at least twenty to one. In addition to their multitudes of infantry and skirmishers of various kinds the goblins will employ warg riders and possibly field and siege artillery. We can expect to be outnumbered in just about every battle, when defending and when attacking.

Standing at the side of the podium, King Dain moaned inward about the effect on the general morale this, if not pre-battle then pre-campaign, speech would have. If only Gimli could get to the point before the end of this year!

- I almost forgot. We will sooner or later face cave trolls as well.

Now, wasn’t that just the kind of cheery circumstance to be pointed out, the king thought.

- If our luck holds we can strike first with surprise. After that we will be wading through the proverbial tide of goblin multitudes with no relief in sight for month after month, year after year. The caves of the Misty Mountains are home to innumerable hosts these days, and not just innumerable because the goblins suck at mathematics, which they do, but also because they are really many. There is a distinct possibility that many of us will die, which also sucks. Maybe even each and everyone, which does the same thing even more. But we will buy Erebor and the men of Dale time and peace to live safe from goblin invasions behind us and we will take pressure off our pointy-eared allies of Mirkwood who, despite their lack of manners, deserve better than ending up as the great chieftain’s main course.

___________________________________________________________________

It was the late summer of the year 2988 of the third age. The dwarfs had after all formed a kind of standing professional army. It was paid by the state treasury and consisted of adventurous as well as greedy elements eager to claim and reclaim new lands in the old dwarf lands of the Grey Mountains where Dains Halls were the main town. The launching of the campaign against the goblins had been preceded by all sorts of encouraging news…

The king of Rohan had died which prompted the somewhat philosophical question if their defence policies and battle tactics could get any worse. It was philosophical in the way that it related to the question of whether you can only reach a certain bottom level of incompetence or if the scale of competence and incompetence is endless.

The trusted emissaries had failed to broker any agreements with Isengard, actually having failed to even reach the damned faction. The Council of Nobles were seriously displeased with the king, for some strange reason. It was not like Dain had told the Rohirrim to conquer that citadel and block the way all of a sudden. Councillors…

On the brighter side, the palisade wall of Wormcove was finished and people continued to migrate to the place. Not even the continuous presence of the unbearable elven diplomat managed to deter the newcomers…now that is what one would call determination! The skiing courses of the little town caused the relations with the Blue Dwarfs to become even merrier since the latter had received a pack of letters of discount in celebration of the finished wall building. The wood elves and strawheads were also pleased since they hoped that the new army would help them against the goblin invasions. The high quantity of axe throwers, who dressed mostly in green, may also have had something to do with their enthusiasm.

On the other hand, the goblins themselves were not pleased. Either because they had heard about Gimlis speech or somehow got news about the warmongering plans of Erebor in another way, or just because they were a grumpy and vicious bunch of creatures, the relations between them and Erebor had dropped to the very poor category.

The new dwarf army marched west on roads and small trails. They followed the desolate northern road going parallel with the Grey Mountains. Summer turned to autumn and the weather turned cold and dreary. After even more walking it started to snow. There were very few two-legged creatures living here. One of the eccentric beings that stubbornly continued to roam these inhospitable highlands was a weird elf with long ears. She was at times vague about what the attraction with the highlands really was and some suspected that she had found a secret mine or something (typical conspiracy theories of dwarf taverns) but fiddled with the figures so to say, in order to hide its existence. She was apparently accustomed to fiddling with many things. Any nosier and deeper enquiries had however been met with firm, even violint, reminders about the virtue of minding and (in case of dwarfs) mining ones own business.

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- What is this?! No song or text? Amateurs! How can my exquisite voice be done justice with such meagre opportunities?! And your part is silent, little storyteller toad!

The dwarf army did not spot any elves but that was hardly surprising. The dwarfs happened to be engaged in fierce discussions about a most crucial aspect of the campaign. The western army had no nickname! All prominent military forces had, even Thorins disorganised miners in Kugavod who were frequently referred to as the miners or gold miners, or Thorins Total Tomfoolery (by Balin). But what should the new western army under Gimli be known as?

- We are obviously fighting in the cold north to push back and keep out the savage savages from the other side of the Misty Mountains, sort of. Perhaps we should call ourselves the…Nights Watch?
- Ahem…a nights watch that cannot fight night battles?
- What!? You are the commander of the iron Guard and marshal of all of Erebors armies second to the king only, and you don’t know how to fight night battles!? Despite being a dwarf with years of experience of dark and lightless caves and mines…logic is overbearing…
- How about the Knights Watch then?
- Too shiny. We need to stay discreet. Also we don’t have horses.
- You don’t need horses to be a knight, you could just take to halves of a coc…
- NO. We will NOT go there! We will not give in to Saurons will…or complaints…

- Since we are the grey dwarfs we could call our army the “Grey Wardens”?
- Nah, that sounds like some evil organisation that murder their recruits after luring them into signing up through unfair and despicable deception…not my style. We are going to be honourable.
- We have an army that is very focused on shooting down our opponents; how about “Jaegermeistern von Erebor…Ereburg”?
- Not too bad, but I have heard that too much of that kind of talk will make you speak in a completely overdone accent that makes you sound as if you have a permanent cold, so I don’t think Jaegermeister thing are healthy in the long run…might give bad traits…
- We’ll probably get a cold anyway if we are to march around all the time to outmanoeuvre the goblins. Just as stupid as the Dunedain rangers. Hey! We are pretty much the closest thing Erebor has to a ranger force. But obviously more powerful than silly human rangers who lack reliable infantry. The Power Rangers!

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- At least you got the colour right this time… All instrumental… Hideous!

- I suddenly had a flashing flashback and vision about such a name bringing bad luck. It will ruin our discreet approach by overenthusiastic exclamations and far too bright colours at the wrong time and place. Can’t we chose a more sensible and informative name, like the Dwarf Rangers?
- But that doesn’t sound well when you make up encouraging mottos and songs about it.
- If we persuade the whole realm to add a “vin” to the plural and adjectives and adverbs of our language then? Making us the dwarves instead of the dwarfs and having dwarven things instead of dwarf things?
- GO GO DWARVEN RANGERS, NA NANANAAANA!
- That is precisely the kind of indiscreet behaviour I was referring to! Keep it down before you spoil the entire surprise effect and lure Durins Bane here!

And so the western army had a name – The Dwarven Rangers, who did not go but marched our snuck or charged but never did go, in order to avoid unnecessary attention.

[Maltacus]

_______________________Part 29 Gondor______________________

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The mighty white tower glittered in the sun. Or not actually in the sun but in the sunlight. Nevertheless, it glittered magnificently. The roads were broad and symmetrical and every crop was geometrically laid out in a perfectionist’s way. Companies of soldiers in outstanding armour marched along in impeccable order. All was pompous and chivalrous and snobbish. In other words, Runar and Halvdan had arrived to Minas Tirith.

The citywas built on seven terraces, each with a wall around it. Due to cunning architecture and camouflage, it only appeared to be six terraces when viewed from above.

The origin of the city was clouded in mist, again, not literally, but the metaphorical mist rising from the banks of rivers of insufficient historical knowledge. The reason for building so many walls and terraces was however well known. The founders of the city believed that the number seven had received far too less attention. Three and nine and two and so on all appeared in magical and mythological tales as well as several rituals but seven was left out in a most discriminated way. The outer aspect of the outer wall was black. It was actually a very rare kind of black which was in fact often mistaken for white by the less scholarly minded. Furthermore, it was entirely smooth and flat. No enemy could hope to find support on that glassy surface. The fact that it appeared to be made of ordinary blocks of stone was just another optical illusion caused by the rare kind of colour used to paint the wall.

Runar and Halvdan eagerly approached the outer wall. The great gate was held by some city guards, strange as it may sound.

- Hold! No one may enter the city without speaking the password, said the guard.
- Good day, Runar answered. We are emissaries from far away and do obviously not know any of your passwords. May we come in? We bring word from king Dain in Erebor.
- The steward will be most interested but you may not enter without speaking the password.
- But how are we supposed to get in then?
- That I can not say.
- “sigh”. Mellon?
- What? Do you think we would say melon to get in? May I remind you that this is Minas Tirith, not some Shire fruit market?
- Please!
- Welcome.
- What?!
- This is only the first gate. Here you just need to be polite to get in. The other gates are harder. Good luck!
- Dain does not pay me enough for this…

The next gate was held by a very proud old guard with a strange accent. He had a white moustache, gleaming eyes that looked red in the rising sun, pale skin, a prominent aquiline nose and very ruddy red lips. The general impression was that of extraordinary pallor. He cast no visible shadow as the gate was angled away from the sun, yet there was something dark about him. Nor did he have any reflection showing in the gleaming metal of the doors. The dwarfs felt a bit uneasy.

-Greetings. I am Runar and this is Halvdan. We are emissaries of Erebor. Am I correct in my assumption that we are required to speak the appropriate password in order to pass this gate?
- Yes.
- Mellon?
- Good guess, but not correct. We have not yet adapted to the standard Elven passwords.
- At least you know it is Elvish and don’t think of fruit like your colleague downstairs…Ecthellion? Elbereth? Faramir? Denethor? Tower? Sword? Dragon? Horse? Ant? Bumblebee? Idiot? Moron? Fool? (Runar had been learning and lately expanded his diplomatic vocabulary) Ancillary? Trait? Export_descr_units? Denial of passage? Obstruction of diplomacy?
- Sadly not.
- This makes me mad! How do the inhabitants handle their daily life with this absurdity all over the place?! The children of this city must be having daily traumatic childhoods! We will be lucky to reach the office of Denethor by tomorrov night!
- My friends, velcome to the second level. Enter freely and of your own will, and leave some of the happiness you bring.
- Whaaat?!
- Yes, you did speak the passvord.
- Which is…?
- “The children of the night”. Vhat sveet music they make…
- But I didn’t say that.
- Yes youdid. “The children of this city must be having dailytraumatic childhoods! We will be lucky to reach the office of Denethor by tomorrov night!” The children of the night! You do not necessarily have to say it all in one phrase or the same sentence. It is after all a longer password and some moderation is in order to keep it from getting too difficult.
- Of course. How logical. How come I never thought of that…
- As you go around in this part of the city, I must warn you not to fall asleep in any part of its streets. It is very old, and it has many memories.
- And what’s gonna happen to me? Will I have nightmares about silly passwords and door guards? Come on Halvdan! Let us hurry up so we can get out of this lunatic asylum before my retirement.

They were approaching the third gate when Halvdan came up with a sly scheme. To spare Runar of the trouble and irritation of door guard diplomacy, Halvdan would use his spying skills to overhear the passwords spoken by the locals of the city.

- It will never work, Runar said. The guards will suspect we have listened to the locals and refuse to let us in.
- It is still worth a try. There are lots of people walking around by now and perhaps I can blend in sufficiently.
- Of course. Nobody will notice a man the size of a young boy with a beard longer than his own face. Nevertheless, go ahead. We have nothing to lose, really.

Halvdan strolled casually around the street and admired the architecture and the merchandise of Minas Tirith. He was especially interested in one tailors shop. It had a gigantic window and inside, there was a wooden statue of a man dressed in what was apparently the tailors latest creation. Very strange, Halvdan thought. Why would someone want such a big window in his workshop? It must be very hard to concentrate with everyone staring inside at you. Perhaps that was why the tailor had put the dressed wooden statue in front of the window.

Soon, someone approached the third gate. It was a man heavily loaded with crates filled with fruit.

- Morning, he said. Minas Tirith.
- Morning, the guard answered. Welcome inside.

That was a simple password, he thought. At least now in the morning. But maybe the Gondorians saved the hardest words for the last gates. The first guard had also hinted about being polite so that made sense in a way, having passwords that promoted politeness.

- Runar, I know what the password is. It’s morning.
- Yes I know it is morning. Do you think I have been sleeping?
- What? No,the password is “morning”.
- (laughs manically) Of course! Why did I not think of that?!
- I can do the talking this time if you want.

They approached the guard, and Halvdans attempt ended in an epic fail.

- What do you mean with “morning” is not the password? said Halvdan angrily.
- It isn’t, sir.
- I heard the crate-carrying man say morning and pass.
- So he did, and it was very polite of him if I may say so.
- Wait Halvdan, Runar interrupted, what exactly did you hear him say? Every word.
- Good morning, I am sure. And…Minas Tirirth?
- Enjoy your stay at the third level, the guard smiled.

It turned out that the words “Minas Tirith” were a general password used throughout the whole city. It opened every gate. When Runar and Halvdan learned of this they temporarily resembled dragons who have just heard that their entire hoard has been stolen by hobbit burglars, their lair collapsed and an onion fallen on their head. After regaining a more diplomatic level of calmness the two dwarves slowly made their way through the confusing place up to the entrance to the passage leading to the courtyard with the modestly successful garden (only one tree and sadly dead as well) and the white tower. There the veiled Fountain Guard stood watch. The Fountain Guard wore the best armour available to the Gondorians. They also wore black masks to remind each other and themselves that they were forbidden to talk during their watch. It was quite impressive how good their memory was. This about having to wear a mask just to remember to keep it shut during work hours. Or perhaps they were an unusually talkative bunch.

In any case, Runar and Halvdan had huge trouble being allowed entrance before they managed to alert a normal citadel guard passing by and asking him to bring a message to the steward. While waiting for the reply, Halvdan amused both himself and a rapidly growing crowd by practising one of his hitherto less known talents. Halvdan happened to be an accomplished student of ventriloquism, the noble as well as confusing art. He could make it sound as if the voice came from the fountain guard standing near him, while he himself stood staring at the guard as if in amazement, which soon many more spectators did, but in their case in real amazement. As for the guard, he could of course neither show that he was in fact saying nothing since the mask obscured his mouth, nor could he tell the crowd what was going on due to the silencing rule. The result was that many interesting statements such as the following were credited to the noble Fountain Guard:

“A less known fact is that the inside of our helmets is filled with lard. It helps us think.”

“The steward would like all streets painted green for the coming pencil-tossing festival.”

“I secretly gnaw on the stone stairs at night. Hope nobody has noticed.”

“I’m a strawhead girl, in a strawhead wo-o-orld….”

“Talk about slugs…Yaaah! The slugs are talking! The slugs…”

“Lana? Lana? LANAAA!?”

“…DangerZone.”

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 29½ Ranging Rants__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Far away from the shining and well ordered streets and stone works of Gondor, the Dwarven Rangers engaged in a debate that seemed to continue through each and every evening when the camp was to be set up.

- I have told you once as well as a dozen times, Balin, we can not set up a fortified camp!
- Why!? I happen to a logistics expert and I can tell you that a fortified camp is a tremendously useful thing. You can defend against surprise attacks more effectively, get shelter from the wind, use it to defend if you have to retreat from a battle next day and it also looks cool and intimidating and makes the enemy stand stupidly in awed silence.
- Be that as it may, it is not possible to construct wooden forts.
- How come?
- We’ve been over this before. The presence of stone forts elsewhere in Middle Earth makes wooden forts impossible to build. I know it is stupid but that’s how it is.
- But that doesn’t make sense!
- Neither does the fact that you can not pursue enemies too close to their walls, or that cavalry can not attack soldiers on the ground if any of their colleagues in the same company remain on a wall, or that riders can not dismount during battles. Or, for that matter, the fact that you can not retreat from a fort of any sort (oh, what a master of rhymes I am) except by routing the entire besieging army, even if you would succeed in breaking through towards the opposite side.

As can be expected, the western army had trekked many miles on the northern road and were surrounded by ominous black areas covered by the fog of war. The fog was dispelled by friendly troops or agents or by the precious watchtowers. Nobody could tell where a goblin ambush might appear next. The men of Dale and the Wildlings of Dunland were both happy that someone else valiantly took on the dangerous task of messing with the goblins deep into their territory and relations with those factions improved.



To defend better if attacked, the Dwarven Rangers followed the route of Runar and Halvdan close to the mountainside. The forest and the hillside would offer good position to shoot from and perhaps confuse the goblins by hiding the troops. A drawback was the slow pace but Gimli decided it was well worth it. It was not like they had to conquer the entire continent within a set number of years or rounds consisting of a quarter of a year or anything like that. As a general, Gimli had found it particularly hard sometimes to really get through to his soldiers about some things. The long march gave him more time for that. The rules of conduct and warfare were one such thing.

…and I want to make it absolutely clear, for the one hundred and forty-twelft time, that NO prisoners, goblin or otherwise, are to be harmed or mistreated in any way. After all battles every prisoner is to be RELEASED. Captured towns, castles, strongholds, burrows and lairs are not to be looted, burned or destroyed in any way. All the population that does not attack us shall be left in peace and not harassed or looted. These rules apply ALWAYS and no exceptions may be made even if we would be able to claim a city by killing all captured prisoners from the field battle outside it, gain valuable information or huge piles of gold or gain some other major advantage.

- Hrrm, he will loosen the reins once we’ve been through an engagement or two with them uncatchable snagas.
- Yuh, and we will need money to keep recruiting and equipping our armies.
- I think the rules are good. I don’t wanna hurt goblins who surrenders…
- Ah, drop it, ya weed.
- But most of those snagas are said to be the goblin slaves and such. They just serve under compulsion. Tha’s bloody conscription, dammit. I really think we should be merciful to ‘em once we’ve won.
- Sod it, ya elf. Anyways, it’s not like Gimli can afford tha lose any of us, rulebreakin or not.

…anyone who I catch breaking these rules I will send home as soon as the way is clear to face trial and being fired from this army! And no military special court trollshit, either. We are part of the rest of the society and should not form some sort of perverse state-within-the-state thing. If I catch someone harming a prisoner, except to stop escape attempts or attacks or killing a dying enemy quickly out of compassion, I will challenge that dwarf to SINGLE COMBAT. Single combat TO THE BEARD! And with my biography trait extra hit points and heaps of other trait and ancillary bonuses I intend to soon collect, none will stand a chance!

-
- Ha! Told ya!
- Grumble…the silly sod. Is he aiming to be a patron saint of knights or something?

Single combat to the beard was the most fearsome and grim way of dwarven dispute settlement. It was not compulsory to accept but the challenge in itself was almost enough of an insult to compel even the more benign and patient dwarves to turn into berserking maniacs. The contestants would face of with whatever weapons they preferred with the goal of severing the beard of the other. For this reason cutting weapons were typically preferred. Such challenges were very rare for they were naturally the ideal starting points of lifelong grudges. It was also quite rare for anyone to die but not unheard of. The goal was after all to keep the opponent alive and unbearded but since the challenge was reserved for the most despised of antagonists, contestants tended to get carried away from time to time.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 30 White Tower Politics__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Denethors hall was large and mostly empty. Following the demise of the presumably last in line of the old kings of the realm there had been a notable budget cut in the government portion of Gondor while at roughly the same time a notable chain of investments in secret facilities on Cair Andros, the well known island in the river Anduin. Rumors spoke of pools for swimming, advanced heating systems and exotic couches imported but any details were firmly guarded by the stewards.

The current steward himself was sitting on a chair with a desk in front of him in the shadow of the huge throne. It was the ideal setup to spark a growing inferiority complex for anyone present. Obviously ideal as a workplace for the ruler of a realm squeezed in between expansionistic juggernauts like Mordor and Harad, dependant on calculated planning and balanced decisions to prevail… Denthor and the dwarves introduced themselves in the customary way that most readers would by now be familiar with and the discussion then turned to the comings and goings of the Gondorians and similar small talk.

-…and I wonder, is there any special reason for this masked uniform of the tower guards?
- Yes, it is in fact very deliberately thought out. Are you two familiar with the phenomenon of main characters talking too much and squandering decisive opportunities?
- Hmm, like when an evil genius has a random heroic character beaten to the ground and just stands there gloating about his master plan and the general futility of good deeds, giving the random heroic character time to recuperate and achieve victory by some unlikely means or to point out that reinforcements have arrived when they “miraculously” actually just have?
- Exactly! That is just the kind of situation we want to avoid should any invader breach the defences and attack the White Tower. I want the tower guard to impale the intruder on their spiky pikes-that-still-counts-as-halberds-because-they-are-so-short, not have a bloody conversation in the middle of battle.
- Not a bad precaution actually, Runar said thoughtfully.
- I could see it being adapted for the axemen of Erebor. It would be quite the relief to have the shut up now and again, Halvdan added appreciatively.

The Axemen of Erebor was arguably the most celebrated band of soldiers in all of the Dwarven realm. They were made up of the oldest and most traditionalistic dwarves, the epitome of classical dwarvishness with their huge white beards, heavy armour and two-handed axes. They were also infamous for their constant complaining about how everything was better in their time and how the youth of today were never up to scratch. Little wonder that those companies were by default consigned to garrison duty in the Lonely Mountain, far away from the actual army!

- ...and I would really suggest you take the time to upgrade those infantry companies armour as soon as possible. It really is an affront to send honest militia out alone with just floppy mail-ordered mail.
- Easy for you to say! You have the Iron Hills next door...next hill. You have all the metal you could wish for while we struggle to scrape together the motliest collection of scraps.
- Right to the point! Order now and get a new costumer discount and a Miners Guild scarf and poster!
- What?
- Oh, sorry. I just thought the usual diplomacy might get a little tedious and decided to try the approach of the capitalistic corporate interests of our realm. Hrrrmm! In the common tongue, it means: how about establishing tade rights with us so you can import all the shiny metal you need to forge Gondorian plates, or even the plates themselves!

- Hmm...I don't know...it sounds awfully expensive.
- Oh, "awfully" is far too gentle a term to describe their prices, good steward.
- Highway robbery is more like it, Halvdan interjected.
- Still, it's better than the currency of Mordor, isn't it? Like, "this weeks special offer; not only your money or your life but your money AND your life!".
- Grumble...

- Now I suppose we will be on our way soon. We need to find a way to establish diplomatic relations with the charming southern neighbours of yours, how ever that is supposed to happen...
- As it happens I may have an opportunity for you. I happen to have a meeting with no less than a Haradrim emissary this afternoon! I'm sure nobody would mind if other dignitaries were also invited
- Excellent! See you after lunch, said the dwarves and went out in search of a decent tavern without too many passwords.


___________________________________________________________________________


After lunch Runar and Halvdan managed to return to the stewards hall in time and with their sanity intact. They even had time to discreetly note that the guards had changed as they were gone and the enthusiastic crowd had found something else to waste their time on. Denethor was just entertaining the guest from distant lands; a young diplomat from Harad who was doubtlessly feeling uncomfortable. It seemed as if he had just come in and was about to deliver some kind of message.

- Great chieftain Guzumkuzumhum has sent me here bearing word for wise Denethor, lord of all Gondor.
- The latter may be less correct, given all the border disputes between us and Harad, and your people’s frequent raiding of our coasts. Nevertheless, go ahead and tell me what your chieftain wish from me.
- Earth and water.
- You come all the way from your random sandy village to ask for earth and water? Don’t you have enough in Harad? Maybe not water, since it is a desert region mostly. But my son Faramir tells me your warriors have successfully replaced their aftershave lotion with mumak urine, judging by the smell (snigger). One of his favourite sayings is that the Haradrim smell so foul you can shoot them in the dark. Hehe…Now, seriously, with such a drastic rationing system I think you will get along with your water as well. What is your strange question really about?
- Great chieftain Guzumkuzumhum wishes a bit of…err…symbolic earth and water, a, hrrm, token of Gondors…err…submission.

Denethor was now clearly enjoying himself. He looked upon the diplomat almost compassionately. The diplomat, however, looked as if he had just informed two starving trolls of what a great and nutritious breakfast meal some freshly pressed Haradrim juice make.

- My dear envoy, if we considered even for a second to submit to your rule, don’t you think we would have contacted you ourselves a long time ago? Spared us the trouble of sleeping in leaking Ithilian tents and standing outside in cold rain to watch for corsair ships?
- I…don’t know
- You seem very worried. Almost sad. Not really the kind of arrogance that usually accompanies this kind of “ultimatum”. Is there perhaps some other reason to why you are here?
- I was…aaaarrghh! I can’t stand this! Just throw me off the courtyard cliff and spare me this torment! All is lost anyway. Just get it over with “sigh”.
- Why do you want to be thrown off the cliff? What kind of nonsense is this? Tell us now…
- “sob”…O-okay…

And so the sad and apparently strangely endearing diplomat began to tell a tale of betrayal and chivalrous romance and bitter feuds and all other things that the chivalrous knights of the Gondorian court loved. The tale was long and cumbersome, so it was usually kept inside a magical bag named after its creator S. Poiler.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The envoy in question was the less than world renowned artist Ubaadah. In the less than cultured surroundings of sun-baked morons (yes they were morons because they choose to dress primarily in black and dark grey despite the scorching sun) one might think the market for artists were as flourishing as that of razorblades in Erebor but that was not the case. A small niche of painting and sculpting existed, in the form of various heroic representations of local warlords, universally undeserving of such picturesque praises.

The local magnate of the town where Ubaadah lived, Harondor, went by the name of Guzumkuzumhum. He was as bad as one can imagine but sadly also the market for paintings personified. Ubaadah had to his great joy received a task one day; to paint Guzumkuzumhum in serpent guard armour in a suitably heroic pose with the fierce steppe and desert landscape behind him. It started very well. Since Guzumkuzumhum was always accompanied by his trusted hired bullies...bodyguards of course...Ubaadah could very cunningly paint the lords head and then add the body of the biggest and beefiest of the bodyguards to satisfy his customer.

The troubles began when it was time to paint the background. The ground around Harondor was surprisingly lush for Harad - being the very reason why the town was founded in the first place - and sometimes certain wandering travellers of various kinds would stop and graze. This was now the case. Now only one but a whole family of five mumakil stepped into view as Ubaadah was half finished with the background! There was no chance of quitting and redoing it from scratch, not with the temper of the particular customer, so Ubaadah had to do his best with what he had. Which he did. The painting didn't actually turn out too bad in terms of skill and detail, but the general impression was another matter... Behind, or rather behind and above, Guzumkuzumhum towered the backside of one teenager mumak, turned away from him in a display equally ignoring and insulting and, due to the size of them, quite dwarfing the proud lord.

Being overshadowed by the named part of the mumak did not sit well with Guzumkuzumhum. One might arbitrarily remark that he could consider himself fortunate that none of the creatures had decided to sit well on him but that did not cross his mind. Guzumkuzumhum was well aware of whose mumakil herd it was that had gone astray, a feat of knowledge not diminished too much by the fact that the person in question had just caught up with them, out of breath. It proved to be the skilled and famous mumak rider (mumhout? mumakhout?) Shearazade, which among other things Ubaadah had a total and totally story-artist/poet-stereotypic crush on. Shearazade had gotten her name from the unfortunate past when she had wished to be a mumak rider but not been one yet. Never truly happy with anything people had routinely remarked that "she are a sad one", in true Haradrim liberal grammar style. Eventually the comment had stuck and she was called She-are-a-sad which became Shearazade.

To make a long side story short before it outgrowns the main story, Guzumkuzumhum devised a devious plan of vengeance against the insufferable mocking. He sent Ubaadah as a doomed emissary to the arch-enemies in Gondor, watched by scores of spies so he would not attempt to flee and to get a first hand account of his comical demise, and imprisoned Shearazade in his fortress, stating that she would be beheaded at dawn should Ubaadah stray from his path and that once she had composed a list of a thousand night tactics attacks using mumakil she could go after Ubaadah if she wished to. Whether she would by then need to go after him twice or more due to him being in more than one piece was of course another matter, Guzumkuzumhum finished with an evil villain episode-ending laugh.

Denethor was clearly touched. The lord Imrahil was almost weeping. Boromir sat sobbing with his face in his hands in a corner without being able to contain himself. Halvdan thought this sentimentality was a bit strange. He was a rather decent dwarf and like the others felt with the poor Ubaadah, but thought that constant battles would have hardened the hearts of even the decent chaps of Gondor. When he whispered to Runar about it, Runar explained. The knights of Gondor were indeed strange. They did not care the least about dying in combat and stood unflinching before the battalions of Sauron himself. However, the prospect of tales of named sentimental subjects almost paralyzed them with emotion. It was a strange psychological phenomenon known as “knighthood”, sometimes also referred to as “the Roland syndrome”, after the protagonist in some song that was apparently the most touching piece of text known in Gondor.

Denethor looked thoughtful.
- There is only one thing here that I don’t understand. What about this strange nonsense about “earth and water”? Why were you supposed to say that?
- Guzumkuzumhum thought that it would make you so insulted that you would personally point a sword at me and force me toward the edge of this courtyard. Then you would yell something about how this was Gondor and kick me off the cliff.

- That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard! You are an envoy! Even if you would be insulting me one does not harm envoys for that. How can you expect to be able to send messengers yourself if you kill the enemy ones?
- I think this kicking stuff happened one time. It was some city-state that a Harad diplomat visited. They had dug a nearly bottomless pit just for the sole purpose of kicking diplomats they did not like down in it.
- Now, THAT is madness. I have never heard of it before.
- That’s understandable, for it was their present butler who started that custom. Previously, they just beheaded the diplomats.
- Disgusting. But surely you mean present king?
- No, they call their ruler butler as a symbol of how he is to serve the country and its people. Now I remember that he is called Gerard. Butler Gerard III of whatever-the-stinking-place-is-called.
- So the ruler’s duties are mainly serving food and drinks to rich citizens?
- Nah, just to kick people down seemingly bottomless pits.
- Right, now about this lovely lady of yours: I have an idea. I would like you to meet two other foreign dignitaries whose expertise may come in handy. They are as a matter of fact going to Harad themselves.

And so, a cunning plan was laid out. Runar, Halvdan and Ubaadah would travel to Harad in disguise along with the master archer Robinmir and the experienced ranger William Spearshaker, named so for his great skill with the spear. He struck so fast that it appeared as if he had just shaken his spear-arm a bit. That is, until a gaze at the blood on the tip clarified things. They would rescue Sheareazade and then continue to find Khuzaymah, the chieftain of all Harad, and establish diplomatic relations with him. After that, the fellowship would return to Gondor. Halvdan wanted them to call themselves the “Rescue Rangers”, which was logical enough since they were going on a sort of ranging raid to rescue someone, but the suggestion was turned down by the others as too silly.

There was just small and petty details left to on, such as maps for the Harad trip. As Runar pointed out, such maps should be easy to procure for the Gondorians as Gondor in ancient times had ruled over large parts of present day Harad.

- Ahem, well, although that may be easily assumed the reality is in fact a bit more complicated…
- What about it?
- Ehm, I am afraid that this map procurement is a bit beyond my capabilities as steward of the realm right now.

- Why did I not see that coming? Alright, how about I take 200 gold coins to hire the best cartographer in the city? The Miners Guild will be delighted to pay you back later. Here is their adress.

- Since it is sadly true that most of our cities apart from Minas Tirirth and Dol Amroth totally sucks in terms of income and 200 would be a substantial loss to our strained economy, I regretfully must decline.
- But why? Isn’t there any way we can make it worth your while?
- Hrm, that is not really the question. It is sadly beyond my capabilities. You see, the maps are all stored in a central archive vault, with completely unflinching guards and as you may have experienced, many areas in this city require a very strictly enforced password…
- But surely the STEWARD must be allowed to know, even determine, what the password should be!?
- Yes but I…ehm, sadly it is not possible to procure maps right now.
- You don’t mean…don’t tell me you have FORGOTTEN what the password to the map archives was?

Denethor suddenly had the kind of muffled coughing that was a clear sign of him suffering from Iwontellya Morethantissilius, the rare affliction affecting numerous managers, bosses and other troublemakers, when they find that they have something very embarrassing to admit.

It would be a dangerous road south. The Gondorian defenders were indeed short of quality equipment and screaming hordes of orcs congregated at the outskirts of Osgiliath, furious about having even worse mail than the Gondorian militia.

[Maltacus]

_______________Part 30½ The Goblin War Begins_______________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

- General? It’s done.
- Any trouble?
- No, the way to the walls was totally clear. Their boss must have been asleep or something. Rude awakening in that case.
- What was their answer?
- Well, we waited and had ourselves a beer or two, but then Nili had a spear thrown at him from the fort. I guess that’s answer enough? General, I meant.
- Drop the generalling all the time. I don’t give a damn about titles. We’re professional rangers, not some ceremonial band of fops parading around a castle garden. Is Nili alright?
- Yes, they missed. May I ask, why are we doing this? The formal declaration of war and all. It’s not like anyone believe the goblins would give us any warning if they decided to break the…ceasefire that has reigned so far. And you obviously do not expect them to honour any conventions or customs about negotiations since you ordered the declaration of war to be shot into the fort wrapped around a crossbow bolt instead of being delivered by a messenger of ours. It all seems to lack a point under these circumstances.

- It may very well do.
- Then why? This is very unlike you. You have always stressed the need for practical thinking and dispensing with needless formality.
- You’re right. It is more like a…ritual maybe. I suppose I could always point to the unlikely if not completely unthinkable possibility of the goblin commander thinking us so foolish and meek that he would actually sally out of his fort but that would be a bonus and not the main reason. The main reason…I don’t really know how to put it.
- Building a reputation as the chivalrous role model following all protocols and doing it all by the book?
- Nah, not exactly. But your jest has some truth in it. This will be a long campaign and a long and grisly war for Erebor. It is a big chance it will be a very short war for us personally but as a people and faction we’re in for a tiresome and terrible time. It falls to me to start it all. I have my orders and reasons and goblins apparently about to get to us anyway and all that but still…being the one who actually sets all these horrors in motion is a saddening deed. So I would like to at least have done it all properly and have taken due precautions to avoid warfare to the last. Something like that.
- Like sending the note of our demands to the local boss, no matter how minimal the chance he would accept any of it.
- Yes. And I would also do it for the point of doing it. Like a ritual, as I said.
- How do you mean?
- We will be under heavy pressure for just about the whole campaign. Hatred for the goblins and despair and contempt for our own fates and on long terms our own selves can break any dwarf down. In the unlikely event that we are victorious one day I would not have had my army become like what we went to war against. I want to allow myself the small superstition of thinking that we attack the goblins because they are invading our allies and not for them just being goblins. And in this perhaps totally ridiculous struggle against all dishonourable means justified by ends the first stand is to offer a proper and clear declaration of war before commencing hostilities!
- Don’t look at me, I haven’t said anything. I wouldn’t bring this up in the company of Balin if I were you, though.
- Point taken. Prepare to lay siege. Tomorrow we are at war.

Balin was in some ways Gimlis complete opposite. He was in every way as hot-blooded as previously when he had fought in Thorins army taking Kugavod. Bloodthirsty and eager, but also quite competent, Balin was the epitome of the old and classical dwarf chieftain, leading his heavy infantry in a glorious charge or steadfast defence against the enemy counterpart. Gimli had other ideas. Unsurprisingly, they soon clashed over the tactics to be used for storming the fort.

- …everybody knows that is how you do it! Balin strode back and forth in the council tent while charismatically putting forth his inspiring ideas. - Once the gate has been broken by our rams the infantry will flood inside and push the goblins away with our mighty shield wall! Then the light infantry can come after to cover the gaps in our line and support the bodyguards! We will mop the floor with those obnoxious orcs!
- While we go forward to storm the gate the goblins will shoot and throw javelins at us from the towers and walls.
- Ha! What’s a little iron rain to a stout dwarf? But our axethrowers and crossbowmen will silence them when they storm their wall sections with ladders!
- We will still lose many men…
- What do you expect? Should we ask the enemy not to shoot at us or hack us apart with their swords? This is war and people get killed!

Gimli had been mostly silent until know. It was both more comfortable to just sit and listen for a while and also good leadership to allow his staff to speak their mind firast. Although in this case it was more like Balin shouting his mind in front of a mostly listening audience. But now was perhaps a good time to intervene and add some sense to the discussions.

- Balin, am I to understand that you are actually suggesting a full frontal assault against the gate and its supporting walls? Everything at one point, just like that?
- Yes! We’ll mangle them, haha!
- Just like Thorin did with his army? You really surprise me. I wouldn’t think you of all people would be such a strong advocate of his kind of tactics…
- Huh? Now hold up there, cousin, I’m not advocating Thorin’s anything!
- …and frankly, I think you are missing the point.
- MISSING THE POINT!? HOW, IF I MAY BE SO BOLD TO ASK?
- Thank you for your attention. Gentlemen, it is not a question of whether to attack or not, because that is what we are here for. It is not a question of dying or not because that is also what we are here for, roughly speaking. The real question is: can we take that fort with acceptably low casualties by storming and if that is the case, then how can we do that and lose as few men as possible? Maybe that is two questions but you get the point. And if you don’t get it I’ll explain further.
- Lot’s of talk about what not to do. How would you suggest we storm this place then, oh general?
- Only a complete rookie and n00b would attack the main gate if there are other options available. For us there are. We are dwarves, not some human militia tiring after the first five minutes. We can move! Here is how we are going to do it…

[Maltacus]

_____________________Part 31 The Moored Haradrim____________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Harad was the sandy and enormously spaced land that lay at the southeast corner of the map. As with all such areas, the territories were comprised of a single town with huge fields of nothing around it, almost never seeing any action as Mordor guarded their northern border and any Haradrim ruler would quit his campaign if the wealthy port town of Umbar fell. The chaotic desert tribes roamed their inhospitable home with fierce pride, which was only a little marred by the fact that nobody else gave a broken mattock for who owned the giant pile of dust and sand. The exception was the already named powerhouse port of Umbar. Gondorians did give even as much as a broken shovel about who owned that place because that was where the pestilent pirate raids originated. Neither the insufficient Gondorian fleet nor the faulty human armies managed to best that place. And that was the country to which the Dwarven Council of Nobles had decided to send it's emissaries...again. Not even the Rohan politics seemed to suffice against them forever. The dwarves reluctantly added diplomatic relations on their list of things to do.



To reach the more well-known places in the south, one had to pass through the rough and uninteresting borderlands where rangers and stray orcs clashed in order to pass the time and ruin their camping equipment. Southernmost of Mordors settlements was Tir Ethraid. As the name implied it was home to raiders and raids. These days, it was inhabited by a most vile schemer and plotter named Fahkir. Fahkir was the leader of a special band or faction of the Umbar pirates called the Moors. They had received their nickname due to the habit of making ships moor near them by false invitations and signals, after which they were easily attacked. The Moors had been banished from Umbar due to these cowardly methods and Fahkir had fled to the loathsome lowlife place of Tir Ethraid. There he plotted his grand plans of revenge against the other pirates and wrote on his memoirs which he intended to hand over to the king of Rottland far up north. It was not really clear why, but presumably he expected the Rottish king to write a grand tale about his exploits and the ways of the moors. The swampy lands around the town had been even more overwatered due to the ill-conceived attempts at building a proper canal system and were now usually referred to simply as "the moor", just to add to the general confusion.



When the protagonists and the sidekick characters neared the town of ill repute they were immediately greeted with the customary local ways. Half adozen campfires littered the way in the mist a head of them. The experienced ranger William Spearshaker did of course easily spot the trap.

- What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights ofdeath within mine eyes!
- Care to deliberate?
- Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
- Look! Moors!

Five generic spearmen dressed in mostly bright orange stormed from behind the false campfire! They attacked the poor travellers who had nearly no time to bring out their own weapons and slice down the attackers with superior skill. The master ranger shone with his fast jabs and battle cries that confused the enemy.

- Take that, and that: if all this will not do! The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.

When two of the generic assailants had fallen the rest broke and ran. Since all looked virtually alike it was even easier than usual to picture oneself in ones comrades place. Robinmir raised his bow to shoot them but Runar stopped him.

- Nay! Stay thy hand and conserveth thy arrows. For though the foe today with fierce strength with us contend, he runs now like a messenger with news of free beer one would send. No! What am I saying?!
- We should get off the road quickly and bypass these lands through the outer moors instead, Halvdan stated.

Halvdan was sensible as most times, or at least occasionally. They turned west and began to navigate the treacherous moor while watching for more treacherous moors coming to ambush them. William Spearshaker lead them, using his vast tracking skills and encouraging comments to locate a path.

- A trail! A trail! My kingdom for a trail!



While said ranger was not extraordinarily lucky in finding a trail, he did manage to spot some things of value. A set of tracks, a road sign that had been turned in the wrong direction and three generic spearmen with a bearded (for a human) boss trapped in a hole. Robinmir stepped forward and spoke with a flashy and hearty voice.

- Well, well, what have we here, my bunch of tough merry men who have good muscles and aren't gay!?

- Actually, I'm not feeling so sad, said Halvdan. What a peculiar comment. Queer, actually. Especially if we are supposed to be merry men at the same time.
- Me neither, said Runar. Sure, this is a dangerous place but we have made it so far and have managed to locate these trapped travellers. I'm quite far from depressed to tell the truth. It's a fairly happy situation considering the circumstances.

The dwarves and rangers helped the moors out of the swampy mire they were slowly sinking into. The moors were grateful but looked extraordinarily worried.

- Say, you haven't seen three spear armed robbers dressed in orange, have you? We were just recently attacked by such a band, asked Runar.
- Huh? Oh! Uuuuh...no, I'm afraid not, said one of the rescued moors.
- That is good news, I suppose. Nasty fellows.

Runar and Haldan did quietly think that the rescued moors were surprisingly similar to the ones that had attacked them but considered that it would not be very polite to state that. The moors were just a very generic-looking people. Perhaps orange clothes were very economical in these lands, or just the latest fashion?

Fahkir led the group to a nearby camp. Unfortunately for him it was a small camp without reinforcements, used by the moors as a supply base. It was a bit of a leftover from the sailing and sea raiding days and piles of timber, nails and rope littered the area. Runar complimented him on the foresight of being well supplied, in order to be diplomatic. Fahkir, being a slippery schemer, saw the opportunity for a quick business transaction.

- Yes, isn't it? And there is good quality here, just look at the finely kept beams over there. And this nail! Not even a king has one nail such as this!
- Hm, well, I suppose you have a point, said Runar.
- I suspect that is mostly because kings generally show less interest in nails but you did none the less nail it there, said Halvdan.
- And it can be yours! All of the supplies for just the small favour of clearing out this place and especially taking those instruction manuals with you.
- That is an extraordinarily generous deal, why, thank you!
- Not at all, we need this place swept clean. Environmental impact issues, you know. After the canal debacle that gave rise to the moor here those things are unbelievably strictly regulated.

Northern Harad had a fairly pleasant climate during the winter months, or what passed for winter this far south. It was ideal grounds for huge imperialistic herds of horses and other animals associated with invading mounted missile troops. Ubaadah, Runar and Halvdan and the two rangers had disguised themselves as travelling timber merchants, bringing with them an impressive load of quality poles and beams tied together with thick and strong ropes.



They had also been given an instruction manual from Fahkir of how to assemble the material into a working contraption. Along with the manual came what the weird moor leader claimed to be a complete master tool, nearly on par with the One Ring itself! It was a metal rod shaped like a hexagonal pillar. With it one would be able to build anything and craft any object. Runar and Halvdan did however look at it sceptically.

- This thing is pretty small after all.
- Indeed, and how are you supposed to be able to do the heavy work like woodcutting and stone masonry with such a flimsy object?
- Let's consult this instruction manual...
- This is severely unclear. And this end result looks very, very unstable.
- I can't rid myself of the nagging suspicion that Fahkir has not been completely honest with us.
- Indeed, I feel a notable pulling of my right leg.

The dwarves were quite right. Far away, the plotting Fahkir mused at his own antics and contemplated the chaos he would sow across the realm. The three unfortunate routers had to stand next to him and listen to the delusional ravings.

- Genius! Sheer genius! They thought they had me, but Fahkir strikes back from the shadows! Even now their petty minds are corrupted by chaos and confusion!
- May one inquire how, great one?
- The booklet! And the tool of hexagonal confusion! It is a dangerous thing, brought and bought from the darkest of congregations, able to wreak havoc on any rational mind delving too much and too deep into it - not unlike a palantir or corrupting ring of power. This instruction manual, from the dreaded IKEA itself!
- IKEA? I can not read that acronym.
- There are few who can. The language is that of northern barbarians, which sensible wizards would not utter here. I am not one of those however, and in their tongue it says;

Idiotiskt Korkat Egenartat Arrangemang

- What on earth does that mean?
- Close to Idiotic Cork-headed Eccentric Arrangement.
- The eerie echo of it chills my blood.
- Indeed! And I feel the situation calls for a classical good old evil genius laughter!
- Oh, no not one of those! This is such a cliché!
- MUUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!

Far away from such noises, a wooden party was approaching Harondor by night. Behind moonlit dunes the sneaky tresspassers viewed the walls of Harondor, the most northern of Haradrim towns. The walls were low and wooden, yet still troublesome to climb. Near one side of the wall lay a large palacial castle, dominating the street view. Its roofs were flat, which was practical enough in a country with such little rain, and the windows seemed narrow. Apparently the inhabitant felt fairly secure for no sentries were visible on the roof, but a flickering light that reflected on the wall below implied several guards being stationed on the ground. A complicated situation.

- We should scout the place thoroughly before executing our attack, Halvdan whispered.
- Isn't that what we're doing, asked Runar.
- Of course not, this is just a precautionary sweep of the surroundings.
- As opposed to...?
- Infiltration. Duuuh!
- And how, oh mighty and wise spymaster, are you going to get in there?
- I'll make something up...on the fly...

Following Halvdans irritating comments the travellers set to assemble all the material they had assembled. It was of course crystal clear from the tone in Halvdans voice that he had something thought out and refused to tell anything more about it just to annoy them and appear even more dramatic upon its revelation. Truly insufferable when your companions behave like that.

The dwarves initially attempted to use the hexagonal IKEA key on the screws but quickly decided that the thing was without practical use, at least beyond digging aimlessly in the sand and pointing it in Halvdans ear when he got too full of himself, according to Runar.

- Screw this! Runar fittingly exclaimed when he threw the instrument of endless confusion away into the pocket of spare parts and material to melt down into more useful things at the first possibility.

The next night, a very observant viewer could make out odd tracks of great further away from the town. Unless the observant one lacked a lamp and was shrouded in the same darkness as everyone else. Now it was the hour of nightly mischief and nocturnal intrusions.

- Are you finally going to tell us what your sublime master plan is, or would you prefer us to wander aimlessly in confusion for another hour? Runar asked, with a tinge of sarcasm.
- I have actually told you already, I will infiltrate the settlement and get a clear view of the surroundings.
- And for the umpteenth time: how will you get past the guards?
- The guards on the ground level. Watch and learn, sceptics!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

- What is this supposed to mean? Am I bond now? To what or whom, if I may ask!?

Halvdan landed safely on the roof. Ha! Beat that, Runar! He quickly dismantled the conspicuous glider and donned his cunning disguise, made out ofa few blankets. Not the pinnacle of camouflage but it would have to do for the moment. Now he just had to locate this Shearazade and get out of the place.

That proved to be easier said than done. The building did not have many guards but the architecture was incredibly impractical - not unlikely the very reason most guards had congregated outside - and had several platforms that one had to jump to, if one was a dwarf. There were also bottles here and there with green liquid that one should very obviously not drink, as well as a few amateurish traps. Halvdan felt like an elite infiltration hero, the prince among peers of spying, the prince of peer-sia perhaps?

Suddenly as Halvdan was daydreaming a bit too much near the kitchens and saw that someone was approaching in the corridor. Damn! And then he Heard voices behind him as well! There was a narrow and empty corridor. No hiding places... The kitchens! Halvdan opened the door and peeked in. It was a smaller kitchen than expected but at least there was a large barrel with a lid on it. He quickly opened it and climbed down...right into a pile of leftover vegetables and leaves for the compost. Alright, he thought, how long can it take for apair of Haradrim to pass the other pair and leave the corridor vacated? Two pair of steps were approaching. Oh, no, the door was opening!

- Slimy job, this!

Halvdan felt the barrel he was lying in being lifted in the air! The unknown lifters were carrying it away. He lay still like a leftover leaf and listened attentively.

- How can it be so heavy!? I tell you, they gorge themselves like swine in their lardy suppers in this place!

Now that was not very polite. Even if he posed as compost at the moment, Halvdan didn't think it was very appropriate to be so blatantly berated. It was not like he and Runar spent the whole journey feasting like, say, hobbits just in order to irritate any random barrel carrier of Harad.

Even nervous journeys in barrels come to an end. In Halvdans case it was quite sudden. He heard a hatch creaking and suddenly the lid was lifted off and the barrel turned immediately upside down. Halvdan poured out of it and fell to his great horror through the air until he landed to his slightly lesser horror right in the garbage pile just below the castle wall! It was a soft but otherwise extraordinarily unpleasant landing. And to add insult to injury, was that not Runar who was hiding next to a rock over there? Halvdan quietly crawled over to his colleague.

- Nice night for a precautionary sweep of the surroundings.

Halvdan said nothing.

- And for sophisticated infiltration of course.

Halvdan said nothing.

They continued to walk for quite a while towards the dwarven encampment.

Halvdan finally said something.

- Of all the places to scout from, is there any special reason you picked this one? Did you know somehow that I would be thrown out in this icky manner?
- Oh, I wouldn't go that far. Let's just call it an educated guess and balance of possibilities.
- So basically; as soon as you saw someone throwing out a barrelful of old vegetables you decided that that would be the place to look for Halvdan?
- Hrm, you could say that. I am a professional diplomat trained in the art of discretion so I don't say that but you could indeed say that.
- Thanks a lot!
- Come on, weren't you finished inside there anyway? It was after all a very clever way to get out unnoticed, if a bit improvised. But then again, such escapades are perhaps second nature to master spies? Happen quite spontaneously.
- Well, I didn't find any mumak rider lady in any case.
- I expected as much. We've had unexpected visitors while you were gone.
- You don't mean that...
- Yes. I'm afraid you disguised yourself as vegetable compost quite unnecessarily. But I suppose it was an educational and professionally challenging experience.
- But what's up with this whole rescue thing then!?
- Well, it seems the captive in question indeed WAS captured , but...

As it turned out, the great chieftain Guzumkuzumhum had made a fatal miscalculation when it came to proper manipulative leverage. Indeed, a stereotypic artists wrath is properly countered by the hostage taking of mumak rider ladies, but no corresponding counter exists towards the mumak herd now missing anyone who could scratch them behind their ears properly. Which is especially ill advised when said mumak rider is author of said "A thousand night attacks using mumakil". Now being "A thousand and one night attacks using mumakil" after the latest field tested variation".

Shearazade was most grateful for having Ubaadah back and was also most interested in Halvdans security assessment of the defences of the town. Indeed, this serious security hole when it came to airborne attacks was not very appropriate. How fortunate they were to have such a dedicated field testing consultant with them! And also, now that Ubaadah was back, he would be positively THRILLED by the prospect of taking up all the tedious administration of the towns affairs so that other inhabitants could find more time for, say, mumak riding and tending to the herds. Wouldn't he, "wink""wink"?



Ubaadah was all too happy to be of service. Although with the help of the dwarves and the spare quality timber he had soon built a specialised platform that the senior mumakil could carry, which contained all archives, desks and drawers necessary for a town administrator, which enabled him to mostly be out of office when he was in his office. Runar and Halvdan were generously rewarded with new travelling gear like proper turbans against the sun and a very generous supply of fruit and vegetables. Halvdan viewed the latter with a somewhat suspicious glare though, which was perhaps understandable given his latest escapade. The travels could continue and the search for a proper Haradrim government to establish diplomatic relations with could begin in earnest.

[Maltacus]

_______________Part 31½ The Storming of Dain's Halls____________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The first snow had fallen. Quiet icy flakes dropped from the sky along with unquiet ravens bringing in reports about the unreliable emissaries latest misconduct. They had actually dared to not establish diplomatic relations with Harad! The fact that bone-chilling ghosts and all sorts of invading armies lay between them and potential Haradrim diplomats was of course insignificant. Gimli did however not understand why everything had to be sent to him. This was the business of the councillors in Erebor, not the western army. It sometimes felt like he was some kind of target for all miserable news of failures, as if someone had drawn his face on every report of such kind.

Far more relevant was the news from his own scouts. A small band of goblins, mostly snagas, had camped in the pass below Dain’s Halls. They had not attacked but could be really troublesome if they interfered with the storming of the goblin fort. If Gimli would on the other hand attack them, he might be able to catch them but then might not. And it would cost valuable time during which another goblin force may appear.



Therefore Gimli decided to attack the fort, after a council of war which in general seconded this decision, apart from Balin who in particular seconded the decision, as well as any other decision that would let him get his axe out and hack off enemy heads. The enemy stronghold was neither too strong nor strongly held by a strong force, but as most goblin armies they were many and the fortifications always benefit the defender a lot. So it is said, at least.

To hide their movements, the Dwarven Rangers approached during a foggy morning. Their army consisted of the bodyguards of both generals, made up of the mightiest dwarves there were and wearing outstanding armour wielding axes and shields. Most of the infantry were less experienced dwarves with throwing axes and the rest were the more professional companies with crossbows and some enthusiastic but poorly armoured miners accompanying the army. Gimli commanded the right wing with most of the crossbowmen and some axe throwers, Balin the left with the imposing siege tower which suited his ego and would act as a good decoy, while most of the remaining infantry was in the centre. As soon as the battle had started, the right wing picked up their gear and ran.



Gimlis plan was to run along the walls for some time using the dwarven hardiness and stamina to get into a better position before the defenders had time to relocate and form up properly. His bodyguard would climb first and shifted position to be closest to the walls. Halway to the gate on the other side there was a corner of the wall where it buckled inwards. That might be a good spot. Running too far would take his wing too close to the central square and the inner keep.



Gimlis bodyguard and also vanguard raised their ladders furthest to the left. That would be from where most goblins came and where the heavy infantry could be of most assistance, blocking the way. On his right side, the impetuous axe throwers stormed the wall, while the crossbowmen waited behind. From the other side came the sound of much shrieking and shouting as well as the sound of many moving feet. The snaga defenders had rushed into place. While their javelins could be quite useful when meeting an enemy coming from the other end of a wall, they were tragically outmatched in melee and lacked the space to hurl their weapons properly against the heavily bearded foe. The axe throwers had managed to hit the snagas from their flank thanks to Gimlis guards stopping their march across the wall and the snaga company was divided into two parts by the storming dwarves.



The snagas that defended the wall received help in the form of a company of goblin infantry, with shields and some rusted armour. They came rushing from the front gate and up the stairs to the wall. But in the narrow area only two or three at a time could engage the dwarven guards. Gimli signalled to the crossbowmen to start climbing and then waited patiently for some goblins to get in range. The crossbowmen meanwhile flooded over the wall into the snagas trapped between the infantry, which offered little resistance.



When the crossbowmen had the wall secured the axe throwers climbed down the stairs and attempted to bypass the goblin infantry at the other end of the wall. One would think that they should have been able to throw their axes into the tightly packed mass of goblin backs but evidently some goblins of the company were still at the gate so it was impossible. Cursing that particular battle mechanic the axe throwers had to run onto the wall section where the goblin infantry stood pushing each other in the stomach and then engage them. In the resulting melee, about a dozen dwarves fell needlessly before they had succeeded in establishing some foothold.



On the other end of the wall things went better. The crossbowmen had the most ideal position and not even the buildings closest to the town square could cover all the goblins that had assembled. Dwarven crossbows are mighty constructions and soon the goblin casualties resulted in snagas being sent on a typical ill-fated attack to harass the pesky dwarves.



They were however halted and repelled by the continuous volleys from the wall. Without armour, the short range of the javelineers made them completely inferior to the crossbowmen. As the goblin infantry on the other side was being crushed between light and heavy dwarves the crossbowmen started to advance wall by wall. One company stood still to cover the other while getting into position and then followed. The precautions proved largely unnecessary however since the goblins didn’t make any sallies until the shots from the crossbowmen, who by now had free line of sight into the town square, forced them to it. Even then it was not made with the whole goblin force but only parts of it which were easily repelled.



Balin had meanwhile competently climbed his part of the stronghold and valiantly taken control of the walls that nobody was defending. He then rallied his units beneath the wall and formed an impressive dwarven shield wall formation with the proper supporting infantry in the right place. It surely made for a fearsome and awe-inspiring sight as they advanced towards the square.



Balins approach would perhaps have been slightly more impressive and valiant had it not been for the fact that the opposition had already been broken by continuous volleys of bolts and throwing axes and only scattered remnants of the defenders remained for his part of the army to massacre. Among the last to fall was Ugrad, the not extraordinarily competent goblin governor and commander of Dain’s Halls.



All in all it was a clear victory for the Dwarven Rangers. The casualties were low and everyone had more or less done exactly as they should with heavy infantry blocking and crossbowmen seizing a wall section to defend and where the defenders could be lured. The axe throwers helped here and there and never had to deal with too much pressure, as light infantry should do. The only setback was the flank attack by the axe throwers with unnecessarily high losses. As evident, the main striking arm of the rangers was their crossbowmen, which the rest had to protect.

Only one goblin survived unharmed. It was a snarling creature named Gazug who Gimli had set free. He could be seen hurrying away along the road in the general direction of the snaga force spotted earlier. Hopefully the news of the fall of Dain’s halls would make them retreat and spare the dwarves the trouble of having to hunt them. In the vaults of the true halls, beneath the goblin junk of an attempt at constructing defences, there were some useful things, among them a new axe that Gimli took as a memory of the battle and the fallen dwarves, whose names he had inscribed onto the blade.

After the battle the rangers kept careful watch over the goblins and sent Balin with a special force to build watchtowers close to the halls. Balin was not too pleased with the assignment.



There were some rumours that Gimli had let his knowledge of Balins earlier disdain for the unglamorous task of building watchtowers, delivered to him by the captain Boffrur from the battle of Kugavod, affect his choosing of whom to leave in command for that task but that is just ignorant and unilluminated slander. Obviously. Just how silly did people think a dwarven general could really get? Seriously, get a grip.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 32 Humans Know Silly Dances__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Sunlight glittered on the shining sand as the morning approached. It was several days since the dwarves had left the rest of the company to continue alone along the trade route to the inner lands of Harad. Steppes gave way to deserts and the heat was stupefying. Still, amid all the dry dustiness, it was a grand landscape Runar thought. The light reflecting off peculiarly shaped cliffs and ravines where rivers had once ran their course, the endless sand dunes to the east, the glimmering shine of the spear tips that were pointed against him...what!?

- Seems we dug up a pair of bearded weasels today, mates!

At least a dozen of mean Haradrim bandit thugs stared down at the newly awakened dwarven travellers. Runar sighed inwardly. This had looked like such a fine morning.

- Halvdan! Wake up!
- Huh!? What? Who? When?
- Be sure to shut your mouth about your family's secret way of hidings ilver!
- What are you talking about?
- The Blacksilver clans old habit of disguising silver pieces as burned sooty logs in the fireplace!

Halvdan just shook his head. Had Runar gone totally daft? They didn't bring any silver and that old trick was outdated since long. However, understanding soon dawned for Halvdan as he spotted the bandits, who had of course overheard, quickly collecting all the burned logs from the campfire and packing them carefully. At least a small bit of revenge had been gained but apart from that, the future looked bad enough.



By listening and spying on their captors, Runar and Halvdan learned a great deal of Haradrim history and background. Despite the totally undeserved reputation as barbaric raiders, the Haradrim developed a refined and sophisticated cooking repertoire. Chief among the establishments were the chiefs own favourite, the Salad Inn. Wholesome and slow food were delivered to the piously waiting minions of the chief, and the chef.

But then, disaster struck. A gruesome invader came and established a competing restaurant! These outlandish infidels would show no respect for the age old traditions of the Haradrim and the chief chef vowed that the Salad Inn would expel the invaders once and for all! Yet, through unworthy mass producing and cheap tricks like lunch coupons and group discounts the invaders resisted. The feud raged for decades with neither side giving in. The most persistent of the invaders were the Temple of Dogs, selling sausages known as hot dogs that prompted the people of Salad Inn to condescendingly exclaim "those infidel dogs!", Jonny's Breakfast Hostel and the Lion's Heart Steak House. The chefs of the two former ones came to be known as Templars and Hosteltallers. They were all owned and run by the McAroni Minute Pasta Conglomerate. The Salad Inn countered by opening a new establishment known as the Mumakil's Luck, which quickly got shortened to Mumluk by the locals. The Mumluk were the core personnel of the Salad Inn, the elite of the chefs and waiters.

And as if things were not bad enough, one day new flags were visible on the eastern horizon...



It was the master of Mongolian barbeque, Shere Khan, and his band of riding restaurant raiders, coming to provide a fresh addition to the standstill of culinary battles. He liked to remind his foes that they had caught the attention of the eye of the tiger which was quite tedious and repetitive. Especially when he invented the song and dance routine that followed the proclamation. His goal here was to hunt down the treacherous rebels with the worst restaurant ever - crouching Thai, hidden Tarragon. As the name implied, they cheated when it came to spices and hid undeclared substances in their food while diverting inspections and scrutiny with their seemingly bent and docile crouching.

In time, the McAroni changed its focus and began to corrupt the virtuous Haradrim no longer with fast food alone but also with cheap sports entertainments! McAroni shifted its name in a shifty and untrustworthy way and would now be the sports arena conglomerate, the McArena. This was the fearsome enemy that Runar and Halvdan now faced. They were thrown into a slave pen and after a while a group of Haradrim lords appeared to inspect their latest catch.

- Behold, mighty Musab, the fine stock of athletes and...amusing bearded creatures! In the games they shall bring pride and honour to this city! Coin shall rain and elations shall boom over the arena and its patron Musab!

The charismatic purveyor of indentured sportsmen was the betting and brokering manager Betiates, descendant of Batiates who supplied the bats. The predecessors misconduct had prompted more than one to mutter menacingly about removing the bat man from business for good but they had never been able to rally enough followers and had been disregarded as being quite the jokers.

Betiates, in any case, was betting highly on his newly acquired champion, Sportacus, despite the hesitation of his wife and chief accountant, Liquicia, who were in charge of liquidity and liquor. Sportacus was as his name implied a master sportsman, a mastery matched only by his impertinence and arrogant ingovernability. Betiates intended to impress the Haradrim bosses with his show, and of course also rob them blind with his betting. It was therefore a safe bet that one had better keep ones distance from the upcoming games, for woe betide those caught up in these intrigues and schemes. Such as Runar and Halvdan. But it is sometimes unwise to allow ones city to be infiltrated by an unrevealed spy in this manner. All sorts of things can go wrong. The quarrelling captors were just the beginning.

Before the game, Sportacus approached the two newcomers and wanted to press them into service with his other cronies, of course with the noble ultimate goal of ousting Betiates and break free of the rigged games and locking contracts that characterised the sports world.

- Tomorrow's the perfect time. We will have all the ample equipment we need from the grand championship hosted tomorrow. Betiates is sure to have a dramatic build-up of showing throughout the day ending with the most awaited stars of entertaining. Since you will begin the showing...
- Begin!? How can you be so sure of that?
- Hrm, you are sort of, how shall I put this...somewhat short to be taken seriously in these lands. Betiates is sure to put you in as a comical parodya nd exhibition of peculiar people from far away.
- Idiot humans...
- And we can work with that. You just have to perform something so indescribably silly that the whole crowd will have their attention fixed upon you.
- But how are we supposed to be able to do that!?
- Oh, I'm sure you'll come up with something...
- What is it with all these overtall morons that makes them think we're some sort of walking comical entertainment just because we're dwarves?!

The grand day of showing and showdown dawned. Betiates climbed his podium to address the assembly and the disillusioned sportsmen assembled in the shadows of the arena entrances from the lower levels. The first spectacle was a parading variety show of comical things, where Betiates had staged Runar and Halvdan, to their great displeasure. It would be a sort of song and dance duel between exotic figures. Betiates had implored the importance of some product placement or other kind of advertising as well - this was the sports business after all - and threatened them with unspoken repression should they fail him.

The main opponent from abroad was a Rohan group. They performed the extraordinarily silly song and dance programme known as "Open RohanStyle" with, for lack of a better word, dance moves imitating riding. The audience laughed their purses off. Now the dwarves had the complicated task of matching that.

- There is nothing conceivably more silly than what we have just witnessed...
- We have to try, still! Sportacus needs the distraction.
- But how can we possibly match that cavalcade of craziness? And remember that we were supposed to find a way to promote the McArena trademark as well.
- There is only one way.
- Oh, no... NO. NO!
- Yes. We must walk the path of eternal acoustic damnation I fear. May the collected patrons of good taste forgive us...
- Rest in peace, personal dignity. It was a pleasure knowing you.

*Misplaced footnote: Harad uses the Spain faction slot. Therefore it is quite natural that they understand some Spanish. Also, Runar and Halvdan were new in the country and had only had time to learn a somewhat shorter version of the original song from those guys at the river.

Dwarf Dance Routine (here seen against a modern blue screen so that any background can be added with modern digital video technology):



I am not trying to rob you!

Now we dance for the glorious McArena
And the audience say que soy buena
They all want gold, they keep betting
When those are placed they'll start regretting
Move with us, chant with us
And if you're good you're ridiculous

Dale a tu cuerpo alegria McArena
Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria y cosa buena
Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, McArena
Eeeen McArena
Aaahaa!

Hurry get your tickets for the wondrous McArena
For you find that we are awesome and our foe is a hyena
Also do some betting in our wonderful arena
Theee McArena
Aaahaa!

McArena tiene curiosidades muy barbudo
Que son de la montana solitario,
Que la bandera capturó recién
Mira dos amigos muy absurdo

Hurry to your places in the wondrous McArena
For you find that our sportsmen would outclass the Dunland Xena
Spread the glorious word about our wonderful arena
Theee McArena
Aaahaa!

McArena, McArena, McArena
The sound is music to the hearer
McArena, McArena, McArena
Of excellent news am I the bearer

Sportacus get up now and tear down this McArena
For we'll tire of this silly farce and wanna quit just in a
Short moment then you must besiege the foul arena
Dooown, McArena!
Aaattaack!

After such an overwhelming display of silliness the guards and sponsormongerers stood dumb-struck and stupefied when Sportacus and his crew struck. Javelins flew through the air and shot-putters unleashed a fierce barrage against the gates, worthy of any battery of catapults. Light infantry made up of runners quickly took control of strategic points and heavy infantry such as the rugby players charged enemy formation and created chaos. The martial artist with the curious name One-of-me-us confused his enemies with great effect by asking them what was beneath their feet and then threw them to the ground when they looked down to see what had prompted such an unorthodox question.

Runar and Halvdan were joined by none other than the brawling barbarian ladies from the championship in Dunland themselves! Both Barbara and Xena had one or two points to make about the previous ruling by Runar and Halvdan, not to mention about what they thought of one another, but that could wait. In fact, they were extra motivated to keep the others safe due to this fact, since it is usually less stimulating to argue with the dead. The quartet led the assault against Musabs office and Runar found him cowering behind his desk.

- Now, your highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden rebel base!
- Wrong line, Runar.
- Oh, of course. Now, your highness, we will discuss the terms of our safe passage out of here!



- Let us start by a simple trade exchange. You get to keep your life and we get to pass all your remaining guards and henchmen unmolested.



- Damn you, you mongrels! Unwashed beardling villains!
- Is that a yes?
- Get stuffed!
- A pleasure doing business with you.



- Now, we would like some maps of Harad, particularly the coast. In exchange we can tell you which paths out of your crumbling arena are least crowded. What do you think about that?



- How dare you?! I should have you whipped and forced to work for years to pay off all the damage you have caused me!



- Thanks, but no thanks. We've had quite enough of those kinds of working conditions. The lenient crown of Erebor might go as far as donating 450g old coins for the treatment of hurt spectators and bystanders, though, as a token of our good will.



The reality of things finally started to sink in and Musab collapsed in his chair, muttering insults and at the same time tried to preserve a little aura of authority.

- It is not without consideration that we accept.
- Consider it considered.



- Halvdan, wouldn't you say that this counts as established relations with the Harad?
- I most certainly think so. We have had a unique opportunity to gaze inside the spectacular mix of culture and behaviour that characterize the Haradrim.
- I quite agree. We should turn north immediately after we have concluded our business here.
- Right.

On their way back from Musabs office the dwarves had the fantastic fortune of running into the amiable organiser of kidnappings Betiates again. Or rather he ran into them as he was struggling to escape from Sportacus that chased him. The dwarves merrily kicked out his legs underneath him as he was about to pass them and used their helmets to break his nose one time each.

As they passed out of Harad, Runar and Halvdan felt that they really were in need of a vacation. First the moors and then these enslaving arena bandits! The land itself had a kind of rugged style to it and the animals were interesting, but it was way too hot and dusty. It was time to set course north again.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 32½ The Snaga Hunt__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Important things happened after Dains Halls were reclaimed. A new brewery was built! Toasts abounded and the sentries suffered from an unsoldierly lapse in vigilance for some time. When everyones hangover had finally lifted and the mists of last night cleared it turned out that the nearby countryside was still infested with goblins.



Gazug the surviving goblin had been busy. He had sadly not led the snaga hordes to safety but rallied them in an attempt to lay siege to Dains Halls, or at least pester the messenger routes a bit. The dwarves would reluctantly had to go out to hunt some poor snagas in the field.





The army was bullied into obedience by one company of tougher goblins, which were just merely ordinary ones but still had rusted mail coats at least. The rest had various missile weapons, mostly javelins. Gimli and Balin made up the dwarven frontline troops with their bodyguard units. Three crossbowmen companies made up the offensive power with some axe throwers added for good measure.

The morning was cloudy but with no rain. At the edge of a wood Gimlis scouts spotted movement, next to some old farm buildings. The dwarven rangers descended from their hill and formed up into a battle line before the woods with guardsmen in the front and thin lines of shooters behind to fire into the sides of companies engaging the two roadblocks of bodyguards. Unfortunately the enemy was not keen to approach so the dwarves moved one company of crossbows forward to provoke some evolution by the goblin side.



Even with a target partly disguised among bushes and shrubbery, dwarven crossbows inflicted serious casualties. The goblins stood still and endured volley after volley until the harassing shooters had exhausted their quivers. Gimli watched it thoughtfully. While a good beginning, it was not a decisive way to proceed. With so numerous a foe, volleys of bolts would have to be used along with infantry engagements if posible, to overturn the whole enemy force quickly. To the left of the current position lay a small hill. From there one would have a great view of the goblin wood. After a quick discussion with Balin and some less impetuous captains, Gimli had the whole force march left, keeping their distance to the enemy.



When they had just assembled into marching order, the goblins surged forward. Screaming and hissing, with little order, the mass of snagas still moved with considerable speed for such a multitude. The dwarven guardsmen panted in their heavy attire and hurried towards their positions on the slope. Just in time they managed to secure that important ground which let the shooters form up behind and the axe throwers gather at the back. The goblins took their time to spread out by then, seeing their moment of surprise lost.



Then they threw the whole force right against Balin! It was as if the entire rest of the dwarven army had been forgotten and only Balin mattered. While he himself might have seconded the priority, or at least the importance of himself that it reflected, it was less than optimal on the whole. Snaga skirmishers went in each others way and formations mixed with each other in a tangled mob. Dwarven crossbowmen could launch volleys with almost a guaranteed chance to hit something soft while the snaga javelins chipped through steel and thick shields.



Seeing the larger goblins approach to engage, Gimli countered with all four axe thrower companies. Again, Balin seemed to be the centre of everyones attention as main infantry forces raced toward his location. The goblins got there first. The axe throwers positioned themselves rather badly beside the engagement and only one company had a clear view. The by now rather decimated goblin missile troops had yet to engage in the melee.



Seeing the enemy conveniently gathered in one spot, Gimli ordered everyone to advance and went to support Balins left flank while the crossbowmen closed from the sides to further encircle the goblins. With a blasphemous exclamation the major part of the dwarves charged to engage the snagas and keep them from throwing and shooting at them. Upon the routing of the larger goblins, the whole army fell apart with their shattered remains being chased into the woods by axe throwers and shot in the open using the last bolts left.



The victory was decisive and on the whole everyone had done as they were supposed to. Balins guards had taken a bit of a beating but none could at least have taken it better than them, hooking up almost the whole goblin army so the rest of the dwarves could move in around and find time and opportunity for missile volleys and a coordinated final attack. Casualties were low for the dwarves and so was the number of prisoners, considering that it was mainly a snaga force. Gimli let them all go free shortly after the battle. Why waste such good heralds of how nasty the dwarves were to face in the field?





Gimlis reputation had grown a lot from the recent success. He was now regarded as generally the right dwarf in the right time, the man of the hour so to say.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 33 Make Lovecraft not Warcraft__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Back in the Gondorian capital, the dwarves made a startling discovery. For whatever reason, Denethor had recovered from his forgetfulness and managed to grant access to the Minas Tirith archives. The two dwarves mounted an expedition to scale the mountains of papers and memoranda, the hills of books and the navigate the mazes of shelves. Runar took several wrong turns and Halvdan managed to make the adventuring party walk in a circle but after much fuss a few clues were discovered! It turned out that the situation was complicated and dangerous indeed. The Midgard portal capabilities were heard of outside of the bookworm clubs of Erebor and none other than the scary dragon Smaug had been a particular enthusiast about such studies. That was the true reason why he had invaded Erebor many years ago. Any fake reasons like the mountains of gold and jewels under the mountain were of course mere decoys and disinformation.

It did however get many times worse. In a most thoughtless way, the author of the book had let himself be tempted to add a few lines of idle and misty speculation. It was the origin of dangerous ideas and the spawner of blasphemy, for it read in the following way.

It has long been speculated that the correct way to begin the presumed linking of realms and travel using the Bifrost bridging may be divined with the help of sound usage of the primary sources of information of our time. Of noteworthiest concern be the fabled Mirror of the mythical Elven queen Galadriel.

The two protagonists sank back with anguish and horror. They would have to see the leaders of elves again!


With such a dreary future ahead of them and after the draining travels through the dusty wastelands south, Runar and Halvdan decided that it was high time for a vacation. Despite the proximity of the promisingly named White Mountains, the skiing business and movements of Gondor was in its infancy at best. Very well, thought the dwarves, how hard can it really be to find dwarven sized swimming trunks in Minas Tirith? They had absolutely no idea what they were in for. When finally stepping out of the city gates they concluded that the exhausting search in itself would be enough to make even the most hardened Dunedain and most eager miner call quit. With the huge burdens of beach and recreation equipment (how come relaxing and taking it easy so often turns into a meticulously planned and equipped enterprise?) the dwarves were somewhat unmanouverable on the road. One of the road watching wise guys remarked that they could attach a little red flag to the parasol that protruded from Runars backpack somewhat like a flagpole, but the adventuring party turned the idea down as too silly.

The object of their detour was the benevolent beaches of Belfalas, the nice coastal landscape in southern Gondor. It had all the requirements for a very typical tourist establishment but sadly the human incompetence when it came to defence and diplomacy prevented a great stream of tourists from seeing the wondrous place themselves.

Runar and Halvdan picked a beach next to a small town with a bit of a souvenir and cold parasol drinks business. You could buy many picturesque and curious things, from old ranger cloaks to corsair heads on handmade poles. The dwarves passed the town and followed a small road through the low seaside vegetation towards the more peaceful beach.

Suddenly a part of the closest bushes rustled and a head peeked out. It was a pointily eared female head with untidy hair intermingled with the various leaves. The head looked around and quickly disappeared.

- Eeeh...just passing through, said Runar.
- Don't let us disturb, said Halvdan.

The dwarves set up a rudimentary beach camp a small distance away with their parasol and a sand dune giving shade. Runar unpacked a book and Halvdan brought out a looking glass to study the sea and keep up his image as spy. After a while they noticed a blurry shape that crawled out of the cover of the sand dune. The shape quickly looked around and cast off it's cloak. Then it sprinted into the water and dove straight ahead right into the sandy bottom, as the beaches of Belfalas had a very shallow and uneven depth near the shoreline just like large sandy beaches tend to have. The shape in question brought out a thick straw and seemed to attempt to use it to be able to breathe underwater and then crawl in that way on the sea floor out to deeper areas. Unfortunately it didn't quite work out as demonstrated when the elven shape rose angrily in all its swimsuitly glory and started to trek back inland. In her irritation, she now crossed across the dwarven camp.

- Good afternoon.
- What? Oh, I'm terribly sorry I didn't mean to wander into your chair please excuse me!
- Can we help you with anything?

The elf dumped her cloak and other stuff on the ground and sat down with a resigned expression.

- It's that silly salt water. My eyes just can't take it.
- Were you going to explore the sea floor?
- No, I just tried to get away from those pesky human elf fans! They follow me everywhere and never allow me a moments peace. Look there, there are already some gathering!

Runar and Halvdan looked and could indeed spot a band of Gondorian peasants shuffling aimlessly a short distance away.

- What...is their purpose here?
- They are obsessed with elves, apparently particularly female ones. They have these absurd ideas of how we look and how we dress and conduct warfare. Apparently we just about only rest and conduct warfare in their mind. They have no sense of art or grace or...personal integrity! I wish they could go and ogle someone else but those fools are adamant on following me. They just walk after me staring and repeatedly says "wooow..." in some sort of dim witted obsession!
- That must be awful. Have those...wow:ers...followed you for long?
- Wow:ers! Brilliant! Yes, that's what they are! They have been after me for weeks, ever since I came here. I was looking for a ship to Valinor that was supposed to land here instead of north, with all the disturbance in the Shire and such.
- Oh, they are certainly disturbed.
- The wow:ers think that elves look like some sort of barely clad swimmers when going to war - which we apparently do all the time - which is totally absurd in its idiotic impracticalness.

It's so foolish it's embarrassing to even breathe the same air as those people!



This is not a practical outfit



Oh, give me a break!



Runar and Halvdan just shook their heads at the foolish ideas of humans. Still, having experienced the dance battle in Gobel Ancalimon, they should expect anything from such beings, they thought. It seemed that since the wow:ers possessed the intellectual capacity of a louse high on too much caffeinated energy drink, diplomacy and subtlety would be out of the question. But Runar had a funnier idea.

- I distinctly remember the town near here selling quite a bit of clothing and also parasols.
- What on earth would you do with that?
- Hehe, watch and be amused once we get back. I think this calls for a bit of a fish and ships approach to the problem.

Runar and Halvdan eagerly trotted away to buy the necessary material leaving their new acquaintance wondering about the dwarven sanity as well. Fish and ships approach?

After an hour they were in any case back and the three started to assemble the material under Runars supervision.

A few hours later the wow:ers soon started to show up again as the elf showed herself from her hideout in the dwarven campsite. The daft and bland creatures followed her with empty stares as she strolled calmly into the water, deeper and deeper. Then with a great splash she was seized by enormous calamari arms that suddenly protruded from the water! It was a chaotic struggle and much obscured by the splashing water. The elf screamed sharply.

- Oh no! It drags me down to the seas bottom! Alas!

Not only that, but behind the arms there appeared to be rising a set of bat-like wings! What kind of hideous monster was this?

- Aaaah! Mfffglhm! Mglwnafth Cthulhu fthagn!

The Elven scream stopped as she appeared to have disappeared under the surface. The hideous monster glided away, apparently to digest it's latest pointy-eared meal. The wow:ers stared in dumb-struck amazement and exclaimed their usual sound.

- Woooow...

Trying to wrap their rudimentary brains around what had transpired, the dumb beings wandered off in search of something new to waste their own and other peoples time on. It is not known where they ended up, but on the beaches of Belfalas they were never seen again.

When everything seemed safe, Runar had great fun at being able to announce that the coast was clear. Which it by all means was, but that did not stop Halvdan from slapping his forehead with his palm at the unbearable pun. The dwarves and elf threw off the disguise of bright cloth and bolted parasol shaft that operated the arms and wings, and started to go ashore.

- This is fantastic! Finally I can have some peace and quiet! How can I ever thank you?
- Hrm, well, perhaps you could tell us your name?
- Oh! I'm terribly sorry! My name is Oliviel.

The dwarves introduced themselves and just out of old habit established diplomatic relations and made some trade agreements. Oliviel happened to be in possession of a cache of the slimy but ever useful Elven Grease, which kept bows and arrows fresh for decades and also worked wonders for leather products. That was of special interest to Runar and Halvdan, The dust and sun of Harad had taken its toll on their equipment. Some repairing indeed seemed to be in order. Just for the fun of it, the dwarves tried some of the grease in their hair to shape it into the most ridiculous forms and shapes.

Unlike the higher ranking elf leaders who carried rings with elemental magic effects like Nenya and so, Oliviel did only have one of limited power. Still, it suited her. The ring was called Neutonyonia and had the curious effect of making the wearer sing vacation themed songs now and again.

Gondor beaches, had me a blast
Gondor beaches, happened so fast
Met a dwarf, crazy for me
Met one more, cute as can be

Summer days drifting away,
Hiding from, that elf-crazy blight

Well-a well-a well-a huh
Sing some more, sing some more
We have travelled quite far
Sing some more, sing some more
Does this beach have a bar?

She swam deeply, eyes got a cramp
She ran by us, and got my beard damp
We saved her smart, from silly fans
They shoved off, now we work on our tans

Gondor sun and the itch has begun
From ah, too much sunbathe tonight

Well-a well-a well-a huh
Tell me more, tell me more
Could you look at our gear?
Tell me more, tell me more
That drying leather will tear

Have you tried bowling in the Arcade?
Here's a cool drink, called lemonade
Let's eat out, next to the dock
Restaurant's open 'till ten o'clock

Tourist thing, but the spices have sting
For dessert they serve Elven delight

One glass more, one glass more
Thanks, dear waitress, how sweet
Burning ore, burning ore?
This drink does have some heat

Shoo-bop-bop, shoo-bop-bop, shoo-bop-bop, shoo-bop-bop
shoo-bop-bop shoo-bop-bop Elven pop YEAH!
You dwarves are friendly, holding my hand
Lest I might fall right down in the sand
Had just one glass, or was it eighteen?
Now this is good stuff, you know what I mean

Summer heat, elf and dwarf meet
Stroll around in the summer nights

Let's make sure. let's make sure
How much coin did we spend?
Going north, going north
You should visit my friend

It turns colder, this evening ends
Dwarves and elves should really be friends
So let's make our true love vow...zzzZZZzzz...
Wonder what she's dreaming now?
Elven dreams, better than screams
And oh, those loud breathing gibes!
Sleep some more, sleep some more, good night

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 33½ Banditry__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The shiny new news that Dains Halls were free to be inhabited again brought enthusiastic new would-be rangers to pick up their camping gear and set out along the lonely northern road. They did of course run into a lot of miserable rain just to show them what a glorified and futile enterprise is was and paving the way for further calamities.
It was the summer of 2991 and on the whole the war against the goblins had gone well, the elves had not visited lately and the iron price was steady. Of course, some goblin patrols and foragers had been spotted on newly conquered bearded territory but nothing serious yet. The golden town of Kugavod rushed ahead the following autumn into a blossoming larger town that just missed a wall if the funds could ever be gathered for that. The town council of the less glamorous Wormcove recruited a spy to get information about how to expand in that manner.

Said spy did however soon receive more important comissions. On the northern road, rumors came in of bandits! And not only did they waylay poor travellers but they had disguised themselves as dwarves! The insult! Utterly insufferable!



Gimli left his walls with most of the ranger force to reinforce the reinforcements. It was not wihtout risk for the searching took all winter and during that time the new mysterious spy uncovered that Gobel Erynen was held by a sizeable goblin host. Apparently the goblins had decided to push further into the realms of the pointy ears and the experienced Thranduil would probably dispose of them soon. Or at least his army could slow them down a little, little while.

At long last the dwarven rangers caught up with the rebellious bandits and their own reinforcements. The ensuing battle was of little note, except that the rangers succeded in waylaying the enemy for the first time in its career, being mostly hidden in the forest. It is questionable if that proved very useful since the dwarven crossbows outranged anything facing them anyway but at least it caused the bandits to huddle together in an ineffective way and the casualties were in any case low.

While the battle was a pitiful and inglorious affair there were some quite rewarding spoils to be had in the bandit camp. Having waylaid both dwarves and dalesmen, the bandits had collected many useful and valuable things. There were imported textiles, Rhunnic dragon figurines (obviously the pinnacle of good taste), extra tents and best of all a few dozens of captured travelers held for ransom! They were seated on several chests and boxes taken from trading caravans. One box was especially interesting. It made noise! Actually, when you got closer, it turned out that the box in question was cursing, with a remarkably loud and resonating melodic voice.

-Flaming milkgutted, magpieheaded, woodbrained, pig-arsed, inbreeding, trollbellied seagull-sneakers!

-Go and boil your balls to potatoes so I can mash them and shove them into yer mouths ye nicking lardmongers!

When the confounded rangers were halfway through unbolting the box, the lid was kicked out with tremendous force. Out jumped a ragged dwarf oozing with blasphemous outbursts. She looked around and seemed to have taken in the newsituation and made her priorities.

-Where be there any keg among you rangers!? I’ve nay had a pint in nine weeks!

By all misty mountain mattocks, she looked striking when she cursed like that, Gimli thought!

After she had had a cooling refreshment or four, the new addition to the group turned out to one; be called Sprund, and two; after some thought conclude that Gimli didn’t seem so bad at all himself. Sprund was in fact not quite as volcanic as one may suspect. As long as nobody locked her up in a box.

The wood elves had meanwhile continued to fool all the world. Of course they werenot REALLY losing to every orc in sight but held back for a devastating deathblow that would surely resound across Middle Earth. The fact that goblin and Mordor armies raced to be the first to sack their capital had totally nothing to do with the real situation.

The new inhabitants of Dains Halls were gracefully visited by a foreign diplomat as well. It was a presumptious fellow known as the Kneecap of Sauron. He was not yet as high ranking as the Mouth of Sauron but give the man a break, he was working his way up! His insolent threats had also not quite achieved the sublime shock of those of the Mouth.

-I am Jacks angry kneecap…
-Pardon me?
-Oh, sorry, I just meant…you do not talk about it, right… Hrhmm! Dwarves! Midgets! Sauron the big guy you ought to be afraid of, is desiring your friendship so, well, find you desirab… No! Not in that way!
-So he doesn’t desire our friendship? Well, there is no pleasing the dark lords these days. Off you go, then.
-Uh,I mean… Just watch yourself! Deliberate long, but not too well!
-Yes, yes, away with you now.



The High Illuminated Elven lord Elrond had wisely decided that he should leave Middle Earth. There were some confusion as to whether he had sailed west to Valinor or ended up in an unfortunate way on the roasting spit of a goblin. Unfortunate indeed. That poor goblins belly had really done nothing to deserve that kind of experience.

The dwarves cared little for the event and not even the most rabiate elvophobics awarded the piece from the council of news more than a few customary toasts. Among the rangers, toasts did abound however, and for a more amiable reason. Gimli had graciously donated his wedding gift of 1000 gold coins from the council of nobles to the collective feast supplies. The winter of 2992 also saw the timely construction of the Kugavod wall and the less glamorous Wormcove grain exchange. The people of Wormcove were on an unrelated note by now fairly tired of repeatedly having their town mentioned in unglamorous ways all the time. They had cosy cottages these days. Really. Gimli just left when things were starting to fall into place.

The men of Dale had for unknown reasons decided that they were feeling lucky enough to declare war on the rapidly expanding Mordor. Good luck, the dwarves thought, but keep a ceasefire agreement close, just in case. The cousins of the Blue Mountains had been setting a better example and made peace with the orcs of Gundabad.

With the supply lines secured and Gobel Erynen having fallen to the goblins, the situation was complicated. Some sublime push into enemy lands was necessary to give the opportunity for a crippling strike. Assaulting Gobel Erynen was an option but too obvious for Gimlis tastes. Lowland forest terrain did not favour the dwarves. On the other hand, waiting in Dains Halls forever was not very advisable either.



Between the Grey Mountains and Stingland ran the decisive river. The bridge across it’s northern part was well guarded and watched. A strike across it would probably alert half a dozen goblin hosts before breakfast. But there was another way.

-…so, as you can see we are getting surrounded. We must strike out and sow some chaos in the enemy ranks, that is my firm opinion. Thought? Points of view? Happy exclamations? Obscene gestures?

Gimli was standing in the conference hall, having paced back and forth for a while while summarizing the situation. The reliable Boffrur spoke out.

-It would seem that you already have an idea, general. Out with it. Don’t prance around with a smug smile awaiting our begging for you to tell what it is, like some pansy tall folk.

What the dwarves lacked in manners they made up in clarity. Usually it got things done with speed. Gimli was quick to oblige.

-Since we have to divert a possible strike at Dains Halls while our army is gone, the foray into enemy lands must be known, but not too clearly known. The enemy shall feel that he has lost track of us, that we could strike anywhere the next moment. That means an advance that is visible, which will come naturally since it’s pretty much open ground from here to the river. What then? I say we continue right to the bridge. That way we will chase all enemy scouts before us and the rest wont be able to report in. The rapid advancement will provoke fear that we will assault Wrakyaburg from the north. We will however not do that. We reinforce the old watchtower and leave barricades and fake sentries made out of beer kegs and cabbage sacks as a decoy. Meanwhile, our army march south parallell to the river bank and cross the river by the fords south at the border of Mirkwood. The goblins at Gobel Erynen will hurry to the bridge and we will have a head start south. Once they realise that we have moved south they will need to catch and find us there, for we threaten both Wrakyaburg and Gobel Erynen. We, however, have by then already crossed the river and will be on our way to lay siege to the bandit nest of a goblin outpost.



Three months later, the ranging scouts reported that Wrakyaburgs southern walls were in sight. The frozen ground had helped the crossing of the river ford and surrounding marshland and on the march north no enemies had caught up. Stingland, now a conquered province of the goblins, lay before them. Not even the backstreet bandits had been sighted and rotten vegetables had been found unthrown at many a market square. Things had certainly changed in this part of Middle Earth.

In the agricultural plain, good timber was somewhat difficult to come by, but the construction of siege equipment was well on it's way just as the snow began to thaw. A few ravens flew in with enthusiastic fan mail of new axe throwing rangers who had gotten ready at the new ranges in Dains Halls, and had their own mail finished as well. It was a proud moment, reading that. Indeed something of a milestone in the dwarven expansion, training troops this close to the frontlines. The goblins were less pleased and the relations plummeted yet again, however that was possible. They seemed to decrease every year, Gimli thought for himself. The relations with Rohan was on the other hand improving. One had to question whether that in itself was not actually a greater cause for concern than the goblin disgruntlement, since the Rohan idiocy seemed close to infectious.

Closer to the army, things seemed eerily quiet. It appeared as if the goblins near Gobel Erynen had fallen back to defend instead of chasing Gimli across the river. Weird. Did they count on Wrakyaburg to withstand the whole ranger army on its own?



Never wanting to be one who took chances unless forced to, Gimli took advantage of the new resources in the spying department that were stationed in Stingland. The result was a much clearer greater picture allowing the ranger general to see the whole field and other overused metaphors for acquiring complete information and managing to connect the details.

-Bugger me beardless, they are boxing us in! Sprund exclaimed. Gimli couldn't but agree with her asessment of the situation.



No wonder that the army at Gobel Erynen was holding back when they could conjure yet another host from seemingly nothing. Where had that come from? And what were they going to do now, with two goblin armies in the region and goblins acting with discipline and restraint, no less?

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 34 Road Reaver Next to the Bogs__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The long journey home was beginning. The picturesque Mountains of Ash, the Dead Marshes and the Brown Lands lay before the two dwarfs. That would have to be their road, in order to negotiate with Mordor on their way home. So the king wished, at least, for he had a bet with the Council of Nobles about whether or not the emissaries would dare to negotiate with the scary dark faction. If the council lost, they would pay the king no less than 500 gold coins.



Runar and Halvdan crossed Anduin by rented boat from the beach business industry. They landed in Ithilien south of Osgiliath to avoid detection. The trick when negotiating with orcs and similar people was as before to avoid being eaten until you had found a suitably harmless counterpart. It appeared to be none to soon, for Gondor was doing miserably. Heaps of snarling mean ones were pouring out of Minas Morgul and swarmed the eastern shores of the river. They built rafts and pontoon bridges that could almost have been made by hobbits by the looks of the, but they served to get the vanguard across Anduin. As if that was not enough, the fallen strongholds of Gondor were now haunted by scary wraiths.





Using the experience from bypassing goblins in the northern wildernesses ages ago, Runar and Halvdan once again disguised themselves in cunning and sly ways, blending in in the environment. A drawback was the lack of campfires since the light would alert orc sentries but this far south there was no cold to speak of so that was a lesser issue. Ithilien was a strip of lowland between Mordor and Anduin, fairly forested despite the proximity to the settled Gondor, and quite rewarding to hide in.



Anyone who has spent weeks dodging grumpy orc patrols in the rainy Ithilien knows that it is at times tiresome work. Eventually not even the prospect of an exciting new rainfall manages to light up the dull routine of nearly panicking dread of being caught by the Mordorian scouts. Not only would that end up in near certain gruesome demise, but it would also be shame everlasting to be caught by that sort of unreliable low-grade rabble. In time, such travelling conditions can bring out the worst in most, or at least the substandard in the majority.

- This is absurd! It takes ages to even cross a road! Why did we have to cross the river so far south?
- We must keep out of Osgiliath. It is like the bridgehead version of Edoras, always filled with enemies.
- Even the humble spying department caught on so far. The question is: why did we have to cross south of Osgiliath instead of north? We could have walked past Minas Tirith and crossed at the strong castle of Cair Andros instead.
- Oh...right.
- No, wrong. Very wrong and very stupid of the diplomatic department to decide to cross so far south.
- Yeah, just gloat about it... Hey! What if Cair Andros is taken? We couldn't be sure it's still in Gondorian hands, therefore it can be said to have been quite responsible to cross the river south of Osgiliath actually.
- That's preposterous. Cair Andros is the gateway to Pelennor and Minas Tirith. Any responsible commander would defend such a stronghold with almost a full garrison, in the absence of a competent and mobile field army. And the orcs don't have the armor or skills to break through into such a place if it's well defended.



- Halvdan, you were saying...?
- Grumble. Idiot humans.

As evident, it would be time for the disinforming disguise tactics for quite a while more. Northern Ithilien had a sort of regional capital that was supposed to be a secret hideout for rangers of Gondor, but Henneth Annun showed clearly on every map so it was evidently not quite as hidden as one would have expected it to be. The Mordorian banners atop it was another sure sign of the slight lack of the anonymity that one would otherwise expect from a secret ranger range.

North of Ithilien was a small strip of stable ground between the dusty mountains and the Dead Marshes. The latter was a well-known place throughout Middle Earth, even among people unfamiliar with it's historical role. Runar did not know why. Halvdan was sure it wasn't due to the tourism at least. Although both had a feeling that someone somewhere had once taken their time to produce some sort of marketing picture or presentation of the marshes, to be shown whenever a newcomer arrived, in order to present everyone with the beauty and healthy air of the location.



The Dead Marshes were as mentioned well known as a former battleground. Something much less known was the origin of Mordor and why the land there was forever ash and broken rock and lava from Mount Doom. A careful spectator with a very good vantage point would notice that Mordor was surrounded by mountains on all sides. Mordor was in fact a huge irregularly shaped crater. Ages ago, sometime after the making of Middle Earth, two creative beings of at least Vala-grade power had faced each other on this piece of land. The outcome of that confrontation had been long forgotten but nature itself still remained a testament to the ferocity of that struggle.



After the rude and uncivilized threats made by the masked menace known as Malt-curse or something, Sauron had himself been somewhat absent from the public field. His subjects returned his generous leniency by graciously neglecting their duties and building sloppy chairs on the northern side of the heaps of refuse being piled outside the Black Gate, which was the orc equivalent of sitting on a beach with a view over the open sea, the sea here of course being replaced by the Dead Marshes.

As Runar and Halvdan carefully approached the gates they beheld yet another sign of the level of current orcish effort. It was in the form of a sign, this time literally. With the ever increasing movement of troops in and, mostly, out of Mordor and the intellectual capacity of most of it's subjects, one would hardly be surprised to know that for such a system to work acceptably there was great need of signs and other help for lost travelers and marauders. The honorable position of chief road reaver next to the bogs was held by a particularly lazy orc named Lunzag. The dwarfs identified him as the laziest, if not as chief road reaver next to the bogs, by the loud snores coming from his chair. A dirty glass of some sort of cheap tourist drink with an umbrella in it stood next to him. Runar and Halvdan approached carefully, watching the surroundings for more dangerous potential enemies, should the negotiations go badly.

- God morning my good man...I mean orc!
- What!? Huh!?



- We are emissaries of the stony Erebor, the Lonely Mountain and all grey dwarves in general. Would you like to establish diplomatic relations such as an alliance, unreliable pact of non-aggression or perhaps a bureaucratic international treaty? Perhaps one granting you trade rights so you can buy paint to correct the road signs pointing towards the gate?



- Correct! I mean "correct?"! With a question mark. WHY would I need to change the road signs and why should I not roast you both for dinner?
- You do of course know your master best but it does strike me as a little odd that he would ask you to make a sign pointing towards the Black Gate and onward to Barad Dur with the words "Bad Door". Not to mention the other one saying "Borat Door".
- You can read orcish?
- Of course. Cultural learnings of...pretty much everyone by now...for make benefit glorious nation of Erebor.



- Graargh! I need fix that! Dammit, dammit, dammit!
- I take that is a yes?
- Just get us the stuff to put that in order before the great eye make coffee cups of our skulls!



- I shall be sure to notify the dyers guild as soon as I am able. We could of course add some of our considerable knowledge of the locations of other places in Middle Earth if you would like to expand the road signs. Thorough map information, complete with the distance to foreign capitols, so you can post useless information about how far it is to famous places, in a vain effort to make your own place seem of equal standing and importance, just like the humans are so fond of at their airy ports.



The orc road reaver next to the bogs cunningly identified the opportunity for a great business proposal.

- How about this, beardlings: I supply some really important woody inside information from the road network in Mordor itself while you give me a map with the way out of here and a modest compensation for my cooperation?
- How modest?
- Let's say...600 gold crowns paid regularly for fifteen months or so?



- An inside source may be useful. But if you will be leaving immediately you can't stay and risk your intestines in quite as daring a manner as would motivate that kind of sum. I could maybe get away with offering around 550 gold coins, paid at once.



- 550! That is outrageous! What kind of peasant do you take me for? I'll have you know I am the...
- ...road reaver next to the bogs, yes I certainly caught that.
- Exactly!



- 780 gold coins?
- Paid how many times?
- Once.



- Begone! This discussion is over. We are just not interested in discussing this with you... Understand?! Out of my sight you lousy maggots who don't know the might of the road reaver next to...

Runar and Halvdan went gone.



- That was quite a display of the sublime dwarven diplomacy, wasn't it?

Halvdan was in a disturbingly taunting mood. Runar, however, was not nearly as disturbed as the verbal assailant would have hoped.

- I am in fact rather pleased by the outcome. I don't really think an alliance would have served us very well. It would just mess up our other agreements once the old red-eye began sending people out on new invasions. We have what we came for, now we can head home properly.
- What we came for...except of course the tiny bit about establishing diplomatic relations like the king betted on. He'll be mad about this.
- Mad with triumphant laughter, I would think. We did in fact complete the mission, technically speaking.
- Technically speak...the orc told us to sod off!
- Mmm...yes. But telling people to sod off is after all a vital part of worldwide diplomacy.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 34½ The Storming of Wrakyaburg__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

In the dwarven conference room, great turmoil reigned as the commander tried to get his captains' attention.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

- Everyone did exactly as they should, on the whole, Gimli began.
- Yes, we won and they lost! Balin shouted, followed by toasts and cheers that drowned out Gimlis professional review. He shook his head and sat down to wash his hands of the sanity of his companions with a large goblet of mead.

Wrakyaburg had represented a substantial threat, not because it housed a very large garrison (in goblin terms) but because there were warg riders and heavily armoured elite goblins inside, which would be key elements in catching the dwarves when they retreated from the coming goblin army, if they did.





- As always, remember that ANYONE who attacks the main gate at once with ladders and rams is a complete IDIOT and PATHETIC COMMANDER! To the left side and around, hurry up!



- Noblemen, upward! Smash their skulls off in a noble and gentle way, gentlemen!

- What happened to the other company? Balin, you fool! Can't your guards handle a simple set of ladders?! Bring those crossbowmen in once we have secured the wall!



The crossbowmen, the main - if not only - striking arm of the dwarves, deployed along the conquered section of the outer wall. From there they could reach the central square and decimate the goblin forces and force them out to fight on unfavourable ground. The last company of the group left their ladders to use those already raised. Also, they had heard some distinctly unpleasant howls.



- Here come the snagas, fire at will! Our first catch of the day!

- Yaaah! Wargs! Hurry up the ladder you keg-bellied pigheads!

- Faster! Nooo! They...they passed us?



- Look, the snagas are shooting flaming arrows! Bwahahahaahaha! So useless!

- Keep them in your sight, and hit those returning wargs as well! I want them all down before we descend!

- Advance! Capture the wall before the square and secure the gate!



The goblins had by now all gathered at their town square except the company first engaged by the climbing noblemen. Gimlis bodyguard had stayed to engage them while Balin ran ahead to maintain his hot-blooded image. Bolt after bolt dropped goblin after goblin.



With the left side of the town conquered and the gate secured, the rest of the army could climb the walls in front of them. Gimli allowed himself a moment to reflect on what would have transpired if he had sent them there from the beginning. It would have been a massacre! May the dwarves never have to suffer any such fool in command of more than a broken tooth pick!



The last march of the Wrakyaburg goblins was no less glorious than the one of the ents, but not quite as effective. Crossbow bolts and thrown axes flew through the air and every wall was covered by intimidating beards. Soon the sally had been broken. Balins guards formed a shield wall and advanced against in a most intimidating manner, which would surely have been of worth had the enemy not already been routing.



Suddenly there was some movement from the other side. The goblin infantry that Gimli had engaged had finally seen the futility in their actions and were retreating. Axe throwers hurried to waylay them and Balin braced to receive the storming charge of the goblins, which he would no doubt have rebuffed in an impressive manner if it had came.



The ground was at last still. 56 goblins had been captured and were allowed to leave immediately, not to say strongly encouraged to do so. As Gimli had tried to state, everyone on the dwarven side had done pretty much what they were supposed to. Noblemen hooking up the enemy but engaging as small a part as possible, allowing crossbowmen to claim important positions and repel all counterattacks with their volleys, leaving room for more reinforcements to take over once the enemy was weakened and finally axe throwers to mop up the remains once the enemy missile troops were taken out.

The goblins were understandably very angry about losing Wrakyaburg and the relations fell down to "very poor". Several poorly spelled letters arrived to Gimli detailing what the goblins planned to do with him. The recent demise of Denethor, the steward of Gondor, were taken as an example. The dark forces had stewed the steward and Gimli was next and so on. Home in Erebor, the council of nobles were worried that the Easterlings would become a problem and wanted the realm to establish diplomatic relations with Rhun and preferably ally. The recent construction of a town hall in Kugavod offered some possibilities.

Almost as soon as the dwarven army marched out of Wrakyaburg, the town began to degenerate. Now, without any higher state power to keep them in check, the boy bands of criminals began their campaigns to restore their past glory of extortionate power over the population. But since they were disorganized criminals they did not manage to do very well when it came to hurting the hated dwarven occupational force (which had already left).



New light infantry was outfitted to defend Dains Halls, capable of forming a close shield wall but lacking in protection. Experienced commanders like Gimli and Boffrur the sidekick captain, silently hoped that they would never need to rely too much on such ill armored melee soldiers. As the ranger army was nearing Dains Halls, the rear guard reported that many flags were visible south of the hills. Goblin scouts swarmed in the highland. This was a large army under proper command of a goblin lord. It would be the one that had lingered north of Gobel Erynen, the dwarves concluded. Now that the diversion against Wrakyaburg had failed it would seem that the rangers would face this army in the field rather soon. Wrakyaburg was ever a battleground between contesting bands of idiots but their fighting spirit had diminished and they did now cause much less trouble. The growing habit of carrying rotten vegetables as side arms among the citizens did also contribute.





The goblins thought the cooling down of the internal struggles was a good sign that it was time to occupy Wrakyaburg again. On the whole it went orderly, for being the goblins. The Haradrim appeared happy with this for unknown reasons and relations with them were now good.

Dori, the new diplomat and soon to be ambassador among the elves, had started his no doubt glorious career by coming to some sort of agreement with the men of Dale. It was not crystal clear exactly what had been agreed, but everyone was at least satisfied with it, whatever it was.



Dori was a bit of a complex character, being a well educated diplomat and discreet and proper, but at the same time harboring very stiff and rigid beliefs. On the other hand, since he was about to be stationed among Thranduils people, such traits were perhaps just what he would need to blend in properly?



Dori did have a less than stellar start as he got lost among the stupidly harmonious road signs (see chapter 2) but luckily he ran into an elven patrol led by the none other than their new minister of foreign affairs Glennodad and could ask for directions.



It turned out that said Glennodad was a bit short on his paper exercise and desperately needed to get some updates regarding the state of Middle Earth diplomacy and border changesin general, which Dori was happy to help with. A rarely seen moment of productive cooperation between the two factions.



The goblins of the Misty Mountains were as usual not happy about this. Just about everything seemed to cause the relations with the goblins to plummet deeper and deeper. Rumour had it that a goblin spy from Gundabad had been caught near Dains Halls again, foolishly trying the old and outdated human walking shrubbery trick, which could be cause for concern if it preceded some sort of more substantial interference from that otherwise rarely heard of orcish faction.

The goblin made their displeasure known later that year as the first snow started to fall. Lunuf, the goblin lord and local commander, marched to siege Dains Halls. The dwarven rangers met the invaders on the eastern slopes leading to the stronghold.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Lunuf had brought a large army but many companies were depleted from losses incurred against the wood elves. It was a quite common goblin army, apart from his bodyguard which had heavy armor.



Gimli positioned his army on a small hill. Him and Balin and their bodyguards and a steep cliff (hopefully) would block the assault while crossbowmen fired at the engaged goblins. Behind the crossbowmen stood axe throwers who would hopefully be able to throw over their heads at any enemy that got close. The light infantry acted as a flank guard furthest away from the heav bodyguards.



The plains around them were vast and so was the goblin army. Snagas swarmed on all sides. Goblin infantry followed quickly. Gimlis inventive bodyguard Graxx, a former mercenary, came up with he idea that he should look at what went on behind the company. It was apparently very original, because all the other guards looked straight ahead, except those that were already engaged by goblins. Heavy infantry tends to get a bit rigid with time. Must be something with the stiff and heavy armor they wear. Balin quickly got in trouble when he strayed too far out of his formation to see what was going on.

- Grrr! Just wait, you pesky goblin! As soon as I regain my balance I shall tear you apart! Just wait until my animated stumbling has finished!



All across the field, goblins broke through. Axe throwers and light infantry rushed ahead to meet them and protect the crossbowmen. The snagas were spread out properly and the goblin infantry held together. Lunuf was clearly something else than his incompetent captains. Gimli snarled at the snagas that tried to flank his guards. Damn, they were many! It was a sea of goblins around him! Half his company had fallen and the remaining ones stood in a ring trying to protect each others backs.



Gimli felt something hit him on the shoulder and stumbled to the side. A goblin axe connected with his helmet and shields pushed at him from several directions. He swung his axe tiredly but could not keep more than one goblin away at one time. Suddenly, there was a great deal of shouting and upset shrieks among the foes. The axe throwers and light infantry were sallying forward! Gimli raised his axe and looked particularly bloodthirsty. On other parts of the battlefield, goblins seemed to retreat as well.



It was a clear victory, but a costly one. Open ground had favoured the goblins more than the dwarves, despite the height advantage. Cliffs and rocks to hinder enemy advance counted for much more than heights alone, since the dwarves were so short of good infantry. The light infantry had been most severely hit, and the bodyguards were quite beaten up too. As always, the crossbowmen provided the attacking power of the rangers. If only they had done so a little faster this day.





While the enemy had not had access to very good quality troops, the battle showed the value of proper command and favorable terrain. Also, greater care would have to be taken to position the army so that the enemy would concentrate on one particular point, where they would get in each others way more than this day.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 35 The Elven Union__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

From the fascinating lands of the chief road reaver next to the bogs two travelers may take the picturesque path through the marshlands. Or they can be a bit more sensible and walk around it so that they stay next to the river Anduin and away from the labyrinth inner marshes and misty dead people. After that the travelers can simply follow the outline of Emyn Muil until they find a suitable place not too far from the river to scale it. The idea that said travelers would have forgotten their ropes is blatantly stupid, the idea that they would have had to depend on elven reminders or assistance to remember it is absurd in its surreal whimsicalness. Only a hobbit or some equally feeble mind could do that.



After crossing the Anduin on an improvised raft one would find oneself on a series of forested ridges leading down to the easternmost of Rohan. From there the travel north becomes much easier with grass and grass and some more grass. If one would like a little variety one can take a detour from the road and experience some more grass. The obscure town of Tirith Anduin lies in this part of Middle Earth and is thereby often spared from the primary waves of invaders. Walking past it and through a river or three while enjoying the artistic view of the amassing enemy forces on the other side of the river, one will eventually arrive at the southern border of Lorien where one can experience the most distilled and pure form of the fabled elven hospitality.



- You dwarves breathe so loud we could have shot you in the dark.

Runar and Halvdan was by this time fairly expectant of that kind of greeting but that did not make it any less offensive. Runar answered, with a mix of annoyance, swagger and parodical humor.

- It was not our breathing you heard, it was the collective gasp of astonishment of all Lorien ladies upon finally laying eyes on a pair of real manly beards instead of the meek straws they are accustomed to!

The border guards seemed to be at loss for words. They looked awkwardly at each other and then around as if to determine the source of this unexpected behavior. Finally the insufferable Haldir and his cronies had to conclude that the visitors were indeed as confident and unfazed in the supreme elven presence as they appeared. Not able to come up with anything better to do, he demanded that the dwarves should at least be blindfolded before continuing to the inner parts of the realm. Runar and Halvdan agreed but made known their utter contempt for such inhospitable measures of secrecy and the faulty defenses that such manners doubtlessly compensated for.

They demanded that the elves should carry all their luggage since no one could be expected to balance such heavy burdens with an unaccustomed blindness. The elves reluctantly agreed with the reasoning but since dwarves are dwarves and elves are elves there was much muttering about the weight of the dwarven diplomatic and spying equipment and a malignant listener with a bow would indeed had stood a fair chance of hitting the carriers even in conditions of insufficient light. To pass the dull time, Runar and Halvdan had a stimulating academic discussion of whether diplomatic immunity would extend to accidental kicking of co-travelers when blindfolded, or perhaps the stomping of their toes for the same reason. Haldir did not join in the discussion.

Sounds can sometimes seem to play tricks in the darkness but both dwarves were still almost sure that they heard a faint sounds of laughter carried by the wind from time to time. It was maybe something of a giggle, as if the wind had borne the news of the epic response to the insulting elven greetings.



The elves of Lorien were prime examples of leadership among the pointy ears. They held such a strong position of leadership that there was in practice something of an Elven Union with Lorien as it's centre. The Elven Union, the EU in daily speech, loved to impose its will on others daily life, drowning them in directives, regulating the smallest of details from standardized height of manure piles to other equally important things which surely exist but can not be recalled presently. The Elven Union had three major ruling bodies; the White Council, usually called just the Council, The Elven Parliament and the Decommission, responsible for decommissioning things. They were supposed to deliberate in a previously agreed way and debate but frequently sought to speed things up using small secret meetings called triloques which became very criticized because they led to all actual decision making being made before the public debating. In an effort to appear more people-friendly and popular, the EU attempted to make the triloques more publicly available but it was of little effect. And one could most certainly wonder - if they wanted public insight and transparency, why not do it by the book and play by the rules and debate and make decisions in the parliament in the first place?

The noble EU was currently engaging its limited cognitive powers in a most important issue. It was the drafting of the regulation regarding the standardization of paperclip placement. In the administration of the union, the clerks and bureaucrats exhibited unacceptable differences regarding which side of the paperclip that would face the reader and sometimes the same individual would vary his or her paperclip placement in a random fashion! Many aspects and perspectives had to be deliberated. There was on one hand an economical question; if one would change the paperclip placement now and then they would be bent equally both ways and retain their capacity for keeping papers together far longer. On the other hand, such an endeavor called for the staff rotating the paperclip routinely which meant much extra work. Perhaps extra staff could be hired using a rise in the members fees? Paperclip placers, able to advance to paperclip rotators and then possibly to paperclip replacers.



Assuming then, that the alternative of placing the paperclips on one side was chosen there arose the question of which side should face the reader. That would by the way arise anyway, because one had after all to select a side from which to start the cycles of modulating paperclip placement. Should the side with the wider distance between metal bars be used, to give a more impressive impression? Or the smaller side, as a symbol that the reader had only managed to read a small part of the documents, being on the first page? Perhaps the wider side meant a more efficient paperclip placement maneuver, but how did the time it would take to educate the staff in the new routine factor in? Had anyone undertaken a preparatory study of the current state of paperclip affairs by the way?

When Runar and Halvdan climbed up the stairs to the audience hall in the treetops they found a number of high Lorien delegates engaged in a heated discussion.

- Local administration deciding which side to use? By and for themselves!?
- What's next, good sir, individuals being allowed to decide for themselves which side should meet the reader? Oh no, such talk is the antithesis of standardization!
- I am only saying that the gains from standardizing this just might not be worth the immense work it seems to require...

Then the newcomers were spotted and promptly addressed by the noble elven lord of Lorien, Celeborn and the ringed elven ring leader lady, Galadriel.

- You are not welcome here! said Celeborn.
- Pssst! They're emissaries, not the wandering adventure party, hissed Galadriel.
- Aaah, I see. Dear friends, what can we do for you this beautiful day?



- Good day. We wonder if you would like to negotiate further cooperation as I understand basic diplomatic relations have already been established between our realms.
- What may you have in mind?
- Well, perhaps mutual military aid and such? Since Lorien is so close to the deepest Misty Mountains swarming with goblins we thought it would be courteous to ask.



- Heh, wouldn't think so... Nay, my shortlegged friends, we will not agree to this. The sacred forests of the wood elves are not to be treaded by multitudes of dirty boots and unkempt beards. We can handle those nuisances well on our own, thank you.



- You sound very sure about it. Is there absolutely no danger then of Lorien being invaded?
- Absolutely none! You see, we have a superb way of anticipating every conceivable move by all enemies. We have the Mirror of Galadriel! Divine divination and decisive deduction!
- Oh, really? I find that hard to believe.
- Ha! It is without peer I assure you.
- Soo, a magical mirror. So you mean to tell me that a mirror could do things like, say, point the way to the mysterious realm of Midgard? Just as easy as I could point out the way to the most dangerous enemy armies poised at your borders?



- Enemy armies? What!? I mean... oh, THOSE enemy armies! Of course we have them firmly watched. That's right.
- How about a glimpse at the location of the mystical Midgard then, just to baffle us dwarves with the supreme elvishness of thy visions?
- Excellent point! Let us go and have a look!

Celeborn and Galadriel and Runar and Halvdan went down many repetitive stairs and came to a small pond in a low hollow stone pillar. Celeborn was visibly pleased with being able to present such a relic and motioned to Galadriel to tun rn it on.

- I present to you modern Elven Vision technology at it's finest... the Elevision, said Galadriel.
- Elevision. How witty.
- Mirror, mirror...

The Elevision immediately sprung to life and started to show pictures of bored young ladies in fancy dresses with a small number attached to each picture.

- What is this supposed to mean, asked Halvdan.
- Damn, not this again! When I get my hands on that Elevision repairer..., shouted Celeborn and ran off.



Galadriel stood thoughtful and then examined the surface of the water closely.

- Aha! Here is the fault, she said, and picked up a long hair. Objects appear to be obstructing the Elevisions vision programme. Hairs appear to make it show the answers to who is the most beautiful lady in the realm and other nonsense. Now, let's see if I can reprogramme it to something more useful...

Galadriel started to declare with a declamating voice.

- Mirror mirror in the pond, of your answers I be fond.
The beardlings are lost and their course is marred,
How can they find and get into Midgaard?

- I think it's supposed to be Mid-gard, with a shorter "a", said Halvdan.
- Quiet, it's called artistic liberty, said Runar.

The mirror glowed and showed a tall and imposing proud figure in shining robes. Next to it was a pair of dirty and somehow very notably stunted creatures. The tall one pointed majestically and the two low ones obediently begun trudging along in the instructed direction. It apparently led towards the top of a mountain.

Runar eyed Galadriel with a very raised eyebrow.

- The mirror is sometimes fallible to a little...influence from the most frequent users, meaning us elves, and present things in a somewhat culturally biased way... Oh, look! It continues!

The mirror now showed a dozen or so of the same untarnished little midgets. They somehow gave the distinct impression of wandering aimlessly around and being subject to some inherent confusion. Suddenly, one of them lit a torch and then immediately put it out in the snow they were standing in. It created a most ineffective trail of smoke and steam. The rest of the midgets quickly followed.

- So we are supposed to continually lit torches and put them out in the snow to get to Midgard, asked Halvdan with slight disbelief.
- Well...not as such, said Galadriel. The place where the dwarves live, which is what the mirror refers to depict, is likely to be your mountain Erebor. Apparently the mirror shows the dwarves trying to melt the snow on top of the mountain to form a humid air and thus a possibly magical rainbow bridge.
- What the...it doesn't! That mirror shows a bunch of silly people lighting torches and burying them in the ground! That's utter foolishness, not an attempt to melt snow on any larger scale!
- Remember that the mirror shows things as seen - more like imagined, maybe - through elven eyes.
- So that is the elven view of what it would look like if we attempted to melt snow on an industrial scale!?

Galadriel suddenly had turned slightly red.

- Ehrm...yes. In a broad average view.
- Thanks a lot!

The mirror had darkened again and the three spectators had started walking away from it. Galadriel seemed thoughtful.

- Say...if one would want to melt snow on a large scale like that, how WOULD you do it?

Runar shrugged.

- Oh, there are all sorts of methods. Transport heat by molten metal, transport the snow to some giant kettle thing, heat up the mountain through a shaft under the top... Might even be possible to build some sort of light reflection array to use sunbeams on a sunny day. Easy thing for the head engineers like Filuri.
- Oh, right... That actually makes much more sense...
- Than us constantly lighting torches and putting them in the snow? Yes, I dare venture a guess that it does.

Galadriel had by now definitely became quite redder. She cleared her throat in a quite embarrassed way, so much that Runar and Halvdan almost wondered if she had got a cold from wearing those flimsy elven nightgown dress things.

Having sort of completed their mission in the sacred elven visionary forests the dwarves continued north. Galadriel gifted them with a pair of grey cloaking cloaks, excellent for hiding pairs of travelers among orcs and other things. She was fairly embarrassed about the way the diplomatic emissaries had been welcomed and the stereotyped view of dwarves that had been shown to be prevalent among the Lorien elves. Perhaps it would be high time soon for a somewhat more open border policy?

The cloaks proved their usefulness quickly as winter was coming and troublesome visitors also were coming. But luckily the Lorien elves were such epic warriors and masterful watchers as Celeborn had described so they would probably not be in any danger.



It was probably just a cunning plan to allow goblins to reach so far in the woodland realms. Probably Celeborn had in his infinite wisdom declared that the elves should postpone their attacks until spring, because with the snow around it was never really dark so the elves could not shoot the heavily breathing orcs in the dark as was their custom. Legendary indeed was the military genius of the great Celeborn.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 35½ The Goblins Unpleasant Inventiveness__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

- Dig up and dig in you slugs! Get the stakes staked or you'll get no steak tonight!

Gimli the ranging commander was in a bad mood. He was at the moment more like a ranting commander.

Up the hills advanced a huge goblin host led for once by a cavalry unit. Luglun the unnotorious goblin rode atop his mighty warg and eyed his secret weapon with content eyes. Soon he would uproot those pesky defensive dwarves and send them screaming home to their lonely little hill.



His secret weapon was of course the ballista company, quite a novelty in the goblin army. Of dubious accuracy but quite interesting to use if it meant staying out of range from the bearded crossbowmen and other unpleasant characters. Otherwise his army was comprised of snagas and a few medium goblin infantry.



The dwarves deployed along a ridge with open ground before them and woods at their back, forming a bit of inverted wedge into which the enemy would hopefully charge. It was a fairly advantageous position, meaning of course unfairly advantageous if you adopted the goblin perspective. Bodyguards provided two blocking points before the main line where crossbowmen and axe throwers were mixed. The axe throwers stood protected behind stakes in dense groups, intended to be able to halt an advancing goblin company completely with a volley of axes and advance to assist the heavy guard infantry when needed. Behind the line were light melee infantry, simple dwarven warriors practiced in the art of pushing people with their shield wall.



Balin held command of the right guard unit, which he thought was the right place for him. He eyed the enemy advance with a bloodthirsty smile that would have made anyone watching question the sanity of the general who had entrusted Balin with even the simplest of weapons. As the battle was about to start, Gimli signaled for the light infantry to relocate to the right wing up on the highest part of the ridge. It was slightly exposed and stretched out a bit from the area blocked by guardsmen. Soon goblin after goblin were beginning to show up among the trees.



Even though they were by now accustomed to the sight, the wave of goblin companies that rolled over the landscape inspired awe in the beholder. Such multitudes that covered the ground everywhere. Balin looked confidently at the command and signal post for any new orders, relishing in the slaughter he would soon give himself to. Suddenly, something appeared over the treetops...and it burned! The flaming spear flew with fearsome force right into the dwarven infantry, impaling four axe throwers at once! What was that? Meanwhile, the snagas advanced into firing range and the dwarven crossbows creaked as they were loaded. Goblin infantry surged forward to surround the bodyguards and the dwarven axe throwers countered with concentrated volleys at close range.



Luglun had sent his snagas ahead in a kind of disorganized wedge against Balins company. It was a logical target in a way, truly a hard shell to crack and worth to try and weaken with javelins. The downside was when all snagas got in each others way and prevented one another from throwing, as well as becoming a fabulous target for the dwarves. The goblin infantry did meanwhile march in the direction of the dwarven right wing on its hill. However, seeing the buckling of his snagas, Luglun changed the direction of the advance to support the goblin centre. Unfortunately for them, the slope was steep and slippery from snaga blood. Bolts and axes cut the goblin host apart and soon Luglun had fallen. His infantry soon broke and the dwarves advanced, led by the angry axe throwers in search of the fleeing ballista crew. The field was covered in dead and dying goblins.



- Collect our dead and let's leave this miserable ridge!

Gimlis mood had not improved. It was a clear success for the rangers but the new ballista heralded dark times even if dwarven casualties were low this day. More and more, Gimli was convinced that melee combat should never be sought if it could be avoided. Block the enemy with a company, but kill them with the ones held back and shooting.





The king of Eriador had died in 2994, which was hardly surprising. The surprise derived rather from the fact that Eriador had summoned up the internal organisation to actually have a king. In any case, unconfirmed rumour had it that Bilbo the Silly Hobbit had something to do with the sudden demise of said holder of office. Whatever that implied. The dwarves could hardly care less at the moment. A weird military report came in to king Dains desk from a somewhat obscure source, saying that the dwarves military had reached full capacity and strength, which was not really accurate. At all. But it was well on its way at least. Two new companies of crossbowmen graduated from Erebor and one more of axe throwers had been set up in Dains Halls. Relations with Harad had for some odd reason improved, which proved the value of refraining from any fraternising with a faction unless forced to.

Closer to home, Balin and most of the rangers had marched south to make a dull frontal assault against Gobel Erynen. A fairly large goblin host was blocking the way and the dwarves had stopped to see what would happen. Perhaps the goblins could be lured into some sort of ambush.



The summer arrived with spectacular news. The first mines had been excavated in the golden country near Kugavod! Miners went to sleep with feverish dreams of the gold they would discover and the shafts they would dig. New tax revenues allowed for the replenishing of some of the beaten companies in Dains Halls, increasing the garrison to a rather useful size. Balin tired of the goblin passiveness and decided that perhaps the bridge at the river would be a better incentive to force a confrontation. Balin had become quite skilled at making the army move swiftly, although evil and obnoxious tongues told of it only being because the army wanted him to shut up and thus moved on to get further from the sound of his voice.



At Erebor, the king was in trouble. The council of nobles had insisted that the realm established diplomatic relations with the Easterlings, meaning an expedition of Runar and Halvdan, but the king thouht it most unjust since the two had urgent business in the west, and also had endured far more travels than any known dwarves of this age. Since Dain was Dain Ironfoot, there was no mistake about his intentions when he put his foot down. While it led to much grumbling among the nobles, they knew better than to try and reason about this matter.



While not so popular at home at the moment, the king was all the more celebrated in the further ends of the realm. Or however you should interpret the fact that people went out of their way to get away from the seat of royal power… Dains Halls had in any case grew to the point that a great stone castle was being constructed! Once ready, it would be able to house a large range where crossbowmen could be properly trained! No more dependency on Erebor for retraining and reinforcements.



The slight oversight on the diplomatic front was less than critical for the Loke Khan of Rhun happened to die soon after. The council of nobles took it as a great opportunity to once again charge the king with establishing diplomatic relations with those people, now that they could excuse themselves with referring to the previous Khans ineptitude and how the dwarves had just waited for the ascension of the right leader to bargain with. From the south, far more tragic news arrived. Lorien had been crushed despite all the snooty watch being kept by people like Haldir, and the southern elves were scattered. Many came to Thranduils realm through hidden forest trails and others travelled to Elronds house, only to find it pillaged, and to Mithlond.



This boded ill for the dwarves since the goblins could now turn their full rusty might against them. At Dains Halls, new rangers trained and reinforcements gathered in the winter of 2994. The relations with the goblins did once again lower in the mysterious way it always decreased but nobody really cared any longer. They were at war, so it was not much you could do about relations. An agent of the goblins had been spotted in the following spring and promptly expelled, but it was none the less a bit worrying. Even more troops were recruited to defend Dains Halls. As spring turned to summer news arrived that the Eriador had lost its king once AGAIN! Hobbits! Clearly the arm of the Baggins’ had grown long. The dark lord had called an invasion on Aldburg, doubtlessly hoping that someone else could get the job done so he would not have to get near any intimidating cavalry. Especially not any with masks. He was obviously fairly optimistic, for the goblins took the golden opportunity to declare war on the wild men of Dunland. The mind of the goblins work in mysterious ways…

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 36 The Elves Breathe So Loud__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Skaldir the elven scout master and self-styled poet trekked along the wooden wood road with a confident smile. High in the air he kept his nose and in all manner he was the epitome of elven grace and snootiness. This southern road of the northern Woodland Realm was indeed fortunate to be bestowed with such a magnificent presence. Unfortunately for him, the peaceful quietude was broken when two uncivilized voices cried out in chorus.

- You elves breathe so loud we could have shot you in the dark!

What was that!? The outrage! Skaldir looked around just like his scouting party. There were no others in sight.



No trees were speaking in these parts of Mirkwood, the large oaks here being silent and overshadowing for most of the time. Skaldir intensified his search when suddenly an acorn dropped on his head.

- You have been well since we took leaf, I hope?

Another acorn dropped, this time on his shoulder.

- Why so silent? We half expected you to quite bark at us about the great burdens of the elves.

Skaldir looked up. On a branch above the road sat two blasphemous creatures with long beards of light brown and black protruding from under...Lorien cloaks! The two dwarves threw down one end of a rope that was apparently thrown across the branch and climbed down to the baffled elves and proceeded to collect their luggage from a bush next to the road.

- Alas, such is the great burden of the dwarves, to bear such a grim and silent company, said Runar.
- Let us be on our way towards the noble halls of posing, said Halvdan.
- I...I...the intolerable...hmpf! said Skaldir, and the adventuring party continued towards the halls of Thranduil once again.

What prompted this interaction, one might wonder. Runar and Halvdan had obviously travelled quite a distance since the last chapter. The open fields north of Lorien lay behind them and were not quite as open as usual since Mordor orcs swarmed them. Even more of those fellows occupied the southern parts of Mirkwod and provided an excellent opportunity – as well as reason – to exercise ones hiding abilities with grey camouflage cloaks.



Using said cloaks and their own tried and tested disguises as shrubberies and trees, the dwarves managed to evade Orcish encounters and dinner tables. After an arduous ascension, after an anticlimactic ambiguity, all and anyone accumulated at aforementioned advanced anticipation and awareness A-team.

Very soon the party were greeted by Dori, the new ambassador in Mirkwood. He was quite eager to hear about the adventures of Runar and Halvdan and even asked for their autographs. He was in fact so eager that he wanted their autographs on one or two official documents now that they were at it anyway, but that basic scheme did not fool two experienced diplomacy veterans like the protagonists. Runar did in any case commend his spirit but advised him to be more prepared when attempting diplomatic affairs in that way.



Thranduil and his court were more than a little astonished of the open door policy of Lorien. Who would have thought that of such an ignorant and narrow-minded pack? Although Thranduil choose to word his thought more along the lines of wondersome and the infinite wisdom of Galadriel and Celeborn, naturally implicating the share of such profound virtues due to his shared elvishness.

But never let it be said that Thranduil had not been just as busy as anyone else since chapter three so long ago! He had made himself most useful and perfected a stupefyingly sublime new posing routine! The effect was quite overwhelming and taxing for this time no lego-lass came to the rescue. Halvdan inquired with growing anxiety and despair seized him when he learned that Miniel had moved away, to Dale no less. The unfortunate dwarves would have to endure the whole spectacle alone. Luckily, Dori came to their rescue. As a permanently posted emissary among the wood elves, he had devised a few general life saving and survival skills. One was to privately import, and always keep on him, a generous supply of cotton, or cotton-like material from the plants growing on the moors up north. If you stuffed it in your ear it would dampen the sound of Elven declamations most effectively! Another useful trick, was to maintain a copy of all the largest Elven books and multi-page posing program flyers on oneself. Inside, the latest Dwarven newspapers could fit in a very discreet manner! Runar and Halvdans gratitude knew no bounds as they sank into the gentle trance of the sports section and drifted away along the dreamy windings of the cooking pages. Especially the desserts, of course.



The latest political news were far more depressing. The elves had apparently lost Gobel Erynen to a slight oversight that was really not any indication of Elven ineptitude. Obviously that would soon be rectified and everything put in order. The fact that a foreign allied army was currently laying siege to the town was naturally of little significance. Hopefully they would not drag too much dust through the doorway. Alas, such is the great burden of the elves to endure the alliance with so base and lowly creatures.

[Maltacus]

___________________Part 36½ The Debacle of Gobel Erynen__________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The mind of the dwarves worked in not quite as mysterious but just as hidden ways as those of the goblins as mentioned in the last half chapter. For Balin had managed to sneak through the flatlands between the bridge and Mirkwood and built ladders at record speed in the forest. His forces now stood ready to storm Gobel Erynen, just as a reinforcing army (that had camped in the sparse forsts between Mirkwood and Dains Halls) was about to catch up. Even more goblins were on their way from Stingland and slashing their way through the western edge of the forest. The garrison of Gobel Erynen was mostly rusted infantry but had a company of wargs as well.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The dwarves were unused to attacking towns without a castle in the middle. The amy deployed near the right corner of the wall and the gate to lure the goblins to concentrate their defences at that one place. Sticking by the tried and tested tactics, Balin took two companies of crossbowmen with him on a run to the left.



Initially it went well and Balins guards found the wall unprotected as they climbed their ladders. Soon however, snagas poured into the stair tower and out to engage them. The enemy was densely packed, as opposed to past sieges where they had been most ineffectively spread out. Crossbowmen followed and took the wall behind Balin, a wall that was bent and thus offered intersting opportunities to shoot at the enemy. This enemy was in particular a company of goblin light infantry that rushed to engage the crossbowmen. Coming out of the tower in another great pile, they got dangerously close to the dwarves but also presented a great packed target. Dwarven discipline and loading drills were put to the test, as was the coordination between companies.





After having slain the astounding amount of four crossbowmen, the goblins routed. The snagas attacking Balin held fast but were by now also shot at from the rangers on the bent wall. Worse than that, light infantry moved in to reinforce them. The dwarven guards stood unflinching but even they tired and were starting to be picked off one by one. The wall was slippery with blood and corpses caused anyone to trip when taking a step back.

While the dwarves were panting, the goblins gasped for air in the midday sun. Their tongues hung from their jaws and their arms moved sluggishly. Immens were the dwarven relief when the enemy broke and trudged down the stairs. Balins guards leaned on the wall and sat down where they were to catch their breath.



Just as his head was beginning to cool down, Balin spotted a great movement down on the ground. He looked around and saw his guards already rising and taking their positions. The goblins were coming again! Even Balins bloodthirst had limits and this senseless grinding was draining. Still, now the crossbowmen had a much better view and could support the guards much better than before. The guards locked shields as best they could and just stood their ground, allowing the crossbowmen to pick of goblin after goblin who had their sides turned towards them. At last, even this company broke ranks and fled. Unfortunately the quivers were almost empty and Balin signaled for reinforcements to climb their ladders, something he should probably had done long before.



Around half the enemy force had been routed. When Balin looked around he saw to his delight piles of dead wargs at the other edge of the wall part occupied by the dwarves. An unwise sally from the centrals square it had been indeed, by the goblin chieftain. On the other hand, the sun was lowering. It was well into the afternoon and who knew how close the reinforcing army was? For all he knew, they might already be feasting on the outer ring of scouts. It was high time to take the walls and let the rest of the rangers in. Balin sent forth two companies of crossbowmen who had run out of bolts after the disappearing light infantry towards the gate.



Then everything went wrong.

From the other side of the path between the town wall and the houses, from where the wargs had appeared before, came a great noise as one company of goblin infantry stormed along the street. The reinforcements on the wall were not in any shooting position yet and the crossbowmen on the exposed ground were in disorder and exhausted. Worse yet, the wall they passed were not empty as they thought, but remnants of the snaga company that guarded it now hurled their javelins into the packed dwarven force. The crossbowmen tried to retreat but the goblins beat them to the stair tower and they were cut off. The fight quickly degenerated into a disordered melee and both sides suffered great casualties.



Near the gate, the walls were swarming with the dwarven light infantry who had at last come to the rescue. Axe throwers rushed frantically to relieve the crossbowmen while dwarven warriors formed a shield wall and advanced towards the town square where the retreating goblins regrouped. On their way they quickly dispersed the broken parts of goblin infantry companies. Some axe throwers caught up with them at the square where a few goblins in rusty mail gathered around a lone warg rider. It was none less than captain Lugthak himself. Facing the mass of readied throwing axes aimed at him, the captain made at least one wise decision and surrendered the town.



It was none too soon. From not too far away, the howls of goblin warg riders echoed across the country. The rest of the infantry and the logistics corps hurried inside and barred the gates after themselves. It was probably no more than two minutes and thirty-three seconds until the other army would have appeared.

The victory was complete, but tactically the battle had been a disaster. The one priceless asset of the rangers had been the one to take nearly all of the casualties, unsupported and exhausted. Balins mistake was first and foremost to attack with too little troops along with him and secondly to send for reinforcements too late. Indeed, the rest of the crossbowmen might as well have bypassed the gate defenders on the other side (the right side of the gate) of the town, from where they could even have reached the town square.

In memory of the day Balin had a huge battle axe crafted for himself. It was said that whenever he wielded it his remorse for failing in such a way made him attack with burning rage and greatly enhance his commanding aura. The orc head he decided to keep as well as a trophy did also do its part in adding to the image of Balin.

The following autumn, the goblins joined in the invasion and declared war on Rohan. Dwarven losses or not, the commander nearest Gobel Erynen decided that the horsemen were easier pickings and took his army southward to new pillaging adventures. Also, a fantastic bit of news arrived from the west. The cousins of the Blue Mountains had manage to ally themselves with the High Elves of Mithlond! While the elven helpfulness was doubtful at best, it was a commendable act of peacekeeping worthy of many toasts. The wild men of Dunland were very appreciative of the dwarven success, since they were now at war with the goblins, and relations with them improved.



In the court of Thranduil, the dwarven ambassador Dori had an important task. He took his seat before the elven minister of foreign affairs, Glennodad.

- You wished to speak with me, ambassador.
- Indeed. Word has reached me that Gobel Erynen has been captured and the goblin garrison is dead or fleeing. Since we are such good neighbours we would like to extend this special offer. One newly taken fresh forest town for no more than forty thousand gold coins.



- This seems quite reasonable.



Dori almost fainted. Reasonable elves? This had to be a dream. What had he been eating last evening? But it was true. The elves garrisoned Gobel Erynen and the dwarven rangers moved north towards Dains Halls and watching for more goblin attacks. The goblins were still plentiful, but with a large part going south on invasion vacation, things looked better than ever. The remaining forces were disorganized and Dains Halls had Gimli and a strong garrison to repel attacks before Balin could join them.



The dwarven rangers had proven their worth again and again on mountainside and castle wall. The wood elves had received a respite and would perhaps even be able to stand on their own. For a time, at least. And soon, Dains Halls would have a castle of stone and a training range for crossbowmen of its own. Tremble in fear, goblins!

[Maltacus]

_________________________Part 37 Home________________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Out of the forest among the familiar fields north of the marshes came two travelers. They packed large quantities of baggage and their clothes were worn and matted with the dust of all known climate zones of Middle Earth. Much knowledge had they gained on their journeys and much disorder had they caused on their way. Now they would be returning home to the quiet and ordered atmosphere. Probably.

Even more natural road signs enhanced the landscape but luckily the travelers did not need to rely on them. A much bigger and better one was visible on the horizon.



There seemed to be quite a commotion in the city of Dale. Lots of people lined the main street and buzzed expectantly.

- I wonder what is going on. Do you think the dalesmen have started some sort of yearly festival?
- It seems a bit weird to come with such a thing right now of all times. But then, they are after all a people who elected for king a man that would take on a red dragon with nothing but a longbow, so what can you expect of our neighbors, hehehe…
- LOOK! Is that…
- MINIEL! But, sort of, tall and more grown of course.

It was indeed the lego-lass herself. When she heard the dwarven exclamation she turned around and smiled brightly when she spotted them. The crowd around her seemed to follow her gaze and then suddenly started to cheer loudly. Runar and Halvdan looked around a little uncomfortably.

- Maybe we should get off the main street. They seem to be waiting for someone famous.
- Agreed. We can wait it out or take some smaller road instead.
- No, you silly dwarves, we have been waiting for you! Miniel shouted.

It turned out that Miniel had followed Halvdans suggestion and spread the noble toy ideas to the human towns. She had a blossoming business of lego and children’s books, with not a few products inspired by the travels and tales of Runar and Halvdan as they soon found out.

- “The maid of krakens and other sea stories”. “Around and back again, the path-finding skills of the dwarven diplomat”, Runar read out loud.

Halvdan inspected a stand of lego figures on a shelf.

- “Can the elf lady rescue the two lost dwarves from the hideous sea monster? Build your own fantastic Gondor beach complete with restaurant and privateer harbor!”
- Now, really Miniel, that was not the way it happened.
- Ooooh, really? Then you just HAVE to tell me the real and complete story, don’t you?

Far too late did Runar and Halvdan realize what a mischievous and sly elf Miniel had grown up to. Now they were stuck in telling all about their travels to her and her friends. It would probably take all night.

- Don’t worry, I have booked a whole tavern nearby. There will be plenty of room and you can even take turns in telling and the other one can eat.
- You scheming little rascal! Plotting worthy of diplomat and spy alike.

The dwarves did soon come to terms with Miniels cunning plan, for the tavern was very comfortable and had a large fireplace with cozy chairs around where one could sit and tell stories. Miniel draped a patterned plaid over Halvdans legs just because she thought it looked cute. Halvdan protested while Runar had unbecomingly much fun about it. Miniel did however issue a terrifying threat.

- How about I start calling you my little dwarf uncle? How about that, hmm? It would be quite funny I think.
- That was the stupidest thing... Fine! The plaid can stay where it is.

When king Bard heard of the long way guests he was most curious and ran all the way to the tavern. Knowing him as a good friend of all dwarves as ever Runar and Halvdan were happy to allow him a place by the fireplace where they sat and told of their astonishing adventures. Bard was soon as astonished as them and sat with hi mouth frequently open in a rather funny way. He accepted a new drink almost absent-mindedly and arbitrarily gave a generous tip.



- This, this is incredible! By all blurred bowstrings, I’ve never heard anything so interesting since the death of Smaug!
- And look here, king Bard, we have marked our various adventures on this here map. I’ll be leaving a copy in the tavern if you’d like.
- YES!!! echoed all the listeners.



Miniel had one parting gift for Halvdan. It was a bonnet in a pattern similar to that of the plaid. It looked very odd and he seemed quite foreign when wearing the mysterious outfit. In fact, it was a pretty decent disguise as a foreign dignitary of some sort.

The road winded its way along cliffs and ravines. Birches climbed the steep slopes and small rivers crossed the road from time to time. Where they did, a bridge or tunnel was built which protected the road and allowed the water to flow unhindered. Evidently the inhabitants of these lands were quite crafty people. The road continued steadily upward, passing a high watchtower on the left side and a large sign with texts in runes and the letters of humans and hobbits, that one now crossed the border and everyone except invaders were bid welcome to the realm of the Dwarves of Erebor. Behind the highland and cliffs towered the enormous peak and glimmered red in the light of the evening sun. An impregnable fortress, a seat of the government of all the dwarves east of the Misty Mountains, a treasury and armory of fathomless size, the seat of the finest taverns in all of Middle Earth. Home.



Before Runar and Halvdan passed the last ridge before the valley where the gates of Erebor lay, night had fallen. That did not matter. This was their land and here there was nothing to fear for any dwarf. Except of course a snowball ambush during winter.



Just out of old habit, Runar and Halvdan discreetly infiltrated the kings office rooms. They found him working late bent over a large map of Middle Earth. Evidently someone had tried to piece together the reports of the two emissaries but the result was much insufficient.

- To be honest, your majesty, that sketch of the Haradrims fiefdoms is quite incorrect.
- And I dare say those estimations of Gondorian defence capabilities are hopelessly optimistic.

The king jumped at least three meters up in the air.

- Yaaah! What?! Who!? Runar and Halvdan!?
- At your service.





- We are, as it is called, ready to report. But we're actually even more ready to get something to drink.
- And a snack of some sort.

The old monarch lit up in a broad smile and embraced his long lost emissaries.

- Blasted balrogs, we shouldn't be standing here. Let's be off to the tavern at once! On the house, meaning on my account since Erebor is a gigantic hollow mountain complex and thus technically one enormous house that I rule!



A few weeks later someone watching the Lonely Mountain could observe a very unusual meteorological phenomenon. It was quite remarkable even in the way that it was started by certain elements of the inhabitants of the mountain itself, under the supervision of two newly returned. Most peculiar.







- It's working!
- Behold and be amazed! Bifrost itself!
- I'll be...
- ...paying up now. You owe me one hundred gold coins, your indebted majesty.
- Will you take a check?
- Wouldn't think so, since we will be going pretty soon. Time to part ways with the glimmer, oh king.
- Well, well, hrm. But I will want written reports of all the handling of official funds or the treasurers will put a price on my head. Figuratively speaking. They would never waste actual money on something so unimportant and mundane.
- Are you ready?
- As always, a long time before you.
- TO MIDGARD!

Evidently this would be the beginning of an extraordinary adventure.

But that is another story.