[AAR] Home to Midgard (Third Age AAR)

[Lord Thesaurian]

Title: Home to Midgard
Author: Maltacus

____________Home to Midgard_________

This will be a tale of two dwarfs and their search in Middle-Earth for the mysterious realm of Midgard. They live in the Third Age universe but who knows where they might end up eventually? It will be a bit unusual in the way that it follows two agents and not generals and consequently won't feature a great deal of battles. It is more of a story than a pure AAR although the protagonists will indeed carry out the in-game agent tasks of my faction. I might add that I have never written an AAR before, so if you believe you are seeing silly grammatical error's and plot peculiarities, you are probably right. I hope you will enjoy it (the story, not the errors)!

_________________________Part 1, Another world____________________

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Once upon a time in Middle-Earth there was a dwarf named Runar. He had a good friend named Halvdan who was in fact also a dwarf. Then there were lots of more dwarfs, elves, orcs and all other creatures one would expect to find in this kind of fantastic realm, but none of them were of such significant importance for the story as to warrant a presentation in the opening sentences. The named dwarfs in question lived in the unquestionably mountainous, but questionably lonely, Lonely Mountain where king Dain ruled wisely.

Country and king:

Runar was a scholarly dwarf and often borrowed books from the great archive of Erebor, to the delight of Libri, the chief librarian.

The archives of Erebor:

One afternoon he sat down in the local feast hall and read. He had come across some interesting but unclear passage telling about a place called “Midgard”. It was said that the realm were home to dwarfs just like Middle-Earth and that they could craft fantastic and wondrous things. A mechanical golden boar, unbreakable fetters and chains, an entire ship made of the fingernails of the dead. That last thing was perhaps more creepy than wondrous. Some of them were apparently very strong. Four dwarves called Norr, Söder, Öster and Väster held up the sky itself. Runar could not really understand that particular passage since the sky had never seemed like a solid object to him. But they were without doubt very strong.

He sat and read until the sun set and no longer cast any light through the high and thick windows of the hall. What if one could find the way to Midgard and meet those dwarfs? Runar had studied to become a diplomat and dreamed of travelling to foreign lands and sign trade agreements and alliances with everyone. He had already signed some trade agreements, but they were relatively trivial. Once, for example, he agreed to trade some sausages for a keg of beer. Very useful of course, since the spicy sausages made you very thirsty, but not so interesting. He had also allied with his best friend Halvdan in preparation for the annual snowball battle during the midwinter festivities, but that alliance had come rather naturally by itself. Not really a test of his diplomatic abilities.

The mid-winter snowball battle!

Halvdan was less diplomatic than Runar, but also interested in finding new lands. He was a bit shy, so he mostly let Runar do the talking, and this had led him to become interested in the noble profession of espionage. Halvdan was an expert at hiding and moving unnoticed. He was especially intrigued by the prospect of a mechanical boar. If the dwarfs of Midgard knew more about boars than those of Middle-earth, maybe they could teach some tricks to the latter? Both Runar and Halvdan held boars in high regard and usually picked mushrooms instead of the salted pork at dinners, sometimes to the amusement of their company. Their joking was generally short-lived though, as each jest was met by even wittier retorts from Runars sharp tongue and Halvdans cunning pranks.

The boars of Erebor and the mechanical wonders of the Midgard dwarfs:

Like most dwarfs in these dangerous times, both Runar and Halvdan had trained a lot with axes and hammers to be able to defend Erebor or the Southern allies in Dale, should the need arise. Both were convinced that the dwarfs were without peers as infantry. Yet their armies were always restricted by their lack of cavalry. Horses were too large, except for ponies which were not so good for the melee combat favoured by the dwarfs. However, one could only dream of the possibilities that would arise if the dwarfs could acquire the aid of wild boars, perhaps mechanical ones. Boars armoured in dwarf chainmail or plate, charging with a dwarf on its back and ramming into orc and warg alike!

And so it was that the two dwarfs decided to seek out the strange realm of Midgard and try to establish contacts with whoever they could find there. They started with seeking out Libri and ask if he could tell more about the subject.

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 2

__________________Part 2, Murky woods and murkier elves____________ Libri, the great scholar and the team captain of the Icy Boar Snowball Team, sat thoughtfully for a long time. Then he rushed away and was never seen again. That is, until he came back with a thick book that he was examining. -This old book mentions something about Midgard I think. Libri said. -Does it say how to get there? Halvdan asked. -Not as such. I did however come across some kind of reference to a magic bridge or portal that should lead from Midgard to another realm. The bridge is called Bifrost and rainbow-coloured, or maybe it is a rainbow? But how can a rainbow be used as a bridge? -Where should we look then? Runar wondered. Rainbows appear in many places. -Hmm, perhaps it is connected with a certain type of rain or a certain climate. My advice would be that you visit notably different climate zones and also as many other archives and libraries as you can to find out more. This archive does not contain very much about weather, of course with the exception of snow and snowballs. -Good idea. Speaking of which, you will have a tough time now that we are away from the team. Have you thought of any replacements? -I was thinking of Ebba Oakenshield. She has gotten really accurate these last two winters. -Good thinking, but isn’t she going out with Narfi? Because then she would probably like to be on the right flank with him instead of our places on the left. -We could move the Copperkeg twins from the cente. That would weaken our centre but we could compensate by changing tactics to surround the opponents more… -Yes, like we tried against the Blue Hammer team last year; that looked promising….. The discussion had turned into a very trivial gossip about the latest local sports news and discussions about who was going out with whom. It was most unworthy of mythological creatures like dwarfs, who were supposed to be constantly busy with crafting axes and armour and raiding caves filled with mithril. Luckily, the important things had been said and the readers could continue directly to the next day, when Runar and Halvdan met king Dain to discuss their travelling plans. Dain was with his ministers in the conference hall as usual. He listened to them telling of Midgard with much interest. Dain's "modest" conference hall -Hmm, Midgard…I have never heard of it. Dain said. Yet the name does not seem unfamiliar, for some strange reason. Perhaps it is really the realm of the dwarfs and that is why the name appeals to us. -I and Halvdan wish to find Midgard, or at least a way to get there. Runar said. We will travel across known and unknown lands of Middle Earth with your permission and look for clues. -We could indeed use some more knowledge of the world around us. It is not a bad idea at all…I shall finance your expedition! -A most prudent decision, sire. -Remember to obtain as much information about foreign lands as possible and sign agreements with everyone you can. -Yes my liege. Said Halvdan and Runar at the same time. Onward!!! [Insert epic music from your favourite game or movie or band here] Choose a proud and enthusiastic theme to get the right feeling. The two happy dwarfs eagerly equipped themselves with Dains most expensive and stylish light armour, pickaxes, cloaks, backpacks and tents. They packed their favourite goblets and all sorts of maps that the dwarfs had access to. And in the middle of the summer of 2980, they set out from Erebor and started the great journey west. The plan, or the lack of plan if you like, was to begin with seeking out the elves in Mirkwood. Thranduils people were somewhat reluctant allies of Erebor and Dale since the battle of five armies, but elves and dwarfs had a very strained relationship and frequently made nasty jokes about each other. The visit to them was worth a try though. Mirkwood was at least on the way west anyhow. Their map: They travelled west through the land of the men of Dale and followed the rudimentary roads without any trouble except the sub-dwarven-standard beer in the taverns. They were beginning to feel a little uneasy. They were nearing the important crossroads where the road to the northwest joined the road, or trail, deep into Mirkwood to the southwest. -How do we find this trail? Runar asked. -Well the trail should be easy to find, or rather, a trail should be easy to find. The problem lies in determining which trail is the right one. Halvdan replied. -How is that? Are there not any signs or something? -Yes, and therein lays the problem. The old Roadmaster and Transport Supremo of Dale, Wulfric the Witty, spent his entire career thinking up clever ways to name roads and landmarks in Dale and to mark them out… -And presumably he did think up some way to point out the right path to Mirkwood? -Yes, and he planted a natural landmark that would stand for generations as well as fit perfectly with the aesthetics of the landscape… -Well that sounds goo…PLANTED!? He…? -…He marked out the trail to Mirkwood by planting a tree beside it. -But Mirkwood is the largest known forest in Middle Earth! How are you supposed to recognise one single tree among those multitudes? -Precisely my point. - Wulfrics Road Sign, easily identifiable among the other...road signs... Eventually they were able to get reasonably good directions. The people of Dale had lived near and in the forest for a long time hiding from enemies who had the upper hand, and could direct the dwarfs to a number of small roads that led into the woodlands. Wulfrics sign was indeed a famous landmark. It was so famous that no fewer than 14 trees had been nominated by the local populace to be the actual tree planted by him. Disputes over which one were the correct one had led to no end of petty feuds between the woodcutters and carpenters that lived there and all wanted to use the tree as a trademark. Dale woodcutters: Runar and Halvdan marched deeper into the woods. They were now in the real forest where tree after tree obscured the view in each direction. It was harder to keep track of the sun with all the leaves in the way, but thankfully the weather was still clear. After about two days of walking in the forest they were finally met by the elves, who greeted them with the usual elven politeness, but at least it was in the common tongue; -You dwarfs breathe so loud we could have shot you in the dark. Runar sighed inaudibly. Evidently the level of diplomatic courtesy of these people was even lower than diplomatic manuals and lectures had warned about. -In the common tongue we say “good afternoon”. He replied with a bored voice. -We have been spotting you for two days. We know of your quest and shall guide you to our lord Thranduil. -Excellent. May I just inquire why you have waited until now to reveal yourselves? -We have been very busy. Are you not surprised that we could spot you for so long time and remain unnoticed? -Ummm…no? Hiding in the hugest forest in the world doesn’t seem so hard, especially not if you are immortal and have lived here for some centuries. I mean, seeing as how you can talk to trees and animals it’s not exactly hard for you to scout unnoticed, is it? And your cloaks and clothes have this super-camouflage-grey colour that you have told the major part of the world about. More than once. Several times if I recall correctly. I suppose one could call it many times as well. Furthermore, it is not like we have been trying to hide. Being diplomatic envoys, being spotted by you is sort of the point with our visit here. -I…er…maybe you have a point there. But this is unfair! You are supposed to be impressed by our unearthly wisdom and grace. Like the rest of the world. -Such as? -Oh, lots of people, like…uhm…hobbit gardeners? -Hobbits, who are of course the pinnacle of maturity, wisdom and knowledge… -It’s not fair! -I suppose that with millennia of time the world eventually gets used even to such revolutionary things as elves. I would also like to point out that I find it somewhat strange that creatures with immortality, named unearthly skills and items and constant free tickets to the blessed realm of Valinor would have anything to say about unfairness. -All right, all right! -By the way, what were you busy with? It’s not another goblin raid approaching, I hope? Runar added and looked concerned. -Oh no, nothing of that sort. Just important elvish business. -Like wandering aimlessly among the trees, singing hymns about your precious Elbereth, writing poems about what the elves were up to several thousand years back and marvelling at the presumably magical light from stars? -What! How did y…NO! Nothing like that I ASSURE you! -Of course not. How could I even think about it. You elves never do any of those things. -Hmph! Let us continue to the halls of Thranduil. -Excellent idea. Lead the way, good pointy-eared sir! Spoiler for "Elven important business": Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  And so the party set off under continued taunting, deeper into the green realm…

Part 3

____________Part 3. The name is Blacksilver. Halvdan Blacksilver_______________ Elves do not like it underground. They prefer the nature of forests over caves and large stone buildings. This is well known by everyone in Middle Earth. It should come as no surprise then, that the elves of Mirkwood choose to place their capital and seat of royal power in subterranean halls…wait a second…what? Thranduils halls had been dug out with the help of dwarfs ages ago. The latter had then been almost rudely sent away as they were not entrusted with the more central tasks of designing the furniture and choosing the right colour for the walls. The elves were more than willing to delegate such minor and mundane petty details as roofs, walls, ventilation and heating, but Elbereth forbid that some layman and amateur be entrusted with the almost sacred furnishing! Dwarfs doing mundane and unimportant tasks (notice how the elves consider them to be the "B-team", as seen by the drawing on their sack in this elven painting): When Runar and Halvdan arrived they were apparently expected to be stunned by the variety of the beautiful landscape. North there were vast acres of trees, to the east a mighty wall of tree trunks obscured the view while in the west; the deep forest vegetation provided a stunning panorama. None of it could truly rival the south however, where the sun glittered through the marvellous pines and spruces. The variety of the landscape: The captain of their escort, Skaldir, was steadily regaining his earlier pride and pompousness which had been so mercilessly injured by the blunt and insensitive guests. He turned around to them as they approached Thranduils halls and began to tell about the surroundings. -Dear visitors, we now stand among one of the great wonders of Middle Earth, the heart of Mirkwood! -Thank you very much, we caught that the last nine times as well. Runar responded. -From here flows the very life-force of the forest and all the creatures living in it! -Like the hideous spiders and wraiths around Dol Guldur as well? -Oh no, this is only the heart of the real, true and pure Mirkwood. The ugly and foul things that plague the forest, or any other part of the world, have nothing to do with us. -I see. Isn’t the heart of a forest usually the middle of it? Because then the heart of Mirkwood should be located much further south, about south of the mountains of the forest. This is more like the head of the forest, or the feet of it. -Hmph! Much to learn you still have, dwarf! But look around you. Marvel at the mysterious and enthralling forest! The multitude of exciting species, the endless variation of plants and animals! -Well, let’s give it a try then. To my left I see trees, to my right, some more trees and straight ahead, oh look! Trees! I don’t see anything behind me as my eyesight doesn’t reach that far. What about you Halvdan? -I am speechless with awe. I marvel at the unworldly beauty and wish to bask in the glory of the elves, the true lords of the world! Halvdan said. -Are you allright? Runar asked. -Now that’s more like it! I knew I could spread some culture even to the unwashed dwarfs! Skaldir proudly exclaimed. -Just joking. Bask in the glory of the elves….hehehe…ridiculous…Halvdan said. Runar laughed, but in a slightly more diplomatic manner. Skaldir looked like he had something under his nose that smelled foul. He snorted and frowned and bade them go inside the royal hall to spare his sensitive ears more outrages. For dwarfs used to the intricate mazes known as dwarven mines and halls of mountain kings, it was no hard thing finding the way through the very basic and shallow elven halls. The elves seemed to have more trouble because they always wandered around with dreamy, misty eyes and were apparently oblivious to everyone else. A visitor could hear a constant low mumbling, like a kind of buzzing sound. It was the sound of elves walking around and reciting poems and making up new ones. They were all long, hard to follow, and boring. The poems, that is. The elves were just long and boring. Soon the dwarfs reached the royal hall of Thranduil. It was a quite comfortable place, well lit and with some space. A group of elves had gathered around something in the middle, one of them was playing the fiddle. The dwarfs approached to see what everyone looked at, and Halvdan wondered, what is that? Elves in a ring, around another elf with a sword who is just posing? Wondering why bad rhyming suddenly seemed to invade his head, Runar began to address the assembly: -Greetings honourable allies. We bring word from king Dain to Thranduil of Mirkwood. -Sschhh! Don’t disturb the royal posing practise! An elf hissed. -What, posing practise? Runar whispered. -Of course. Each week the king gathers the court to reveal the new and latest ways to wield elven bows and swords. -So you, err…change your ways to fight each week? -Naturally, one has to stay fashionable. -I would rather stay alive, personally. Isn’t it hard to adapt to new fencing patterns and archery techniques all the time? -Such is the great burden of the elves. Together with the unpleasant company of lesser peoples… Thranduil posing: Eventually the posing practise was over and Thranduil returned to his throne while the court kept ooooh:ing and aaaah:ing for a time to demonstrate their loyalty to the king. Runar stepped forward before the throne. -Greetings lord Thranduil. I bring word from king Dain of Erebor. Runar said. -Greetings dwarf. Did you see my latest poses? Thranduil eagerly responded. -Just the latest one. -Perhaps I should show you the first ones? -Thank you so much, but that won’t be necessary. It is easy to imagine how magnificent they must have looked just by watching the latest ones (Runar was indeed a talented diplomat). -Ah, yes you are right. Listen, I have been thinking – it is high time we elves start aiding our allies more directly. How about I gather my best weapon masters and visit your king to teach him the latest about swordsmanship and archery? -I don’t think that is such a good idea. You know, us dwarfs being more into axes and crossbows and such. Elven weapons would be very large and unwieldy for us. -Alas, maybe you are right. Only the greatest of warriors can wield such epic weapons. Such is the great burden of the elves. Anyways, what can we do for you? Inside his head Runar sighed with relief. A potential diplomatic disaster had been averted. Posing like this in front of Dain…”shudder”. He continued: -King Dain sends his regards and wishes to engage in a trade of map information. To aid each other, we must know how to find each other. -Splendid idea! I shall give you access to all our maps at once. An advisor stepped forward and whispered something to the king. Thranduil looked sheepish. -Ah, it seems we don’t have any maps ready right now. He said. -Well, we’ll just wait so you can draw some, no problem at all. But how is it you don’t have any maps? -Uhmm, being elves we have this supernatural memory and eyesight and such, so we…have never needed maps. -But what about your allies? -We…hrm…never thought of that. We elves don’t usually notice so much about other races. -We are touched by your consideration. Very well, we’ll leave some maps of ours here for you to copy and wait for your cartographers to draw maps of your own for us to copy then. The advisor stepped forward and whispered something again. -Err…there is a slight problem… -What now? Runar asked. -Well, being unearthly beings with supernatu… -…ral skills, wisdom and knowledge. Yes, I have heard that. -Yes, well, since we never forget anything and knowledge is passed on through our songs and poetry and so, we have never thought it necessary to aquire any means of writing or drawing. -You mean to tell me you don’t have a single piece of paper in your whole kingdom? -Well, yes… -Aaargh! Ok, ok, ok, here is 280 gold pieces, a members special discount card for the books-and-paper shop in Dale and a card with the address of the shop as well as the way to Erebor, in case anyone had forgotten it. Just send some emissary there and buy paper and pencils, draw some maps and take them to king Dain who will give you maps to copy. Think you can do that? -Of course. Would you like a guide for the next part of your travel through Mirkwood? -No we will take the north road instead, thank you. -Alas. But such is the great burden of the elves. -Such is the great burden of the dwarfs! Runar said through his teeth. In the meantime, Halvdan had a much more enjoyable time. He was standing in the back of the hall and watching Runars diplomatic challenges when a light voice sounded. -Are you a dwarf? Halvdan turned around. A young elven girl stood and looked at him. She must be very young because she was hardly any taller than he was. -Last time I looked I was. He answered. -I am a wood elf. My name is Miniel. What is your name? Miniel: -Halvdan. I am a friend of the dwarf Runar over there, who is discussing with lord Thranduil. -Poor friend of yours. It must be awfully boring. Thranduil is really such a bore. He makes me sleepy. -Hehehe, I can understand that. Halvdan chortled. -He just shows his silly posing to everyone. “Oh look at me, I pose so beautifully, see my muscles blah blah blah”. -Haha, yes, luckily Runar takes care of all looking at silly kings. -What do you do? -I spy on dangerous enemies, drink alcohol and meet good-looking girls. Like now. -Then you’re like Jameuron Bondlir. But nicer. -Who is Jameuron Bondlir? -He is some spy in a series of tales that Skaldir the skald invented. Jameuron always drinks shaken elf wine made by Vodlikil and Martinir – that is the biggest wine-maker here – and when he meets people he always says “the name is Bondlir. Jameuron Bondlir”. That’s pretty stupid I think. If people did not hear his name once they could ask. And it is silly to say your last name first, because then it sounds as if it is your first name. -Perhaps I should start introducing myself like that? The name is Blacksilver. Halvdan Blacksilver. -NO! -Just joking. -Why are you called Blacksilver? Spoiler for The Tale of Halvdans Last Name: Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  -Some great grand-something ancestor of mine, Brifi, was surrounded by bandits when he camped one evening. He was carrying silver pieces and on his way home from a remote mining colony. However, Brifi had the habit of covering the silver pieces in soot and put them in his campfire to hide them. So the bandits thought they were just pieces of firewood. They stole Brifis tools and some of his clothes though, but Brifi made it safely home with the silver. -Smart! -Indeed. After getting home Brifi gathered some of his kinsmen. They hunted down the bandits and managed to catch them completely by surprise when they were camping. All bandits were captured and taken to the leader of Brifis clan. Their loot was distributed back to the original owners as well as could be done. -What did he do with the bandits? -I’m getting to that. That is the best part. The clan chieftain, Grom, followed Brifis advice and did not harm the bandits. Instead, Brifi stepped forward and showed them the soot covered silver they have missed, while the whole dwarf clan stood around and fell over laughing at them. Then Grom gave them some land so they could make their living as farmers rather than bandits. However, he also sentenced them to having to stay there for three decades and always having to supply passing dwarfs with food and drinks. Additionally, they were obliged to clean and furnish all metal brought by travelling dwarfs. And the dwarfs, not least Brifi, were all too happy about visiting them with all kinds of dirty metal and ensuring that they never forgot about the failed robbery. -Hihihihihihihihi! Miniel giggled. -So Brifi took the name “Blacksilver” in remembrance of this episode and his cunning scheme. He became rather famous and a very rich dwarf. It was just one thing. As the tale spread, everyone knew about his trick with dirty metal. But Brifi soon thought out a much better way of hiding his valuables. -What is that? -Can’t say. At least not until I have thought out an even better idea. -Boooo. Boring. But fair enough I guess. -Some time after Brifis bandit hunt, some less honourable dwarfs of another clan started selling campfires to unsuspecting travellers who had heard the tale and believed they were full of silver. But Brifi quickly put an end to that fraud. -What a funny story. It’s much better than those of Skaldir. Miniel said. -Wait a moment, we met an elf called Skaldir on our way here. Or rather, he pestered our trip with lectures about the unearthly beauty of all things in Mirkwood. -Yeah that’s him. I wonder if the king sends him away to guard the border just to get rid of his talking? He’s soo dull. He thinks he is some kind of poet, but he never makes any funny rhymes or songs. Wait until you hear him in front of the king, you’re gonna fall asleep in no time. -I’d rather not. Is there anything else you can do in this place other than listen to boring poems? -We can go play with my lego. -What’s lego? -It’s kind of, small bricks and figures. You can build things with them. Here, I’ll show you. This is one of my lego high elf archers and a goblin. And this is a wood elf. He looks rather grumpy, so it must be Skaldir. Hihihihi! -Excactly like Skaldir! I can hear him saying “how dare you not marvel at the sight of the glorious Mirkwood”. Halvdan said. -Or “behold the great Skaldir, the incarnation of perfection and beauty”! -Hahaha, just like him. -I have the most lego of everyone here I think. People sometimes call me the “lego-lass” because I play so much with them. But it’s fun! -We dwarfs like building things too. But we usually use a bit larger bricks and so. -Can elves build stone things? -Of course! If you feel up to it, I’m sure you could become a mason in Erebor when you are older. -Yippiiee! Then I must have a cool last name like Blacksilver. -I think lego-lass sounds nice, actually. You could call yourself Miniel Legolass and sell lego bricks to the kids in Erebor and Dale, to complement the masonry business. -What, you don’t have any lego? -Nope. -Poor you. Then I really must go to Erebor and set things right. All in all, Halvdan was quite pleased with the trip to Mirkwood. Miniel Legolass was very nice and entertaining and even made up for the irritating Skaldir. Runar on the other hand had had enough of elven royalty for a long time, and was more eager than ever to get out of Mirkwood. He was a bit puzzled to see Halvdan playing with a little elven girl while he had been busy with important negotiations, but Halvdan informed him that he was simply establishing diplomatic relations with the next generation of rulers, as well as promoting Erebor industry. Runar agreed that those things were perfectly in line with their diplomatic mission. Luckily for Runar, their diplomatic missions would now take them elsewhere. They would follow the desolate and dangerous path north of Mirkwood, through wilderness where goblins and orcs could be lurking behind every stone…

Part 4

__________________Part 4. Watch and learn, Medieval II spies!___________________________ [Authors note (Why is it called authors note? The whole story is by definition a note by the author, isn't it?): As the story now progress into the part where the barabric and savage goblins may pop up, it is suitable to change the typing. This is a commom trick used by authors to symbolize a change in environment, storyteller, location, intended background music et cetera... In order to match the savagery, crudeness and general evil of the goblins, we do of course chose the most vile of typing (=the one most associated with Microsoft Word) - Times New Roman.) -Do you see anything? -No, do you? -No. Let’s continue. -How long do you think it will be until we reach forests again? -Not long. Less than a day if the map is correct. -About time. I sure have had enough of this environmental outfit. -A strange comment, coming from the person who invented it. -Yes, while they are the latest in camouflage and style, they are seriously underdeveloped when it comes to comfort. Grrr, I have a branch pointing its pointy end at my lower back…can’t ever reach it! -It must be a special branch since you are a spy, hehehe. The secret service of the branch…but not so serving in your case. -Yes yes, very funny. Look, there’s a ridge that seems to lead to the mountains. We can follow that for a while and use its cover. Runar and Halvdan were now in the desolate area north of Mirkwood. They had long since passed the edge of the great forest and the landscape was steadily becoming more rugged. Plains and small woods turned into ridges and hills, with bushes and shrubberies taking shelter behind occasional rocks and cliffs. It was a windswept and cold area, almost deserted. The Northern Road went through this area, following the northern border of Mirkwood and crossing the more flat lowlands. Since the Orcs of the Misty Mountains, usually known just as the goblins, captured Durins Halls few found any reason to use the road at all, except for scouts and spies or border guards. Further north, thick woods covered the feet of the Grey Mountains. As the more perceptive of the readers had already noticed, the protagonists had decided to utilize the better part of valor – discretion – in order to study the goblins from a safer perspective in order to be able to approach them with the most feasible diplomatic suggestion possible. An added bonus would be not having to end up as goblin dinner. Crossing the open areas in a clever, but less comfortable, disguise as trees was the first part. After reaching the highland forests they decided to stay among the trees during the rest of the journey to Durins Halls. There was however another reason too. Winter was approaching and the Grey Mountains would soon be more like the White Mountains along with the rest of the countryside. Being in the open was not the ideal way to spend the days. The highlands, cold enough during autumn. Brrr... The dwarfs were actually a quite inventive people. This is something foreigners seemingly had trouble grasping. The crucial thing was that the dwarfs used their inventiveness to pursue their own very specific goals. They had little interest in gardening, and their shipbuilding was virtually non-existent beyond river boats used in their trade with Dale. But when it came to the mountainous areas of science, they shone! Mining, smithing, construction…masonry, brewing and of course: skiing. Skiing had been invented, or rather started, by two cousins of the Fjällskägg clan. The dwarf Norski is believed to have manufactured the first pair of skis. He was so deep into the skiing business (resisting the word fanatic) that it was more like a philosophy of life for him. His vision was that all major land transporting could take place during winter, using skis under the carriages instead of wheels and specially groomed tracks for superior speed. Norski called his philosophy “the Northern Way” as in “the Northern Way of Life”. It was usually shortened to “Norway” in daily speech. Norski became the major manufacturer of skis but competed fiercely with the other story-relevant Fjällskägg cousin: Sven. Sven came up with the idea of adding poles to propel the skier forward. Sven founded the company “Svens skis” usually shortened to “Svensk” in daily speech. Svens and Norskis ancestors carried on the proud traditions of ski-making as well as bickering about which manufacturer was the superior. "Onward! First through the forest gets a mug of hot chocolate! Hehe, just kidding...First through the forest gets a keg of beer! Runar and Halvdan had been outfitted with the latest in dwarf winter equipment, sponsored by both Norway and Svensk. This included white cloaks for camouflage, climbing shoes and experimental ski bindings. They were experimental in the way that they allowed the skier to travel effectively both on flat ground and downhill. Runar and Halvdan had decided that entire skis and poles would be too cumbersome to take with them, and it would also look ridiculous during summer to carry that kind of gear. Instead they would make their own, using their axes and other travel tools (a dwarfs typical camping equipment is usually equal to about half of a human workshop) and the abundant trees that grew in most snowy places in Middle Earth. This was also what they did, and soon they had two pairs of rough-looking but quite effective skis and poles. As Runar and Halvdan worked their way through the rugged highland of Ered Mithrin (=Grey Mountains, why use English when you can use a lore-accurate name that half the audience have never heard of?) the autumn showed its true face. In other words, it started to rain.

Part 5

___________________________________Part 5. The journey grows colder_________________________________ Runar and Halvdan had just reached the forest of the Grey Mountains. They had endured the cold rain ever since the end of the last chapter. A considerable time, in other words. Now, the weather gods smiled maliciously on them and replaced the cold, wet rain with cold, biting wind instead. The dwarfs decided to camp for a couple of days in a narrow valley to dry their clothes and rest. After creating a small river formed from their dripping travelling cloaks they set out to scout and look for food. They didn’t found any animals, because they were too smart to be out in such miserable weather and had gone to sleep in their nests for the winter. Some mushrooms and roots were available though, if not so tasty. As they sat down for the evening longing to be somewhere else, Runar tried to find some way to cheer them up. Picking up a mushroom, he recalled a stupid story he once heard in a tavern in Dale. -I once heard a stupid story in a tavern in Dale. -What’s new with that? Stupid stories are the only thing you hear in those taverns. Halvdan was clearly not in his best mood. -It was about mushrooms. You know about those human warriors they call berserkers? -Those “angry fighters” or whatever it was? -Yes, they are supposed to be able to “go berserk” in dire situations, becoming enraged and stronger than usual warriors. -Sounds pretty stupid. Like “What are you gonna do tomorrow?” “Oh, I have some painting to do and then I planned to go and get angry”. Or the battle tactics; “Cover the flank while I get ready to go and get angry”. Relations: “Coming, honey, just have to go berserk a little” “But you went berserk just before lunch?” “Yeah, just need to work on my enraged howl a bit”. -Evidently you have heard of them.The stupid thing I heard was that berserkers would use the mushrooms known as fly agarics to enter their rage. -What, they like..eat those poisonous things and then get angry? -Something like that. -So berserkers don’t just have a special way of being angry, they also have to eat poisonous mushrooms to get angry enough. Idiots. Those mushrooms make people sick and dizzy and have hallucinations sometimes. The only way to win a battle in that condition would be to vomit over the foe and hope they flee to escape the stench. -Maybe they get angry because someone offered them fly agarics for dinner? -I certainly would. -Stupid thing to start with, this angry stuff. Anyone in battle is bound to get angry or frightened or emotional in some other way. I mean, a sane person don’t stand in the middle of guys trying to hack his head off with an indifferent smile on his face. -There is no coincidence that all authors who have tried to describe berserkers have never been soldiers themselves, much less been in a battle. Runar and Halvdan continued to mock the silly tavern guests of Dale for the rest of the evening. + = STUPID. The next day all was white. The two dwarfs jumped out of their hut at near light speed. All around them lay a thick cover of snow and the sky was clear. Runar and Halvdan happily hurled themselves into the snow, throwing snowballs at each other and on the whole behaved outrageously in the eyes of the warmongering total war centre audience. Their only problem was that the clothes were now covered in snow instead of dry, but it didn’t matter too much since snow is easily brushed off. A bigger problem was that the cloaks had frozen and were stiff. They had to tie them to their backpacks and wait for them to melt. After walking for some hours the dwarfs came out in the open again. A long ridge that stretched for miles; so high that trees did not grow on it, and therefore with much deeper snow. Skiing time! At that moment Halvdan had the most brilliant idea. -Let’s climb that mountain to our right! Then we can ski downhill on the other side and save time. -You mean the time we lose when climbing the mountain? -Uh, yes, but this is better than just going below the mountain. If someone would be waiting to ambush us, we can outrun them while skiing downhill. We will only be vulnerable during the climb. If we go below the mountain we will be open to attacks all the time. -But the point here is to avoid being chased at all. We won’t have the opportunity to negotiate with half a raiding party behind us. -Just trust me. I am after all the head of the espionage and camouflage here. -Right… So the party set out to climb the great mountain. Again, the dwarf camping equipment proved sufficient and there was no shortage of mattocks, ropes and grappling hooks. Forcing their way to a wide plateau Runar and Halvdan could cover a great distance skiing. They were even able to find shelter for the night in a large cave. If you dare enter it, click on spoiler Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  To the left of the entrance was a large stone with a flat side that caught Runars attention. It seemed to have some cracks in it. On closer inspection, he found that they were letters! Someone had been there and engraved a message on the stone. Or was it more? He summoned Halvdan. -Look, someone has written something here. It’s like a guestbook of stone. -Well, what does it say? -Let’s see…pass the torch. -Pass the torch? What is that supposed to mean? Why write it instead of saying it? -No it isn’t written! Just pass the torch you are holding, please! -Oh, right! Now what does it say? -“Halvdan is a Scotsman better suited to gutting fish than pleasing women” said Runar with a faked accent that M2TW players would describe as South European. -WHAT THE… -Hahahaha! -Oh, witness the maturity and diplomatic skill of Runar, the amazing talking sewer entrance. What’s a Scotsman anyway? -Some fellow at the pub talked about them one evening. He said that generals from some place called Milan used to motivate their troops by telling them that killing the Scotsmen was a mercy “for by doing this, we release them from their horrid wives, women better suited to gutting fish than pleasing men”. Stupid. No soldiers would want to invade Scotland after hearing that. Now, the text… “Chang” “Tintin was here” “Stop writing on my stone!” signed “the yeti” “Where were you when that snow monster tried to eat me? I will never speak to you again Obi-Wan” signed “Luke” Meanwhile, a days travel away... -Get back here scum! -Some knife work needs doing! -Because some knife throwing needs throwing. Ahahahaha! -That was lame, Bellatrixolg. -Go away! I no want to work anymore!

Part 6

_________________Part 6. The battle of not quite five armies_________________ It was a bright, sunny day. Had the protagonists been able to run a travel agency it would have been an excellent day to arrive at the alpine hotel with tired and bus-sick tourists. Now, they had to settle with arriving alone on foot to the top of a vast slope in the mountains. At least the view was good. Or was it so good? What was that in the distance? Something was moving… Goblins! The relationship between goblins and dwarfs went back a long way. They had fought like a couple in a tiresome tv-show for centuries over caves and mountains. Or, more correctly, over caves under mountains. The goblins had always insisted that the labour should be divided in the traditional way; dwarfs mining and goblins stealing and hoarding. The dwarfs did however maintain their view that they should do BOTH the mining AND hoarding, something that gravely upset the goblins. The results could continuously be seen in geographical maps where places changed names from “the Sunny hills”, “the Flowery field” and “the Winding Maze” to “the Bloody Corpse-littered field” and “the Tomb”. The latest goblin enterprise – the Battle of Five Armies – had been an epic fail. The victory had cost the dwarfs a lot as well, and no plans existed regarding any invasion westwards. At least not at the moment… Runar looked carefully at the approaching party, still far away. -Those five goblins are chasing the sixth! They don’t seem to be friends at all… -Since when are goblins friends with anyone?! Any ideas how we get out of this alive with the proper number of heads and limbs? Halvdan barked. -We are at war with the goblins, right? -OF COURSE WE ARE! And why, one might wonder, when the great diplomat Runar is here, as usual very busy making peace and signing agreements, highly complicated diplomatic work which for an outsider layman might, just MIGHT, look like HE IS DOING NOTHING AT ALL!? -Allright, allright, don’t get hysterical! You are almost behaving like a berserker. My point is, since we are at war; we, while technically being non-combat agents, should have full authority to defend ourselves and slay that goblin band in a manner most gruesome, right? -We are about to get killed and eaten by a mad band of undersized orcs and you worry about diplomatic etiquette?! -Part of the job, after all. -Are plans part of the job, if one may be so bold to ask? -Certainly sir. Assemble the pole arms if you please. -What pole arms? We have neither halberds nor voulges packed and you know it! -Shortsighted as always Halvdan. Give me your poles and one of the metal cylinders marked “Quili Secret Systems”. It should be in the lower left pocket of my backpack. -Quili Se…you don’t mean you brought something made of Q, the infamous spy engineer? You are even more insane than I could possibly imagine if you even consider using it! -Please Halvdan, DO try to be polite. His proper name is Quili. -His proper name at the spy academy is Q. Q as in Quack! -Now look here. Take one pole and the metal cylinder…then…and attach…there, that should do it. -Now what? -Look forward. Five goblins infantrymen. No pikes or halberds. No insane stakes-appearing-out-of-nowhere script from the evil AI god Germanicu5. Spot any vulnerability? -What was that thing about German ice 5? -Nevermind. Ready? -So we…with…these? -Yep. -This better work or I will rise from the grave and kill you a second time after the goblins are finished with you. Ready. -Then… Spoiler for The Battle of not Quite Five Armies Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Chaaarge!!! Raaagh! The polearms are splintered! Dismount! (insert epic victory soundtrack here) It had been a truly epic battle. The war gods were deaf after shouting unheard advice and the partakers lay exhausted, resting temporarily (dwarfs) as well as permanently (goblins). Runar and Halvdan eventually got up and started to recollect their gear and walk back to their dropped luggage at the top. Suddenly they realised they were not alone. A shivering, grey little creature was moving behind a stone nearby. It was the snaga that had been chased by the goblins. The snaga they had just rescued looked at them with large eyes. He seemed to be scared but too exhausted to run any more. Runar approached him slowly. -Please no hurt Dobby! The snaga squeaked, in the common tongue as strange as it may seem. -No no, we come in peace. We won’t hurt you. -Promise you won’t hurt Dobby? -Of course. We are at war with the goblins, not their prey. -Goblins evil. Goblins force Dobby to work all days and never gets enough to eat “sob”. Dobby tired. Dobby try to rest and crawl into a barrel and goblins find the barrel and put it upside down and say they are gonna burn it up. Dobby scared and scream. Goblins take away barrel and laugh at Dobby. They tie Dobby to a rope hanging from a tree and say they will use Dobby as target when throwing knives the next day! Eeeeek! The snaga was getting more and more terrified when remembering. -Easy, the goblins are gone now. Here, have a cookie. Halvdan said. -O-okay. It’s not poisoned is it? Please no poison Dobby. Cut Dobbys head instead. -NO! We mean you no harm Dobby. -Dobby sorry. Dobby used to everyone harming him. Dobby so tired… -No offence taken. How did you escape from the goblins? -Dobby bite the rope and gnaw all night. Then rope break and Dobby fall to the ground. Dobby hurt. Dobby run for the forest and mountains. Goblins who caught Dobby come after him. Dobby faster and hide in the forest but goblins smell him and come after. Dobby have nothing to eat and gets tired and goblins gets closer for goblins have food with them and Dobby scared and and and… -We understand, we understand. Said Runar. The new trio took shelter behind some steep cliffs nearby, or rather the dwarfs did that while almost carrying the snaga. They managed to light a fire and gave Dobby some spare clothes, all of them too large but at least warm. Runar regretted that they had little to offer apart from roots and mushrooms and dry bread but Dobby seemed to love the roots. In order to save Dobby, Runar gave him a letter of free passage with proper seal and due complicated diplomatic sentences. Showing that, Dobby could seek refuge in Erebor and get help from Runars clan to find a farm to grow roots. Then Halvdan pointed out that the plan was an epic fail. Dobby risked being shot by crossbowmen before getting the chance to show the letter. To avoid this, Halvdan gave Dobby a cloak and a fake beard from his supply of disguises. With the hood and the beard obscuring his face, Dobby would look like a very small old dwarf. That would allow him to come close enough to show the letter of free passage. Dobby in his disguise with luggage containing borrowed clothes and supplies. Dobby was so unused to people being nice that he started to sob again. No one had ever given him clothes so he found it very overwhelming to have the cloak and the other packed clothes he had borrowed. In return Dobby described the way to the goblins but begged Runar and Halvdan not to go there because the goblins would harm them. Stupid as they were, the protagonists did not heed his wise and sensible words, but set out to meet more goblins. While relieved for having survived the battle against the goblins, Runar's mind was troubled. His diplomacy had so far made no difference in the relations between dwarfs and goblins, except possibly for the worse if the remains of their foes would be found. In the future, they would have to be much more diplomatic. Runar promised himself to look out more for renegade snagas and their pursuers in the future. Halvdan on his part was equally happy of their victory, especially since the illogical war gods (particularly the one known as Battlescreenya) had credited him with being the commander of the dwarf army. He hoped however for a return to the more discreet approach they had utilized to cross the forest. But this time without special branches poking him in the neck. The days passed and one evening it was suddenly midwinter. During the night between Midwinter’s Eve and the next day, Halvdan had a very strange dream. It was filled with such surrealistical nonsense that Runar just rolled on the floor laughing when Halvdan described it. Or at least he would have, if they had a floor. Now he just rolled on the ground laughing but he had fun anyway. Spoiler for Halvdans strange dream Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGNWPXsQQ7A

Part 7

_______________________Part 7. With respect emperor, we are woopsies______________________________ Chapter 1. Carry on down the mountain and BE QUIET! Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  After the dramatic last chapter one would expect some suitable aftermath, like a goblin invasion of insane proportions to avenge the fallen, or perhaps a thrilling escape for the dwarfs, through unknown wilderness followed by merciless goblins and trolls. Instead, the readers had to settle for a peaceful continued passage down the mountains, except for a minor avalanche. It was all Runars fault, really. Ok, maybe not really. The two dwarfs were walking through a mountain pass a relatively warm afternoon. It was rugged ground, impossible to use the skis effectively. It was late in winter and the snow was getting heavy and packed. Runar was taking the lead. -Runar, your skis are banging against your backpack. The sound may start an avalanche. Runar? Runar!? -DON’T SHOUT, YOU’RE GONNA START AN AVALANCHE! Heaps of snow began to glide down from the cliffs above, slowly gaining speed and dragging with them more snow. -Oooops…said Runar -You moron! Take cover! -To the stone over there! -Mmmf, uff, gasp. Where are you Runar? -Behind you. -Aha. -We can not go over the mountain so let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria. -What are you talking about? Moria is miles away. Besides, there are orcs and Durins bane in there. -Uuh, I don’t know. The lines just came to me. Almost like I was reading a script of some kind. Weird. The next day they made it down from the pass and into the lowlands again. Baffled with appreciation they realised it was spring. Now, cut it out. Not that much spring! It was just the beginning of it. Snow had mostly melted but that was all. Chapter 2. Meet the goblins! Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  The first stage of their plan had succeeded. They had penetrated deeply into the goblin lands and were ready to find some dignitaries and start spying and negotiating. The trouble was that they didn’t really know whom to look for. Who ruled the goblins? Did anyone do that? The goblins had spent a lot of effort after the battle of five armies on finding a new strategy more suited to the political situation of the area. After careful deliberation they came up with a quite sensible idea: hide under the mountains just as usual. To direct invaders away from their main bases and organisation…well, the goblin excuse for organisation – a slightly less chaotic situation than total chaos. Anyway, they decided to appoint some luckless individuals to official kings, emperors, counts and lords of all sorts, giving the impression that the orcs of the misty mountains were in fact ruled by feudal nobility. In order to maintain this illusion it was inevitable to give these mock kings some actual authority to sign agreements, lest other factions find out that someone behind the scene is the actual ruler. As anyone except the Rohan administrators could imagine, this system was the final blow against any pretence of order among the goblins. Into this cauldron boiling over with political pranks and constitutional crisis, Runar and Halvdan trotted lightly. Mere words are not enough to give the impression of civilization. One must employ a number of status symbols which signify that one has the time and wish to engage in fruitless and unnecessary activities. The goblins had taken this advice to heart. They had invented a large number of useless food, furniture, art objects and literature. Their court and nobility loaded themselves as well as they could with crown jewels and expensive outfits. Or did their best to do so. Picking a well hidden spot, Runar and Halvdan spent several days spying on the road to Dains Halls, the easternmost goblin settlement. At last, their efforts were amply rewarded. A goblin court party featuring not only several lords but also a goblin emperor! The party was evidently meeting someone, a goblin coming from the east dressed in blue rags with a jacket worn over one shoulder and a silly hat. He was about to address the emperor, which was dressed in a grey coat and a black hat or crown. He was holding a sceptre that looked oddly similar to a gnawed-off bone, together with a globus cruciger orb which bore a striking resemblance to an orange. Regalia of goblin emperor: The goblin lord began to speak. -My lord emperor, I, ze Duc de Snagling, bring words. The scouts have cleared the way to Erebor. -Good, prepare to attack. -Very well. But first, I would like to ask: why do we want to invade the dwarfs in the first place? I mean zeir wine is made of the pipi of cows and zeir women all have big beards. -We invade, Snagling, because ze dwarfs zink zey are so taff! Zey call us weeds and woopsies and unable to hold our liquor! -With respect emperor, we are woopsies. We invented the tapestry, the sufflé and the sweet liqueur. We will be slaughtered the minute we mince up their hill. -Do not despair. Et es my firm belief zat Melkor hates ze dwarfs. He will intervene miraculously and zend us a glorious victory zere on zat field of Erebor! -Oh bravo monsieur! Love the uniform by the way. -Oui, I zink it works. -Oui. A rock were suddenly falling from a nearby cliff. It landed with a great noise. The high dignitaries of the goblins clutched their hearts. -OooOOoh! Hehe… After seeing this example of the notable decrease in savagery of the goblin leadership, Halvdan became very thoughtful. He suggested that they retreat east a bit to have time to think. He then sent Runar to keep watch and alert him when the goblins seemed willing to march east. It took some time, during which Halvdan went through his bag of disguises. At last he heard Runar call. -Halvdan, the goblins are approaching. -Excellent! I have a superb plan which cannot fail and will result in the complete fooling of the goblins and neutralization of their will to invade us in the foreseeable future. -Oh, good. What is it? -Very well: The plan is, gosh I do surprise myself, to allow the goblins to come within fifteen metres and then, and this is the really clever and original part, then reveal ourselves disguised as a travelling dwarf couple. The sight of you dressed up as a dwarf woman will without doubt cause those goblins to belay every possible plan of troubling our people. As you heard they were quite repulsed by the thought of very bearded women. After introducing ourselves we will of course also offer them the famous dwarf wine. -What dwarf wine? I have never heard of any such thing and we certainly didn’t bring any. -But we do have mushrooms that have started to rot and should be thrown away in any case. And we also have passed some lingonberry shrubs just recently. Those last-year berries should provide the appropriate rotten taste for the infamous dwarf wine, don’t you think? -Well…not bad actually! I just have one tiny modification. -What is that? -Since I am the diplomat and the one most experienced and authorized when it comes to negotiating with foreign peoples… -I don’t like where this is going… -…and you are the master of disguise and mystery… -No way! This was MY plan. I get to choose how it is carried out. -…it is of course best if I handle the talking and YOU play the repulsive dwarf woman. -Blast! This is no tiny modification; it is a total conversion and major overhaul! The main point was that you should play the repulsive bearded woman! -But you still admit that my arguments are sensible? -Snarl! You owe me one big favour for this Runar. -Perhaps the dwarf wine will suffice? I promise it shall be yours as soon as the negotiations are over. Hahahahaha! -That was not funny! So the bold adventurers set off to change clothes and pick lingonberries and mash them with water and mushrooms best left unsmelled. When they were ready the goblin party had come conveniently nearer. -Let’s go, o great beuaty. Whispered Runar. They strolled out from the trees. The goblin party stopped as if petrified. Indeed, the appearance that met them was as frightening as any gorgon. Halvdan’s bad mood made him the most savage and terrifying dwarf woman figure imaginable. -Hail, great goblins! Said Runar. -Uh…hail? Said one goblin. -We are so happy to run into you! I thought I would wonder about in this wilderness for ages and never see anyone. You guys come here often? -Um, we are ze goblin court. We are on our way to commence the invasion of Erebor. -Shut up! Said the goblin emperor. -You’re going to Erebor? That’s great! We can tag along sure? -??????? -And you know, tell you what, when we get there I’m gonna show you the best taverns and inns imaginable. We‘ve got the best wine you can think of! Just stick with me and you’ll be cool. Here, try the wine I have packed. It’s just a little but much more is waiting in Erebor, oh yes! Runar handed over the “wine” bottle. The goblins were so surprised that they took a sip each before even realising what they had done. -Eeeuuargh! -Blaauurgh! -“spit” -What on earth is zis? Said the emperor, choking. -The finest dwarf wine! It’s great, isn’t it? And when in the taverns, I’ll introduce you to my wife’s gorgeous cousins, still singles “wink” “wink”. But you better hurry. -You drink zis…I don’t know what to say… -Of course. All the time. But I am forgetting my manners! Halv…I mean Margit Capet! Let me introduce you to…didn’t catch your name, sorry? -Uurgh…Napoleoshnak. Emperor Napoleoshnak of ze goblin grande armée. Halvdan stepped forward. He was in his worst mood ever. His eyes were close to shooting thunderbolts and his mouth clenched tightly, as if he imagined biting someone really hard. The general effect was terror incarnated. -AAAAAAAAAHH! Said all goblins and routed. -Do you think it worked? Whispered Runar. -If not we better run very quickly. Those creeps are fond of light skirmishers. Or at least fond of wasting them on futile attacks against stronger foes. Whispered Halvdan. The goblins had regrouped about fifty metres away and seem to be engaged in a serious discussion. The dwarves could not hear them but this is what they said: -That was terrible! Mon dieau! Such ugliness. I shudder at ze very thought of it. -And he said everyone looked like that? -And ze wine! Disgusting would be too good for that hideous brew! -What should we do then? -We have to invade Erebor still. We just have to avoid getting close to them. -But how? Our missile troops are crap! -If we built light siege towers to use even in field battles? - But if the dwarfs retreat we cannot catch them. -But they won’t retreat, just look how those two travellers almost embraced us. Strange people. -What if… -NO MORE! I can’t stand ze thought of laying eyes on such monstrous creatures again! Or zat hideous liquor! We are not invading Erebor! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! LA COUPE EST PLEINE! -Oui emperor… -As you say monsieur… And so the goblin court walked back and to the astonishment of ze dwarfs asked them to tell king Dain that ze goblins wished to cease hostilities and start trading. They also asked them to excuse the goblins who could not join them in the Erebor taverns but had urgent business somewhere else. Far away actually. Come to think of it, such a considerable distance away that it would be impossible to re-establish contact for quite some time. Ages. More than ages. An eternity in fact. No, longer than that. About the time it takes for even the most experienced of modders to find and eliminate all bugs in a newly released Total War game about the 18:th or 19:th century. OK, maybe not that long, but still an eternity. This diplomatic success brought Runar great fame. He received a diplomat's scroll (a kind of medal) for his efforts.

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 8

__________________________Part 8. The Divided Kingdom_______________________________ Oh, glorious days! Peace, man! Never before had a dwarf been able to travel like a common traveller in goblin territory. Halvdan and Runar were strolling casually from Dains Halls westward through the goblin realm and into the unruly lands between Gundabad, Dains Halls and the northwestern tip of Mirkwood. Halvdan was positively surprised by the new turn of events; he was for once mentioned before Runar instead of the common “Runar and Halvdan”. While strolling casually, the dwarfs were very careful not to play any games, not even the simplest of quizzes, as this would have made them casual gamers. And as everyone knows, casual gamers are the legions of evil. Having nothing but roots and some dried meat left for eating, it was time to resupply. The closest town was a wreck of civilization, therefore called Wreckyaburg, or Wrakyaburg in some dialects. Nevertheless, that’s where they would have to go. Wrakyaburg was actually officially under the dominion of the elves of Mirkwood. That rule was a farce, however, since the town was in reality ruled by the gangs of criminals that roamed the land. And no, mr Swedish translator of the Lord of the Rings, “roamed” is not equal to “bawl” or “roar”. The elves did certainly not bawl in the deep woods…Uhm, anyways, where were we…ah yes, the criminals! The town itself was most foully plagued by groups of young brats taking up mugging, as well as disturbing the peace. They operated in groups of five each, always. Commonly known as “boy bands”, every decent citizen hated them. The worst of all was the “Backstreet Boys”. The origin of the name was somewhat clouded in mystery. They did like to stab people in the back in the street, so that could be the source of the name. They also retreated into shady backstreets when pursued. Perhaps they were born in a backstreet or lived in one as well. Regardless, the backstreet boys (so despicable that they didn’t deserve capital letters in their name) were the pest of all boy band pests. Other notable bands included; Un’sync (short for unsynchronized, a name derived from their poor planning and cooperation), the Hen’s Sons (claiming their birthright to all of Wrakyaburg due to their presumed mother, the sacred hen, hence the name), Jestlife (wasting their lives away so much that their very existence was a jest of life itself) and Boy Zone (named so for their fiercely territorial demeanour, guarding their own precious zone. It should be said that that was no grand feat, since their zone consisted of the area closest to the general manure silo, generally shunned by everyone with some common sense). It did not take long for the new visitors to get a feeling of Wrakyaburgs picturesque atmosphere. While stopping to purchase carrots and cabbage in the market square, Runar and Halvdan heard a great disturbance coming from one of the backstreets. It was the most hideous singing imaginable! Endless lines of complete nonsense and crap. It was the infamous battle cry of the backstreet boys… People all around them fleeing in terror, tables thrown upside down, wares spilled out in the mud…the square had gone into chaos. The dwarfs did not know what to do about it. They thought it was the strangest town they had ever visited. Suddenly five teenage boys burst out in the square, doing the lamest and most pathetic dance movements one can possibly think of. It was a spectacle of such epic crappiness that it was matched only by the war chant they let out, one sentence each, to scare their enemies: -Everybody, yeah, yeah -Rob their bodies, yeah, yeah -Everybody, yeah, yeah -Rob those buddies now -(chorus)Backstreet’s back all right! -Ugh, Tor want’s sausage. -Shut up. Runar and Halvdan didn’t know whether to be insulted by their insulting text or disgusted by the poor dancing or just laugh like mad at the ridicule of the whole band. One of the boys stepped forward and proclaimed an ultimatum. -Hand over all your money! Now that was just too much! Scaring away all the vendors and attempting to rob both of them! -Runar, what is the currency in these parts of the Middle-Earth? -Beats me, we didn’t get any chance to pay before they showed up. Why? -Do you think it could be cabbage? -Well, why not? Actually, since we at least know that they sell cabbage here, cabbage is the best guess so far. -Precisely my point. And therefore, we should hand over all our currency to those enterprising youths over there. We could add those rotten tomatoes as a bonus. -Halvdan! That is sheer genius! You do indeed have your bright moments. Of course we should hand over the cabbage. And quickly so. Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting. -On second thought, it may be best to deliver it through the air. Flying express mail, so to say. -Right! In the end, the incompetent villains were routed by the bombardment and Runar and Halvdan were able to buy food and other supplies for the road ahead. Marching north again they saw some teen girls dressed in very stupid-looking clothes and shrieking like mad harpies. The dwarfs had never seen them before, but anyone in Wrakyaburg could tell who they were. It was a group of female smugglers which sometimes cooperated with the boy bands and sold the things they had stolen. The spoils were being smuggled out of town hidden among crates of smelly spices. Consequently, the smugglers were known as the “Spice Girls”. On the road north they met two strange looking fellows. One was dressed in a grey suit and a very high cylindrical hat. The other was wearing a brown coat without sleeves, neither coat nor cloak. He also had a peculiar green cap and was magnificently looking at the surroundings through a magnificent magnifying glass. When the dwarfs approached he greeted them in a most strange manner: -Aha! You are two travellers from Rottland, having grown up in the western mountains, who have just moved and bought a farm! Said the man with the green cap. -Blimey, you are either in league with the devil or the devil yourself! How on earth did you figure all that out? Said his companion. -Elementary, my dear Whatsson. Their beards and small stature suggests growing up in a primitive area with no shaving equipment and scarce nutrition. Such as western Rottland, which is subject to constant raids by the orcs of Gundabad. Being here, loaded with vegetables, it is clear that they have now moved here in search of more fertile lands. -My goodness, Sholmes, you are amazing! -Uhm, sorry to interrupt, said Runar, but we are dwarfs and not malnourished human farmers. We also keep long beards because we like it that way and are travelling northwest. We have no intention of buying a farm near here and have bought the vegetables to eat during our journey. We are Runar and Halvdan, by the way, emissaries of Erebor, at your service. Who might you be? The overly assuming man with the green cap was Herlock Sholmes, private detective and investigator of murders in large mansions in the countryside. He always carried a lock of his wifes hair in a necklace and was in time known as “Her lock Sholmes”, shortened to Herlock. His elementary colleague was doctor Whatsson. His father had been a very curious man who asked everybody about everything. Eventually people became so annoyed that they started calling him “What” and so his son was called “What’s son”. They made their living from investigating gruesome and spectacular murders in small country villages with peaceful names such as Midsummer, Lynleyville, Mount Albano, Frostfields and Marpleton. After about a week they usually found the unlikely culprit who confessed everything in front of the assembled crowd in the living room, for some strange reason. They never had to prove their theories in a court or something, as soon as they confronted their suspect with everything they knew, no matter how far-fetched, they always confessed everything at the end of the episode and filled in with details that an outside viewer could never have guessed on his own. They were on their way to Wrakyaburg as a matter of fact, to look into the recent robberies for the umpteenth time. -Wait a little; said Runar, have you exposed them before? Shouldn’t they be locked up for their disgusting behaviour? -We certainly don’t deal with those things, do we Whatsson? -Ridiculous thought, old chap! We only expose them in front of everyone and stun the audience with our fantastic reasoning and wisdom. -So you do not actually fight crime, you just capitalize on it? Asked Runar. -Certainly sir, one should capitalize on crime and criminals, it would be unjust to capitalize on decent people who obey the laws and are decent to each other. -Right… What was Rottland, by the way? The country between the towns of Wrakyaburg and Framsburg produced honey and consequently had lot’s of bees and people stung by the bees. It was called Stingland for that reason. West of Stingland lay a craggy country where dragons had nested in ancient times. The whole Grey mountains had been home to dragons (the dwarfs still fielded the so called “dragonslayers of Ered Mithrin”) but here they were especially numerous, particularly the red ones, easy to spot against the green grass and white sky. In ancient times one could hardly turn around without spotting a glimmering dragon scale. That is, unless the dragon had eaten one before one had the chance to turn around. Therefore, this country was known as “Scales”. To the northwest, at the borders of the Gundabad mountains, lay a green plain frequently burned during the goblin raids. This part was called Fireland for that reason. It lay to the north and was somewhat illogically referred to as “Northern Fireland”, illogical since it was the only Fireland in the vicinity. There was always a fire somewhere. To the north lay a cold and wet area, where everything except the numerous sheep quickly rotted. It was called Rottland. Rottland was also noted for being the headquarters of the private investigators, like Herlock Sholmes. They were based in an abandoned vineyard and sometimes referred to as the “Rottland Yard”. Stingland in the south, Scales in the west, Rottland in the north and Northern Fireland to the northwest formed together the so called United Kingdom. Each part had their separate jurisdiction, laws and even language, although they all spoke in the common tongue as well. Funny enough they also had a common law juridical system and a house of commons to govern the cities instead of a town hall. As everyone can see they were very...united... Or not. The “unity” was built on a “personal union” between the royals of each country who met and had boring parties with each other. The Stinglish drank tea with honey, the Rotts drank rainwater and the Scalesish and Firish were too disgusted by those two brews to be able to drink anything. Maybe the United Kingdom was more like the Divided Kingdom, but it was safest to appear united. The Stinglish had after all coined the phrase “divide and conquer” and were well aware of the importance of unity and stability to resist invasions. The Stinglish frequently plotted against all countries of Middle Earth by disrupting their stability, sending Stinglish captains to lead rebellions of men, elves and even orcs. The ultimate goal of the Stinglish was to create, through brutal conquest, a Brutish Empire, so large that the sun never set in it. Especially their present queen, Victoria, stressed the need for ruthless conquest. In all other aspects of life, the Victorian Stinglish only stressed the need for moderation, which our protagonists soon experienced. Walking through the peaceful and quiet summer countryside between Wrakyaburg and Framsburg was truly a pleasure. No enemies in sight, no avalanches and no rain at the moment. The area was covered with crops and small stonewalls that separated them. Large mansions and estates overlooked it all from behind occasional trees. Taking a detour through a meadow one day, Runar and Halvdan walked into a Stinglish lady who was reading a book while walking. She was so focused on reading that she almost collided with the walking dwarfs. -God afternoon, said the dwarfs in order to alert her to their presence as well as their politeness. -Oh! She was so surprised that she almost fell over. Runar caught her hand. -My good sir! Please, that is most inappropriate! -Uhm, sorry, said Runar, I just wanted to stop you from falling. It looked like you were about to fall. -Oh well, yes, and I am most grateful, but it’s just…inappropriate. -Stopping people from falling? Asked Halvdan. -Well, not as such but…I mean..this physical contact! “shudder” Think what my family would say if they knew about it. -What, is physical contact deemed inappropriate among your people??? Runar was stunned. -Not in a close relationship of course, but otherwise we are expected to exercise moderation when it comes to that. -Sounds more like abstinence than moderation. -Oh no, you may hold hands and even sit close to each other after a while. That is, after a healthy five years of overseen introduction to each other. -Sounds more like unhealthy than healthy I would say, said Halvdan. -Isn’t this terribly boring, never being able to touch anyone, asked Runar. -A bit. I am not very good at it myself. That’s why my father sent me out to read this book. Oh, but I am forgetting my manners! I am Elizabeth Bennet. -We are Runar and Halvdan, emissaries of Erebor. What is that book you are reading? -It’s called Pride and Prejudice. It is intended to be a manual for young women who need to learn how to behave in a proper Victorian way. It’s awfully boring, “sigh”. -What a strange title. You’re not supposed to behave in a proud and prejudiced manner? -Oh yes, and it also describes how to measure a man’s worth and that dancing twice with you is the same as proposing a marriage and lot’s of other things. I have to learn them all before my parents can marry me away. -What??? Said the dwarfs together. Proposing a marriage just by dancing twice with someone? Marry ones children away!? Marriage should be everyone’s personal choice! And how on earth can you measure a man’s worth after barely meeting him? -Oh that’s easy. You just have to look at the taxation calendar and then compare it to the marketing index and you will know what he earns during the year. Oh, wait, I forgot the currency calculation! Noo! I always forget that! -But what has this got to do with a man’s worth? That is just what he earns in a year? -But that is a man’s worth. Elizabeth looked surprised that anyone could question this. -I thought a man’s worth was determined by the skills and abilities of him, traits and virtues and such. -Of course not! What are those good for? Perhaps for the peasantry but a gentleman never do anything. Nor does a lady. Their only worth is the amount of income they can add to their respective family. -In Erebor a gentleman is someone that is gentle, that is, like polite, considerate and helpful. What is you Victorians definition of the term? Asked Runar. They started walking along the meadow while Elizabeth Bennet explained about gentlemen. -A gentleman is a most respectable man, totally different from the common man. He lives in a large mansion or castle and own vast acres of land. The commoners cultivate the land for him and in turn he let them grow their own crops on a minor part of his lands. A gentleman is noble, chivalrous and admirable. -Why is he all that? Asked Runar. -Because he is a gentleman of course. -So a gentleman is admirable because he is a gentleman and a gentleman because he is admirable? -Exactly! Very good, it took me ages to understand! -I can’t say I understand it, honestly. It only sounds self-righteous to me. Could you give an example of how to behave like a gentleman? -Well, one of the most famous is Sir Walter Brawleigh, who threw out his cloak on the ground so that the queen could walk on it and wouldn’t have to step into a muddy puddle. -Why didn’t they just go around the puddle? -I don’t know. -Who was this Walter, asked Halvdan. -He was a famous knight in the sixteenth century of the Third Age. He competed fiercely with sir Francis Fake over the queen’s favour. Sir Francis Fake defeated a large fleet from the enemies of the flatlands, called Plain. Raleigh wished to outdo the defeat of the Planish armada by going on a long expedition. He never returned though, so the queen could not judge between them since she didn’t know how far Brawleigh had come and which one who was the worthiest. Therefore she remained unmarried for the rest of her life, and literally untouched by anyone. She is of course heralded as a role model for anyone nowadays because of that. -I wonder one thing, said Halvdan, if your family is so touchy about this touching subject, shouldn’t they sort of have you followed or something like that? Not that I think you should be, but it is what I would expect. -Stingland expects every man to do his duty. And so does my father, Scrooge Bennet. He sent three gentlemen to accompany me but I must have lost them at the cricket course. I was so focused on my reading that I didn’t notice. They are very insignificant people though, so it really isn’t my fault. They are my father’s business acquaintances, called Tom, Dick, and Harry. Tom, Dick, and Harry, insignificant business acquaintances: The company had reached the end of the Bennet grounds where Elizabeth had to turn back to get home for another boring dinner. -Well, goodbye then, she said. Hope you will get safe and appropriate travels. -It was nice to meet you, said the dwarfs, hope you will get out of this inappropriate prison of a moral code. -Well, it doesn’t sound so good now that I have met you. Elizabeth seemed to think that the Victorian way of living were perhaps after all not the best way of spending her life. -Money is something to dig for, not marry for. Come to Erebor and we can show you, said Runar. When they had just parted ways, Runar looked gloomy. -Poor lady, she will turn to a walking statue of stone in this stupid land. -No one should have to live like this. Do you think all aristocrats in this “United Kingdom” are the same? Or is it just the Stinglish? -No idea…Ehm, hold these for a moment. Runar handed over his backpack to Halvdan. Then he ran and gave Elizabeth a big hug and ran back again. Elizabeth was baffled beyond expression. She stood and looked after them for a long time. For the rest of their journey through Stingland, Runar and Halvdan made a point of avoiding large mansions in the countryside. They followed the roads through villages and small towns which were all black since the people used coal for heating. It was not a healthy place at all. As they passed the Times river west of Wrakyaburg, an ominous feeling was creeping up on them. Here they passed into goblin territory again. While they were at peace, it certainly felt safer in places where there were no goblins at all. Also, this was the northern Misty Mountains, the heartland of all heartlands for goblins. Expecting trouble and terrifying foes soon to come, the protagonists marched bravely towards Framsburg. Framsburg was originally called Framesburg, but the name had changed a little over the years. It was once the site of a vicious quarrel between philosophers. One school, the hundredthers, clashed with another, the framers, over a timely issue. It was the question of how to divide time. In a mutual, cooperative project they had all come up with a system of hours, minutes and seconds for dividing a day. A day consisted of twelve hours, each consisting of 60 minutes which on their part consistently consisted of 60 seconds. Then the hundredthers put forth the proposal that a second should be divided into hundredths. The framers violently opposed that, and insisted upon dividing seconds in something they called “frames” or “frames per second”. Neither had ever contemplated dividing seconds into 60 parts and maintain the logic a bit… The framers got the upper hand and named the murky little town Framesburg. Since neither they nor anyone else possessed a watch detailed and accurate enough to be able to depict frames, or even seconds, the idea was of purely a matter of principle and of academic interest. But since when have professors, philosophical doctors and other such elevated scholars cared about doing something useful? After Framsburg, the scary mountains of Gundabad awaited all who dared climb them. Infested with goblins and orcs, they would be a perilous place at best. But that is another story, which will be published in the next chapter.

Part 8.5

Authors note: This happens outside the main story - hence classified as ½ a part. Spoilers for next update has nothing to do with it, but the latest spoiler did in fact fit in partially, now that I think of it. ________________________________________Part 8½. Meanwhile at Erebor______________________________________ -King Dain, I have grave news! -What? - King Dain, I have grave news! -I heard you, you moron! What are those news, apart from grave? -The strange liquor that is being illegally sold has been identified. It is transparent and tasteless and sold in regular bottles. It is called Liquid RC. -Right. So what does it do? How do we recognize it from other liquor? -We’re working on that. -Let me summarize it. You come in here bawling about grave news and the only thing you have found out is that the mysterious liquor is called “Liquid RC”, while all of its other properties are still unknown? And that is your definition of “identified”? -Yess… -Percy, in the future I would appreciate if you consulted Libri or Frafna to confirm the gravity of such news before bothering me. Right, anyway, Thrain will have to investigate this. Our scouts have reported the distribution being centred in the southeast. Where the most unexplored wilderness is, conveniently enough…Thrain is already in those lands, I think, searching for a new town or whatever nonsense. I mean, who would want to live there in the first place? -Yes, last report places him in the central part of northern Rhun. -He will have to move directly south then. Send word to Balin to march out of the Iron Hills with an equal force to assist him if he runs into trouble. -You mean out from Azanulinbar Dum? -That is just Iron Hills/Mountains in Dwarvish. -But it sounds so much cooler than the common Iron Hills. -So? We don’t need names to impress people. You talk as if we would need to compensate for our stature or something. -Can’t hurt, can it? -Percy, in case you have forgotten, we dwarfs have the mightiest infantry in Middle Earth, the longest beards of everyone and the most awesome-looking armour. When others struggle to find paths around mountains we build our kingdoms inside them and carve out or fortresses on tops that nobody but eagles could dream of reaching! And they call it mines! A mine, hahahaha! We don’t need to compensate for anything! -About that, just why aren’t we building kingdoms on flat, easily cultivated lands for a change? Why must we always dig deep into the most impenetrable mountain we can find? -Pfff, lowlands are for humans. Because we are the dwarfs! -Yes, my liege. I shall send word to Balin to march out of the Iron Hills and to Thrain to march south from the area southeast of the Iron Hills.

Part 9

________________________________Part 9. Rebellion and Reformation__________________________________ Autumn had come with its usual splendor. Yellow, orange and red leaves made the woods look as if they were on fire. The towns as well. Wait a second… Apparently the philosophic conflict had once again erupted. Or if it was a minor volcano that had done so? Regardless, it seemed that Framsburg was not the tourist attraction it once was. Runar and Halvdan wisely decided to avoid the town, after a unanimous vote with no reservations whatsoever. The black mountain pass leading to Gundabad was in itself enough to make the faint-hearted faint. Huge, sharp cliffs with eternal shade between them and all sorts of ominous sounds coming from the sides. The howling of wolves, marching of goblins, shrieking of smugglers and philosophical discussions of goats all contributed to the atmosphere of fear. -This is too quiet, said Runar. -What do you mean, this place is filled with background noise contributing to the atmosphere of fear, said Halvdan. -Yes, and that is much less than usual for goblins. In a proper orc encampment or city there is a constant chattering in the foreground, wailing trolls and wargs in the background and no rest for the wicked ones whatsoever at any time. -I see. Or rather, I hear. Which I don’t, when it comes to those noises you described but I hear your description. -Erebor is truly blessed with such a vigilant scout to watch for dangers… -Knock it off, I was trying to be polite like you always boast about. -While I am trying to hard to learn the finer sides of the special spy vocabulary. Hehehe… Sauron had proclaimed that his former master Melkor, or Morgoth Bauglir, should be worshipped as a god. His hordes of feebleminded subjects complied out of anything from fear to obscene obedience. Gundabad is a long way from Mordor, though, and after Sauron left Dol Guldur to search for safer places in his good old fortress, the religious situations had gone into total chaos. New faiths grew like weed in a snobbish florists rose plantation, mixing traditions, beliefs and politics in the most shifting and shifty ways. It seemed that every religious instigator would summon his or her followers to a mountain and preach from the top. While it is certainly so that you can reach out to a greater audience if you stand on a small hill or something, standing on a mountain top will undoubtly make it very difficult for the followers to hear, let alone climb to hear out the ceremony. It was something with mountains that attracted would-be prophets of all sorts. A strange phenomenon. From that point of view, it was perhaps not so strange that Gundabad was the centre for all those new movements. Three mountain ranges met at Gundabad, offering a vast and impressive supply of mountain tops to confuse your followers from. Northwest: the “Khurch of Kong”, a dubious and loosely affiliated company of steel manufacturers. They had gone over the brink of madness by starting to promote their so-called “Stainless Steel” with savage conviction. To them, the Steel was the true world and all other worlds but puny testing grounds for new features to bring into the Steel world. Fanatics without equals… West: the Protesting church of Goblins and Trolls. More of a rebellious revolutionary movement than a true religion, its ranks swelled with each day. What snaga wasn’t tired of being thrown mindlessly as arrow fodder against impossibly stronger opponents? What goblins had not heard enough for a lifetime in unit info cards about how weak and pathetic goblins were and therefore had to compensate with vast numbers? And what troll doesn’t know how it feels to single handily do all the work beating up elite enemies? East: The Stinglish church of Canterberry. Promoting Stinglish dominion over the church as well as the sacred nature of canterberries (a kind of cherry, discovered by a Stinglish rider whose horse just changed to canter, hence the name). Led by Thomas the Turbulent, archbishop of Canterberry City. They controlled huge tracks of land and the foremost of the bishops were also the fattest, swelling to spherical shape from all agricultural tithe they consumed. Furthest to the east were a very misguided prophet from Rottland. His name was Gibbiam Mellace, known to the public as Gibbiam Malice. As was common in Rottland, the name was a cross of his parents, Mella Gibbonson and Wallace Williams, names. He spoke in tongues, in fact a strange tongue invented by him and named after him; Gibberish. His Gibberish was meant to sound as Rottish but it was in truth just a pathetic parody of it (just like the orcs were a parody of the elves). His most infamous preaching was the speech of Brave Hearts. In this he appealed to the heroic nature of the Rottlanders which apparently would be shown primarily by having flames and thunderstorms erupting from ones behind. Very strange. While Rottish food was bad, it was not that bad. In his brave hearts speech he told about the ancient battle of Stirling Bridge. It was just that his version of the battle took place on an open plain. How someone can interpret “bridge” as being in the open with no river in sight went beyond anyone with some common sense. Then, Gibbiam was not the brightest of fellows (as seen, he stood turned north towards the unpopulated wasteland instead of south towards Rottland). He made up for that with passion and spoke with the passion of the Crest. The passion of the crest referred to the crest worn by some birds, like cockatoos, and how Gibbiams preaching was as hard to understand as the chattering of parrots such as the cockatoos. In these dark days, one can wonder how the Gundabad population could bear all of this religious madness. Yet, one beacon of hope shone through to all orcs and trolls! It was in the southwest, where a new movement gained followers among both goblins, humans and dwarfs. It was the cult of the god of cheering and encouragement. His name was not known. He was an ancient god whose temple had once dominated the cliffs. Now, just a part of the entrance remained; a broken part of the arch above the gate. It was broken, so it was therefore really more of an ex-arch. The god was thus known to his followers as “Ex-Arch”. He always had a friendly comment to spare (more than one and more than friendly if the follower where a Stinglish lady). Standard procedure for totalitarian oppressors like Sauron was to send inquisitors, servants of Sauron, to quell the opposition. This did not work however. Servants of Sauron can, as everyone knows, only denounce one enemy every quarter of a year. This isn’t very much in an area populated by goblins who use vast numbers to compensate for their…allright allright!...who use vast numbers to complement their profound skill and strength. Happy now? So, desperate measure had to be taken. Sauron had summoned the chief inquisitor! His name was not known, even he himself had forgotten it. He introduced himself just as Saurons inquisitor with a name given him upon receiving his commission. It was a title that was carried on by a new villain as the former one died. The current was the dreadful Pascalis the Savage, successor of Gregorius the Gregarious. The coming of the Petrifying, Ominous, Pascalis Enforcer, or POPE, had turned Gundabads population into chaotic lunatics. Fearing his arrival, some sought to appease Sauron by butchering everyone around in a typical orcish way. Others quickly signed up for as many cults as possible hoping that some would help against the monstrous POPE. Runar and Halvdan had used the long introduction to mask their whereabouts. They disguised themselves as obscure cultists in large brown robes with hoods. This way they could sneak through the pass to Gundabad. Snow had begun to fall and the temperature was dropping. Only the most nosy of goblin sentinels wanted to be outside. When meeting nosy goblins they responded with strange, confusing phrases that might be interpreted as them having divine protection. A typical situation was this one: -Hurgh! Stop there! You be unknown, said the nosy goblin. -Diabolus infernalis, Runar greeted him back. -What? Me not understand. -Pax vobiscum. -???? -Ferrum Aeternum. -What be you saying? -Europa Babaorum, waitum forevernum. -Be you prophets? “shudder” -Roma Surrectum, Runar confirmed. -Aaaaagh! “runs away” The mighty city of Gundabad, faction capital of the Orcs of Gundabad, was in fact…a small town with a palisade wall. Oh, well, it probably had other impressive qualities, as Halvdan could tell. -…it is because the goblins, being subterranean beings, build most of their settlements under the ground and in caves. This town is just a decoy, and some landmark for foreign emissaries. This is how they can throw out companies of 250 each from the same buildings above earth that only generate 120 each for us. -I thought it was the people in the town that signed up as soldiers? -Oh no, soldiers all across the world are magically generated by these buildings and spawn in a blink, just as a quarter of a year passes. One day nothing, next a fully equipped iron guard regiment. -We don’t have iron guards yet. The so called war preparations are not finished. -So we, after the battle of five armies and the threatening emissaries from Mordor wanting us to hunt down Bilbo, would be unprepared for war? I find that hard to believe to say the least. -Apparently it happens to all peoples of Middle Earth, even Gondor who just recently fought a great battle where Boromir managed to retake Osgiliath. -All while being unprepared for war…Absurd. -Returning to the former question, do you really mean to tell me that dwarves just spring up from holes in the ground ready to fight? That is of course ridiculous. -How else would you explain that the population of a settlement is completely unaffected by recruitment in it? -Perhaps the population only represents the civilians and the potential military recruits are represented in the steadily growing recruitment pools? Since they only train for war and don’t work they generate no income, hence why settlement income is unaffected by recruitment. -Aeeh…that is too easy. It has to be more complicated I’m sure. Hey, what about part-time soldiers like militia?! They are supposed to be ordinary productive citizens in daily life, that’s why they are such lousy fighters. -What do I know of militia? We dwarfs don’t have any militia as you very well know. We have miners, who are productive but certainly don’t share their income with anyone else, last of all the king. They went closer and scouted near the gates. They were heavily guarded. -I have an idea, said Halvdan, how about that you enter the town alone? -Some partner you are! -Wait, I’ll explain. This is in fact a cunning plan. If we approach like this we will look like the travellers we are and that will be suspicious. On the other hand, if someone approaches without travelling gear, perhaps bringing in supplies or gifts, it will look more normal. -Then why don’t we both appear without our gear and enter the town together? -One of us has to stay to guard the travelling gear. If found, it will at once generate suspicion that travellers have left it to do some mischief and the goblins will wonder what kind of dangerous work that required the travellers to leave their luggage unattended. If I stay, however, I can ensure that the gear is kept hidden and move it if necessary. You, naturally, have to be the one entering the town and negotiating as you are the head of diplomacy. Just like when I had to play the hideous woman a couple of chapters ago, because you are head of negotiations. -Grumble… -I’ll help you pack a sack of would-be supplies. Keep watch while I hide the luggage and find some good spot to scout from. -You miserable moron…I bet all this is because I took charge of the plan when fooling the goblins. You have just waited to repay me in kind. That’s soooo pathetic. Halvdan disappeared in the woods while Runar stood guard. After a while Halvdan called out loudly. -I have finished the sack for you! I’m going off to hide in order to scout better! Good luck! The unhelpful fool doesn’t even bother to stay and watch me sneak inside the town, Runar thought angrily. He went up to their small camp where the luggage was well hidden under some bushes and covered with leaves and snow. He opened the sack and looked inside. Cloaks and rags lay densely packed at the top. Some supplies…At least they were so uninteresting that nobody would bother searching the rest of the sack. He swung it over his shoulder and let out a gasp. What weight! They must be getting really weakened by the constant travels. Although the diet of roots and such had been a source of not much happiness. The sooner they got out of these goblin garbage gorges the better. Approaching the gates, Runar felt uneasy. Halvdan was sometimes a silly sod of gigantic proportions, but he knew how to handle escapes and spying. -State your business, one of the guards said, a mercenary from the hillmen of the north. -I be bringing supplies, grunt, grunt, said Runar. -Show. Runar opened his sack. The guard looked at it and then spat on the cloak that was at the top. -Hahaha! Go on with ye, and yer “valueables”. But watch out lest someone steals them, little cultist! Hahaha! Runar moved inside. Even if Halvdan had packed, he didn’t like the gesture of spitting on his luggage. “I hope the peace, if they agree to it, soon breaks” he thought. The elder of the town would presumably be in one of the larger building near the city square. There was not that many to choose from. Runar picked the one that still stood upright, a good indication of wealth and importance in goblin cities. He was just about to knock when the door was thrown up and two small goblins hurried out chased by a huge one that looked as if he wanted to replace his lost supply with the thieves. Runar barely had time to get out of the way! Then he saw it. A narrow passage leading from the town into the mountain itself. He slowly approached it. What was this strange city, guarding a mere mountain pass into nowhere? Following it, Runar trekked upward through the mountain for several minutes in the company of goblins who rushed past him without a second thought. The pass ended in a circular valley with flat cliffs around it. In the middle lay…a goblin fortress! Runar could see a main entrance under what looked like a giant statue of a dragon, leading to some unknown area. Reluctantly he began to approach it. The massive doors were covered in frost and ice, yet the floor was clear so they were apparently opened and closed often enough to sweep away the snow. Taking the final steps inside, Runar shivered. There was nothing inside, save for a huge stair down into the ground. The entire great fortress was nothing but a giant gatehouse for the underground entrance! Runar proceeded down the empty stairs which quickly turned right, deeper into the mountain. Suddenly he heard doors swing shut behind him, smaller than the great gate. All went black.

Part 9.5

_________________________Part 9½. The race for Kugavod________________________ Journal of Thrain the Terrific Blast and bugger off bloody bastards! Having finally got some distance between me and that irritating Balin, I thought I would have time to enjoy some real empire-forging on my own – but NO! Of course the silly sod will necessarily have to place himself just a few months march behind my army as if we would need, or WANT, his help for something! Not only that, but the KING in person, or almost, instructs me to cooperate with his army and lead a joint assault on that random town we discovered ages ago. At least last season. While the choice of leader could of course not have been worthier, how could I be expected to put up with him this all time?! Bragging about his potential recapture of Moria, the mithril veins he means to unravel and blah blah blah. Tell you what, if that hasn’t changed, I will be the one to unravel HIS veins! Journal of Balin The king has done it again. Just when we thought we were finally rid of Thrain (or as I like to call him – Tryin, as in Tryin-my-patience), he sends me to find the fool who had apparently lost himself in the wilderness. As if we didn’t expect that to happen. It would be a wonder of cataclysmic proportions if Tryin for once got home safely. But no. So I had to go south to look for him. We have been scouring this trackless wilderness for months without a word of him. As relieving as that is, we still can’t get home until we find the moron. THEN, a messenger arrives telling us Tryin is in fact far south, at some backwater backstreet called Kugawod. What kind of name is that? Probably some unworthy place, filled with rotting shacks and filthy mud-covered streets. We are wasting precious time. The goblins might already be looting the last of the mithril in Khazad Dum! Journal of Boffrur, captain of scouting detachments in the Southern Armies of Erebor Goodness, I must invent a new title for myself. This one drains all my ink away when I write it. We have arrived at this town known as Kugavod and Thrain is keeping all of us busy. I would not complain if it was only the normal and sensible tasks like scouting and making camp but Thrain is so obsessed with his own presumed genius that he is spending all his time on the bridge east of the town. He has occupied the bridge as a barrier against Rhun, hoping to keep them away from claiming the town until Balin arrives and we can storm it. This is dangerous enough considering how relatively few we are, but Thrain has gone even worse. He is constantly shouting insults to the other side and signing them, not by himself, but in the name of all of Erebor. If only Runar was here to teach him some diplomatic manners! Or Halvdan, who would have one or two things to say about discretion. Journal of Thrain the Terrific The fools. Doesn’t anybody understand the importance of our mission here? The mere fact that it is I who command the army should be enough for everyone, but evidently people are stubborn to the point of madness. This is the centre of the distribution of the strange Liquid RC. I suspect we will find all answers inside Kugavod. We have passed several small shrines, sadly not dedicated to me, but to some deity known for archery I think. He is said to always hit people at point blank range. Very strange. Presumably, this strange liquid is tied to the cult of the point blank hitting god. Journal of Boffrur, captain of scouting detachments in the Southern Armies of Erebor Last night we were attacked by scouts from Kugavod. A small band of petty skirmishers and more experienced archers fired at us from behind some bushes. It was something…radical…about them. The weak troops fell like dry wheat and the strong were very strong. A striking difference compared to the rest of Middle Earth where most military units are more even in strength. Could it have something to do with the mysterious Liquid RC?

Part 10

_____________________Part 10. The Message and the Messenger_____________ A smelly hand was stretched out from a corner slightly darker than the darkness that covered the rest of the passage. It grabbed Runar by his shoulder and dragged him to the side. A brutish voice grunted something, followed by a more malicious one speaking in common tongue: -Who be ye? Where be ye going? -I am an important messenger, said Runar. I bring a message that you would be wise to heed. Take me to your leader. -Where be ye from? -A foreign power of such supreme power that your kingdom should tremble in awe. -E must be from Mordor! Pascalis is coming, or worse! -Show him in, said another goblinoid voice. Runar was led to a smaller passage to the side. The main corridor he had been walking through did not lead to the king, but to the dining room. Trust a goblin to know what’s important. The passage was lit by torches here and there; all of them carefully arrayed to give the messiest and most disordered impression. After all, goblins do have a reputation to protect. A scary and overbearing soundtrack could be heard. It grew steadily in power. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrIYT-MrVaI It was the royal hymn of Gundabad, composed by the Great Goblin Guest-Composer, Grieglog. An exhausted and, to say the least, bored orchestra had to play it over and over again. There he was. The mountain king himself! -Do you have somewhere I can put this sack? It contains extremely dangerous contraptions, spells and other artificial artefacts that belong in a fantasy game. In short, do not touch, said Runar. -Use the cupboard over there, said a well-spoken goblin. -You really have cupboards here in the middle of a mountain? -Well, no, but it sounds like at least a tiny inch of civilization to call it a cupboard instead of just “random hole in this dark and stinking cave”. -I see. Runar dumped the sack in the random hole and proceeded back towards the king, careful to keep his hood down. He was silently taking note of the situation. Some unfortunate dwarfs were chained in front of the rock that served as throne, looking unfortunate. It was understandable since they were not only caught between a rock and a hard place, but also literally in a rock that was also a hard place. The king seemed to be going through their valuables. Runar took a deep breath and then stepped forward, trying to ignore the smell. -Hail my liege! -Hargh, what? Said the king. -An honour, sire! -Who be you?! -Someone you would be wise to hear out, said Runar with his darkest, most ominous, voice. -HA! Grunt! What could you possibly offer ME, Lughorn the chieftain and boss himself!? -Survival. -HAHAHA! Go on. -Smoke rises from the Mountain of Doom. The hour gro… -What the…The Mountain of Doom is a volcano. Smoke is always rising from it. What kind of lame attempt to sound scary is this? -The world is changing. I feel it in the earth. I feel it in the water. I smell it in the air. Much that once… -BWAAHAHA! Cut the crap! The world is always changing. Now get to your point, puny cultist! -There shall come a time when the land has fallen to wickedness, where honour has no meaning and kinship no value. The many gods do battle against one of their own for supremacy in Heaven as well as on Earth. Armies of faith shall clash and the land will be stained red. From the East shall come one sent by the gods but of no gods; of this land but not of this land; born of man but without father or mother. The one will darken the skies and cause the very ground to tremble. The one will come clothed in fear and cleanse the land in fire and blood; leaving nothing behind but death and sorrow. -Sigh…The boring old prophecies again. Don’t people ever tire? I mean, honour and kinship NEVER have any value here, the gods always battle and quarrel, armies always fight, there ALWAYS emerges warlords from the eastern edge of the map with max dread and experienced cavalry stacks. What’s new with this? -The chief inquisitor is coming. -Hrmm, I know of that Pascalis figure. But I don’t fear him! Nobody messes with mighty Lughorn! -Pascalis is not here to quell the heresy. He is on the run (Runar was getting desperate). -WHAT? -From a being of such might that he will change the foundations of Middle Earth. -YOU DON’T MEAN THE POINT BLANK-FIRING ARCHERY GOD?! -Yes (finally something worked, Runar thought). -This is serious. Who knows how the Rebalancing will hit us? It may be a blessing or a curse. Surely it is the coming of the Rebalancing that has sparked all this religious unrest in the mountains. -Gundabad would do well to gather all its strength and focus entirely on surviving the Rebalancing. I can help you do so. -How? -I have important contacts in Erebor. For a minor fee I can put forth the word that Gundabad wishes peace. -What minor fee? -Perhaps those prisoners over there? I will take great pleasure in using them in a ritual of the most appalling kind in the Khurch Of Vampires And Savages, shortened KOVAS. The boy can perhaps be raised to be a cultist himself; he can join our Juvenile Age classes, commonly known as Juv.Age classes. I am sure he can become a true dreadlord if he just starts early. As a bonus, I can add the specific information of where Pascalis is at the moment and mark him out on a map, provided you provide me with a map out of here. What do you say, do we have a trade agreement? The king of Gundabad suddenly had a vision of a fearsome vampiric monster of dwarven stature like the mysterious cultist before him. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  -No! I have had enough of religious fools mongering and wondering about in my mountains! I will not suffer another cult of raving madmen. What would it be like, the king actually SANCTIONING sacrificing people to gods – my orcs kill enough of each other as it is – and perverse comparisons between the heat of battle and carnal pleasures? NO! -Shall I send word to Erebor about peace then? Runar asked. -By all means, but NO trade of prisoners or culting in my lands. Begone with you. Runar retreated back into the crowd. He was feeling miserable. While peace was good, what would happen to the imprisoned dwarfs? He grabbed his sack which felt a little lighter now, and followed the dimly lit passage out. The journey back was uneventful. There were several other cloaked figures heading out too. Runar crossed the unattended town and passed the guards who did not bother him, seemingly happy that one more of the troublesome subjects left the town. When they had passed out of sight the sack began to move! Runar threw it away at once and grabbed his mattock. Out of the sack crawled Halvdan. -Must you throw me at the hardest spot on the ground? -What the heck are you… -I am a spy after all, hihihihihi! -And I have had to carry you through all that town and back! You lazy wretch! -Wait, I’ll explain. It was better that I remained hidden because then I could operate undisturbed. I have found some pretty interesting things in there. -Like what? -Some correspondence telling about this crazy religious crisis and perhaps other things. Not only that, but I could slip out and overhear your conversation with the chief idiot of Gundabad. It was quite amusing actually. -Amusing? I failed catastrophically to save those captured dwarfs. I’m not much of a diplomat really. -Yes you are. Thanks to your show which, although you didn’t notice, kept every goblin perplexed, I could sneak out and release those cultists and give them some spare cloaks and fake beards. I think you must have seen them on the way out. -I did pass some hooded cultists… -I thought so. Let’s continue to the meeting place up among the trees. Runar and Halvdan continued when, with a great thundering noise, the world seemed to shake. It was as if some great force had blown through all things in Middle Earth. Startled, the dwarfs hurried to the wood where they indeed found the dwarfs previously held prisoner in Gundabad. They were called Dori, Drig, Krolk and Biruf. They were dwarfs from the blue mountains far to the west, the rarely seen cousins of the Erebor dwarfs. All praised Runars diversion and skill at improvising as well as Halvdans cunning. -What were you doing here, asked Halvdan. -We were sent to investigate the strange rumours of the Rebalancing that were to come from the north. Obviously we were captured, as you can see. -What is the Rebalancing? -I believe we felt the first wave of it just now. It is a great change that will sweep over all of Middle Earth it is said, and define each race and people even more, broadening the local variations of our ways and our cultures. No one knows how it will affect them, not even we. Our leaders are looking for ways to prevail, should the Rebalancing be unfavourable. -What would they be? -We don’t know. One thing we did find however was the cult of the Ex-arch god. That will surely be a boost to our morale and prevent economic depression, having the aid of the god of encouragement. We eagerly joined his cult. -Halvdan and I are continuing westwards now, said Runar. We will try the pass west of Gundabad now that some sort of peace is established. Hopefully we can reach it before midwinter and manage to cross before the pass is snowed in completely. Will you come too? -Sadly not. We will go south to warn the other followers of the Ex-Arch about Pascalis. It is time to leave this neighbourhood permanently I think. -I second that. It was nice to meet you four. We hope to make it to Ered Luin one day. -Before we go, please take this as a small token of our endless gratitude. It is the blade of the Blue Serpent, a family heirloom. Halvdan managed to steal it back from the goblins. May it serve you well. Without your help, we would be ex-dwarfs by now. -I…it is a grand gift. But it should really be Halvdan who receives it. He is the one who rescued you. -And how far would he have got if you had not been diverting all their attention away from us? It was you who stood in the middle of a hundred hungry goblins. The sword is yours by every right. -Well, thanks. You truly are a follower of the god of encouragement, said a touched Runar. After they parted ways Halvdan and Runar spent a lot of time scouting the entrance to the pass. They could not make out much of whether or not the goblins patrolled it. It was a long and dark way, but a way out of the goblin kingdoms. -He was right, you know, said Halvdan as they stood and watched the pass. -Who? -Dori. You are the one that should have that blade. I would never have been able to pull off the stunt of plunging into a hall full of goblins and just fool them completely. You were not pulling their leg; you pulled off their legs, their arms and their head. That should be well worth a Diplomat’s Scroll. I am impressed to say the least. -Do you really think so? -Of course. Shall we empty the sack now and have a look at the documents I confiscated? -Do you have more things hidden in that sack??? -Umm, yes. They emptied the sack on the ground. The things left were a wide assortment of weapons, ropes, hooks and all of Halvdans various specialized sabotage contraptions. -Where you going to lay siege to that fortress while I was negotiating? Why did you bring all this with you? -Isn’t that obvious? -No? -You don’t think I would have let you go inside a fortress full of enemies all alone? If any of those scummy goblins would have raised his hand against you I would have started a war on my own that would make the War of the Wrath look like a skirmish. -Thanks Halvdan. The dwarfs made camp in the woods near the mountain pass. They were just about to study the letters taken by Halvdan when the chapter suddenly ended. All studies would have to be postponed to the next chapter of the story.

Part 11

_________________________________Part 11. What Halvdan found______________________________ Initially, it did not look like a great feat to pass through the pass. That is after all what mountain passes are for. Then the first storm came. Runar and Halvdan had apparently failed in their plan to get through before the winter really had begun. Now they would have to settle with just getting through. A hard task in itself, apparently. Since the snow was now deep it was skiing time, but in order to reach the nearest trees one would have to climb cliffs or crawl through piles of snowflakes that some weather god had carelessly dropped around the landscape. The dwarfs choose the latter. It was a sluggish way of travelling through the wet snow, and like slugs they left a trail of slimy melting snow. The snow was probably a lot less slimy than the trail of a slug but you get the picture. If you don’t get it, just look right below this line. -Runar, why do we always get into trouble with snow, despite being so fond of snow and winter games? -Beats me, maybe it is some greatly blurred mysterious wordly principle. What you like most will cause you most trouble and such. Like that people are their own enemies and such or that the situation is always worst just before whatever rescuing happening happens. -But all those things are just mindless and unintelligent platitudes that can never be proved or disproved and can always be said to be true in some kind of way. -They can still be very influential, despite the lack of relevance and tiresome triviality. -Only among dull and trivial people without fantasy or spirit. Humans for example. Surely our race has not degenerated that much? -Hehe, no. Perhaps we are stopped by the snow because winter is the only season that require some planning. To travel during spring is vacation compared to this. -Winter travel! Only for real hikers! May the best dwarfs get through! Strengthened by the inspirational speech, worthy of a Southern European general with “deranged” and “alcoholic” traits, Runar and Halvdan redoubled their efforts. Or rather, they continued with the same effort as always but a bit more amused. They aimed for a small wood that could be seen behind a ridge to the north. It was a respectable distance and when they reached it the sun was setting. The dwarfs made camp near a lake. Halvdan was going for some water and had started to strike a hole in the ice when something caught his eye. At the bottom of the lake lay something glimmering. A long, thin item. He called to Runar. After some brief discussion they decided that it had to be an illusion or a piece of stone. Nobody would throw a good quality sword in a lake to have it rust. Steel always stains after a while as everyone but the Khurch of Kong members knew. Runar thought of something as they discussed the subject of stupid sword-storage methods. -There was apparently some kingdom far away ruled by a tyrant king named Other or something. Or maybe Uther? Anyway, King Other Pendragon… -Wait, was he called pen-dragon? Hahaha, the Other Pen-dragon, that’s ridiculous. Did he marry a lady called Pencil-Troll or something then? -No idea. Anyway, he had a son named Arthur who became king after having to find a sacred sword named Ex-skull-bar which was kept by a lady in a lake. -This gets worse every second… -There was something with a wizard too, “Murlin” or “Curlin” or whatever, that had to constantly advice the young king and keep him out of trouble. -Worthless king then. -Quite so. They dined on rudimentary field rations stew with rudimentary field rations salad and rudimentary field rations bread. For dessert they had some rudimentary field rations cake. It was all dry, compact and dull. Dinner was quickly over, luckily. -Now let’s have a look at the letters I found, said Halvdan. Let’s see, I start with this one: “Grulg waz here!” -That’s informative, said Runar. -Bah! Just beginners bad luck, said Halvdan. “Pascalis is coming. Look busy.” -We already knew that. “Halvdan is a Scotsman better suited to gutting fish than pleasing women…” -Wait a second! This is not one of the letters I obtained. Look! It is your handwriting! You smuggled it into the pile of letters, Runar! -Haaahahahaha! -Oh, very funny. “Middle Earth is a hollow sphere” -That sounds strange. How would that work, with gravity pulling everything towards the ground? -I don’t know. If, presumably, the gravity was centred on the sphere it would create a very unstable sphere if every point of it was a gravity core, so to say. -Perhaps a moderate number of gravity cores bound together by some other kind of force? -Like what? Wait a second, why are we discussing strange spherical theories here? Let’s get on with the reading for our readers sake. -Right! “Fun will now commence. Requisition order for summer vacation: Five boards for water-bound wave-based transportation…does it refer to surfing?...net and two poles of equal size, two standardized balls connected with human sports-related activity, rackets. Regeneration hammock with transmitter for emergency butler hologram. To be delivered at Federation Sailship Voyager. It’s technological and recreational distinctiveness will be added to our own. Resistance is futile. Signed: Annika Hansen, Seven of Nine.” -“Fun will now commence…” Hmm, personally I would prefer a little less demanding and commanding friend to go on a holiday with. - To name a ship “Voyager”. Talk about lack of imagination. That’s one of the most boring and dull names one could think of. “and while The Lord of the Rings is by no means a mere collection of ancient Norse legends there are a great number of curious similarities, such as the dwarf Gandalv from whom a certain wizards name is inspired. On a large scale, the overall theme and sometimes poetry-like language has a clear resemblance of various medieval and older poems which, to most persons of today, would seem like something between a song and a story. Even the very name of “Middle Earth” and its place in the world of professor T. bears a striking similarity to the realm of Midgard in Norse mythology and its place in that universe.” -MIDGARD! We have a clue at last! -Look for some more! -This is all. It looks like the last page of a book, torn apart in typical goblin style. Those illiterate idiots… -Who is professor T? -No idea. He sounds important, if he knows something of the dwarfs of Midgard. -Are there any more letters? -Just one. “Hey dol! Merry dol! Ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! Hop along! Fal lal the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo! Old Tom Bombadill, he is a merry fellow! Bright blue his jacket is, and his feet are yellow!” -What the…??? -Such insane sentences of complete nonsense! -I wonder what kind of being that would be capable of conjuring such meaningless drivel. -He would make a decent jester I think. -You know; blue and yellow…those are the colors of Sven’s Skis. -Haha, we surely have to tell the Svensk fellows about this! While the relevance to their quest was questionable, the mysterious note was none the less an encouraging find. Runar and Halvdan were sure that they would find much more detailed information in the more literate and slightly more civilized lands further south. They were now also very curious about who the mentioned professor and decided to look for clues about him as well.

Part 12

_____________________________________Part 12. The Hungry Freeman_________________________ The other side of the pass. At last! The area west of the Pass of Sluggish Progress through the Snow (henceforth known as Slugs Pass) was a centre of Goblin industrialism and enterprising. It attracted many other creatures of unspeakable evil associated with industry and business; lawyers, accountants, economists, journalists, managers, foremen, corporate executives, even politicians! “shudder”. As a shining beacon of lost hope stood the enlightened town of Lit Ash, known for its ash which was easily lit again and again. It was exported to the raiding parties in Northern Fireland who could torch an entire village in half the normal time thanks to the easy-to-handle ash. Halvdan and Runar approached the town from the south, having to ford the river which was freezing. Snow was melting but the water was colder than any ice according to the dwarfs. To save their luggage from the wet they built a small raft. -I’mm free-e-zzzing! Said Halvdan, shaking in the cold. -Me-e t-t-t-oo. Mayb-b-e we can find a b-b-oat at the town. After a very unhealthy and shivering walk to Litash they purchased some ash to warm themselves and dry their clothes. It was surprisingly effective. It was so effective that they could not put it out so instead they put it in. Put it in a metal box wrapped in cloth. As every town with a notable industrial sector, Litash had some scruffy-looking and obscure harbour areas. They featured the standard murky taverns where smugglers, pirates, bandits, tax inspectors and other despicable and dangerous fellows congregated. Runar was able to negotiate their way to a particularly untrustworthy and shady figure. The dream of every one of those ruffians had of course always been to raid the seas. It was, and is, regarded as a ships primary and solitary function. One could compare it to how knights regarded a horse as something to ride on and nothing else, often referring to their horses merely as “mounts”. So, in these lands ships were more known under the alternative name Raid-Sea, since that was what a ship was about. Over time, the name had transpired a bit and was now pronounced more like “Rad-Zee”. The captains were known as Radzee’ers. The particular Radzee’er that Runar had found was a notoriously untrustworthy figure with delusions of Grandeur and a rebellious mind. A typical Radzee’er in other words. His name was Yurii Yaroslavich. He was a rebel at heart, disobedient to both real an imaginitive lords. He dreamed of remaking Litash into his personal city-state, calling it Azaq. Already he fashioned himself as a lord of sorts. -…so the fee is, as you can see, totally reasonable my good sir, said Yurii. -Ha! You must be puling my leg my good sir! Half would be a more than generous sum. -Half!? You can’t be serious! Halvdan sat and listened to Runars negotiations. It was no big deal, this deal. A simple contract of transportation. Runar was probably just haggling to practise his diplomatic skills. It was soo boring to listen to. …That is my last offer! -We’ll take it, divided by two. -Half!? -Yes. For the two of us. -PER PERSON, my very good sir! -Persons. Otherwise we’ll walk. -Stubborn stone-headed dwarfs! -It’s nothing personal, we just have to uphold our reputation. You know, being emissaries and so. The conversation was now gliding over to more trivial and casual things. -…radzee, that sounds a bit like razee, these razed ships where a deck or so is removed. -Oh they are, all our radzees are built as razees. -Hmm, why not build them with the proper number of decks in the first place? -It is because our shipwrights are so unreliable. And the customers are even worse. No one ever pay the stipulated price and therefore the shipbuilder removes part of the ship – such as a deck – to withhold it until full payment arrives. Which never happens. So, everyone is counting on having to order at least one deck more than they expect to receive, just to be sure. -What's your ship called by the way, asked Halvdan. -The Hungry Freeman. The logbook is known as the Chronicle of a Hungry Freeman. The name signifies that I am free and hungry for plunder! Muahaha! -Between his all-consuming lust for plunder, dodgy business transactions and delusions of grandeur, this man seems to have very little free time. I wonder if he is not in fact very un-free, Halvdan whispered to Runar. The same night they set out. Normally it is safer to set sail in the morning but in Litash everyone set sail at nightfall to escape the city officials who wanted payment for using the harbour. They were easily bribed, so it was just a minor inconvenience, but all radzee’ers wanted to avoid feeding the city officials at almost any cost anyway. It was a question of principle. The small river boat drifted down the river with good speed. They soon spotted the town Gram to their port side. Gram was named after the end of a short but very violent struggle between two philosophical schools who, like their counterparts in Framsburg, debated over a trivial matter of minor importance. One, the Grammers, wanted to measure weight with a unit they called grams or grammes. Another favoured the unit of pounds. In a bloody siege, the pounders pounded against the walls of Gram with their battering ram (whose weight was of course carefully measured in pounds) while the grammers threw kilos of stones weighing exactly one kilogram each against them. The battle was decided when the most cowardly and unhealthy of the pounders asked for quarter and gave up. They surrendered in a very cheesy way, most unsubtle and very over-acting. They were infamously known as quarter-pounders for the rest of their life, the name implying both that they asked for quarter and that they were therefore only a quarter the pounder real pounders were. From that day, “quarter-pounder cheese” had became a widely spread slang for bad cheese and bad food in general. Eating a quarter-pounder cheese was equal to eating complete rubbish that lay in your stomach for eons as an indigestible stone. Nowadays however, everything was fine. No philosophical debates erupted as volcanoes when people flamed each other in the towns market square or forum. The dwarfs were casually strolling across the deck. -What's that? said Runar and pointed at some words that were engraved at the bow of the ship. -Oh that is the motto of The Hungry Freeman. "Primus Inter Pares", first among equals. She is the first among all radzees. -Isn't that a contradiction of terms? If you are first among equals, you can't be equal to the ones you are before. And if you are equal, nobody can be the first among you. -Aaaah, just shut up, said Yurii. -Wait, what was that? said Halvdan. KABOOM! FWOOSH! -Arrgh! said Halvdan. NOT AGAIN! -Can’t they ever keep their discussions civil, these philosophers? said Runar. -A lesson for the world, said the dwarfs in unison, DON’T FLAME EACH OTHER IN THE FORUM!

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 13

_____________________________________Part 13. Yes, mistress___________________________________ The winds were favourable and the Hungry Freeman picked up good speed. The barren landscape of the orcs was quickly disappearing. Runar and Halvdan were relieved. While the goblin lands had offered the opportunity of some of the most spectacular feats of diplomacy and espionage ever, they looked forward to travels in more safe and civilized countries. The constant threat of being hacked to pieces and eaten by the populace does get on ones nerves in time. The lookout was suddenly shouting something. Yurii had moved to the port side and was staring out across the river in disbelief. -Oh, look! A bridge, said Halvdan. -Who put this miserable thing here! -We don’t know, captain, said one of the sailors. Yurii was furious. -Now I have to wait for you slothful sand crabs to drag the ship up the river bank, across the road and down again! -No. -What!? You dare question me, insubordinate worm? -As usual, it is us, your poor crew, who will have to do the dragging. You will stand next to us and shout useless orders and humiliating “encouragement” as usual. -I am the manager after all. A long and tiresome day of work begun. Runar and Halvdan offered to help them with a little advice but were rather rudely dismissed. -…but please Yurii, look over there! -I have no time for this nonsense! -You don’t need to drag your ship across the land to pass! -Ha! How else would I get past? How typical of you landlubbers! Stand aside! -Please listen to us! -Later. Go and busy yourself with something, passengers! Just be back before tomorrow morning. -Come on Halvdan, said Runar, this is just futile. Let him waste his time if he likes. Strolling through the barren landscape, there was not much to see. The efforts from the Orcs of Gundabads side to promote infrastructure were apparently limited to bulding roads and bridges for invasions south. Imagine their surprise then, when they came across a flowery orchard full of apple trees! -Who could live here and grow apples with all the orcs around? -Let’s go and have a look. -Runar, is that really wise? We are still in goblin-infested lands and we don’t know anything of who might live there. -Does this look goblinoid to you? An impeccably ordered orchard? -Maybe not, but it’s best to be careful. Furthermore, isn’t this the province of Angmar, home to all kinds of evil sorcery, like the Witch-King of Angmar of old? Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  -He was defeated long ago. His kingdom was shattered. What do you expect we will find now, the Witch-Queen of Angmar? Haha! -Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grumble. From a more weatherly point of view, the suggestion had its merits, for just as their discussion had finished, it started to rain. The dwarfs hurried across the path to a great mansion that seemed to be the centre of the orchard. The rain was turning everything grey and blurry. It was an excellent day not to be outside. An empty passage led to an inner courtyard with a fountain. Those who have been to Minas Tirith and visited the citadel might recognize the concept. Apparently this inner-courtyard-of-stone-with-fountain thing is something all rich landowners with agricultural interest want. Although this orchard was much more impressive than that of Minas Tirith, which consisted of in fact only one tree, almost completely dead. There seemed to be a main building with huge windows and a large door. It had a sign on the roof that was apparently supposed to depict an apple tree. Runar and Halvdan hid in the passage and continued to survey the area. -This looks like something I heard about in the tavern in Litash, said Runar. -A desolate mansion in an orchard in southern Angmar? -No, that sign. There was a tale of scary, ghostly woman who haunted the countryside. She captured dwarfs, they said, and forced them to do house-keeping for her for all eternity. The only way to be really safe was to offer her apples. She was known by her ghastly pale appearance, white as snow. People called her Snow White. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  -Quite an imaginative name…What a silly tale, said Halvdan. Still, now that you have heard it, you will, presumably, be too scared to enter? So now we can follow my more sensible and cautious approach and get out of here? -No! I want to get inside. I’m soaked. Stupid country. Both rain and mist at the same time. So the dwarfs crossed the courtyard and knocked on the great door. Crates filled with apples and bottles lay to the left, under a sign, reading: Apples: 1 florin Apple Pie: 2 florins/slice Apple Juice: 21 florins/bottle Apple Soda: 22 florins/bottle Apple Operating System: 2300 florins + 10 000 and up in technical support The door was opened and the dwarfs hurried inside. They saw nobody but continued through the corridor that presented itself and ended in a great hall. And there she was! The Witch-Queen of Angmar herself! (insert dramatic music here. Personally I think this suits the character http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qq4j1LtCdww ) She was surrounded by all manner monstrous creatures! Rats with terrible teeth, battered bats and ghastly ghouls behind her. But most prominent were the…dwarfs! Yet they did not seem like real dwarfs. They cackled madly and stared at their queen with obsessed eyes, seemingly devoid of any own will. A cruel and degraded parody of dwarfs perhaps, just like the orcs are a cruel and degraded parody of the elves. Dworcs would perhaps be a fitting name for those horrors. The corpse of some dim-witted prince or something was an indication as good as any that this orchard was ruled by the queen and no one else. She began to speak. -Excellent, new workers. How wonderful! -Uhum…eh…greetings, said Runar. We are Runar and Halvdan, emissaries of Erebor. -How lovely. What kind of skills can you offer me? -We are diplomatic emissaries, as said, and we could, well, bring a message to King Dain of Erebor. Would you like to negotiate about trade rights, map information or perhaps an alliance? -Ah, all of that I shall deal with later. For now, you can sit down and enjoy my company, dears. She pointed at the ground next to her. -She seems rather friendly, whispered Halvdan, but then there are those weird dworcs. -Indeed, I have a bad feeling about this, whispered Runar. The dwarf hesitated, unsure of what to do. Snow White spoke again. -Please, you will need your strength later working for me. SIT DOWN! -Friendly, but quite domineering once you get to know her I bet. -What kind of work is she expecting us to do, aren’t we supposed to be guests? I don’t remember signing up to work in her orchard. -Hrm, I don’t know what you were expecting, good lady, but we were just passing by seeking shelter for the rain, said Runar. I take it that you are waiting for some sort of labourers? -Of course! Labourers who will enjoy my “wink” delightful company once the trees are tended to. -This seems like an odd place for running an orchard, said Halvdan. Business is good? -Oh yes. Oh, you must have been listening to my despicable competitors, the Mothers Inc. Don’t pay attention to those harpies, dear. They are just grumpy since I took over the apple market completely. You see, my mother, mother-in-law and my stepmother formed an unholy alliance to drive me out of business… -Wait a little, your… -Ah, we do have a bit of a situation in my family. My father was a meekly mercenary captain who cleared these lands for the scum of Gundabad. He met my mother in the process and soon after settled near here starting a great plantation. My mother proved to be a domineering and nagging woman it is said, so my father tired of her and left for my stepmother, who ran an orchard next to his. Wanting me out of the way, my stepmother quickly had me married to some fool prince from somewhere. He had few notable qualities but made a good snack for my little dworcsies… She looked down at the floor right in front of her. Runar and Halvdan followed her gaze and looked at the unfortunate ex-prince’s corpse. …So, I had finally gotten this orchard in shape when my mother-in-law found out. She was horrified and ran over to my mother and stepmother, whose bitter feud had gotten all worse with the sudden demise of my father. They all agreed to belay their differences and unite against me. First they tried to poison my apples, disguised as old hags, which they are. After that, they turned to industrial espionage using an intricate device with many mirrors, trying to unravel all my corporate secrets. It was as if they merely needed to ask the mirror what I was doing and how pretty my apples were. In the end, I shattered all their mirrors. Then they turned into aggressive smear campaigns. Their wicked slander was sometimes a serious setback but then I found the remedy and repaid them in kind. I would target, not the customers, but their children. -Their children??? -Oh yes, honey. I spread fairy tales all over Angmar and the neighbouring lands about how evil and traitorous stepmothers and mother-in-laws are. Initially I struck at my mother too but she soon defected and came crawling over to my side. So I spared mothers from being the villain in further stories. This is why it is always the stepmother who is the villain and evil being in every fairy tale where a stepmother appears. Also, it has led to mother-in-laws being the archetypical annoying relative across the world. -Do you have any time left for actually harvesting apples, asked Halvdan. -No, that’s what the workforce is for. I am the manager; I don’t deal with stuff like actual work. So that is where you come in, dears. Would you please start with inspecting the northern fields? See to it that no trees were damaged by the wind. -Uhm, I don’t remember signing up for any work here. I thank you for your hospitality, but we really must be going now, said Runar. -Oh no, you will stay. -Pardon us, good lady but we have urgent business elsewhere. -No, you will stay, “wink” ”wink”. Snow White leaned forward in a voluptuous way. -Is the winking and leaning forward supposed to persuade us or something, asked Halvdan. -What!? How come you do not immediately bow to my will, as mindless zombies? -Why would we, asked Runar, surprised. Should we become your slaves just because you flirt with us? -Everyone does! I learned that when dealing in the forum when offering support for the apple operating system. In the technical forum of Gram, far away from the philosopher’s forum, people go around with huge pictures in front of their face. They call those pictures avatars. Then they paint small golden symbols like rings or lilies underneath to symbolize their social status, defined as reputation or rep. Rep is given for the most mundane and trivial reasons, but it is still highly prized. Most of these forumites use pictures of barely dressed women and messages saying things like “if you like my avatar, give me rep” or “+rep for gorgeous lady”. Obviously, being barely dressed will make everyone your slave if you are a woman! -Ah, now I understand, said Runar. You have encountered Geeks. They are a particularly weak-minded goblinoid race. I can understand that they are easily swayed. But you can’t base your opinion of people in general just on the studies of one social class or otherwise confined group of people. -Sigmund Fraud did, said Halvdan. -Who is he, asked Snow White, sounding rather irritated. -He was a silly psychiatric therapist in Dale, who studied the upper class snobs exclusively and, based on the absurd manners and weird social behaviour of them only, jumped to generalising and absolute conclusions about the psychology of humans as a whole. Very stupid. - So, we are not Geeks, and while you do look good in that skirt we still have to be going. Auf wienerschnitzel, said Runar. -NOT SO FAST! It seems I will have to be a little more persuasive than usual… Snow white had risen from her throne. She was holding an unpleasant-looking whip in her hand which cracked menacingly. -NOW YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME! YOU WILL OBEY MY COMMANDS! I have after all ten stars…YOU WILL GO OUT AND BEGIN YOUR GARDENING AND HOUSEWORK IMMEDIATELY! GRUMBLE! HAPPY! ESCORT THEM OUTSIDE AND KEEP WATCH OVER THEM! -Yess mistress, the dworcs murmured. -She is just plain unreasonable, whispered Runar. -I just aquired the “hostess is domineering” trait, whispered Halvdan, let’s go outside and plan what to do. She is as commanding and authoritarian as she is charming. Scary mistress. And that Lash of Lugburz ancillary, “shudder". They stepped out and pretended to inspect the trees while quietly planning their escape. The two dworcs that followed them were apparently not too bright, since they only watched for escape attempts but not anything else, ignoring all their whispered planning. Personal initiatives and development were apparently not the most encouraged things among the minions of Snow White. -The point is, we have to get away without that crazy horde of dark creatures following us. We don’t know if Yurii is finished with his stupid ship-dragging yet. The appearance of those minions may disrupt things a little. -Precisely my point. We must ensure we get some distance to them, unnoticed, to get away unseen. At least Snow White doesn’t know where we came from. -Her minions only act on her command. If we incapacitate her we may be able to get away. -Any ideas how? -Yes. Those crates we passed at the door contain apples and apple juice or apple soda. This is well before the harvesting season in any country, so the juice must be from last year’s harvest. -You’re right. Eeeugh! -I could not have put it better myself. Eugh indeed. Your diplomatic vocabulary never ceases to amaze me with its elegant flow of complicated words. So, the juice must have fermented by now. If we could make her drink it… -She will suspect a trap. -Precisely. So we must appear to drink it before her. Or at least one of us. I have a plan….”whisper” “whisper” “whisper”… -Hey! We need to get back to the mistress now! The trees are checked and we have urgent news. She won’t be happy if we don’t tell them. -…must please mistress…said the nearest dworc. -Exactly. Lead the way mr…er…dwarf, said Runar. They walked back into the courtyard. Halvdan stopped outside the doors. -Only one of us needs to go inside. No point disturbing her more than necessary. -…yawn…me stay here. No escaping. Must please mistress…said one of the dworcs. Runar went inside, followed by the other dworc. Halvdan strolled casually near the door, picking up the bucket used to gather water from the fountain. On the way back to the door, he casually knocked the dworc unconscious with the bucket and dragged him out of sight. Then he quickly opened the crate with bottles of fermented apple juice and emptied them into the bucket. It looked as disgusting as it smelled. He placed the bucket on the far side of the fountain, out of sight. Snow White came out seconds later, looking furious. She stared across the courtyard where Halvdan stood. A retinue of various dark creatures accompanied her. -…as I was saying, mistress, he just disappeared, said Runar. Just like mr, ehrm, Grumble that accompanied Halvdan. He must have been knocked out too. What happened, Halvdan? -I don’t know. I saw him drinking mouthfuls from the fountain and then I turned my back on him and all went black. He must have hit me and ran away, said Halvdan. -SO, you dare to tell me that my two devoted servants drank from the fountain, gained unnatural strength and after that ran away?! said Snow White. -Indeed, mistress, and one of them shouted “freeeedom” while running. It seems the water has the effect of reversing how you feel before, since it made me and Halvdan realise how gracious you are. We wish to stay with you forever, after drinking from the fountain. -How do I know you’re not trying to poison me? -Watch me drink, mistress. Runar stepped forward with a mug from their backpacks and drank several mugs of water. It tasted quite well for being in Angmar. -Mr Grumble did drink about three times as much before showing unnatural strength. It tastes very bad but the effect was frightening, said Runar. Should I drink more, so you can witness the effects yourself? -What…NO! Nobody is to touch the fountain but ME! Unnatural strength, this could be the way to force my way into new markets, she mumbled. Hand me that mug! Halvdan quckly lifted up the bucket and dipped it into the fountain. He quickly gathered a bucketful of now polluted water, so quickly that it looked like he had just filled an empty bucket with water. Then he ran to Snow White. -Water for you, mistress, he said. Queen size mugs for the queen. Snow White kicked the bucket out of his hands. -Hand me that mug, insubordinate worm! -Here. Runar was quick to comply. Snow White began downing mugs of disgusting watery juice. -What IS this!? It is horrible! -As I said, said Runar. Sure you don’t want me to drink instead? -NO! I will be the only one with that kind of strength here! She kept drinking one more mug, and then two and three and four, grasping the edge of the fountain for support, taking three more, now moving very slowly and having trouble focusing her eyes, downed two more and then fell over and vomited. She tried to crawl back up to the fountain but fell down again, moaning and obviously feeling nothing but sick. -The mistress is ill, Halvdan shouted with his most commanding voice, get her inside! The retinue of Snow White hesitated, but then did as he said. They were apparently quite lost without a commanding female voice telling them what to do. Runar and Halvdan quietly walked the other way, out of the mansion. After sneaking out of the building they sprinted away out of sight, roaring with laughter. The walk back to the ship was pleasant. It had stopped raining and the air felt warmer. -Where did you hide the dworc that was following you, asked Halvdan. -Oh, there were plenty of storerooms to the left in the corridor. No trouble at all. -Admit that I was right, though. We should have been more cautious. -Well, now we have had the interesting experience of meeting the Witch-Queen of Angmar herself. And we repelled her by apples, just like in the local folklore. -Pfef! More like the B i t c h-Queen of Angmar. And she was repelled by apple juice, not apples. Other than that, by all means, an interesting experience, if somewhat dreadful. -She was kind of charming actually…But I could never get used to that constant commanding and authoritarian thing. -Have you turned into a Geek, now? Enchanted by the mere sight of Snow White and ready to +rep everything just to see more of her? -On the contrary. Didn’t I just say that I found her repulsive despite her looks, thus qualifying me for not being a shallow Geek? Personality counts too. -It certainly does. They found the captain sitting on a stone near the bridge, the sailors sweating with the task of dragging and pulling the Hungry Freeman into the water on the other side of the bridge. -Hello Yurii, how are things going, asked Runar. -We are nearly finished. My crew are strong lads, we have almost dragged the ship the whole way around. -I hope they enjoyed the exercise. -What is that supposed to mean? -What we tried to tell you this morning was that the bridge can be opened. -How do you mean? -Look at the wheels and the crane at the side. It is a mechanism to raise the bridge, allowing ships to sail past it. Didn’t you notice? -Why didn’t you say something!? -If I recall correctly it was because the captain himself told us landlubbers to stand aside. -So you mean I have had the ship dragged across the land for the whole day in vain? -Yep. - After the unnecessary but presumably strengthening episode around the bridge, the journey went smooth for several days. The river was wide enough to allow travelling during the night as well, although the dwarfs thought it was an unnecessary risk. After the several days of smooth sailing, the Hungry Freeman met two very troublesome ships, worthy of a whole episode in the story. They were notably smaller than Yuriis ship; long, thin galleys with masses of oars like the legs of some scary insect that crawls down your shirt. Yurii suddenly ordered everyone on deck and looked nervous. Then he gave the order to set full sail to pass the galleys as quick as possible. His crew complied without question and the dwarfs wondered why he wanted to get away from the other ships so fast. It seemed to them a golden opportunity to ask for directions or any nautical nuisances in the waters ahead, like floating logs or pirates, goblins or overgrown beaver dams. -They seem to be dromons, said Yurii. -What are your orders, asked the first mate. -Get past them and get away as quick as possible. -With this light breeze, they will surely catch up if they feel for it. The first mate was right. The longer of the dromons was about to intercept the Hungry Freeman while the smaller one was sailing and rowing parallel to them. Soon the ships were within shouting distance from each other and a voice cried out from the larger ship: -Drop sail and prepare to be borded! -Or else!? Yurii was clearly insulted by the demand. -FIRE SHIP! -Yurii, must we really fight our way through them, asked Runar. Why not try to negotiate first? -And how do we know that they will accept to negotiate at all? -Why not ask them to start with? -….. -Who are you and what is your purpose here?! Yurii shouted. -This is the Complete Byzantine Fifth Fleet, of the Complete Byzantine Unit Roster, under the command of strategos Ammonius Komnenos. Yurii went pale as he heard the last words. He ordered the sails to be dropped and then looked around as if searching for a hiding place. -Do you know that guy, asked Halvdan. -Yes! He must not know that I am here. I have to hide! Where? You two! You must handle the negotiations! Ammonius must never know that I am in command of this vessel. -Am I to assume, that we have your full authority to strike any deal on your behalf, within the mentioned limitations, asked Runar in true diplomatic fashion. -Yes! Get to it! -Right. Runar stepped forward to the starboard side. -Let us anchor near the shore and discuss this! There is no point in engaging in a battle over this! -What do you mean!? -Discussion!? Talk!? Conversation!? Parley!? -Parley!? -Yes! -Of course! See you at the shore! -Weird. As soon as you said the word parley everyone became cooperative and friendly at once, said Halvdan. -It must be something with sailors and seafarers. The word parley must have some sort of magical effect on them. The two fleets anchored and Runar and Halvdan went ashore, being the representatives of the Hungry Freeman. The dromon near them launched a small party consisting of a general with a few retainers. They carried a purple banner with some yellow symbol consisting of yellow bars crossed and with some twists at the ends. It was all described in a section consisting of the word consisting far too many times. Ammonius Komnenos approached, apparently confident and arrogant. -Hail foreign dignitaries! -Hail foreign general! This was more like it, Runar thought. A proper pompous diplomatic session! -I am Ammonius Komnenos, strategos and commander of the Complete Byzantine Fifth Fleet. -I am Runar, emissary of Erebor and representative of King Dain. We are travelling west, on our way to Eriador. May I ask why you have demanded to board us? -That is just something we always do. We have to uphold the imperialness of the empire. -What empire? The Byzantine Empire, is it? -ROMAN! NOT byzantine! -Sorry, I just thought that since all your things are called “Complete Byzantine” something that the empire was called Byzantine as well. -Only by the very inattentive and ignorant laymen. We are of course the Roman Empire. We are an expedition force sent across the seas under order from the Caesar himself. His Majesty Caesar Clivus has ordered us to find an alternative route into Scandinavia. We were told there was a Finnish town near here so this must be Finland? -Finland? I have never heard of it. -But the town named Pitkäranta is undoubtly Finnish. It has to be. This is at least Scandinavia, isn’t it? -This is Angmar, part of Middle Earth. -Damn! You see, the mighty Caesar Clivus has sent the whole Complete Byzantine Unit Roster, whose very creation he took personal part in, to conquer the Baltic Sea and it’s surrounding countries. Most particularly the Swedes. Alas, the terrain in Sweden is unsuitable for cavalry so we have had great trouble with their peasant levy. We have been fighting the Battle for the Baltic for ages now. So, we were sent to find an alternative rout to attack but it seems that we are a little lost. -A little. Could happen to anyone. The western sea is strange. Sometimes it leads to ethereal realms like Valinor and sometimes just to other places in Middle Earth. If you don’t mind me asking, what is the Battle for the Baltic about? What started such a long war? -It was the insolence of the Swedes! They dared to not be impressed when we told them of the Scholarii, the pride of the empire. The heaviest cavalry known to the world, wearing five layers of armour mounted on fully armoured horses! And the Swedes didn’t care. They ignored it totally. Such insolence! -I don’t understand. You field heavy cataphracts. So? -What!? Surely you must be impressed by how well armoured they are? Listen, five layers of armour. -The easterlings field cataphract cavalry too. That’s nothing to shout about. They have heavy cavalry and so do you. So what? -Barbarian! You should be obsessed with the Roman Empire just like all decent people are. Especially the legendary Scholarii and the Varangian Guard should make you starstruck with awe. -So what’s the Varangian guard? -The most famous of all Byzantine units, mercenaries from the Rus, Scandinavians and Anglosaxons. Two-handed axemen. -Let me get this straight: Your most famous unit is a…mercenary company from abroad? Hailing partially from the very region you try in vain to conquer? That doesn’t sound very sensible. Why on earth are mercenaries your elite force? -All the native ones have bonds to the rebellious nobles. Our emperor must use foreign troops lest he would risk being overthrown. -You know, your empire doesn’t sound very impressive at all. Can we continue sailing now? -Barbarian! Ignorant scum! Fine, take your filthy ship and leave! -You sound a bit like an elf now. Have you ever met an irritable one named Skaldir? -Begone you uneducated peasant! I have no time for someone who fails so completely to appreciate the awesomeness of the Roman Empire! -Then why don’t you follow the river upstream for some days. When you reach a bridge, walk north to a large orchard. There you will find a lovely lady who will be most interested in all things imperial. -Hmpf! I’ll do that, then. Goodbye! -Goodbye, Strategos Ammonium Come-near-us! -Ammonius Komnenos! Runar chuckled all the way back to the ship. It had been long since he had this much fun. Halvdan was very amused too but for the third time in the chapter he wondered if not a more cautious approach had been wiser. The Byzantines…hrm…Romans of course, did after all have that fire ship. However, all went well and they soon lost sight of the Complete Byzantine Fifth Fleet. The dwarfs took the opportunity to ask Yurii about why he feared Ammonius Komnenos. -Long story. I once cheated him of a city he tried to conquer. He has held a grudge against me for all time since then. They are bitter fellows, those Byzantines. -ROMANS! A voice echoed from far away.

Part 14

______________________________________Part 14. The fairy tale._____________________________________ Authors note: The protagonists have finally made it out of goblin lands all in two pieces, since they are two. Now, they enter the lands of the silly hobbits, Eriador, and there is no typing ridiculous and immature enough for that people. Still, Comic Sans MS, is usually used to symbolize a lighter atmosphere (note to self: if I need to symbolize a change to a lighter atmosphere, what kind of comedy AAR is this? One could expect such a thing to come naturally by itself). Runar and Halvdan said farewell to Yurii shortly after the conclusion of the last chapter. They landed on the southern side of the river near the infamous road south to the Shire and other less known backwaters of Eriador. Roads are normally famous or at least just known, but this was after all the work of the people of Eriador – mainly hobbits – so the quality was just as low as anyone would suspect. The unlucky traveller having to follow the road frequently found himself walking in circles, being led into endless bogs, unnecessary detours across mountains and trackless plains. Runar and Halvdan quickly became tired of the hopeless guesswork that following hobbit roads proved to be. Also, over two years of travelling was beginning to take its toll. It was time for a little rest in a reasonably civilized place. The towns of the northernmost parts of Eriador were well protected but quite welcoming once any visitor turned out to be someone else than an orc or a troll. They did suffer surprisingly little from goblin raids since the confusing road system had proven to be most intimidating to any potential raider or invader – it was impossible to find the way to anything worth looting before the raiding party collapsed due to internal struggles born out of boredom and frustration over the useless hobbit infrastructure. The dwarfs spent their time in several of these towns where they were greeted with much enthusiasm due to their stories from lands far away and dwarf forging skills. They even started to teach skiing to the locals, mostly the children, and how to make skis. They also strongly emphasised the need to regard the commercial boosting by the ever-competing Norway and Svensk with the utmost scepticism. Their favourite town was the quiet fishing village of Easthaven. It was, logically enough, situated next to a large lake. Every time people stepped outside a house in the town, the short Easthaven town theme was playing out of the thin air (a beautiful piece of music composed by the town bard Jeremy). Easthaven during winter On the road from Easthaven to another random town, they encountered a gigantic monster that would have eaten them for breakfast in any other kind of story. It was a troll! It did not look quite like the other cave trolls or mountain trolls of the misty mountains. For starters, the troll was dressed in rags and even a hat. It had an unusually large nose and very long feet. The dwarfs hid in a shrubbery next to the road. They had just started to congratulate themselves when a deep voice sounded: -Snfff, I smell you, I do. No be hiding on Thor’gal! -Run away!!! -Wait! Me not hungry for beardlings. Me come in peace. Or at least me come in neutral but polite manners and don’t run away from the first person I meet. The dwarfs looked out from behind a stone. -You trolls use too eat us… -But not me. Thor’gal not fond of beardlings. You taste like garbage and beards get stuck in throat. -Hmph! Be thankful we are on a diplomatic mission, otherwise that would be cause for the most severe injured-pride-knightly-behaviour, said Runar. -What brings you here, asked Halvdan. I thought you…fellows…dwelled in the mountains or at least more to the east. -Me tired of eating beardlings and snagas. Me want fish! Me try to fish in the rivers using a net. But everyone always come by and says “don’t feed the net trolls” and “don’t troll on the ‘net” and it scares away the fish and makes me mad! They sound like they think Thor’gal is spending his time writing in the technical forum in Gram and luring people into his threads there. Me no likes forums! Me moving out! Me going to the sea in west to fish. -Well, good luck then, said the dwarfs. The troll episode added nicely to the array of stories that Runar and Halvdan could spread among the taverns and inns in these lands. Even the smallest town had such establishments. These people surely knew what things should have priority! In the middle of the short but enjoyable northern summer Runar and Halvdan walked east from Easthaven through a large forest on their way to the famous oak of the town of Kuldahar. It would have been a major tourist attraction in more populated areas. The entire village was actually built under the roots of the enormous oak. Perhaps the ultimate evolution of hobbit smials? The trees of the current location were not quite as large but nevertheless impressive and a dominant feature of the landscape. That last thing was perhaps not that surprising to anyone, being in a forest and such. The dwarfs looked around with appreciation. A nice forest with no foes around and no dangers. AND…NO ELVES! Only the background sound of chattering birds and green bushes, green trees, green leaves, green fairies, green…Wait a second…green fairies!? A tiny creature with wings like a butterfly was circling above the dwarfs. The attentive Halvdan spotted it first. He pointed it out to Runar. The fairy seemed to monitor their movements but nothing more. The dwarfs decided to continue walking after politely lifting their helmets in a hopefully universal gesture of greeting. When they sat down to eat lunch the fairy was still there, but now a bit closer. -Wonder if she’s hungry, at least it looks like a female fairy, said Runar. -Let’s hope it is, otherwise you will have embarrassed yourself in front of the whole fairy community, said Halvdan. But Runar seemed to be right. The fairy looked doubtlessly feminine even by fairy standards. She could apparently understand their language because she seemed very amused. Runar poured up water in an eggcup, which was much smaller than their mugs but still way too large for a fairy to lift, and put it on the ground. -Cheers miss fairy, he said, uhm, hrrm, maybe it is a bit too big. Let’s see if I have something smaller… -No matter, it is all the more generous of you to offer literally my weight in water, the fairy suddenly said with a smile and a bow. She flew away and picked a dry straw of grass to drink the water through. When finished, she sat down on the eggcup and watched the dwarfs eat. She was mostly green and seemed to glow with a green light. Halvdan offered a, by dwarf standards, microscopic slice of cheese and bread which still took her ages to finish. -You wouldn’t happen to be…heroes or something, she asked. -Our profession is that of a diplomat and a spy. They are usually not called heroes, but live an overshadowed existence in this world ruled by warmongers and total war fanatics. We did save a snaga and some dwarfs earlier though…And made peace with the orcs that will save hundreds of dwarfs from their raiding… -I am looking for some kind of hero. There are no rangers here, they must think it is too cold, the weeds. Then someone suggested a knight in shining armour but I would rather not hire those guys. They spend all time shouting at people to polish their armour to keep it shiny, and then they claim all the land and tax everyone into despair. Booo! Knights suck! -Wait a little, could you please explain why you need the assistance of heroes and what is going on here. And maybe your name, if one may be so bold to ask, fair fairy lady. We are Runar and Halvdan, emissaries of Erebor. -Oh, sorry, said the now blushing fairy. My name is Finella and I bid you most welcome to our forest. I am looking for heroes, well we all are, because…. Fairy tale of the fairies Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  We live in this forest where we stay hidden from nasty beasts and smelly orcs. We have had a lucrative trade with the small towns here until recently. The main source of income is our special drink, the Absinth, which we sell using our trademark “the green fairy”. All has been well but now we are plagued by the spiteful being in human form that has taken up residence in a rickety tower nearby. It is a sorcerer who was just until recently a potter; I hear he was nicknamed “Potter” at his magic school, to his irritation. The potter has come here and started doing what he called experiments in our forest, which is the name of honourless scientists for burning things down and hurting people. He has also tried to ruin our trade, spreading wicked lies about how the drinking of Absinth will lead to symptoms of absinthnense when you stop drinking it. Rubbish! The Potter is spreading dirt and poisonous substances across the woods as a “project”, we are told, just to study how the nature reacts! He claims to be a member of something called “Environmental Protection Agency” but it has NOTHING to do with protection! Stinking scum! If it had only started with that. The latest mischief is tearing down my cottage and kidnapping my little sister Finilia! He said he would start to use living creatures as generators of power, connected in a large system called a “matrix”. What kind of trivial name is that? “Matrix”? More like “Fake tricks”! I hate the scum! If he only would have taken me instead! Finilia is much kinder but I would rip off his head and spit down his neck as the captains of you dwarfs say. -The wicked sorcerer has ruined our river with a dam just out of spite. Now, mosquitoes thrive in the still water and plague us. In that way, he succeeded in stopping me from searching for Finilia. As if I could have done anything against him, she remarked bitterly. -Why not leave the case to us, said Runar. Dual Dwarf Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap ™; never fails. -We’ll be back in no time, said Halvdan. The new heroic heroes set out on the road towards the rickety tower on the hill. The place looked deserted. The door was not quite shut and seemed ready to fall down any minute due to years of neglected maintenance. They sneaked inside in a most quiet manner. The whole tower was made up of a single room, cowered in old books and dusty parchments, silly robes and other stuff associated with wizards. But no wizard and no fairy. Perhaps behind some of the bookshelves or closets that were randomly set up in the room? Runar and Halvdan continued to search, feeling slightly nervous. Suddenly a high voice sounded! -Ha! You walked right into my trap! Surrender and I will spare your lives! The dwarfs froze with shame of having been discovered. They looked around to face the speaker. There was nobody there. -Did you think you could outsmart me, the great Deo, master of the Matrix!? The dwarfs carefully looked behind one of the bookshelves. It was the sorcerer! He was standing in front of a mirror, apparently practising scary poses and triumphant lines to be used in case of an overwhelming (if unlikely) triumph. In a glass bottle on a shelf stood the bottle with Finellas sister. On the count of four, Runar and Halvdan leaped forward. -Stand down, surrender and capitulate, hideous hobgoblin and knave! -Dwarfs! How dare you interfere with my studies, unwashed ones!? After these initial customary pleasantries, a violent brawl ensued. Runar hurried to open the bottle (hurrying to open a bottle is something completely central to most dwarfs, but usually in their taverns) while Halvdan ran towards the sorcerer and gored him with his helmet in a manner that would have made any elk or musk ox proud. The vile sorcerer was thrown back against his desk, dizzy from the impact. He got to his feet and raised a murky wand. -Sciuridae Scavengus! -What? -It’s a spell, you imbecile! -It seems misspelled then, ahahaha! -You miserable little…Avada Cadaver! Halvdan leaped at the silly sorcerer to punch him just as he uttered the second spelling mistake. There was a flash of pink light, and the sorcerer was thrown back and crashed against the top of his desk. He was no more, and neither was his wand. The formerly imprisoned fairy flew up to Runar and Halvdan and looked at the carnage, looking regretful. -It’s my fault I fear, she said. I managed to sneak of the bottle one time, but not out of the room unfortunately, and then I found those dead bugs near the window… -What on earth have bugs got to do with it? -I hid those bugs inside his wand, which wasn’t very hard since it’s so murky and old, and so he used a wand with many bugs and of course suffered a “crash to desktop” as you can see. -Personally, I’m quite happy that his spell did not have the time to work on m…SQUEAK! -Halvdan! -Oh no! -He has polymorphed you! said Finilia. -Can you hear us, asked Runar. Halvdan rolled his eyes, a very visible movement since squirrels have large eyes for being so small. -OK, silly question. I take from your face that you can understand us still and are yourself but in squirrel form, is that correct, asked Runar Halvdan nodded. -Right, so now we need to find a way to revert this stupid spell. Do you know any way miss…Finilia is it? -Yes it is, and no I don’t. Let’s go back to the forest first.

Part 15

______________________________________Part 15. Howls and Hunters_________________________________ The fairies held a great council in their newly built council chambers. It was a very well ordered council since Council Chambers decrease squalor as everyone knows. Runar and Halvdan were there too, but had a hard time following the chattering of the fairies. They spoke very fast in high pitched voices when talking among themselves. One fairy, Felanor, eventually put forth the first sensible suggestion. If one wizard had caused the polymorphing, another could perhaps undo it. There weren’t that many wizards in Middle Earth, at least not many known and famous ones. Sauron and the Witch King were more or less out of the question. Saruman was a possibility but he was said to be too busy plotting for world domination to care for anything else, and not very helpful either. Radagast was said to be nicer but notoriously hard to find. Perhaps Gandalf the Grey? He often dwelled in the Shire, being fond of the hobbits and their pipe weed in particular, or so it was said. But that was probably just evil slander. A professional and serious wizard, an Istari with divine powers, would not be stupid enough to start smoking, would he? Finilia and Finella volunteered to accompany the dwarf and dwarf-squirrel out of gratitude for their valiant assistance. They also thought Halvdan looked rather cute as a squirrel but they didn’t say that. Everyone gathered supplies for the journey and Halvdan took special care to add a hitherto unknown variety to the dwarf’s provisions. Squirrels are after all good at gathering supplies and storing them for the winter. Runar decided that they needed a guide to get past the useless hobbit infrastructure. He swept through the taverns of the random towns in pursuit of guides but none appeared. In the end all he had was a lead to one potential way of getting south in reasonable time. One hunter in the woods, a female elf of considerable infamy, was keeping and capturing wolves. She turned them into wargs, the demonic beings ridden by the orcs. She was known by her cape and hood which were bright red, and therefore called the “Little Red Riding Hood”. Perhaps those wolves/wargs could be of assistance when travelling through the unexplored wilderness. This proposition met considerable opposition from Halvdans side. Being a rodent of small stature, he was, to say the least, less optimistic about getting anywhere near such tooth-filled and hungry creatures as wolves. Runar did in the end manage to persuade him, assuring that he would guard the backpack where Halvdan could rest, with his life. Finella and Finilia also promised to keep watch during the night. The adventuring party started their journey by visiting Arundel, the great druid of Kuldahar. He lived in a cosy cottage under some roots, like everyone else in the village. Runar asked him if he had any advice regarding how to communicate with the wolves/wargs that they sought to recruit. Arundel was delighted -YES! Pleeease take this ring and take it away! I can’t stand this anymore! Aaargh! -A ring? Magical, presumably? -Of course. A fine piece of work I might add. -Ringbearers rarely part willingly with their rings. What kind of ring is this and what does it do? -It is a ring of charming animals. It raises the charisma of the wearer to 20 in the eyes of any beast. -Is that high? -Yes! Normally one can only reach 18. Doesn’t everyone know this? -Evidently not. -Further, the wearer can be understood by animals even when talking in his own language. -That might be what we are looking for. Why do you want to part with such a handy ring? It sounds like the perfect trinket for a druid. -Perhaps, but the thing is, the local animals have gotten a bit too used to its effects. Every bird is sitting next to my window listening to conversations when I have invited guests. Then they use their information to locate all my bread and cookies! And the dogs and cats here are even worse: I persuaded the earth to create a modest waterfall in my bathroom (I hate bathtubs) to wash myself in the shower of water instead. And I have the habit of making up songs when showering…what are you smiling at? I am sure everyone does that! -Of course. -Anyway, those dogs use to sit next to my window listening and when I get out they roll on the ground laughing at me! Some even sneak inside my cottage just to be able to roll on the floor laughing. Apparently it is special to roll on the floor laughing instead of the ground. Why, I don’t know. So please, take the ring and be gone with it. It will allow you to befriend any wolf I think, the trouble will be getting rid of them. -Thanks very much Arundel, and good luck with your, ahem, musical performance. ____________________________________________________________________ The fabled Little Red Riding Hood lived in a cottage in the deep woods further south into Eriador. The path to her cottage was littered with skeletons, traps and broken crossbows hanging from the trees. The party approached with the archetypical bad feeling about this. The cottage itself was something to behold. The whole house appeared to be made of gingerbread! It was obviously just a trick played by the light and the dark brown walls but the effect was still remarkable. Runar went to the door and rang the bell. A dull waiter opened the door. -Have you booked, sir? -uh…What?! -Your table, sir. Have you booked? -We are looking for the little red riding hood. I assumed she lived here, but evidently I was wrong. Is this some kind of restaurant? -Of course. This is “The Prancing Witch”, formerly “The Prancing Stepmother”. But we had to change the name since some stupid apple merchants up north started smear campaigns against each other and their stepmothers. -I may have heard of that…Anyways, could you tell me where to find the little red riding hood? -Sigh, never any customers these days…She lives fifty metres behind the restaurant near the kennels. -Thank you, sir. -Hans, what is that? a voice sounded from inside. A woman dressed as a chef stepped out. -Don’t get excited, they’re not customers, Gretel, said the waiter. -Blast, I never get the chance to show my special recipe of roasted witch. -As much as I would love to try out that dish, we really must be going, said Runar and rapidly excused himself. _____________________________________________________________________________ The house of Little Red Riding Hood was a low, timbered cottage with large fences covering vast grounds behind it. It was red with white corners and white windows. The garden was well tended but had a large headstone as its most prominent landmark. On the grey surface the word “Grandmother” was carved and a basket filled with what looked like fresh food was put in front of it where flowers are often put in other cultures that raise stones to commemorate the dead. Runar rang the bell a second time. This time he knew he was right. The woman that opened was clearly the Little Red Riding Hood, except that she was rather tall, especially from a dwarfs perspective. She held a fierce wolf in a chain in one hand. She was dressed in a red cape and looked both “Red Blooded” and like a “Scarlet Woman”. There could be no doubt about it. -Good day, miss Red Riding Hood, said Runar. -Who might you be, who dare venture into my domain? -I am Runar the dwarf. I come bearing word for you. An alliance would strengthen both our peoples...oh, sorry, sometimes I let my diplomacy get away with me. I would like to discuss the subject of wolves with you. -Ah, a fellow hunter! -Not exactly. I am a simple traveller, nothing near a famous hunter. -What can you want from me then? Let us go inside so you can explain. They went inside and Runar tried to approach the subject carefully. He was after all a diplomat and it is a virtue to be discreet when dealing with foreign powers. He started by asking about how she came to be a hunter and live in the desolate woods. Little Red Riding Hood was happy to tell, and seemed quite happy to have a visitor. Perhaps a little too happy... She never took her eyes off Runar but watched him hungrily with burning eyes (“Scarlet Woman”) and reminded quite a bit of Snow White. Runar wondered for a moment why they always had to run into such worrying, voluptuous and commanding women on this side of the Misty Mountains. It was a bit troublesome sometimes. Even an experienced diplomat likes to reason with a reasonable and sensible person sometimes. Little Red Riding Hood had lived near her grandmother until the latter had been eaten by a wolf which had ambushed her in a most cowardly way, hiding himself in grandma’s bed! Otherwise the wolf would have stood little chance, Little Red Riding Hood could tell. She had visited her grandmother with a basket of food and found her eaten and the wolf disguising in her night robe. Uttering an improvised battle cry (“you have big teeth, grandma!”) she slew the wolf but was not satisfied. She would haunt that wretched pack forever! The trouble is; even elves don’t always live forever. So she decided to try and capture all the wolves in the world and turn them into her obedient servants, leaving a legacy of eternally dominated wolves to the world, preferably conquering it for her. Little Red Riding Hood spoke with a conviction and passion bordering outright bloodlust (“Red Blooded”) as she and Runar approached her kennels. A pack of wolves rested on the ground. They didn’t look like wargs though. Perhaps domesticated enough to be considered dogs, but only barely. Little Red Riding Hood spoke with pride and charisma worthy of a great wizard: -Do you know how the wargs were made? They were wolves once. Taken by the dark powers (menaing humans). Corrupted and domesticated. A pathetic and humiliated form of life! And now...perfected! My howling Canis-Hai! Whom do you serve? The dogs yawned and didn’t display anything near zealous servitude or ecstatic enthusiasm. -Dammit, you’re supposed to howl “Little Red Riding Hood” when I say that! -Perhaps they do not deserve your fine leadership, asked Runar. -What do you mean? -These subjects are evidently disloyal and rebellious. Why don’t you let me take, say, four of them to serve me on the road south and you can take some gold to cover the expenses of losing them. -What, do I look like a dog merchant to you? I am Little Red Riding Hood, the feared huntress and scourge of the woods! -One thing does not outrule the other. Also, keep in mind that if you let me travel to foreign lands with your dogs, your reputation will spread and grow as more people see what scary beasts you have caught! -Hmmm, that’s certainly food for thought...Let us chit-chat in the meantime, while I consider the proposal. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Runar: Fooling people is really easy in this story. You just exploit their vanity or lust for power and everything goes your way. Could it have something to do with lack of imagination from the author’s side? Maltacus: Shut up and stick to the manuscript! This IS after all a fairy tale, furthermore: we are in the hobbit part of the story where everything is infected and affected with their silliness. Also, I would like to remind you of how “easy” it was to persuade the Goblin King a few chapters back. Runar: Allright, allright, o omnipresent authority figure! Maltacus: Now hurry inside and have tea with Little Red Riding Hood. I was going to make her have a keg of beer stored for the occasion, but for your insolence you will have to drink tea instead. The dwarf and the human spent a frustratingly long time chit-chatting, discussing the neighbouring restaurant among other things. -...you can’t be serious, said Runar. -Oh yes, they did. They thought the idea of a roasted witch would fit perfectly. -Let me get this straight, in a a manner that will make the readers of the AAR understand what you have just described to me: These two brothers visited the restaurant and, while dining on Gretels main dish, decided to create a children’s story about a girl and a boy named Gretel and Hans who get lost in the woods, captured by a witch who intend to murder them by roasting them alive and eat them once they have fattened enough. Those children then escape in a very sudden manner by pushing the witch into her own oven where she is burned alive, an ending most painful and agonising. Then they return to their parents, whose fault it was that they get sent to the wood in the first place and lost themselves? -Yes, but it is only the stepmothers fault. The father is somehow blameless and just a mindless tool used by the stepmother. Their real mother is dead. -Of course. How could I forget? Always the evil stepmother...And this is their idea of a childrens story??? -Well, they aren’t called “the Grim Brothers” for nothing. -Grim tales indeed. I wonder what their idea of a story for adults would look like... Their babbling continued until Little Red Riding Hood finally announced that she had decided: -I am happy to announce that I have decided. ....... -Yes? -Oh, uhm...I have decided that you shall indeed be allowed to have four of my lazy dogs. How you handle them is your problem, of course... Just get those insubordinate knaves out of my sight! So Runar went to the kennels and started negotiating. He was after all an experienced diplomat and had soon patched together a reasonably reasonable agreement: -Do we have a deal? I supply the food and shelter if necessary while you pull my sled during the journey? -Vaff vaff! -I hope that means yes...And you will NOT eat the squirrel or the green mini-elves with wings? The dogs seemed to laugh and looked like diplomats with the trait “Impossible to read”. -That will have to do, said Runar. We set up the sled once it has started to snow. Should be any week now. The journey had finally begun! After a chapter and a half of confused wandering and strolling into absurd things the company had been able to bypass the hobbit infrastructure defence. Runars dogs simply ran south on the snow, ignoring the irrational turns and hindering shrubberies that lay beneath. The speed was impressive, although a mostly unarmoured dwarf with luggage doesn’t weigh that much. Neither are squirrels especially cumbersome. Finella and Finilia had great fun riding on the four dogs during the travel, dressed in the most fashionable fairy coats. They were green, if anyone had doubted that... The two rascals had borrowed a pair of old socks from Runar to use as sleeping bags, causing him considerable confusion. It is always confusing when socks disappear. You can always find one of them, but the other seems hopelessly lost. From that perspective one could argue that it was rather considerate of the fairies to actually borrow a pair and not two odd socks, but on discovering the culprits Runar even insisted that they should consult him before, and not after, commandeering any more dwarf supplies. Even Halvdan started to relax in the company of the dogs. The trip had started outrageously for his part when all four of the dogs decided to play a game of squirrel tossing. They lifted him up between their jaws and threw him to the next around and around in a circle. They did not bite him at all and Halvdan emerged quite all right but a bit dizzy and not too pleased with the choice of recreational activity. Runar tried to firmly explain that nobody tosses a dwarf, but having to start with explaining that Halvdan was in fact a transformed dwarf always seemed to make the wolves take him less seriously. At least they never showed any inclination of wanting to eat him; preferring the various wildlife that Runar shot for them with his crossbow. In fact, the dogs kept the rest of the travellers warm during the night when they rolled themselves around them in Runars luxury snow caves, so Halvdan quickly forgave their very bad taste of tossing games. At least for the time being.

Part 16

___________________________Part 16. The Wandering Mind of the Grey Wanderer_________________________ Authors note: This was written in the 444:th post of mine on the forum, deliberatly kept for this episode. They were coming down from the vast highlands where the wind and other annoying weather roamed free. In the more com4table shire and surrounding regions, long snowy winters were a rarity and the snow was already scarce. One day Runar suddenly gazed upon an unlikely and strange obstacle. -Oh, look! A...wall, in the middle of nowhere. A lazy team of workers held a rude and noisy meeting nearby, thus the passage through the large unfinished gap in the wall was guarded by a mere captain. Runar thought it would be wise to ask about the way. If more (and more finished) obstacles of this stature appeared, the average traveller would have to bring a battering ram with him. - Good day, captain of the wall. - What! Huh? Oh, good day, random traveller. - I wonder if you could tell me about the closest path towards the Shire, and if there are any more of these walls on the way? - Well, that depends. Maybe. - Maybe? I wish to go to Bree or Hobbiton, whichever is the closest town. Do you know how to get there or not? - It depends. If I, hypothetically, would have certain pieces of in4mation; would you, hypothetically, have certain pieces of, say, rewards? - I can share my knowledge of maps if you want to know more about the places I have travelled through. - Oh, perhaps not such abstract compensation, but something a little more substantial. - Such as? - Well, if you would donate a minor monetary contribution to the border guards in this sector – as a matter of fact supervised by me – and perhaps compensate the local authorities – as another matter of fact supervised by me – 4 the trouble of guiding by serving 4 a limited time in the local militia as an allied unit – as a matter of fact... -...you command the little military 4ce here too. No, THANK YOU, my good sir. I have no wish to spend the dwarven taxminers money on such folly. - “sigh”. It was worth a try though... After having seen his embezzling attempts turn into embarrassing attempts, captain Beleg straightened up and became a reasonably straight4ward guide to the Shire and surrounding regions. He also told about the wall he was supervising. -...are you serious, asked Runar. -Yes, of course. The entire point of building this wall is to hold out those bandits. We have been plagued by raiders of the north 4 many years. Both goblins and men. 4 ages, we have tried local militias and palissaded towns and some 4ts and castles on strategic locations, but now our leadership has finally come their senses. The ideal defence against a raiding nomadic army from vast steppes to the north is of course one long wall, across the whole country. We have hired the 4most experts on such defence, the famous instructors Hi Shuangdei and Adrihanus. They have both walled off barbaric peoples in their homelands, both infantry raiders and nomad horse archers. -And they have been successful? -Of course, otherwise they wouldn’t be here spreading the idea, would they? -Ehm, what if the enemy brings battering rams or something to a point in the palisade? Won’t it be hard to defend the whole wall? -Ha! They will never do that! They are barbaric raiders, they will just see our great wall and tire and go home. They have no patience. -Ehrm...good luck then. But I would personally rather trust in a mobile professional 4ce with lots of archers. -No, no, no, those things are completely obsolete. Long, stationary walls, that’s the recipe 4 success. So Runar proceeded from the presumably adequate border defences and into the Shire. His first stop would be the peaceful town of Bree. It was a known favourite of Gandalf, at least if one were to believe the owner of the Prancing Pony, the local inn. It was owned and run by Brandiman Butterbur and his son Barliman. Brandiman’s wife Vinia ran the stables where un4tunate travellers could spend 4tunes on rickety quarters 4 their ponys. When passing through the landscape the travellers noted a strange social development of the Hobbit society. The peace-loving inhabitants of the Shire were turning into militaristic total war fanatics! The town of Bree had become a centre of a newly 4med militia (4 lack of a better word) of sorts. It was all thanks to some sort of royal ape, or maybe it was some kind of disgruntled goat. They had 4ced both hobbits and men to flock to their banners, which was quite a feat in itself since the banners were notably absent. Being a faction without any real 4m of government has its drawbacks when it comes to national heraldry... The valiant members of the militia in Eriador struggled bravely against the tactless jokes and rude comments by their colleagues of other factions. It was as if they could not take the idea of the Breeland militia seriously. They always looked upon the shields and coats of the peasant soldiers and then roared with laughter. Something about the flowers of the shields seemed to turn the most serious enemy into a complete fool. And the hobbitry-in-arms could naturally never be taken seriously. Despite grim sight of marching hippies...militia... the roads were not blocked by any sort of official with the bad habit of sticking his nose into other people’s private affairs, as is usually the case in countries with a sudden increase of armed 4ces. As the spring progressed, so did the journey and soon one bright morning Bree and The Prancing Pony was in sight. Runar opened the door of the inn and jumped back immediately. The doorway was filled with smoke! The inn was on fire! Why had nobody sounded the alarm? Just as he was about to shout a warning to the rest of the town Finella stopped him. She had noticed the smell of the smoke. It was the smoke from the pipeweed of the hobbits, called tobacco by outlanders. -Okay, everyone hide in the backpack and keep it shut. I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible inside, said Runar and braced himself 4 the stinking smog. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. It was hard to make out the features of the room and guests in the mist but soon he could spot a desk and a busy bartender hurrying around and never having time 4 anything. -Cough! Hell-cough-o, I wonder if... -Just a minute! -Better be a short minute...Cough! -Ah, yes, what can I do 4 you? Welcome to The Pr-cough-ancing Pony by the way! -I wonder if Gandalf the Grey has been here lately. Would you know that? Cough! -Of course! Come over here! -What? No, I just need the answer, thank you. -No, you misunderstand me; Gandalf is in fact here in person. Come along. B4 Runar had even the slightest chance of contemplating this streak of unlikely luck, Brandiman had led him through the smog and up some stairs. They went along a corridor with several rooms and reached the quieter west end of the inn. Barliman knocked politely on a tall door. -Who is it? a voice sounded from inside. -Brandiman, with a visitor. The door was opened and out stepped the legendary wizard himself. Gandalf the Grey, the epitome of heroic and upright leader figures! Except 4 that less known spying mission in Dol Guldur. And the somewhat infamous expedition to steal the loot of the dragon Smaug. Not to mention the dubious interest in fireworks and all kinds of pyrotechnics (and that is the one that the elf Cirdan choose to entrust the ring of fire to...) and the habit of inviting himself into the homes of both peaceful hobbits like Bilbo and busy kings of both Rohan and Gondor. But apart from that, he was most upright and admirable in all ways. After a long (4 Runar) and smoky (4 Gandalf) explanation the wizard quickly got to his feet. He grabbed his walking stick which he didn’t need and was on his way out of the room in no time. -Wait a second, where are you going, asked Runar. -Huh? Oh, sorry, we are going on a little picnic to a nearby lake. It’s really nice and quiet. -What about Halvdan? -That is one of the main reasons why we are going to the lake. -I know that old wizards are known to be a bit eccentric but this is getting silly..., muttered Runar. The lake was a typical picnic lake with boring and park-like ground next to it (despite being labelled “wilderness” on larger maps). It was the kind of place where boring old hobbits gathered to stuff themselves full with food while the young hobbits tried in vain to make them come out of their portable chairs and play with them. Gandalf raised his staff and began to utter complicated and melodramatic spells in 4eign languages. It was a tense moment. Nothing happened. Then the wizard seemed to think 4 himself 4 a while. Eventually Runar asked how things were going. -What? Hum, ah...oh, yes. I just let my mind wander. Ehrrm...Yes, the rodent thing. Let’s see... -He’s really absent-minded sometimes 4 being a wizard. I wonder how old Gandalf really is. -Here it is. Singudwarvis Porcus! -What have you done Gandalf! -Oh dear! It appears I have turned Halvdan into a boar instead. I can’t imagine what went wrong. I learned this spell from a very friendly witch named Circe, who wanted me very much to use it on some ships crew led by this guy Odysseus. But I never got the time to try it out. -Find another spell at once! -Yes of course, let me see... Gorus Hircus Circus! -No, wait, this is it! I promise! Auleingas Khazadus! -At last! said Halvdan. -You’re back! said Runar. -Your grasp of the obvious never ceases to amaze me. I was...Ueeurk! What smell! Excuse me 4 two moments! Halvdan had spotted the lake nearby. He quickly jumped into it like a bearded cannonball. Gandalf explained the reason 4 the foul stench. The spell that turned Halvdan into a squirrel had apparently affected his clothes which became the squirrel’s fur. Consequently, now that Halvdan was a dwarf again he (and the neighbourhood) experienced effects comparable to not changing clothes 4 the whole time since the battle with the fairy-kidnapping wizard. The water of the lake had already become a bit murky around Halvdan. As soon as he had gotten up and changed into less repulsive armour Halvdan went to have a chat with the dogs. The latter could not believe their eyes. They looked from Halvdan to Runar and Gandalf and back again. -I did actually tell you about this, said Runar. -Vaff, sniff. Voff voff? said the dogs to each other. They looked astonished. Halvdan ended the discussion by ensuring all dogs that he was really a dwarf, by tossing them all in the air. But he always caught them when falling down so he wasn’t really angry about the dwarf-tossing anymore. Nobody tosses a dwarf!!! After the recreational activities they gathered around Gandalf and expected words of great depth and wisdom. They were at first disappointed. The wizard went on and on about the mead quality in different taverns he had visited and the lack of pipeweed in Isengard where his colleague Saruman dwelt. Then he bragged about all the difficult and awe-inspiring adventures he had experienced together with the rangers of the north. Finally Halvdan got tired of it and asked the wizard if he knew something about Midgard. -Midgard? No, but the name sounds a little familiar. There is a book somewhere that I come to think of. -Which contain in4mation about Midgard? -Not necessarily. I just came to think of it, but I don’t know why. It could have been because there was an advertisement about new wizard robes, or maybe some stuff about the latest tours west to Valinor. Though it could have been because there was something about Midgard in it. But most likely I came to think of it because it contains a chapter about numerological mythology. -What is that, asked Runar. -Well, it is a most obscure school of mythology, or maybe astrology. Its supporters believe that the world as we know it progresses in large chunks of time, like the episodes in some saga. These “episodes” are made up of days and years and thus invisible to us, but presumably an episode will have some sort of impact on the time it covers. Their latest theory is that we now live in the “444:th” episode of some unknown powers musings or creations or whatever. This unknown power has there4e caused the number “4” to appear in daily speech and here and there in the written texts in Middle Earth instead of the letters “for” or “four”. -How silly! -Indeed. I do of course not believe such nonsense, I mean; if such an unknown power would exist it would surely have more important things to do and be much more sensible than wasting its time on such lewd and annoying humour. Nevertheless it would be fun to have a look at that book. This actually leads me to another issue. I would, sort of, require your help I think. -We’re all ears, said Runar. -Personally I have some eyes and a beard and nose and body and so as well, said Halvdan. But I don’t know about you... -Evidently you still have the same annoying mouth as well! It’s just an expression, you rogue! -If I can be allowed to explain b4 you too amaze me more with the legendary dwarven cooperation, friendship and politeness: I take it that you, being dwarfs from Erebor, are very familiar with the hobbit known as Bilbo Baggins? -Of course. He is still a real celebrity back home. We dwarfs do actually have long memories. We have been thinking of visiting him while we’re in the Shire. -Good! I could use your help. -Help? With what? -Bilbo himself. -What do you mean? I have always thought him to be a nice guy (a bit unreliable and not to be entrusted with royal diamonds or other jewels but other than that quite nice). -He was. But I fear things have gotten worse. -How much worse? -Very, very much worse...

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 16.5

_______________________Part 16½. The Battle of Kugavod_______________________ Journal of Balin We have caught up with Tryin and his army. It is unbelievable. The incompetence of the inexplicably ignorant idiot has mounted to mountainous proportions! Can you, journal, believe that he not only positioned himself in the middle of the open - at the only known crossing of this river - but also spent the last months shouting taunting and insulting speeches towards Rhun. Talk about provoking attacks! And the fool only had three companies with him. Has Tryins trying shifted from trying our patience to trying to get all of his army slain? Luckily, I am here to set things right. Or at least as right as possible, since I am forbidden to kill Tryin and rid us all of his stupidity. I shall have to be extra careful with that last thing since the captain Boffrur has set up a meeting tonight to brief everyone about his latest findings. I wonder what he has uncovered. Journal of Thrain the Terrific Today’s meeting was interesting, I must say. Had it not been for the presence of Balin it would have been a great evening worthy of a long headache the next morning. He is still the greatest mead-brain in the whole realm. That the knave had the guts to criticize ME, the great Thrain, in front of the council! Something about that I would have somehow provoked the Easterlings to send a massive army that is currently encamped just west of the bridge here and directly to our southeast. Laughable! They would have been here months ago had it not been for their fear when they noticed it was Thrain in person who commanded the dwarf bridge guard force! Journal of Boffrur Aaargh! The effort it takes not to strangle our commanders is sometimes staggering. Must...maintain...control. Must...maintain...control. I better keep writing to keep my mind focused on something else. So therefore I write in my journal which deals exclusively with today’s events such as the meeting with said commanders... Who came up with this plot for the AAR? Anyway, I have finally completed the investigations of the mysterious Liquid RC. It is being manufactured or refined in, or at least originating from, Kugavod. There is a mysterious cult of archer monks inside. We suspect that they are the driving force behind the distribution of the Liquid RC. Together with them there is a random collection of the common rebel scum consisting of militia that fights to defend their free home town. Ehrm...they are probably scummy in some way anyway. After constructing some battering rams, namely three, we have gone to sleep and will attack the next day. But I have other things in mind. Now, journal, let us (or maybe just me) see what are the true effects of this liquid. Being the head of investigations and scouting has its uses sometimes after all. I have a sizeable collection of the bottles inside my tent for “further studies”. Journal of Thrain the Terrific This is shocking! Unbelievable! Outrageous! Boffrur, the rotund sheep-warring git to use Orcish battle-speech vocabulary, has shown up drunk on Liquid RC! How could he do such a stupid thing? Doesn’t he know about the risks? Not that I do, but it has to be risks with drinking unknown potions. I mean, the fear of the unknown can’t be unjustified, can it? No. That is most certainly not the case. Boffrur turned up in front of the whole army assembled for a surprise attack and told them how the RC was now running through his body and how strong he felt! Boffrur has proposed that we all drink it and then attack. The idiot failed to see that doing so will totally eliminate the element of surprise. Balin did of course side with Boffrur, just to undermine my position I bet! He is as shifty as a yellow ball with moving black dots under black lines! Journal of Balin Ha! This day has turned out well after all. Rarely have I seen Tryin so angry or frustrated. All praise to Boffrur for that. Besides, his idea of actually using the RC has its uses. We all feel sturdier now, as if our defence skills have suddenly increased and our armour is thicker. Excellent! This is good stuff to drink before battles, I say. Soon we will see it in action. The attack on Kugavod may not be very surprising but it doesn’t matter. Tryin has been given overall command of the army, a decision which I reluctantly agreed with. It is the only way to make that arrogant abomination get in line and stop being sour about Boffrur’s, well, overly creative behaviour. Tryin is surprisingly easy to manipulate, you just give him a high rank and he becomes blind to everything else. Now let’s go and smash some random palisade walls of a random rebel town. To Battle!!! The Battle of Kugavod Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  -Allright lads, we split up in three groups to make it look more tactical and exciting to the readers! I will command the centre with Balin as arrow fodder... I mean commander of the ramming division. Consisting of one battering ram. We will attack first and draw the enemy attention to us. ...the other groups will stay back until the walls appear to be abandoned and then storm to flank the enemy. Last to the town square is a rotten turnip! - Forward! Let’s take this pile of manure of a town before the lazy Tryin has even gotten himself inside the walls! - There is a free spot at the ram for you, if you would like to actually help with more things than shouting meaningless comments, general Balin. - What? No, I have to stay here and maintain command of the situation. Carry on, warrior. - Yeah, we need soo much shrewd tactical command to push this thing forward to the wall and ram it. Really advanced tactics... NOT. - Hey Ho, Hey Ho, to ram the wall we go! Hey Ho, Hey Ho, Hey Ho... - Shut it! - Look what you’ve done! Your stupid battle hymn has alerted the garrison. Lot’s of men in silly hats and brown dresses are rushing out to hack us apart! - You don’t think that they might have seen us from the neat lookout towers above the gate, or heard the ram rolling over the ground here, not to mention the sound of the ram ramming against the wall? - No, I am absolutely sure it was your singing and nothing else that alerted them. Call for reinforcements. - No need for that. They are all sprinting to flank the foe. Even Thrain. - WHAT?! That can’t be right. Brace yourselves, Tryin has surely come to flank US instead and assault me while I am preoccupied! - Some day I would like to serve in an army that focuses on defeating it’s enemies instead of it’s commanders... - See? They are attacking the woodcutters after all. Our reinforcements have actually routed them. - Hmpf! Just a diversion from Tryins side I am sure. Note how the coward is making sure to be the last to arrive, content with catching the routing foe that is locked out by their comrades. - We have breached the wall! - Excellent! Into the breach and on to the taverns and breweries! - Baaalin! You miserable moron! You’re letting the rebels escape to the square while you’re regrouping! - If you want to make yourself useful for a change you can come inside and join me, Tryin! - Don’t you dare call me that! It’s Thorin nowadays! - What? - I’m sick of you always making up names for me, so I have changed my name from Thrain to Thorin! Ha! Owned! - Nooo! The foundation of my life is shaken! I must invent a new joke! - Form shield wall and follow me, brave noble dwarfs! - Ehm, Balin, this is more like a shield mob than a shield wall. Besides, in this formation the general is placed furthest to the back so it will be you who have to follow us. - No, look, I lead from the front! Haahaha! - You’re hardly visible in the sea of blue cloaks. You’re lucky to have that bright pink mantle of dwarf generals. - Precisely. Look, the other enemy company is standing passively further up the street. They appear to try to form a shield wall too. - You’re fooling yourself, that’s not a true shield wall; it’s just two companies standing on the same spot. - Whatever. Forward, brave unorganised shield mob! Thorin, keep up if can (but I doubt it)! - I’m right behind you, moron! - The wall looks deserted. Just like it has done for the whole battle so far. But something tells me now is a good time to attack. I wonder if the guys on the other side just thought of the same thing? - Muahahaha! We have broken through their blocking force and caught the retreating door guards off guard! - That would surely be an impressive tactical feat, were it not for the fact that those things were achieved just by madly rushing forward up this street. - Shut up, Thorin! - Look, Thorin, the western force is rushing in to flank the enemy! - Excellent! All will fear the tactics of the mighty Thorin the Terrific! - Blood, blood, blood! - Take it easy Balin, you’re not a Dunland berserker. - Push forward, I can see a tavern! - Where? - At the city square. That large building has to be the tavern. - That’s just a random town building. This backwater town doesn’t even have a tavern. - I regret to inform your lordship that we are a bit tired. Can we send in the reserves now? - Indeed. Have you been spending time in Stingland, by the way? - Raagh! Flank their archers to keep them from shooting us! - They are already engaged by the eastern companies! We should target the other archers! - Too late! Those have already been reserved for the axemen. - Accuracy isn’t held in such high esteem among you rebels, is it? - What? “looks down” Don’t shoot me, damn it! I’m not a dwarf, I’ve only fallen to the ground! - If you strike me down I will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine! - Surrender, then! - Never! “slash” - He has resurrected two dozens of the foe! - He must be a necromancer! - Flee! - Not all necromancers are dark lords in disguise. This is not Dol Guldur. - Promise? - Look, let’s hack them apart. If they fall, I win, because then they are clearly not disguised dark lords. - If you lose the bet, who wins? - Fear the mighty Thorin the Terrific! - You are neither mighty nor terrific. - Yes I am. You’re always such a negative Balin! - Look at the victory report. You are just Lord Thorin. Hahahahaha! - Still better than you, who aren’t mentioned at all. - Some of our warriors seem to be affected by the religious environment. Look how they fall to the ground praying. - They’re just stretching their backs. Journal of Thorin the Terrific Aaah, what a great week! We managed to capture the town before the Easterlings could intervene and now their army has marched home. Not only that, but I have sent out Balin on a mundane and trivial task - building watchtowers near the river. I hear it is full of mosquitoes this time of the year. At least I hope so. Maybe this Liquid RC isn’t so bad after all. I have despatched two companies to socialize with the villagers and buy them free beer. Hopefully this will make them more cooperative and we can learn something about the origin of the Liquid RC. The only bad thing is that it’s a costly enterprise, taking the toll of 43 gold coins per three months! Journal of Balin Damn the little lordling! It was I who made the major contribution to our victory. It was thanks to MY reinforcements Thorin wasn’t trampled by Easterling Kataphracts out in the wild. And now he repays me by sending me out to build WATCHTOWERS! The least glorious and most dull and boring work imaginable! But all is not lost. Now that we have captured Kugavod, the king will likely be more open to suggestions of more expansion. Such as reclaiming Moria... I must get back to Erebor as soon as I get the opportunity. But first I need to find out more about the Liquid RC. That in itself will probably take up a whole random ½ chapter.

Part 17

___________________________________Part 17. Bilbo the Silly Hobbit_________________________________ West of Bree there was an old forest with grumpy and irritable trees, particularly willows. East of the forest were some burial mounds and old misty hills with buried lords from the days of Arnor. They had crafted weapons of the most supreme quality and power, possibly with the force even to break the magical bodies of wraiths and other dark beings. But the White Council and other enemies of Sauron had obviously urgent business elsewhere for none ever bothered searching the haunted mounds. The forest was said to be home to the arguably most ridiculous being ever born. Whether it was senility due to his immensely high age or just his personality, no one could tell. Everyone agreed, though, that the trait “Dangerously Mad” did not even come close to describe Tom Bombadill. Halvdan didn’t even think Bombadill existed, deeming the story about him to silly too be realistic. Runar was unsure. Gandalf looked on with amusement but said nothing. In the end the dwarfs agreed not to visit the Old Forest. First, Tom Bombadill did by all accounts not rule any kind of state with an interest in diplomatic relations with Erebor. Second, he either did not exist or, if he existed, he was apparently too mad and silly to be worth negotiating with. According to Gandalf, who now finally said something about the matter, Tom Bombadill was also highly irresponsible. If he would be entrusted, say, the One Ring or something equally important he would likely just throw it away or forget it. Following the road west the small fellowship crossed Brandywine River using the conveniently placed but unstable hobbit bridge. Gandalf then insisted on taking a small detour south to avoid the densely populated land closest to the river. His reputation was apparently not the best after the suspicious activities related to Bilbo Baggins sudden disappearance and return many years ago. This detour happened to lead the travellers into the grounds of the Maggot family. The famous farmer Maggot had a prosperous farm near Brandywine River. His lands provided vegetables and the prized hobbit delicacy – mushrooms. Business was good until the intolerable brats of Hobbiton grew up to the thieving scum they were. Worst of them all was Frodo Baggins, Bilbo’s nephew. His gang scoured the poor farmer’s grounds for all kinds of mushrooms, to the formers great irritation. It happened that Mr Maggot was walking along the road that Runar and Halvdan were using. He was eating on a large chunk of grilled meat and looked on the whole unusually barbaric for being a hobbit. The dogs were most enthusiastic, having caught the scent of the food long ago. They tracked the meat to the lone hobbit and jumped eagerly around him. The dwarfs hurried after while Gandalf strolled casually after them. -Vaff vaff! Vov, voff! -Huh! Hrrm, what is this?! said Maggot. -No, stop this! You’re ruining our diplomatic relations! Sit! Runar shouted. -Leave the farmer alone, you indiscreet wolves! Halvdan added. Mr Maggot didn’t seem too troubled for being an ambushed peasant. He had turned around and viewed the dogs with much interest, although he was careful to keep his meat high and out of reach. -Don’t overexcite yourselves, dwarfs. Hey, it’s just four hungry dogs. -My apologies, sir, said Runar and thought that the situation was utterly embarrassing. -Take it easy, said Maggot and scratched one of the dogs behind its ear. Nice dogs you’ve got. I didn’t know you dwarfs kept dogs around you. But then, dwarfs don’t usually come to the Shire. -No, we usually don’t. Neither come here nor keep dogs, said Halvdan. These have been our travelling companions here in Eriador but now that we are going even further south we don’t really know what to do with them. We might eventually go even to Harad and that’s no land for a northern wolf or dog. But we don’t want to send them away either because they seem to prefer staying with us. -Personally, I could use a couple of dogs to help guard my grounds. You see, I am constantly plagued by mushroom raids by the unbearable Hobbiton brats. The worst of all is Frodo Baggins. I hear his uncle, Bilbo, has started some sort of imperialistic network too. Don’t go near those folks, or you’ll regret it, mark my words. -Consider them marked. But it happens that we regrettably have to go there to help one of Gandalf’s friends with something. -Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Since you are here we might as well travel together along the road until I reach my grounds. So Maggot and the other travellers continued along the road. Maggot even shared some of his lunch with the dogs. When they came to a crossroad leading into the forest he announced that it was the path to his grounds and he was about to take his leave. The dogs did not approve. They barked and wanted to drag the dwarfs into the forest too. -So you want to stay here in the Shire, asked Runar. -Vaff! -That usually means yes I think. What about you, Mr Maggot? Would you like the dogs to stay with you? -Are you joking!? That would be excellent! Hobbiton brats, beware! Now my grounds will finally be sufficiently guarded. Maggot went off with three of the dogs, but the smallest of them didn’t like the dark forest. He ran back to Runar and Halvdan and continued to travel in the company of the dwarfs. From this day the farmer Maggot was both famous and infamous for his three great dogs and his mushrooms were much harder to acquire by mischievous intruders. The notorious burglar and thief Bilbo Baggins lived a retired life in Hobbiton where he invited lots of hobbits to enormous birthday parties and smoked pipe weed while admiring the loot he had collected on the expedition to steal various valuables from Smaug the dragon years ago. The expedition had ended in the sudden demise of the dragon and renewed dwarven dominion over the lonely mountain. Thus, one could argue that Bilbo should be known as a robber instead of a burglar, but no definite conclusion had been communicated by any court made up of neither dragons nor valar so the matter remained open for discussion. Little did the neighbours expect that Bilbo would undergo such a change of mind once he found that one of his trinkets, a ring of some kind, had been stolen. It happened a decade after his homecoming and witnesses described a suspicious-looking fellow asking questions nearby about “the thief Baggins, preciousss” while also mumbling something about fish and grunting something about birthday presents. The same person had been seen climbing near Bilbo’s smial but people generally assumed that he was a new gardener or something similar. This event transformed Bilbo into a raving, power-hungry madman. He used his modest contacts to create a dubious network of spies and secret servants. Soon, no detail of the latest fluctuations of the potato market could escape his ears. But he was no closer to finding the missing ring. So Bilbo started to look beyond the simple and simple-minded inhabitants of the Shire and broadened his knowledge on religious and political matters. Bribing and threatening merchants from far far away he built up a network of corruption which in time would take the shape of an empire in some lands and a fanatical religious movement in others. Everywhere, Bilbos pale skin, power-hungry eyes and cruel-looking teeth where a sure sign of trouble, no matter whether he otherwise dressed in black robes or extravagant garments or just a plain hobbit costume. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  This led to great unrest in Hobbiton and some of the inhabitants actually emigrated. Many of them travelled to Stingland with their ponies, where they formed a light hobbit cavalry – the so called Hobilars. But the evil presence of Bilbo did not go unnoticed. The rangers of the north gathered a large (for them) army and besieged Bag End (Bilbo’s home and estate). Head of the besieging forces was Halbarad, the de facto leader of the Dunedain of the north since the chief Aragorn was often away on travels to distant lands and hanging out with obscure wizards and other shady characters. Halbarad had studied some of the history of Beleriand and other old places and remembered the danger related to besieging enemy fortifications. Especially Angband and Barad-Dur had been very costly and dangerous to besiege. Now, Bilbo was perhaps not quite as dangerous as Morgoth but he had attempted to mimic the Dagor Bragollach by throwing torches from his windows and firing fireworks at anyone visible. Clearly Bilbo had planned for this event for a long time and stored some of the customary fireworks from each of his birthday parties the last two decades. He and his followers were also more or less self-sufficient due to the great garden where they, like all hobbits, grew heaps of vegetables. The rangers were so hardened by their travels that they could eat more or less anything so they endured as well. They waited around Bag End, hidden carefully and hoping that something would happen that would bring an end to their long and boring siege. But then one day Gandalf arrived with two dwarfs, which caused quite an uproar among the hobbits. Everybody knows that when Gandalf arrives in the Shire accompanied by dwarfs great turmoil and irregularities are about to occur (look what happened to Bilbo when Gandalf and Thorin and his companions arrived, or imagine how a birthday party will end when those fellows have supplied the fireworks). Halbarad was however more enthusiastic. He wanted to purchase dwarf facemasks to aid his men against the flaming defences of Bilbo Baggins. The dwarf facemasks are renowned across Middle Earth for their epic coolness. They are so cool that they can mitigate even the heat of a dragons breath. They are perhaps almost as cool as the Cuman or Kypchak masks. Or maybe not really, but still very cool. Runar and Halvdan where nevertheless a bit surprised of the reason for why Halbarad wanted their assistance. - Yes. We have everything set here for our siege except masks for the fire. Is there a problem? - You may very well soon have one. The masks are mainly made by the dwarf smithing guild and their prices... Well, suffice to say that they do not part willingly with their wares. The common descriptions of their application of their near market monopoly range from “outrageous” to “scandalous” and “appalling”. - You dwarfs hold us at random, and you know this! - Don’t look at me, I’m not a member of the smithing guild! Halvdan and I represent Erebor as a whole. We deal more with matters of state and politics. And eating and drinking. - And walking and travelling, said Halvdan. We have temporarily distracted the goblins from our lands... - So now they will instead come down to Eriador to pillage! Oh, THANK YOU. - ...but we could perhaps rethink that strategy and opt for an epic invasion of the Misty Mountains in general and Moria in particular if we could get enough assistance from allies to have our flanks secured. -That’s more like it, said Halbarad. We have a deal! Or perhaps two deals. I suppose I still have to deal with this mask ordering. -We’ll give your state budget a hero’s funeral, said Runar. Nice doing business with you. See you at the Misty Mountains as soon as we can find a way to persuade Dain to let Balin loose to reclaim Moria. -Who is Balin? -He was one of the dwarfs that travelled with Gandalf and Bilbo. He is infamous for his obsession with retaking Moria and his silly conflict with Thrain, our faction heir. Those two regularly engage in annoying and overbearing taunting of each other. It is a miracle that either of them gets anything done. Thanks to the splendid diplomacy and customer-friendly warnings the relations between Erebor and Eriador improved. The new allies would perhaps not be that useful against the goblins, being made up largely of hobbits and the wall-building flower-power militia but at least they would provide some distraction.

Part 18

__________________________Part 18. The Santa Clause_______________________ After the conclusion of the masked business, Gandalf suddenly got an urgent mission in a far away realm. Or maybe he just lost interest. It was hard to tell with these complicated old-timers that never tell anybody about what they are up to. It’s just “get up from your comfortable life and join my ill-fated thieving expedition across the dangerous mountains” or “just for your information, the family heirloom of yours is a lethal magic artefact” all the time and no explanations are given and no one gets to know anything in advance. Anyway, Gandalf was gone for the time being. Runar and Halvdan were not happy with him leaving so quickly because they had wanted to ask if he could give the fairies a lift home to their land in northern Eriador. The fairies had not taken part in the latest chapters since they had been busy chronicling the events. They missed their forest but didn’t mind staying that much. They found the travels with the dwarfs to produce a most interesting insight into the lives of other peoples of Middle Earth. Finella was even thinking of becoming a Fairyologie Doctor in anthropology at the fairy university. Halvdan looked thoughtfully across the town street towards Bag End. He seemed unsatisfied with something. Runar was sitting below a huge tree nearby that was covered in scorch marks from fireworks from the latest unruly birthday parties, looking through the diplomatic supplies of ink, paper and dictionaries filled with complicated and unnecessary words developed by the different Middle Earth nation’s bureaucracies. Halvdan approached him. - Something is missing here, he said. - What? Have you lost your travellers cloak again? - Why would I have lost my cloak? I keep my stuff well ordered, I’ll have you know. - Those clouds over there look filled with rain so I thought you missed something that was related to rainy weather and thought of it having seen the clouds. - As a matter of fact: NO. I mean that something is missing here regarding our mission. Every time we meet other factions you try to trick them to sign boring papers and I do a precautionary sweep of the surroundings. - You mean you spy on them. - Yes, that’s what I said. - Of course. - But here there has been no spying at all! Nothing like the undercover negotiations with sub-factions like in Mirkwood... - Also known as making up insults about Skaldir with Miniel... - ...or the covert operation to trick the goblins (something which I will NEVER do again) - Yes, that was fun! - ...or the infiltration of Gundabad. I think I ought to infiltrate Bag End. It was awfully long since I infiltrated something last time. - What about the fireworks? How will you get inside Bilbos house? - I have a plan. I need a pair of glasses attached to a leather mask, one set of our mountaineer equipment and some dark clothes that the rangers can part with. I also need a lantern that can be covered on all sides to hide the light if necessary. - I believe I can procure the requested material, but I don’t see how that will help you get inside. - Just as usual then, hehehe. Ah! Here is one other thing we almost missed here in Eriador – the mandatory befuddling of Runar the Absent-Minded. - Who is to his great dismay accompanied by Halvdan the Shamelessly Lewd. Very well, let’s go look for some glasses and leather stuff. I believe we have a lantern or two packed that can be outfitted with covers. Late that evening two mysterious figures could be seen hiding in the shadows near Bag End. One of them was carrying some ropes and a hidden lantern and the other carried a dark ladder (bought for an unreasonable price from Mr Overhill). Misguided by the moon just hiding itself behind a cloud, they hurried to the far end of Bag End where there were no doors. One of them climbed up the ladder, followed by the ropes, his companion and the ladder they lifted up. They were lucky nobody clicked on them because then they would have had to shout “Ladders!” as high as they could and flashing green circles would have appeared under them, revealing them to everyone in the area. Halvdan approached the largest of the chimneys on the roof. He looked down and uncovered a bit of the lantern to look down. All was black. -What if Bilbo decides to make tea and lights a fire, asked Runar. - If he was up we would have seen the light before we climbed, or hear him now. Besides, Bilbo is a civilised hobbit despite this mysterious imperialism thing. He will never make tea past tea-time. - I think you may be confusing Bilbo and the Stinglish. Are you ready? Halvdan put his mask on and attached the climbing harness while Runar braced himself for minutes of uncomfortable work supporting Halvdans descent. So, Halvdan began to climb down the chimney, with the mask protecting him somewhat from inhaling all the years worth of soot that clogged the entrance. After reaching the fireplace he carefully looked down. All was black so he turned a little light on. The room was empty. Halvdan turned off the light and continued in a cautious manner. He found what must have been the kitchen. It smelled of rotting cheese and had obviously not been in use for many weeks. Very strange. The hallways were dusty and appeared deserted. Halvdan also found a library which he examined with great interest. It was a little less stuffed with documents when he left the room. Finally he glanced into the bedroom. It was empty! This was ridiculous. Halvdan turned on the light and suddenly saw a message painted on the wall. It read, in great offending red letters: Screw you guys – I’m going away! Wondering how long time the rangers had foolishly spent guarding an empty house, Halvdan spent another hour searching it more thoroughly. He found many messages of similar character, directed especially to a hobbit family known as the Sackins, who Bilbo thought should get sacked and tied up in sacks and sent away, as well as more direct messages such as “You sack, Sackers!”. Yawning, Halvdan returned to the fireplace and let Runar lift him up. He could of course theoretically have used the door, but he didn’t want to deprive Runar of the fun of having to lift him. Besides, using doors to enter or exit houses is just sooo un-spyly. The rangers spent several days going through the loot in Bag End. They were soon joined by Dod, the Head Gardener of Hobbiton (the hobbit equivalent of mayor) who wanted to secure the interests of the population (=secure votes in the next corrupt election). Many items in Bag End seemed to belong to other hobbits who mysteriously didn’t remember giving them away to Bilbo or leaving them in his house. The Head Gardener insisted that they be returned immediately by him personally but the rangers disagreed since they were not too happy with the cheap way Dod had won the latest election – campaigns of making the outside rangers appear as a threat to which the hobbits must respond by uniting behind the banner of his party and so on and so on (political manipulation by use of a grossly exaggerated potential – at the most – external threat, oldest trick in the book and the history, so boring....zzzzzz) – and believed he would take the opportunity to start even more smear campaigns, based on the accusation that the rangers had stolen the items, against them, causing the matter to became a source of days of argumentation after which both parties agreed on a compromise, consisting of asking the dwarfs to return the loot after it had all been accounted for and listed in proper protocols under the combined supervision of both political and ranger authorities which would be allowed two members each with the possibility of electing supplementary officials from both parts with a qualified majority voting procedure or a special procedure requiring unanimity from the attending representatives if one representative would be missing, which on second thought would be the same as a qualified majority of four, since three votes would be needed, notwithstanding that... - Please, stop this! Shut up while Halvdan and I confer about the matter, Runar shouted. The dwarfs walked away a bit. - I can’t see any alternative. We have to distribute the loot; otherwise they will go on and on discussing about it forever, said Runar. - Only three years, then the next election will come up and then all politicians will forget about any political issues and just turn to panicked, short-sighted nonsense that they hope will give them the support of the last undecided voters. Still, it’s a long time to wait. - During that time, this absurd long sentence will grow to monstrous proportions and consume the whole AAR! Every reader will abandon it because it will become unreadable. - I suppose so. English is a strange language indeed with these seemingly endless sentences. - We’re lucky this is not written in, for example, Swedish, then the whole message would not be one sentence - it would be one WORD! - Really? - Yes. It is theoretically possible to combine any number of words in Swedish into one word. Not that it serves any practical purpose... So all that rambling could be summed up into a question of whether or not I would want to become the Hobleadarskapskontrollchefsarkivariekonsultsbrevbärardiplomatrepresentantsblablablablabla... - Wow! Turning a message into complete nonsense using just one word! Swedish is something that should be added to the spy academy – it would allow us to confuse any town guard and then slip in unnoticed when they try to figure out what we have actually said. - It will probably take all autumn for those morons to sort all the loot. Blast! We are so close to the Blue Mountains! At least it is our next stop. I want to visit our folks there instead of rotting away in this overgrown garden of a village. - And I want to do some real skiing. It’s been ages since last time. So the dwarfs reluctantly accepted to stay until they could distribute the items to their owners. But they had certain conditions... - ...we do of course want something in return, said Halvdan. You, rangers, are to use short, clear sentences in all your correspondence as well as conspiracy with all foreign powers... - Aaaargh! Please, nooo! - ...and you, Dude... -It’s Dod, dammit! - ...are to refrain from all kinds of scare-tactics in all coming elections and other political projects of yours, as well as having anyone else do it. - Nooooo! It’s the end civilization as we know it! -They will break their promises as soon as we leave town, whispered Runar. - Probably, but we must never yield to corruption. Better to go down with banners flying and investigations firing! whispered Halvdan. The dwarfs were right (they are protagonist heroes after all) about the delay. Runar and Halvdan spent the time learning the addresses of Hobbiton and the nearby Michel Delving and playing with their remaining dog, which they called Fenris. They had also spent half a day going through Bilbos documents that Halvdan had stolen during his infiltration. The found some very interesting information. - I have sorted away some of the correspondence and limited the possibly relevant documents to this pile. You start from below and I from above, said Halvdan. - Right... - Here’s one. “Runar is a Scotsman better suited...” - First, that is my joke! Second, it is very much outdated by now! Here is a list of potential targets for imperialistic invasion, compiled by the department of foreign affairs of Bilbo Baggins. - What settlements are on the list? Not Erebor I hope? - Let’s see... Edoras, Edoras, Edoras, Edoras, Edoras, Edoras, Minas Tirith, Edoras, Edoras and Edoras. And there’s a note too: “From Minister of Foreign Affairs to vice scribe: Change Minas Tirith to Edoras at once!” - Predictable as always... Look here! From something called the research journal of B. Baggins “Midgard can be reached from Middle Earth as it is not another incarnation of the same thing, yet there are obvious links between them and therefore there has to be a gateway of some kind. The ranger siege has prevented me from further exploring the options but now I have an alternative research setup underway elsewhere. Taking the ring to Midgard will prevent Gollum or others from stealing it again. First, there is the question of having “others” return it to me. I am leaving tomorrow, must remember to pack pipe weed and burn the spare supply in the fireplace to confuse the rangers with the tobacco smokescreen. Screw you guys – I’m going away!” - Hahaa! Another clue! So that’s how he escaped the rangers. - If the B-team of Bagginses is correct, one could access Midgard in some way, but how? And if Bilbo gets there with his folks, if he gets the ring back, then what will happen? - How could Bilbo get his ring back – if it really is his? He would have to steal among one million hungry goblins in the deepest Misty Mountains. - Still, he has this large network of helpers. I think we will hear more of him in the future. When the lists and catalogues were ready the first snow had begun to fall. Snow was a rarity in the Shire, so everyone, except grumpy old men and women who complain about everything young people do, were happier. The dwarfs did not want any lingering legal business with the Shirelings, so they set up a short contract with a very clear clause about them being able to leave as soon as they had distributed the items to the right addresses. It was called the Speedy Advance Northwest Terminating Affairs Clause, or SANTA Clause in short. In order to protect the various items from the snow they packed them into boxes or layers of paper bound together with strings. Then they set out to deliver the goods, dressed in red hats instead of helmets to underline the informal and peaceful in their activity. The falling snow quickly gave them large white beards. Finella and Finilia accompanied them riding on Fenris and flying around to illuminate the path. Since the party thereby always had green light they never had to stop at crossroads and could proceed very efficiently. Hobbits generally have bells near their doors that visitors can ring when they want the door opened. This day there was an unusual jingling of bells in Hobbiton and Michel Delving as the dwarfs went to house after house with their welcome items. Runar and Halvdan still thought it was a stupid thing that they had to do it due to the silly politics of the Shire, but the happiness of the hobbits receiving the gifts made up for that to some extent. Perhaps they should start a tradition of distributing gifts (other than snowballs) during the midwinter festivities back home? Encouraged by the jingling bells and SANTA Clause, Runar and Halvdan made good speed out of hobbit territory. It had been a productive stay in the hobbits land in the way that Halvdan had regained his own form and Runar had signed important diplomatic agreements with Eriador. Nevertheless, they were both happy to leave the silly inhabitants. Only small doses of hobbits are recommended at one time. The next faction they would be visiting would be much better. Soon Runar and Halvdan would enjoy the company and abundant food of their cousins of Ered Luin!

Part 19

____________________________________Part 19. The Phantom Menace_________________________________ The country west of the Shire was flat with low hills and ridges. It’s proximity to the sea made itself known through rain and wet mist driven in by strong winds. The snow became scarcer and melted to unhealthy and boring wet snow and cold water. Soon the landscape was dark green and brown again. Runar and Halvdan longed to get to the better altitudes ahead. They were nearing the river that marked the border to the territory of the Blue Dwarfs (a nickname in Erebor for the dwarfs of the Blue Mountains, who in turn call the dwarfs of Erebor grey dwarfs). When nearing the river they were both happier. The landscape across it looked as dark as the eastern side but still, the river is always bluer on the dwarf side. When they had crossed the bridge that was conveniently placed across the river a black dot appeared in the sky. It was an ordinary black in every way but it was sweeping further and further down around the dwarfs and at last revealed itself to be a raven. The raven sat down on the fence of the bridge, awaiting the dwarfs. They approached with interest and suddenly recognized the visitor. It was Hugin the raven. Hugin was the greatest of ravens of Erebor and therefore he was tasked with the longest, hardest and most exhausting missions available when the ravens wanted to obtain some favor from the king under the mountain. Now he had been sent with instructions to Runar and Halvdan and to bring news from them home to the king and the other bosses back home. Apparently, Dain wanted the dwarfs to negotiate with the high elves at Mithlond. Runar and Halvdan were not too eager. -... we can do that later, when we have visited the blue dwarfs. - Kraaa, you only want to go there because of the skiing and snow. There is absolutely no need to renew our diplomatic agreements with the cousins in the Blue Mountains, you are the best of friends, said Hugin. - We can visit the high elves on the way back, surely there’s no need to hurry? - I know better than to argue with you two. It’s your funeral as they say (though we ravens prefer just leaving the dead above ground, kraahaha). - Now, together with these reports, do you think you could carry a bit more on the way back? - What’s this? Kraaa, what other things? - Not things actually, but fairies and their limited luggage. May I introduce Finella and Finilia? The two fairies emerged from Halvdans backpack. - Pleeease, master Hugin, can you fly us home on your way to Erebor? said Finella and looked up with her most endearing large eyes. - Wait, wait, wait, I’m a messenger and courier, not some passenger aviation service. That’s the business of Gwaihir and the eagles. - But can’t you make an exception, asked Finilia, just in this case? I bet a strong, mighty raven like you will hardly notice the weight of two little fairies. - And we could add some feather dyes as a bonus once we get to our forest. I bet any raven lady will fall for a tasteful green pattern to complement the black, said Finella. - Kraa, I am a royal courier. I don’t have time for...hrm, what was that about raven ladies? - A stunning display of fairy diplomacy I must say, said Runar quickly. Now that that is settled, let,s... - Kraaa, what!? Settled!? - ...move on to the reports. Here is a short overview of the recent goblin activity... - Kraa, hrm.... - ...and here is a summary of our diplomatic agreements with other factions, written with a maximum of confusing acronyms to keep it short. - Good, good. Finella and Finilia quickly packed their stuff together and dressed themselves in all warm clothes they has, including miniature pilot glasses that they had used against the wind when riding on the dogs earlier. After saying goodbye to everyone Hugin took off with them on his back. He wasn’t too bothered by the weight, although it was a very slow start. Hugin looked like someone who wonders whether he had just struck a good or bad deal. The black dot disappeared in the sky as the sound of chattering fairies faded away. ...and I think you will look lovely with green flowers around the eyes, don’t you think so Finella? - Kraa, NO FLOWERS! A tasteful pattern of wind-themed stripes would be better. - But what about a... Lunelaith had been ruled by bandits and rebels not so long ago. Despite being a small and poor village the dwarfs of Ered Luin had a very important reason to conquer the settlement – they needed some place well out of earshot of the capitol for their music school. Especially the practicing of novice violinists was something one would like to spare ones ears from. Lunelaith was thus dominated by a huge concert hall and opera house, including mysterious labyrinths underneath and a cellar with water and a small fleet of Venetian boats for music teachers to use for travelling between their living quarters, classrooms, cemeteries and cupboards filled with black capes and white masks. The village enjoyed a great deal of autonomy – mainly due to the fact that the dwarfs usually stayed as little as possible in Lunelaith. To defend from the bandits of Eriador the leading music teachers had formed an irregular force of mounted archers – the Opera Guard, OG. They wore distinctive masks that were intended to frighten the foe. The working language was Italian - hardly surprising since many operas are Italian. The musicians themselves had nicknamed the force “the Phantoms”, although most neighbours just called them “Black Hats” or “Chernye Klobuki” if they for some reason would happen to be immigrants from Russian Principalities. The Opera Guard was of dubious quality, being composed of musical artists and fans. First, the stupid masks only obscured their vision but did not frighten anyone. Neither did they provide any good protection, leaving most of the face uncovered. Only the most silly of persons would wear such masks. Their horses were carefully brushed but also, to their great irritation, painted with embarrassing makeup around their eyes. Opera Guards who managed to shoot an arrow properly (which rarely happened) would reach out with their arms as if receiving ovations from an audience (upper left). When no such praise could be heard, they would usually be so confounded that they just sat in the saddle looking dumb, trying in vain to comprehend the situation (upper right). The secret of Lunelaiths safety was not the Black Hats as such, but rather their dreaded commander and the fear she inspired in any potential foe. She was known as Carlotta, and her battlecry was the source of nightmares. The shrill wailing was said to be able to shatter glass from a distance, as some opera singers are infamous for. Within melee range, Carlotta’s voice crushed not only glass but anything from wooden shields to partial plate armour. Runar and Halvdan had the misfortune to encounter said mounted archers and captain when approaching Lunelaith. Carlotta greeted them in the customary musical way: Melody: Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  - Ah, such a fortunate one you are, having the privilege of reading about me. It is of course imperative that you get those parts correct. I am therefore here to help you with the melody by providing examples. - Now, you must read my songs properly - as if singing. Here is a track to give you an idea of how it is supposed to sound. Maestro, please! - Now, go ahead with the instrumental only and with the lyrics of mine in the tale. One, two, three... Priiima Donna, first lady of the stage With devotees, soon on their knees, to escort you Come now, step forth and please tell us your name Think of how we’ll all, adore you Priiima Donna, Carlotta is my name Heard of my muse, or all the queues round my theatre? Can you deny me the triumph in store? You’ll see tonight’s show for sure - Libri spoke of those strange neighbours of Ered Luin, but I thought he was exaggerating, Runar quietly said to Halvdan. Priiima Donna, my song shall liiive again Follow me fast, don’t be the last Ones to aaarriiive - Allright, allright, said Halvdan almost about to clutch his ears in anguish, show us the way to this theatre. When the dwarfs and their annoying escort entered Lunelaith, Carlotta decided that the whole province should be informed of the dignity of the guests. And what could be better than a song to spread the word? Many things, according to Runar. Perhaps something more discreet, in Halvdans opinion. Now, Carlotta’s message was sure to reach everyone within earshot (except those who had already gone temporarily deaf from her weather forecast the same morning). Melody: Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  - Here is an example to inspire you. Maestro, please! - Now, sing as you read. Here is just the instrumental version to help you. Two dwarfs, they spoke to me To us they came The pair that calls to me And speaks my name (I don’t remember doing that, Halvdan thought) And do I scream again? For now I find The peeeople of the opera town nowhere But in my mind (She was correct, the people of Lunelaith had fled inside and hidden under thick blankets to escape the noise. Runar thought that they seemed to have practised this manoeuvre a lot, being able to take cover so quickly) Sing once again with me Our great duet My power over you Grows stronger yet And though you turn from me No rest you’ll find The Donna of the opera is here Inside her town Those who have heard my voice Draw back in fear Black are the masks we wear It’s me they hear My tickets and your fees In one combined The Donna of the opera is here In Lunelaith (Black hats chorus) She’s there, the Donna of the opera Beware, the Donna of the opera Speak, my emissaries of Erebor Speak, my emissaries Speak for mee! After minutes of horrible singing the shocked and unsettled emissaries were installed in a luxury loge at the theatre, awaiting the night’s show after which they hoped to be able to negotiate or something other more sensible than being conscripted to be in the audience. After the first act, the dwarfs were so tormented that Runar quietly rose from his chair to look for a way out. However, Carlotta noticed the escape attempt at once and yelled at him. - YOUR PART IS STATIONARY, LITTLE TOAD! This was outrageous, Halvdan thought. Nobody should have to listen to such things. How dared she insult Runar in that way!? He shot an unpleasant glance at Carlotta and muttered: -A toad, madam? Perhaps it is you, who are the toad (the way you croak all the time I would not be surprised). Since our demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. Then he quickly dived down and sneaked away and turned the light off. The theatre happened to have a very modern (if unsafe) lightning system with gas lamps in a great chandelier, which were all operated from the ground to dim or increase the light to suit the particular scene. If dimmed too much, the light was turned off. It was indeed a disaster beyond Carlotta’s imagination. Nobody could see her! Her precious show was interrupted! In the ensuing confusion the dwarfs quietly left the scene, and in fact not just the scene but the whole theatre. They decided that it was a very nice clear night, ideal for a continued march towards the Blue Mountains. After a week of travelling the magnificent Blue Mountains stretched before them. This was the only part of Middle Earth that in ancient times was famous enough to be mentioned along with the now sunken Beleriand. A famous and old dwarf stronghold, several settlements in Ered Luin were home to mining, brewing and skiing businesses which yielded a respectable income. At this height, the weather was sensible again and the landscape was covered in deep snow. Runar and Halvdan followed a winding road through mountain passes and over ridges, leading to Thorins Halls, the seat of the administration of the dwarfs of Ered Luin and home to their king, Gor. The settlement may appear as a mere town with wooden walls, but that was just the part where humans and other surface beings dwelled. Most dwarfs lived and worked underground. Runar wanted to make a proper impression, so he decided that they should ceremonially put town their weapons in front of them as a sign of peaceful intentions before entering the main halls. It was usually not required by any of the dwarf factions but the gesture sometimes had its uses when negotiating with other peoples. Runar caused quite an uproar when he put down the blade of the blue serpent, the gift from the rescued blue dwarfs at Gundabad. Having a shining blue blade did of course impress the blue dwarfs, even more so since they had heard about Runar and Halvdan from Dori, Drig, Krolk and Biruf. The two emissaries were for once given a royal welcome and the opportunity to speak with sensible people, something most welcome after all the humans and hobbits they had encountered. Runar and Halvdan were promptly invited to the main hall, which was a mix of office, meeting hall, living room and feast hall. It had numerous fireplaces with comfortable chairs in all directions, as well as chess boards and dart boards. Needless to say, the government of the blue dwarfs did not work at an overwhelming pace, which was just as well according to most of the blue dwarfs. Similar to the dwarfs of Erebor, the blue dwarfs had a rather weak and decentralised monarchy. The important decisions were generally taken during large meetings were the king could consider himself lucky if he was even allowed to be the chairman, which was just as well according to most of the dwarf kings. King Gor was infamous among every dwarf for his tedious and overbearing wish to haggle and barter about everything. It didn’t matter how insignificant or unnecessary it was, he wished to haggle for the fun of it. Gor imagined himself as a master of negotiations. Whether he was such a master, or just a whining and stubborn irritating rascal, well, the answers depended on whom you asked. Runar had met Gor before and appreciated his hospitality and good mood once he had gotten something to eat and drink, but he was moderately amused by the useless bartering. It seemed that the king of the blue dwarfs would soon prove worthy of his reputation once again. He rose from a chair where he had been discussing administrative affairs with administratively minded administrators and let out a cheering cry of welcome. - Friends, it’s good to see you! - Greetings, King Gor. You look as eager as always to negotiate, said Runar. - What could have given you that idea, said Gor, and pretended to be surprised while the dwarfs around him looked bored and sighed as they braced themselves for minutes of tedious discussion. Halvdan had already seated himself next to one of the fires together with some old friends, keeping a safe distance from the diplomacy. - Call it my intuition, said Runar. Let’s see, how about this: I will tell you about our fantastic adventures on the way here and you can tell me about the way to the nearest library and give us a map of the skiing tracks around the town. - Nay my friend, not convinced. I think you should add a monetary contribution of, say, 340 gold coins for the food and drinks and rooms supplied by us. - 340 gold coins!? That is ourageous, said Runar as Gor started to look more and more satisfied with the situation. Aren’t we supposed to be guests here? Honoured emissaries from far away, entertained by a wise (questionable) and generous (hardly) enlightened monarch? - Of course, that is why the gold is a contribution and not a fee. Hahahahaha! - I bet you have been preparing that joke for months. - Hehe, hmm, what would you consider a reasonable contribution? - If you could cough up two sets of quality skiing equipment I suppose I could spare 100 coins for such a poor and bankrupt king. - I suppose we can agree to this proposal of yours, said Gor with mock disappointment. Then he laughed and called out loudly for dinner. - For entertaining us all, or at least me, with such a delicate diplomatic display, I am pleased to invite you all to dinner at my hall tonight! Please be seated! King Gor knew his people well. His wise words were met with tremendous cheer by the whole hall.

Part 19.5

___________________________________Part 19½. A Long Expected Invasion________________________________ Letter from Gloin to Gimli Hello my noble son and proud governor of Wormcove, the village with the impressive name (NOT). I hope you are well and not too bored with the task of governing the small settlement. I know how frustrating it must be to be the first commander of the Erebor armies and sent north to guard a remote backwater village that is not in any danger, since the perillicious creatures have not yet crawled out from their lairs in the northern wilderness. I hope it will bring you some comfort to know that your reputation as a chivalrous governor has caused a steady stream of settlers to move north from Erebor and seek their fortunes in the mountains. Hopefully the village will soon grow to a little town and your task will be done. Oh, now I notice that I am just mumbling arbitrary about things you already know, as if it was a summary in some kind of story. Excuse me. Here at the court things are chaotic. As I wrote last time, Balin and Thorin somehow managed to conquer Kugavod without slaying each other and the town is now a growing dwarf province. Thorins outrageous taunting of Rhun which preceded the assault seems to finally have paid off – a massive Easterling army is massing just east of the bridge that marks the border between our realms. Thorin is outnumbered by far and has, in a move of hitherto unknown wisdom and sensibility, evacuated the town and is attempting to hide in the forests west of Kugavod. Hopefully he will be able to avoid being detected if the Easterlings attack, otherwise he may at least be able to lure them away from Kugavod. Balin has at the same time left with a token force to explore the wilderness north of Kugavod and set up watchtowers. While Thorin of course rejoice in sending him away on this the most mundane of tasks, Balins force would have been better used to augment Thorins army, I think. The rest of the world seems equally perilous. Southrons and Easterlings are marching west. They are said to be aiming for Rohan, although the Haradrim should have to batter their way through Gondor first. We haven’t heard anything from the south for a long time. The best chance is probably Runar and Halvdan, though they are on the other side of the known world, in the Blue Mountains. Apparently Hugin returned with a message from them recently. He was very strangely coloured in green paintings, depicting some sort of flashy lightning bolt things that apparently are supposed to be cool among the ravens. Perhaps someone younger such as you will understand this better. Hugin spoke of flying with green fairies and many other strange things. I wonder what he has been eating lately, perhaps some not-too-fresh berries? Anyway, he could at least confirm that Runar and Halvdan are alive and in good health. Their plan to divert the goblins seems to have failed at long last, though. Goblins from Gundabad are swarming the hills and are marching south in the direction of Rohan. Given these recent events, it is perhaps not surprising that voices are raised here in Erebor that we should march south as well to attack the armies of Sauron. Even our best friends forever in Dale are experiencing increased raids from the Easterlings and it seems that with the situation in Kugavod, we are but weeks from having to deal with the same thing. Regardless of the outcome, your old arguments for us creating a standing mobile army are gaining more and more supporters. The only obstacle right now is actually King Dain and his miserly treasurers. I think though, that his reluctance derives more from concern of the leadership of the army than anything else. In short, he wants you to lead and not the impetuous fellows like Thorin or Balin. Dain fears that such a commander would risk the force in headless battles far away from home. I personally don’t like this kind of talk as you very well know, but we must nevertheless help our troubled allies. So I will speak out for raising a standing army of Erebor, instead of the feudal clan forces and garrison troops that took Kugavod. If the king is to send you south, you should at least have the best warriors we can muster. Lastly, you won’t believe what I saw some days ago when visiting a friend of the Blacksilver clan – a civil snaga! A freaking snaga with a cloak and disguised in a fake beard who was growing vegetables and roots on a small farm north of the city. His house was discreetly guarded by some young Blacksilver dwarfs that Halvdan knows. I understood that all this was somehow the doing of Halvdan and Runar. Very strange, but quite inspiring. I wonder if there are more snagas like him somewhere.

Part 20

___________________________________Part 20. The letter to Miniel_____________________________________ Dear Miniel We hope you are feeling as well as we, Runar and Halvdan, are. We thought we should mention ourselves at the beginning because it is always so silly to have to look at the end of the letter to see who it is from. We are at our cousins’ place in the southern Blue Mountains on vacation and have decided to write to our friends about what we have been doing. We have however not yet decided who is going to have to write it all down. We have agreed to roll a dice to determine who will have to write it all down while the other wanders across the room like a pompous play writer dictating it. I, Halvdan now write this a minute later. I am sure Runar cheated. I should not have agreed to anything he proposed. He is currently walking across the room trying to figure out a proper phrase to begin with. Ha, the moron has completely lost touch with proper language and communication after diplomatic meetings with all the silly people he has had to negotiate with. Lame. I have attached a copy of our report on the travels we have made so far. We wrote it and had it copied by the official scribes here. They were actually quite eager to make copies. They apparently plan to sell copies as some kind of novel to people here and move into the publishing sector. Very strange, but good for us. Now we can send one to everyone we are sending letters to instead of having to write short summaries in every letter ourselves. Here is a map of our travels: The last weeks we have been skiing mostly and having parties at the HOTEL we are staying at. HOTEL is short for Hideously Overpriced Taverns Expensive Lodging, basically an overgrown inn but with a bit more corridors and room service and, as said, with outrageous prices. Luckily we are honorary guests so the last thing is of no concern. Sometimes I even think the honourable blue dwarfs are overdoing it a little bit. We are not larger–than-life figures, but maybe larger-than-town ones. The downhill skiing courses have been vastly improved since our last visit, something which Runar discovered the hard way. His falls were numerous but thanks to dwarf armour he is not seriously harmed, even though it is of course very embarrassing for him to have performed so poorly. While expressing my gratitude to Halvdan for his extensive and presumably objective (I think not...) report, let me add that there were countless incidents involving the humiliating fall, wrong turning, tripping and gliding backwards of Halvdan as well. Thank you Runar! Kindly DO NOT interrupt my chronicling again while I am away! Your ornamented handwriting clashes horribly with my more elegant and readable text! One day when we were sitting at the terrace at the top of the hotel eating sand-witches (a kind of cheap bread dish that tastes as if a witch has bewitched the food into sand – hence the name) when we noticed a young dwarf boy sitting in a corner. He looked so sad that we went up and asked him what was the matter. His name was Njal, and he was a very troubled dwarf because the other young dwarfs taunted and shunned him. They thought he was stupid and a weakling for wanting to write stories instead of practising axe-throwing (a major sport among dwarfs) all the time. Njal occasionally helped at the hotel and could use the terrace and other places in return. Now he was seeking shelter up here because he had just managed to recover his manuscript of “Njal’s Saga” that some bullies had stolen and thrown between themselves in a very disgraceful, almost human, behaviour. The Saga was a long project of writing a thrilling tale of gory warfare and romanticised romances. Runar and I came up with the idea of hiring him as a guide to the skiing courses and mobile waiter to keep Njal safe from the mean human-dwarfs (that is a very derogative term for a dwarf acting human; outrageously, shameful and despicable). Fenris and Njal seemed to find it very amusing to see Runar (understandable) and I (completely unexplainable) fall when skiing. It was also very convenient having a waiter when sitting at a chair on top of the mountain, being able to order all kinds of drinks and food. Fenris was so fond of the mountains and Njal that he wanted to stay here. So we left the ring as well, making Njal a ring bearer. That really boosted his writing – he wrote an entire chapter in one day called “There and back again”, about the protagonist getting to the top of a mountain and back down again. It seems inspired by the skiing... It’s strange how some ring bearers suddenly start writing stories about going somewhere and going back again. The look on the human-dwarfs faces when they saw Fenris was surely worth seeing. Fenris was going up some stairs at sunset, so when the bullies gazed upon him he had just taken a step up to where he was blocking the setting sun, which really made him look quite larger than before. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are telling horror stories about a gigantic wolf swallowing the sun or something equally ridiculous. Laughable! We did however require Njal to promise to keep Fenris out of harms way and not become a human-dwarf himself. Last but anything but least, we have found vital information about the realm of Midgard that we are looking for! It comes in the form of an old article (why must all clues be old? Can’t some at least be a little up to date and widely known?) in a dwarf attempt at creating an Encyclopaedia of geography. It reads: Midgard: Presumably physical realm in another universe. Midgard has been regarded as the “twin realm” of Middle Earth and scholars theorise that it has its own Valinor, populated by beings similar to Valas and spirits. The mysterious professor (see above) T is believed to have been instrumental in some way in establishing the “twin realm” link between Midgard and Middle Earth, but it is not known how. He obviously wielded great powers when doing so. Midgard is said to be populated by humans, fairies that show up in mist, various other animals that are not specifically mentioned and possibly elves and dwarfs as well. The dwarfs may be linked to the Valinor-realm, which is called Asgard or Valhall (it is possible that one of the names refer to some place in the realm and the other is the name of the realm itself). That theory rests on the fact that they were, understandably, sometimes employed by the Valas of Asgard/Valhall to manufacture wondrous creations ranging from mechanical golden boars to unbreakable fetters. Despite the awful old handwriting (looking so much like Runar’s), the book has proved informative. Runar and I have concluded that the mystic bridge that is mentioned in one of Libris books back home may be the thing that connects Midgard with Asgard/Valhall, and we hope that if we can somehow establish a similar bridge we will reach that place as well, from where we can proceed to Midgard. It all seems to come down to finding out more about how to conjure up a rainbow that can be used as a bridge - which was the centre of our mission when we set out from Erebor. We are moving south in pursuit of the answers. Since we will be following the coast to Mithlond we can at least be sure to run into plenty of rain. Further south we will face plenty of sunlight, the other vital component of a rainbow. Hmm, why did we undertake this unwise quest now again? Most sincerely and well-wishing Halvdan and Runar

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 20.5

___________________________________Part 20½. The Eye of the Flag_____________________________________ In the conference halls in Erebor, chaos and pandemonium reigned. It was late in the night and sleepy officials and advisors were grudgingly yawning and stretching their arms as they tried to make some sense of the many messengers that babbled all at the same time. An annoyed King Dain entered in a foul mood. - Settle DOWN! THIS IS A CONFERENCE, NOT A FAMILY REUNION OF CACKLING HENS! After some minutes almost everyone settled down and some even began to minute what has happened. Dain ascended to his chair at the northern side of the table and dropped like a sack of grain into it, if one can picture such a bad-tempered sack of grain. - Now, can one, I repeat: ONE, of the messengers please recount the important news that appears to have had such a disastrous impact on your senses. Percy, please start. - Well, my lord, it is about the Easterling army that was drawing up on the eastern banks of the river near Kugavod. They have moved out. But they are not anywhere near Kugavod, they have crossed our territory at an unmatched speed and bypassed Thorin completely. Now they stand at the southernmost bridge leading to our allies’ lands. - This sounds like good news to me. Kugavod is safe for the moment and we can send word to the men of Dale so they may have time to ready themselves for an attack. - Yes, ehrrm, the thing is that the Easterlings carry this very scary banner or globe or something above themselves. It is a gigantic orange eye. People think it is the eye of Sauron himself! The dark lord has taken shape again and is marching out with the Easterlings to conquer all of Middle Earth! - Wait, did you say it was an eye near their banner? Perhaps on top of it? - Yes... - You morons! Hahahaha! That is not the eye of Sauron, it is the new invasion banner! Eye-shaped and illuminating the road so armies can march even after dark without getting lost – that is, by the way, why invasion armies can travel much faster than other armies. The crowd fell silent. They felt both relieved and a bit disappointed, having gotten so worked up over nothing. Dain ordered in a very early breakfast and loose discussions soon broke out. The Rhunnic invasion offered interesting possibilities. March south, aid the men of Dale and secure the important mountains west of the lake of Rhun. March east or sail across the named lake to attack the heart of the Easterling territory, the wealthy towns next to the lake or gain control over the rivers running into it. Ultimately, Dain dismissed those ideas. The army of Kugavod was too small, and no force from Erebor could reach Rhun in sufficient time before the Easterlings had surely replenished their garrisons. Months later, when Thorin had returned to Kugavod and once more had time to marvel at the thought of Balin being out in the middle of nowhere building inglorious and lacklustre watchtowers, certain news almost literally exploded among the grey dwarfs. Balin had not only scouted the wilderness thoroughly and dutifully seen to the building of watchtowers, he had also discovered rich deposits of glimmering metal in the hills and mountains north of Kugavod. The prospect of prospecting caused hundreds of dwarfs to rush south. Kugavod experienced an upswing in income and population that the town had never dreamed of (which wasn’t so strange since the town was made of wood and stone which usually does not dream of anything). Bars and inns multiplied, markets grew like weed and squalor levels rose. The dwarfs were usually too concerned with mining and forging that they didn’t care much about behaving badly and causing squalor, but the rules of gold rushing – set out ages ago by all the miner guilds of all free peoples of Middle Earth – were very strict. Every gold rush had to be accompanied by a proportional amount of cursing, heavy drinking in rickety taverns, brawls and general degradation and decline of order. It was tedious, but there was nothing to be done about it. Late that winter when the finals of the Snowball Battle Games had just been finished, King Dain was sitting in his favourite chair next to a fire at the top of his quarters, thinking of the disastrous defeat the Frozen Kegs had just suffered at the hands of the Howling Hikers. He wondered what his wife Thora would say (she supported the Howling Hikers while Dain had long since cheered for the Frozen Kegs) when said supporter stepped into the room, carefully reading a letter. She sat down in the chair next to Dain, still reading on. - What’s that, darling? - Hmmm? Oh, this? It’s a letter from my uncle Bifur in the Iron Hills. He has added a letter from my cousin Blid who writes about the news from Kugavod and all the gold there. - Letters, letters, letters. It seems like everyone is writing letters to everyone all the time now. How did this come to happen? We have never been such eager correspondents before. - I think it is a bit of a trend. It all started with the astounding success of this tale from Eriador... - Yes, I think I have heard about it. It’s something called “Letters of Aragorn’s Night” or something like that. - No, that is the inappropriate and silly romantic short story that is only read by immature female dwarfs. I was talking about “Letters of an Aragornese Knight”, which is a dramatic story of the life of a knight in service of Aragorn – hence the title - instead of a fiction about the king himself. It’s all written in the form of letters which glide towards becoming a kind of journal or even memoirs as the story progresses. It is apparently becoming a bestseller around Erebor and Dale, mixing personal family drama with vivid political intrigues and gory battlefield depictions. - Hmm, what was that last thing? Maybe I should read it too. I have after all a reputation as grumpy old dwarf warlord to uphold, so I guess I should make an effort of gathering all possible inspiration for being as warlike as possible. - Pfff, if such a reputation exists, it’s a farce. Everyone should know that you are too wise to be caught up in mindless warmongering. All such things are properly delegated to Thorin and Balin. - Hehehe, good point. So, who has written this “Letters of an Aragornese Knight” then? - It’s a known publisher in the Shire, controlled by the Took family. The ownership has been made into such a big deal that everyone seems to be calling it just the “Took-Run Company” or just “Took-Run”. They have a famous sign that is most strange for a book publisher, depicting one half of a grey and black, rather ugly and horrifying, mask that I am sure all young people think is cool. - What would happen if the Tooks one day decided to run another company? Then “Took-Run” would have to change its name, wouldn’t it? - Supposedly. They would probably make a fool-of-a-Took of themselves by doing so, though. But given the general enterprising spirit and energy of the hobbits, I don’t see that happening for a long time. - Me neither. - BY THE WAY, I almost forgot! WHAT do you think of today’s snowball finals? I think it was a superb game and really enjoyable, but I do of course want to know what YOU think! - Don’t you have some letters to finish reading or something? - No, those can wait. PLEASE tell me all about how you think the snowball finals were! I believe that team called the Frozen Eggs or something lost.... - Oh, very funny. Yes, SADLY they lost to the...the Hooting Hitchhikers! Yes, that was their name. It’s hard to remember the names of such insignificant and puny snowball teams! - Bla bla bla. Yes, actually I DO have letters to finish reading.

Part 21

Authors note: This is the first and foremost of all episodes in Home to Midgard (hence the gold-ish colour). It is one of the four I have written before starting the campaign itself. It is also the very first thing I wrote of this story. This AAR began when I was thinking of a joke about Italics and how similar it is to the word Italy or Italians. The end result was two dwarfs running into the Italicans, people who speak in Italics. They later came to experience many other adventures which brought them through the north of Middle Earth and finally to their true beginning on the west coast of Ered Luin. I am most happy to present... The Italicans! _____________________________________Part 21. The Italicans_______________________________________ After the meeting with the dwarfs of Ered Luin, Runar and Halvdan continued down the coast, intending to follow it to reach the elfish harbours which, most conveniently, were built next to the sea. After some weeks of walking they came around a large rock and suddenly gazed upon a mighty fleet. The fleet did perhaps look like just one ship from a distance but that is beside the point. From the ships, a huge army was disembarking. Their banner was the strangest thing Runar and Halvdan had ever seen. It was grey and brown, with three legs cut off above the knee and jammed into some sort of circle. -That’s the silliest thing I have ever seen, said Runar. -Yes, it looks like Orcish dinner, except that nothing of the food is on the plate. -Precisely like Orcish dinner in other words. Perhaps it is some kind of invention? A wheel with legs. It could be attached to a wagon or ballista to make it walk over rugged terrain… That’s something Filuri could have made. Filuri was the chief engineer of Erebor. He was a senior tinker by now, but nevertheless constantly active and tireless. Although most of his work never went beyond the level of unpractical but amusing desktop curiosities, he had perfected some groundbreaking inventions. The most famous was the building plans of the beeraduct. It was a system of bridges with canals on top of them, distributing beer and mead from the breweries on hills. The whole system had been exported to Dale, but the silly men of Dale simply used the building to distribute WATER through their cities. This had led to the beeraducts being renamed into “aqueducts”. Utterly stupid. The dwarfs approached to get a closer look on the fleet. They were soon spotted and some guards went to meet them, each dressed in grey and black in a random and tasteless pattern. The mysterious army was the army of the Italicans. They occupied the land of Italica far beyond some sea. How they had ended up here could only be explained by their practise of hanging lucky metal charms next to their compass to get good luck and safe travels. The Italicans had got their name from their strange habit of writing and talking in Italics. While this made their commands very audible, most foreign listeners soon discovered they had a missed appointment or some other urgent business to attend to elsewhere. The Italicans once had a sizeable realm, a real empire, which they had gained mainly from talking so loud that all their enemies and neighbours moved away to escape the noise. But during the later decades the empire had degenerated into a petty confederation of squabbling dukes and oligarchs. All was due to the incompetent emperor Arman I. In his most lucid moment he had ordered all armour to be made fashionable. His perverted taste included ridiculously wide padded shoulders and useless buttons across the chest. Needless to say, this was not very suitable for military actions. Italican spear formations were penetrated as easily as the orc arrow targets during the Elf winter games, simply because the soldiers had to spread out so much to make room for the shoulder plates. Italican Swordsmen. Notice the absurd huge shoulder plates. The current ruler of the Italican peninsula was simply called the “Don”. He was the latest in a row of idiots maintaining the proud traditions of Emperor Arman I. Don Silvio Mario Berluscorleoni ruled Italica with a loose grip and unsteady hand. He also owned much of it. This was especially bad for the population because only the Dons relatives received any official tasks and no one cared to see if they were fulfilled. This resulted in an ever-increasing web of embezzlement with especially fatal consequences for the sanitary systems. Most of the populated areas of Italica were now covered in garbage. It had grown to such amounts that a new golden age of expansion beckoned as neighbours and enemies now fled to escape the smell like they had once fled to escape the noise. The only problem was that everyone was paralyzed by nausea from named garbage smell, and therefore could not take advantage of the opportunity. This may have contributed to the expeditionary force going astray. So, here they were, in search for fresh air and unpolluted land. The Italican commander addressed Runar and Halvdan in a pompous and unnecessarily loud voice; -Hail! ….Oh, ha ha ha! Look men, the lord of this land has sent his court dwarfs to greet us! What a rapscallion. Or is the taller one a court jester? -He means me. I’m the tallest, said Runar. -No, me! Halvdan argued. -Hmm, you are right. He must mean you. I forgot about the court jester bit. -He meant me because I am the tallest! Oh, you know our tongue! You speak in Italics! Most amusing, little fellow. Halvdan whispered to Runar; -What does he mean? I’ve never studied his mouth. It looks foul though. - No, tongue as in language. Not literally. Although language based on Italics should be rather literal… Runar cleared his throat. -We are the emissaries of the dwarfs of Erebor and Dain, king under the mountain! -What, there are more of you? -Certainly. We live beyond the misty mountains and the forests of Mirkwood. Our cousins live here in the Ered Luin. As I said we represent our king, Dain… -Wait, did you say he was king under the mountain? He must be rather flat by now then! Is that why you are all so short, ahahaha! -It is just a title, good sir. It derives from the capitol being built inside the mountain, including the royal quarters. -Hahaha…oh, spare me…only a dirty miner or a fool would want to actually live inside a mountain. -Please, we would like to speak to the leader of your expeditionary force. -Hmm, are you looking for employment? Now that I think of it, our leader could use some jesters. He has been awfully depressed -No, as I said we are emissaries…”sigh”. Just take us to your leader. -Guard! Escort these jesters to Gandolfino! -That sounds almost like Gandalf, said Halvdan. Do you think he is a wizard too? -No idea, but I really hope he can conjure some attention and evoke a bit of diplomacy. The leader of the expeditionary force was the “wizard” Gandolfino the Depressed. He was called so because of his seemingly magical ability to whine about just about anything. No matter how soothingly everything succeeded (which they never did in Italica for named reasons…) he still complained. This mental state had attracted a lot of interest from various doctors. One of them was the famous Jennifer of Melfi. She had studied Gandolfino for several years and eventually married him. She was his most trusted councillor, to the point that he referred to her as “the oracle of Melfi”. Gandolfino greeted them inside his great tent. Runar begun as customary; -Greetings. We are the emissaries of King Dain under the mountain. We represent the dwarfs of Erebor. -Eh, morning. Yo know if there are any ducks near here? -Well, there are lots of ducks in the inland lakes I think. The area around here is populated mostly by ospreys. -I miss my ducks. I used to have a flock of them in my garden at home. Then they just flew away in the autumn. Left me alone. No respect. -Maybe they migrated? -Why they migrate? I do all things for them, I bring them best bird seed from the Vesuvio granary! I even got this gorgeous duck masseuse from Bing Bada’s recreational facility. But they misread my note and sent Bingo Badass, the psychotic condottiero. Maybe that scared the ducks away. Bing Badas Recreational Facility -If we could return to the question of diplomatic relations, would you like to establish trade rights with us? -Evbody leaves me! Yo go make a joke or someting, you’re supposed to amuse me! -I think there has been a slight misunderstanding, good sir, which is of course understandable, not to imply that you are prone to make mistakes, which happens to us all, ahem…we are not entertainers but emissaries, although some do indeed find emissaries entertaining. Perhaps we should return at a more convenient moment? -Yeah, yo go and send the lord here to speak to me. No mood for silly dwarfs when I must work. Send a diplomat here or something. -That’s it. I give up. King Dain can say whatever he likes; we are NOT establishing diplomatic relations with those… -Fools? Idiots? Morons? Halvdan inquired. -Those words are not in my diplomatic vocabulary. But you have gotten my point right. Let’s continue towards the elven harbors. -Yes, we are nearly at the end of an episode and have barely moved anywhere. -What? -Aaah, nothing. Onward to Mithlond! Needless to say – but let’s say it anyway – the Italican level of respect for dwarfs was perhaps not entirely proper. They soon met with the Dwarfs of Ered Luin and after a short but loud diplomatic session the tensions escalated. King Gor eventually managed to convince the Italicans that they were indeed a nation of dwarfs. The laughter that met him from Gandolfinos side settled the matter. The blue dwarfs were insulted like never before, and on the shores west of Ered Luin, they fought for the dignity of Middle Earth. [SPOILER]

Interlude

_____________________________________ Interlude ______________________________________ - Halvdan, hurry! We must get out of this storm! - I AM hurrying you lazy slug! It is you who are slowing us down! Run more and shout less! - I might tell you the same! - Where did this storm come from?! - How should I know?! One moment all was fine and now this! - This is no ordinary weather! - You don't say! - I mean that this is not even an ordinary extraordinary weather! Hear! There is a foul voice in the air! It sounds like a curse or evil spell! Foul voice: TEL GE EN ERGI! TEL GE N ÄT! - Runar? - Halvdan? - Where are we? - This must be the void. - The void? - Haven't you read any history? The void is the great nothingness outside Middle Earth and Valinor where Melkor/Morgoth Bauglir was thrown. I bet he is around, actually. Feel the stench? - Yes, disgusting, but was has stench got to do with it? - You know how the ringwraiths have this infamous "black breath" that is so foul it is actually lethal? - Yes. - Those are servants of Sauron, so his breath must be quite despicable. And Sauron is but the upstart liutenant of Melkor who rose to power once he was gone, a mere maia compared to the vala that Melkor is. Thus, Melkors breath... - Say no more. The mere thought of it... - Aaaah! This is intolerable! We have been here for days. Only, day do not exist here so in fact perhaps we do not even exist. It would drive me mad if madness existed here! - Calm down Runar! - I will have the heads of those responsible for this! Raaagh! - The diplomatic style and eloquence Erebor never cease to amaze the world... Fine voice: Welcome too Line-Ea, Line of Electronic Avail. Please state your destination. - What the... Anywhere but here! - Middle Earth! - Please Specify. - Wherever we were before this hideous storm broke out! - Stand by for emergency copying transportation. - What is that suppose to mean? YaaaAAAAAHHH! - You are now back in Middle Earth. New foundations of the world has been laid and the damage caused by despicable spells is neutralised. - We are ever in your debt, Line-Ea

Part 22

_________________________________________Part 22. The High Elves______________________________________ Following the rescue from the great void Runar and Halvdan proceeded east along the coast towards Mithlond, the centre of High Elven culture. In these lands lived Cirdan the Shipwright and other seafaring pointy-ears. Mithlong had an impressive array of docks, where elven ships with a double “r” in the name were being produced. The centre of the city was the Dockyard. The docks and surrounding areas are usually a smelly and unsafe garbage-like part of the city, at least among humans. It was not the same at the High Elves docks. Every inch of the wooden bridges and stones was polished and regularly oiled and painted for maintenance. Adding to this, the Elven super-power of dust-deflecting added to the shining look. If one stops to think of it, one will notice that elves do not ever get dirty like other races do. Take any book or other depiction of elves, do they ever get as much as a grain of sand on their clothes? They can even fight entire battles that would leave humans soaked in blood without staining their clothes. The Dockyard had two party-tent-buildings where the fashionable younger High Elves congregated. Younger in this case meant being born slightly later than pre-historic times of Middle Earth. These aged yet immature snobs had the habit of just laughing in peoples face when confronted with even the most serious matters. Especially the elf Gildor Inglorion and his cronies were infamous for behaving in this way. Gildor Inglorious would probably be a better name. One of the wooden tents belonged to the Amazin Society, whose members – the Amazin’s – were Elven girls who considered themselves to be the most amazing in Middle Earth, hence the name. They looked down on most other people and wore shoes with extra high heels just so they would gain height and thereby be even more able to look down on others. The amazin’s had a great interest in archery and spear throwing. Their neighbours were the archenemies of the amazin’s, the Young Men’s Creative Assembly – YMCA. These fellows were not as refined as the amazin’s, they were much more rustic despite being High Elves. In fact, many thought they were like village people despite living in the greatest of the Elven cities. The YMCA were profoundly interested in shipbuilding and sailing. Their greatest wish was to be allowed to join the modest Elven navy (modest, because once someone managed to build a really good ship, he or she frequently took off with it to Valinor and never returned) and they would often sing silly songs about what they expected life would be like when they had succeeded. Being a Creative Assembly, their ships were of dubious quality. They were built using a decent and adaptable framework, but it had some disturbing limitations in how little it could make use of dual masts. Furthermore, they were very badly balance and easily capsized when put to any harder tests. You could compare it to building a medieval historical library – they knew how to build walls, windows, doors and bookshelves and how to make a working, if very complicated, registry, but they knew nothing about history. The end result was a library that worked but didn’t contain much of the history it posed to contain. Even if they would have tried other eras or locations, or medieval Europe another time, it would become a working framework but with little historical accuracy. Perhaps worst of all was the amount of ships worms and other bugs that the YMCA had utterly failed to remove and which infested and plagued the ships to the user’s great irritation. These bugs would disrupt the daily sailing and could, in the worst cases, even cause the ships to crash during an important battle! Some say the ships were so fragile that it would not even take a reef or a ramming corsair galley to make them crash, but that they would lose and crash to a mere desktop. AS absurd as it may seem, rumors and complaints about crashes to desktops followed the promising but unfinished products of the Young Men’s Creative Assembly. That is, until they tried to create a true empire of ships using a design s complex it reduced the possibility of users to rectify the problems to almost nothing, a trend which escalated with their later projects and rendered their ships useless and an insult to quality shipbuilding. The dwarfs approached Mithlond from the west and quickly came upon a patrol of guards who were quick to greet them in the customary and well-known Elven manner: - You dwarfs breath so loud we could have shot you in the dark! - What! Not again! groaned Runar. - No you couldn’t! You are swordsmen, you have no bows, but perhaps you didn’t notice! Besides, what kind of manner is this to greet peaceful visitors in? Halvdan was not pleased with having to endure the Elven opening phrases one more time. - I beg your pardon! the Elven captain was appaled. - Consider yourselves pardoned. For now. Could you please let us into your city? Runar said quickly. - Hmpf! This is what you get when accommodating the unwashed ones… You may proceed. Try not to drag too much filth into our fine city. Runar and Halvdan proceeded and were reluctantly let in by a pair of frowning city guards with polished helmets and newly washed cloaks. They asked their way through the city and eventually found the town hall. It seemed like the high elves of Mithlond were suspicious of them for they had an elf following them, but not very discreetly. Halvdan thought that the espionage among the elves was surprisingly undeveloped for such an old civilisation. Then Runar and Halvdan noticed that the elf was not following them as such but raking the path they were walking on, as if they had been spreading piles of leafs and dust just by treading on the ground. The dwarfs found it most insulting. Luckily they were at last at the town hall and could step inside to be rid of the raker. Mariners that are trying to rake you are always so disturbing… Especially when they are good at aiming like the high elves are. The townwright Olidlion greeted them. High Elven cities did not have mayors or governors but townwrights – since it sounded more like shipwright. Runar introduced them and engaged in a discussion about establishing diplomatic relations between Mithlond and Erebor. Olidlion was not especially enthusiastic. He doubted whether the dwarfs of Erebor could really produce anything worth buying. … so you see, dwarf, we are really not in need of anything in particular from any other people. What do you have that could possibly interest us? - We could for examples supply you with nails and anchors for your fleets or for lanterns in your ports and lighthouses. - Heh, wouldn’t think so… You sea (again, Elven maritime snobbery, sea instead of see) we have plenty of our own equipment and raw materials that are widely superior to your sub-standard equipment. Which is not only sub-standard but also subterranean I am told. - Yes indeed. Some of our deepest shafts contain metal equipment, which is consequently located almost as deep as the level to which Elven courtesy has degenerated. - Precisely… “snigger”… wait a second… WHAT?! - Look, you have really nothing to lose here. At least allow us petty, useless dwarfs a chance to appear and be laughed at by you for our inferior mercantile skills. Runar thought that diplomatic courtesy was very overrated at times. He also wondered if the fine custom of diplomatic immunity would allow him to punch unbearable elves and leave unhindered. He would have to look that thing up carefully before the next diplomatic trip. - Hmpf, perhaps, but your kin are bad for the floors. Always dirty and dusty… - Yes, the whole world knows about the lousy state of your floors and care so much… - I WAS SPEAKING OF THE DWARFS! - Since you care so much about your clean floors and streets, why not join us in an alliance? That way the dirty goblins and humans will be distracted by us and not bother you. Together we can stride gloriously against the dusty shelves and unwashed dishes of the world, which seem to be your greatest priority… - Why would someone educated, intellectual and eloquent like us wish to join sides with the , well, less developed part of the population of Middle Earth? - Apart from the chance of learning the most basic concepts of politeness and courtesy… If Erebor falls, northern Mirkwood will be invaded by Rhunnic armies filled with plated Kataphracts that will make Elven archers worldwide seem like a joke. The arrows will just bounce off their armour and the whole Elven race, whose respect rely solely on their prodigious skill with the bow, will be humiliated. You will ALL be laughted at. - Not true! All elves have super ultra pwning ap arrows! They penetrate everything as were it simple paper! - Wrong. The rebalancing has removed that. Real Combat reigns and your archery skill shows itself through greater range and accuracy, not enormous damage. An arrow is still an arrow, even if made by elves, and arrows are not good against plate armour. Dwarven axes are another matter… - Allright, allright! But keep this quiet. We have a reputation to protect. - Your reputation as the most snooty and impolite negotiators will remain unthreatened, I assure you… - Aren’t you on your way out yet? - There was one more thing… - Elbereth save us… very well, was it is? - Could we buy some sea charts for the journey ahead? We have decided to try travelling by ship for some time to reach the south faster. In return we can share our latest reports on the places were dwarfs, hobbits, humans and orcs inhabit the settlements and spread their uncleanliness. - Hmpf, very well. It will hopefully hasten your departure from Mithlond. - On behalf of the dwarfs of Erebor I bid you good day as well. We’ll find our way out. Thanks to the heroic patience of Runar, Erebor had gained a new ally, occupying the strategically decisive area on the far northwestern part of the map where no enemy armies ventured before resistance everywhere else was crushed and whose kingdom lay to far away for any significant trade to be established… But at least it had made the mining guilds noble council happy and Dain could collect from them a welcome, and rare, contribution to the diplomatic efforts. The map information Runar and Halvdan received from the high elves contained sea charts, but also a number of leaflets with advertisements of Elven settlements. They were very detailed and Runar and Halvdan became so fed up with High Elven snobbery that they felt as if they had already been to Imladris and the other places.

Part 22.5

______________________________________Part 22½. Invasive News________________________________________ Back in Erebor news spread of invasions in Rohan, both by the kingdom of Rohan itself and by unfriendly neighbours. Apparently the silver-tongued wizard Saruman had stopped talking for a bit too long, giving the Rohirrim an opportunity to storm Isengard itself while he was resting his throat. The commander of Sarumans armies had been a less skilled speaker and actually asked real questions to the invaders instead of rhetorical ones, which prompted the somewhat savage and savagely bureaucratic horsemen to impale him on one of their spears. Saruman himself was nowhere to be seen at the moment. His tower remained locked, though. Alas, even Edoras was feeling the weight of invasive neighbours. A wild band of wild men from Dunland had ran down from their hills shouting for loot and pillaging. The Dunlanders where arch-enemies of Rohan, since they claimed that it was most unjust of Gondor to give their land to Eorl and his people in gratitude for their help long ago. Now they saw the ongoing invasions as a golden opportunity to settle the score. While the wild men of Dunland where more like a disorganised mob than an army, they were but the forerunners of terrifyingly more powerful forces. Exorcists and ghost busters were brutally oppressed and the tailors’ stockpiles of black cloaks were emptied. Orcs raided Rohan for black-but-lazier-than-Asfaloth-and-Shadowfax horses. The nine were coming. As the words of Hugin spread, the spying and diplomatic business attracted more attention among the dwarfs and achieved quite a bit of status. New eager students congregated at the spy academy hidden deep under the innocent and respectable cover of the brothels… For some reason they were never discovered. Brothels had been the recruiting base for spies for as long as anyone could remember. No one was ever suspicious and no one knew why it was so. The latest graduate of the spy academy was named Fundin. He was immediately sent east to scout the roads east of Kugavod. Nobody wanted to experience the frightening and embarrassing situation of being surprised by Easterling armies again. Fundin had the important task of sending warnings in advance if any such force approached so that the gold miners of Kugavod never would be caught with their pants down, mattocks left in the mine and all other far-fetched metaphors relating to being unprepared for something. As every spy, Fundin was well aware of the importance of not being caught barelegged due to named insufficient clothing. Both the spy academy itself and the innocent and respectable cover served to emphasize that. Far from such degenerated and decadent city behaviour, the wholesome and proper country folk of Eriador had not been idle either. They rallied at the local potato markets and gathered into a great host littered with pitchforks and scythes. At least it was said so. Their target was nothing less than the dark strongholds of Angmar and Gundabad. Would the flower power of the breeland militia be enough to withstand snaga arrows? Would the supply of rotting turnips last long enough to sustain a continuous bombardment of goblin fortifications? Last but not least, would the humans and hobbits even be able to find the way north through the nigh impassable road network of theirs? Would anyone even care about the invasion from such a remote, silly and unknown backwater faction?

Part 23

_________________________________________Part 23. Fish and Ships______________________________________ Outside of Mithlond lay a smaller suburb or town of its own where vessels from other, dirtier, peoples than elves could load cargo and receive repairs for an outrageous sum. It served to bolster the economy of the High Elves as well as provide their elders with something to complain about during their boring tea parties. As every such place, it contained many taverns with the customary bad reputation. Runar and Halvdan visited those on Olidlions request (more precisely, he only requested – not to say insisted on – that they would keep their searching out of Mithlond itself), searching for a ships captain sailing south that they could join with. They spent half a week without much luck until they came upon a very strange sight – humans dressed in the characteristic laces of the men of Dale! Some Dalesmen had found themselves drifting further and further south, both literally and emotionally as they plied their trade in the dangerous and abandoned outposts of Dale territory and further down in the lost kingdom of Rhovanion. They lived on their boats and on the river. Drifting down the great Anduin into Gondor they decided to sell their boats and bought a magnificent ship for most of the money. Now, they were a band of Northmen that sailed along the west coast of Middle Earth practising private enterprises of various kinds. They were therefore known as “privateers” to some people. The ship was called Arrrgos, and its crew the Arrrgonauts. The origin of the name was clouded in mist (and remained that way since clouds, mist and fog are plentiful near the coast). A popular theory was that it derived from the inexplicable habit of the Arrrgonauts to growl “Arrr!” every now and then. That, in combination with the…unconventional grammar of the Arrrgonaut, made them occasionally hard to understand. For some reason the obscure authorities of the Shire did not look kindly on this. The government of Bilbo Baggins had adopted the policy that hobbit jurisdiction should apply to all land and water bodies traversed by hobbits. Since some of the hobbits travelled on the Brandywine River, Bilbo had stated that the river and the sea which it connected to were under his dominion. This meant, more precisely, the whole sea. The hobbits were a largely inept bunch of mariners with boats that were modest at best – something that made the worse elements of them deeply jealous of other peoples with more experience in seafaring. Bilbo had recently managed to acquire a large ship which he outfitted for naval combat and patrols. He had commissioned one of his supporters of the Bolger family as Admiral, and as captain of ship one from the Hornblower family was chosen, an ambitious former forester by the name Horatio. He had less leadership skills than ambition. All in all, a pale and meekly figure. Horatio Hornblower pestered the other seafarers he could catch, which wasn’t that many, on board the Renowned Retribution of Hotspur. When Runar and Halvdan arrived at the tavern the Arrrgonauts were just celebrating a recent narrow escape from the hobbit authorities. They were thus in a cheerful mood and mode, and readily welcomed a chance to brag about their exploits in front of new faces. Three arrrgonauts in apparently leading position introduced themselves. - Arrrr! Me be cap’n Jack Bartholomew Edward John Silver and these be me first mate and quartermaster aboard the Arrrgos! - I’m Isabella Morgane Elizabeth Roberts, current dread pirate Roberts and swashbuckler extraordinaire. Arrr! - Inigo Zevran Puss Juan Montoya, at your service! Fencing Fence and Sublime Swordmaster. Do you happen to have six fingers on your right hand? No? Good, good. Too many fingers can get you into all sorts of trouble. - Good day, I am Runar the diplomat of Erebor and my shady companion is Halvdan, the infamous spy. - Infamous?! What?! - Yes, your reputation precedes you Halvdan. Now as I… - Your idea of “diplomatic” is sometimes as twisted as your beard after walking through a river with a strong current! Refrain from further nonsense and tell these lady and gentlemen why we are here. - Ah, yes, we are emissaries of Erebor and would like to sail south with a ship towards Gondor or Rohan. Would you perhaps be the owners or crew of one heading that way? - Aye, we be the Arrrgonauts! The crew of me vessel, the fair Arrrgos! said Captain Silver. - Great, would you like to establish trade rights, trade map information or perhaps take us with you? - Hmm, what can you offer us starved and hungry privateers in return, I wonder? asked Isabella. - My scouting and spying skills, and Runar as bait if you would feel like fishing for sharks or orcas (in his leather armour he may pass for a seal before someone notices the smell). This time Halvdan had taken a more active role than usual I the conversation. Being a spy, he felt more at home in the tavern than town hall. The Arrrgonauts laughed and cheered. - Furthermore, if you should ever have to give up one passenger or crewmember to some gruesome authorities, Halvdan is the man of choice. He is wanted throughout the north for espionage and sabotage among every goblin tribe! Runar was, as always, quick to fill people in on the subject discussed. - Hehehehehe, let them come aboard. It will be amusing at least, said Inigo. - Arrr and aye! Welcome aboard the Arrrgos, said Isabella. - First, there is one question needn’n answering, said Captain Silver. Have ye ever heard of an wood elf named Turner? A backstabbing turncoat, truly a turner in action as well as name, said to resemble their prince, Legolas? - Nope. - Shame. He be fish food the next time I get me hands on him! The bastard and his accomplice, the slimy scallywag Saemon Havarian, almost cost me me ship. They sold me a pack of swords that they somehow failed to remember having stolen earlier from an angry band of troll-men of Harad, who pursued us across the entire lower Anduin until we reached the Rauros fall and the current became too strong for them. Damn him! I’ve heard bout others fallen victim to his lies, ending up ambushed by vampires when disembarking, arrested in desert towns or having mad pirate lords after themselves! Stinking scum he be! Arrr! Runar and Halvdan spent the evening drinking and “Arrr”-ing along with the crew of the Arrrgos. Going home proved to be a harder task. Too much to drink and eat and a heavy backpack do not go too well together. When they were almost at the ship, something way more vile awaited, however. - STOP! Stand and declare yourselves! said an impolite voice. - Oh no, a pressgang… Isabella moaned. - What’s a pressgang? - Gangs of journalists, the press, that roam cities looking violently for pieces of news or gossip, usually gossip, which they can turn into exaggerated lies in their newspapers about famous people. They are truly leeches on the body of society. I mean, sure, some information about political leaders and decisions and stuff is highly relevant but these maggots just write about private nonsense matters that is no peoples business. They invade people’s homes and harass their families to the brink of despair. They have a sort of patriarch for leader that has yet eluded the revenge of injured parties. His name is Razzo, called Papa Razzo by the press for being patriarch. - Let’s see if I can distract them, said Inigo. You sneak aboard when they are busy… Hello there! What brings such a violent mob to a street such as this at this hour? - Don’t try to weasel your way out of this! You are famous and you have an obligation to our readers and us who made you so! the impolite voice continued bordering to outright hostility. - Now, get behind these crates and follow the fence towards the second ship to your right, Isabella whispered. - What about Inigo? That pressgang looks positively rabid! Without any sense of decency or proportion! said Runar. - He’ll handle it. Hurry to the bow and we may be in time to watch the show. The Arrrgonauts except Inigo hurried on board and gathered at the bow of the ship. They could see Inigo and the pressgang, five of them in total, under the light of lamp. - … so, in short, you claim that just because people have heard of the Arrrgos you have some sort of right to demand services and stories from us whenever it pleases you? I find that repulsive. - Look! - Where? - Just listen! - Should I look or should I listen? Make up your mind. - It’s a figure of speech! Where would you be without us?! The fame you take for granted, it is all because of the press! - First, without you I would be back on my ship. Secondly, I do not count with being famous for anything so I hardly take it for granted. Thirdly, I have no wish at all to be famous for the humiliating things you would make me famous for. Now piss off! - How dare you!? - It’s quite easy, actually. - Show respect! - FOR WHAT!? You sneak into our gardens, harass our relatives to squeeze out every last drop of embarrassing information, bribe or bully our friends to make them betray us, and for nothing more than coins in your pockets and your perverse pleasure of seeing famous people fall from grace no matter if they deserved it or not! You disgust me! Leeches! Vultures (without the good looks)! Get away or I will make a press statement you will not soon forget! - That’s it then. If you will not yield any scope worth an extra edition voluntarily, then I suppose we should have to claim it ourselves. I sense a new headline coming up, fellows; privateer found mysteriously dead after insulting the press! AT HIM! FOR PAPA RAZZO! - I admit that you outnumber me greatly! said Inigo. - Then why are you smiling!? - Because I know something you don’t! - And what, ouch!, is that? - I am not left-handed! The nigh magical exclamation about ambidexterity was a sure game-ender. Inigo was triumphantly victorious and the Arrrgos could start the journey without further interference! The ship set sail and began to cruise south, as the wind was steadily against her. Southern kingdoms, like Gondor, were apparently so unwelcoming that not only did they erect massive statues at the Argonath whose sole purpose was to halt visitors by their hand signs, but even the wind turned against potential guests. A silly kingdom. Runar and Halvdan tried to find their way around the ship and suggested many mechanical improvements that could be made using sophisticated dwarf technology. In the end, Captain Silver came up with the brilliant idea of requesting a live demonstration of its application which served both to strengthen the hull on the lower (in fact lowest) decks and keep his mind clear of dwarfs. For it happened that Captain Silver was busy with a most important and private task. He was sorting his treasure maps and, being an experienced Dalesman, he knew to keep treasure-obsessed dwarfs away from such activities. Even if a spy and diplomat would not have time for digging after chests, they would perhaps be bound to report their findings to the miners’ guild. One could never know what that lot may come up with. When running out of work, the task often fell to Inigo and Isabella to entertain the curious guests. They conjured up every insane story and tale of the taverns they visited. Especially widespread on the west coast were the horror stories of the mermaids. Runar replied that mermaids were supposed to be pretty nice, and pretty and nice as well, but Inigo replied that this was just landlubbers misconception. If the monster had been nice, why would she be a mermaid after all those years? Surely something more like a mer-girlfriend or mer-wife? Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Equally fearsome was the great sea-monster resembling a giant squid or maybe a giant fish - the kraken! It dragged down ships to the bottom of the sea and drowned captains in the slime it spit on them before swallowing. Halvdan wondered what would happen if the monsters combined but Isabella rejected the idea as impossible and the question thus unable to be answered. Something that fearsome could simply NOT exist The entire luggage was stored in great lockers inside the cabins. They were somewhat improvised and uneven, as if being made in a hurry. When Runar inquired why, Inigo explained that the Arrrgos had previously been outfitted with lockers manufactured by the Gondorian merchant Davey Jones but they had been far too heavy and clumsy, just like the Gondorian infantry, and weighed the ship down. When the ship was caught in a storm south of Dol Amroth the crew had decided to throw the lockers overboard to avoid taking on water due to the extra weight. After that, the sailing had gone much smoother and new lockers had been hastily made, but they were expecting to acquire new lockers and some desks from the reliable Gondorian merchant and thatcher Jorgimir. The meantime had been a bit messy though, and finding ones socks in the morning was particularly trying. Clearly, Davey Jones clumsy lockers belonged on the bottom of the sea! The cargo hold of the Arrrgos held much less glamorous cargo than what a reader of pirate parodies might have expected. It was filled with potatoes. It was the entire potato harvest of Longbottom. Because the people of Longbottom were such eager smokers of the Hobbit pipeweed, the potatoes were almost cooked when they were harvested. The lack of economical value of the cargo was offset by the joy it had been to buy everything right under the nose of Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo, in his totalitarian delusions of grandeur, worked hard to obtain a monopoly on all agricultural products in the Shire. His fury when he heard of the daring barter of the Arrrrgonauts was terrible to behold for anyone frightened by old hobbits. To express his feelings, he had given his navy the task of sinking the Arrrgos whenever possible should they run into each other. Runar and Halvdan did applaud the initiative as such, but it did have some drawbacks when it came to the effects it had on the dinner. Potatoes were somehow spreading across the menus of every day of the week! It was almost like dark magic. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Runar and Halvdan sat in their cabin playing chess when one day a great crashing sound and a huge force of impact sent dwarfs and chess pieces flying to signal that the ship had hit a reef. Hurrying up on deck, they (the dwarfs, not the chess pieces) arrived to see Captain Silver shouting orders that nobody needed to hear as the rest of the crew where preparing to launch one of the boats to explore the reef and warp the ship into deeper water. - Hurry up ye salted herrings and landlubbers! Hoist and heave and launch the launch boat before launchtime! No! Before lunchtime, of course! - Captain Silver, what’s going on? Runar asked. - Hrrm? - What’s happening… oh, belay that, I did of course mean: What by all the unbridled seahorses be going on here, arrrr? - Seahorses are too small to have bridles, Halvdan said. - Quiet, I’m making conversation and blending in here! - We have hit a reef an be forced to warp the Arrrgos off it. Me mates are read’n the launch boat as we speak. Just as Captain Silver stated the obvious the ship was suddenly afloat again! It was as if the reef was gone! And it was. The only thing was that… it was not a reef. (Insert ominous organ soundtrack here) - WHICH ONE OF YOU INCOMPETENT PILES OF CRAB DIRT WALKING ON TWO LEGS DARES TO STEER YOUR SHIP INTO THE BACK OF MY HEAD?!!! - Runar! Negotiate! Accept vassalage if necessary! shouted Halvdan. - Halvdan! Find us somewhere to hide! And scout for a way out of here! shouted Runar. - The lady of the lake? Maybe you have some shiny swords to distribute? No? Arrr? said Captain Silver with a steadily more unsteady voice. - INSOLENT HEADHITTERS! HEADBANGERS! I WILL EAT YOU AND YOUR LUNCHBOAT FOR LUNCH FOR THIS! SHIPS ARE AFTER ALL THE IDEAL COMPLEMENT TO FISH… ASK ANY COASTAL RESTAURANT AND THEY WILL KNOW ABOUT THE FAMOUS FISH AND SHIPS DISH! OR RATHER, SPEND YOUR TIME BEING DIGESTED IN MY STOMACH THINKING ABOUT HOW WELL-KNOWN FISH AND SHIPS WOULD HAVE BEEN IF YOU HAD ASKED! FLOUNDER! LUNCHTIME! A terrible gigantic fish with enormous spiky teeth and sickly yellow skin with vulgar blue stripes surfaced next to the krakenmaid. It looked almost as if the fish could float on water! Perhaps it was a very stupid individual who had forgotten that he was a fish? Regardless, what Flounder lacked in brains he made up for in huger and spiky teeth. The two monsters slowly approached the Arrrgos with their jaws open and the krakenmaid picking out a knife and fork from somewhere under the sea. Since their jaws were open a frightening soundtrack with dramatic drums started playing in the background. Jaws have a strange but nonetheless famous and infamous connection with dramatic soundtracks. The dwarfs and Arrrgonauts started to put up a valiant defence. Arrows and javelins flew through the air but the latter were caught by the terrible squid arms after which the krakenmaid mockingly used them as toothpicks! Running out of missiles, the desperate sailors resorted to throwing their dishes and glasses and what was left of the dinner at the approaching monster. - HMM, WHAT’S THIS? BRING MORE… SALTY THINGS! NOW! FLOUNDER! SIT! I MEAN DIVE! - She must mean the chips. Throw more ships! - Chips! - Throw more chips! The crew emptied their supply of chips and threw them into the mouth of the krakenmaid. The chefs were sent down for more and soon the Arrrgos was covered in steam from the cooking. Halvdan suddenly remembered that he had heard some engineers in Erebor talking about constructing a “steam ship”, whatever that could mean. This steam was rather overrated, he thought. You can hardly see anything. Silly engineers… As he thought about this, he and Runar were sent below deck to peel more potatoes. Potatoes were also something that was quite overrated. And almost as silly as the engineers.

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 23.5

__________________________________Part 23½. The Awkward Diplomat______________________________ Balin marched with great vigour onward through the Iron Hills. He and his bodyguard moved with good speed thanks to his knowledge of paths and shortcuts. Balin was truly a logistics expert, as he boasted to the extent that all who looked at him felt as if they had seen it written on a list of personal traits. Balin was on his way to Erebor to hold a passionate and impetuous speech before the king and council dwarfs. The subject was, as always, the idea of reclaiming Khazad-Dum from the goblins and gain dominance over the Misty Mountains forever. With Thorin dumped at Kugavod the situation was better than in a long time for such an enterprise. Passing Azanulinbar-Dum, Balin noticed a great commotion in the fortress and curiously entered. It was the new pub that was being opened! Finally the fortress could boast some noteworthy and impressive architecture. The mighty walls and towers along with the great mines were all useful and so, but it was not nearly as awe-inspiring as the tavern building tree. In the pub, Balin heard much news from the south (the logic in having to travel north to hear news from the south may seem faulty but there is a very sensible explanation for that, hidden somewhere in Libris dusty cupboard or bookshelf). Edoras had repelled the wild men of Dunland but instead been besieged by the even wilder goblins from Gundabad. Even worse than the savage but hopefully manageable goblins were the great host of Easterlings in presumably golden armour that camped west of the town. Golden hordes from the east are indeed troublesome, even for a nation of horsemen. The new invasion banner that had caused such uproar among the court of Erebor previously made the whole town and its outskirts glow, illuminating both the invasion force and the feeble defenders. It was such a bright light that even vala-like creatures with the unnatural ability to zoom out their gaze would see Edoras illuminated even if they didn’t have any spies or other forces there. In the less glamorous parts of the realm, also known as, “snigger”, Wormcove, Gimli had trouble as governor. Attracting settlers worked decently thanks to the skiing courses that were rapidly being constructed. But the trouble was, it also attracted some other visitors too. One was the high elven diplomat Minastion. He was… How to describe him? Well he was a high elven diplomat. You get the picture… Minastion entred Gimlis office while rudely having his escorting guards push Gimlis secretary out of the way. - Hmmpf! Yet more unwashed ones tracking their filth through the halls I see! Clearly this country could use some elven supervision. - Are you alright, Dori? As for you, elf, who the Angband do you think you are pushing your way into my office like that?! - I, I’ll have you know, am the famous elven diplomat Minastion. I’m sure you have heard of me. But evidently someone failed to notice you of my arrival, since neither the customary parade nor flowers covering the streets have been prepared. - Trust me, I would never, ever, do such a thing to welcome someone like you here. Is there any particular reason you are here? - The great lord Elrond has authorised me, the great Minastion, to allow you to trade with us and bask in our well-cleaned glory! What say you, lowly dwarf?! - Uuh, what? We are already trading, or would be if not the goblins were blocking the passes through the Misty Mountains. - What!? Why!? - Perhaps because our polite diplomat Runar negotiated a trade agreement with you pointy-ears in Mithlond? - But, but, I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO THAT! The glory of that piece of diplomacy was to be mine! How would any dwarf have reached us before I reached you? I travelled as fast as I could through Dunland, Rohan and Lothlorien to reach you first. - Why did you not take the quickest path through the mountains? - Don’t pull my leg, no one can cross that filthy goblin territory! - Runar and Halvdan can, and did! What say you, lowly elf?! - What about map information? I can share our kinds profound knowledge with you for a…suitable…price. - Suitable for you, I have no doubt. But we already know quite a lot thanks to our competent explorers. But I could offer you a small piece of map information for free. - Ah, what might that be? - The way out! - How dare you!? I denounce thee, thou slimy unwashed dwarf! - Dori? - My lord? - I must confess that I find it hard to do any form of work or meaningful recreation when that guy is around. - I quite agree. - It also seems to me that Minastion has overstayed and abused his welcome here. - Indeed, I was just thinking about the same thing. - Good. Could you please escort his impoliteness Minastion out of the office? Dori straightened up and saluted Gimli in an impeccable manner. - With pleasure, my lord. Guaaards!

Chapter 24

_____________________________________Part 24. All Beards on Deck!_________________________________ - Look out! - It’s them! - It’s him! - It’s her! - It’s…it? Or rather, this is it. - What’s all the commotion about? asked Runar as he and Halvdan just appeared on deck. - Look! said Inigo and pointed at the horizon. - So we are being followed. But where are all those persons you were talking about? - Right over there, Runar. said Isabella. It is the hobbits of Bilbo that are chasing us, therefore “them”. The commander is Hornblower himself, judging by the colours, therefore “him”. The ship is definitely the Renowned Retribution of Hotspur, therefore “her” since ships are regarded as “her:s” in this part of the world. And since he is our despised arch-enemy and wish to sink us, “this is it” as this will be a contest of seamanship and cunning of epic proportions before either of us can escape (us) or sink the other (them). A couple of weeks had passed since the unlikely escape from the angered but then appeased krakenmaid. The dwarfs did no longer need to peel potatoes which pleased them very much. They had even gotten reasonably used to the movement of the Arrrgos and sleeping in hammocks, which was actually rather comfortable. Being half the height of the humans had it’s advantages. Something that still bothered them was the position of the windows, which were unreasonably far from the floor. Being half the height of the humans had it’s disadvantages. To pass the time and as a gesture of good will Runar and Halvdan used their tools and now accumulated experience of improvised engineering and construction to repair and improve the Arrrgos. Humans could by all means sometimes achieve respectable results but there is ever a frost in spring, or a blight in summer, that makes them fail short of their promise. Luckily, there are dwarfs in the world to amend and correct the situation. In return the Arrrgonauts, mainly Inigo and Isabella, instructed the dwarfs in sailing and navigation as well as fencing with rapiers. It was tricky for the dwarfs who were more used to the archetypical axes and mattocks along with heavy armour but eventually they learned some of the mobility of the Arrrgonauts and could use the advantage of their short stature to escape hits. Isabella insisted that they teach her how to wield dwarf weapons properly. She was almost obsessed with learning the moves of every possible foe that might be duelled. Her style of fencing was consequently that of a dueller and contained a mix of most duellers that had faced her, and were now ex-duellers. Inigo was more conservative in the weapon of choice, partly because his rapier was a family heirloom, but acrobatic and mobile like none other. Apart from having the various swashbuckler-character references unsubtly hammered in like this, the fencers also did more mundane and boring work such as painting the fences on the Arrrgos. Captain Silver loved to remind them how fitting it was that the fencers would paint the fence, especially since they were such ill-reputed fences themselves according to the hobbits and other equally trustworthy authorities. Inigo and Isabella did not share his opinion on the stellar-ness of the quality of this particular joke. While the readers were busy catching up with the daily activities of the protagonists, they and most of the crew not on watch met in Captain Silver’s cabin. They discussed how to be rid of the slowly but evidently steadily approaching hobbits. An armed engagement would preferably be avoided since the R:ed Hotspur outcatapulted (guns did not exist so no being outgunned) them when it came to heavy artillery and all javelins had been spent as krakenmaid toothpicks. Besides, the Arrrgonauts did not want to lose the opportunity of taunting and outsmarting the hobbits in the future. Truly, privateers had a mostly undeserved reputation for violence and naval combat in Middle Earth. They were just trying to get along. Really. The direness of the situation weighed heavily on the assembly. Desperate plans such as escaping among reefs or, what terrible thought, dump the cargo to sail faster into shallower water, accompanied more sensible ones along with outright wishful thinking. What if we could rebuild the Arrrgos during the night into several smaller and faster vessels? What about using the sails to make a balloon and somehow manage to fill it with hot air and escape among the clouds? Or how about if we could use a huge rope or chain to tie the R-whatever Hotspur up with so she can’t follow us while we escape? Or… Hmm, wait a second. What was that last thing? - We do have a chain on board. Can’t we, like, use it to fetter the Renowned Retribution of Hotspur? asked Runar. - You can’t exactly fetter a ship. They are a bit too big to reach around. said Isabella. - What chain be ye talking about? asked Captain Silver. - The one we used to load the oven with in Pelargir. I showed Runar and Halvdan around yesterday when they asked what it was for. But it would only be enough to reach around one of their masts, not the whole ship. - A mast, aye, said Captain Silver… or a bowsprit. - How do you mean? - The hobbit navy has had busy days. It be high time for them to lay anchor! Arrr! Isabella and Inigo laughed. - What does he mean? asked Runar. - We sneak up on the R-whatever Hotspur after dark and fasten the chain around their bowsprit and tie it to an anchor cable and then drop the anchor. Something like that, yes? said Inigo. - Aye, she will be hard pressed to cruise with no bowsprit and her crew won’t reach the cable lest they launch a boat and dive from it methinks. - Not the rudder? - Nay, they can make do without a rudder if using a great oar like river boats and ships of old. But the bowsprit can not be replaced without much labour, during which time we will slip away. Set course for the coast! - Can someone explain this, please? asked the two dwarfs. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  We are now changing course towards the coast. The R-and-so-on Hotspur will see this and follow. Hornblower will think we intend to escape on land or hide in shallower water or something. Once it gets dark, we will lighten our lanterns to show that we are proceeding east. The wind is blowing steadily from the south, so we will sail with good speed. As will Hornblower. Using the cover of darkness, we will load one of the boats with an anchor, cable and a chain attached to the other end of the anchor cable. Rowing slowly towards the R-and-so-on Hotspur, we will hopefully not be noticed with this cloudy sky. Once we have reached their bow, we will wrap the chain around the bowsprit and then lay anchor. Because the hobbits can not cut the chain without much work they will not be rid of the anchor cable too soon. And they will not be able to weigh anchor without much preparation since there is no way to easily pull the chain in such a confined space such as the bow. Hornblower will be left with the choice of remaining and trying to figure out a way to get rid of the chain, or cut his bowsprit. If he does that, we will outrun him easily if we change course south again, so he won’t do that. Both our ships are built for sailing with the wind and at least half the sails useful for sailing against it require a bowsprit. As he struggles with his anchor, our boat will quickly return and we will proceed east while gradually dimming the lanterns so that it looks as if we are disappearing in the darkness faster than we are. Once the lights are out, we set course south again and with a minimum of luck we will be out of sight tomorrow while the pride of the Shire thinks we have continued east, perhaps using the time we bought to hide at the coast. Oh no! I’ve just realised I’ve been speaking for ages without any silly grammar! Arrr, tackled squids and hoisted midshipmen! - How do we get the chain around the bowsprit? - Heaving line attached to a thicker rope, tied to the chain. But me be worri’n about how we should lock the chain so they can’t get rid of it. Rope won’t do, someone will just climb down by another rope and cut it. - Leave that to me, said Runar. - Oh no, not another one of Qili’s Secret Systems again? said Halvdan with disgust. - Halvdan, they are reliable, really. They even come with a warranty nowadays. - Which is easily enforced when issued by a spy engineer, master of escape, stealth and hiding, I am sure… - Just ignore my unenthusiastic companion, Captain Silver. Quili has developed a primitive sealing mechanism that should work here: it is a metal semi circle that can be bent into a ring by a strong dwarf, or two less strong dwarfs, by using two handles that you screw onto the ring itself to gain leverage. Once they are removed, it is very hard to get a grip to open the ring again. - Why not just use a lock? asked Halvdan. - I don’t have one. Locks can be picked, so they are often not used among spies, as you should know. I do have a good supply of adjustable skeleton keys, though. - Trust the spy engineering department to leave out the most simple and obvious solutions in favour of ridiculous solutions whose complexity borders the absurd… In the dark of the night evil thus found the hobbits as a small stealthy boat discreetly glided towards the Renowned Retribution of Hotspur. It was covered by a spare sail to make it look less like the boat filled with saboteurs it was. The bored lookout at the crows nest admired the sunset which conveniently took place in the other direction. It was convenient both for the Arrrgonauts who headed the other way and could escape in the darkness more quickly and also convenient for the sun and earth itself since they were used to sunsets in the west and did not have to alter their positions. The hobbit lookout was too absorbed by the scenery to notice the thin heaving line that suddenly appeared for a moment on one side of the bowsprit and quietly fell down on the other. Down in the Arrrgonaut boat, there was a less harmonious scene: - You lazy sod! Why should we heave up YOU as well as the chain? asked Halvdan. - A bit discretion, please, you narrow-minded nerd! said Runar, with a more hushed voice than the exclamation mark might suggest. I’ve already told you that I need to get up high enough to seal the chain. - Actually you have not. You only said you needed to seal the chain. If I had known that you would use it as an excuse to miss the heaving I would have objected much more. Bah! Alright then, heave! - For being a spy, you are astonishingly distrustful of new inventions in that area. - That is because I…heave…am a spy and not a spy engineer…heave…caught up in wild dreams about new equipment that somehow never seems to be adequately field tested. Only…heave…idiots like the elven fiction spy Jameuron Bondlir…heave…rely on gadgets to accomplish the job. Would you…heave… - Of course I would not heave, I’m right up here on my way to seal the chain! What kind of silly question is that? - An unfinished question, moron, that was interrupted by you before I got past the mandatory heaving in the middle of the sentence! - Oh, I see. - As I was heaving…SAYING; Would you trust any dwarf with a sensitive diplomatic mission just because he had the latest handbooks and sharpest pencils available? - Of course not! - Spying is the same. For all it’s glamour, spying equipment don’t make a good spy, as proved by named elf. Are you done sealing that thing? - Yes, I am just about to glide down by the chain… - Ouch! Did you have to land right on my nose?! - Not at all, Halvdan. It was entirely optional. - You miserable fool. Can’t we throw him overboard, Inigo? - I fear the journey would lose it’s recently acquired entertainment qualities in that case, gentlemen. said Inigo as he and the rest of the boat crew looked on with amused faces. - What have you got over there? asked Runar, and pointed at a small purse next to Inigo. - Oh, we were just placing bets. Most betted on you since you held the high ground, but after you landed and angered Halvdan by choosing him to land on the odds became more even. But I suppose we shall have to wait for another opportunity to crown a winner. Alas… - Ever the privateer… “CRRRASH!” - What the… - Captain Hornblower, sir! We have stopped! - I can see that, you imbecile! What… The small crew of the Arrrgos boat cheered discreetly and rowed back to the ship almost as quickly as they could. Once aboard, the welcoming light of the aft lanterns faded into a polite glow which then changed to an unwelcoming faint glow while ending in a cold and inhospitable darkness. The ship then promptly turned south. The next day was clear and sunny. Neither clouds nor troubles clouded the skies and minds of the Arrrgonauts. A fresh breeze from the west carried the Arrrgos expeditiously south. Runar and Halvdan had grabbed the opportunity to sleep for most of the morning. They eventually dragged themselves up to see Isabella at the wheel, looking most satisfied with things in general and steering the ship in particular. - Yaawn…good morning. - Morning, dwarfs. Did you sleep well? - I have yet to get used the occasional unscheduled rocking of the ship. Why can’t someone invent a vessel that doesn’t try to throw me out of bed just when I’ve fallen asleep? - Hahahaha! But that is half the fun with ships, isn’t it? - You really like sailing, don’t you? - Of course. Are there people who don’t? If you do it wrong you will get sick…do it right, and there is no feeling in the world like it. And I like big boats, I can not lie. Well not about that anyway. Oh look, here comes Inigo. With a…raven? - Krah! Finally up I see. said Hugin. - Hugin! said the dwarfs. - No, I’m a parrot in disguise. Special agent hired to work among the privateers... But seriously, after all that fairy green dye I might have passed for a parrot, who knows? I have a message from the King to you two lazy clots. You are hereby commanded to seek out the Wildlings of Dunland. Establish trade rights and whatever other agreements except military aid you can to keep them off the back of the Rohan twits. The latter are likely to fall for any serious invasion anyway but we have to try to aid them somehow, if only to buy time for more competent peoples to prepare for the onslaught. - Dunland…isn’t there a river or two flowing through that place? asked Halvdan. - Yes it is. said Inigo. Let’s have a look at the map. X marks the place, as every treasure hunter knows. Runar, Halvdan and Hugin spent the better part of the day trying to convince Captain Silver to make a detour to the coast. No matter how generous navigational freedoms he was offered he was not intrigued. That was in fact rather understandable since the territory of the dwarfs of Erebor did not include any sea. Runar had to resort to cunning persuasion and state that the potatoes needed selling or planting soon and the presumably simple-minded Dunlanders would be the more likely buyers of such wares. After a detour to the cargo hold, followed by a desperate detour to the deck to catch some fresh air after the horrible smell, Captain Silver agreed. Hugin stayed onboard a few days, long enough to rest for a bit and enjoy the fresh sea air…fresh air that he did of course not get enough of through flying across vast areas of forests and mountains… He also harshly reminded the dwarfs that they had not yet undertaken any serious Midgard investigations. Runar replied that he had had it all planned out and had waited for the opportune moment where he could subtly use his diplomatic skills to shift the conversation towards that subject, but now since the moment was spoiled he would have to ask bluntly, THANK YOU SO MUCH HUGIN! - Well, do you happen to know anything about a realm called Midgard, Captain Silver? - Hrmmm, me be needing to refresh me memory. Should need to look through them maps and sea charts. All hands to my cabin! - I like that phrase as such…but this is probably the wrong context. said Inigo. Isabella laughed. - Now let’s see, mumbled Captain Silver as they worked their way through all the (public) maps, here be the north coast, Elven gulf and bays, west coast, latest corsair warnings… - What’s that? asked Halvdan. “The Adventures of Nicole, Gilbert and Marie in the Magical Desert Lake”…Took-run publishing? - Give me that! How did that end up here? said Isabella. - What is that anyway? Nicole…hm-hm…uh…hm hehehe, where did you get this? - There are certain things a lady keeps to herself, Inigo. - Not some ladies, judging by the cover… - It has pictures too! Look! Captain Silver cleared his throat loudly. - Where were we, aye yes, what about that cabinet? said Inigo. - No I wouldn’t… said Captain Silver. Before he had time to finish his warning, Inigo had opened it. Out leapt Mr Jack Nilsson, the captains monkey that had apparently been asleep in the cabinet. He started to jump over and across everyone and happily pulled the hair and beards of the assembly. As soon as the area seemed clear, it was only because a cunning flanking movement was being planned from above. - Look what you’ve done! cried Captain Silver angrily. Now we’ll never be able to work in peace. Hide the maps before they are torn to pieces! - Let’s move upstairs. said Isabella. - I like that phrase as such, too…said Inigo. - You like a lot of things…most twisted and inappropriate. - Such flatter! Ah, Isabella, you’re too good to me. Mr Nilsson followed them. The dwarf beards were just too much fun. They were almost like lianas. On deck, the less than efficient researchers managed to sort out the possibly relevant maps. - Arrr, look here, me mates! “Map of far realms and dimensions”… and here be Midgard! - WHERE!? - Uh, what be this? Let’s look at the annex…no it’s right. But it does nay make sense, by all the chattering crabs! Midgard be in the…sky…according to this map. But what be the meaning of this nonsense? - There was a reference to a rainbow in another note. Maybe it is connected. said Runar. - How about this map? said Halvdan. - Give me that! It’s confidential! - Treasure Island? Is that a theme park or something? A restaurant? - Hrrmmm. - I mean, it can’t actually be an island with buried treasure, can it? No one would ever bury valuables on an island named in that way. Or name the island with buried treasure in such a way. Utterly stupid. - Hrrmmm. - Oh, by Aules anvil, you can’t be serious? - I told you it was a bad name, Captain. said Isabella. - Like your idea was better? “Cutthroat Island”, no that name does not at all arouse suspicion! - People would think it was a corsair base and keep out! - Except the corsairs who would congregate and the Gondorians who would stage attacks. - Why do you really have to bury treasure like this? asked Runar. - We can’t have it onboard, lest the hobbits and corsairs and Gondorian tax inspectors will catch us. We have to hide it somewhere. - Halvdan? - Alright then. Captain Silver, may I interest you in some of the tried and tested dwarf methods of hiding valuable metal in campfires and such? - Arrr, aye. What be ye suggestin’? - To start with, if you take… Runar and Halvdan spent the rest of the journey alternating between sailing and fencing lessons, and sometimes Mr Nilssons climbing lessons, engineering and listening to the giggling loud reading by Isabella of the latest Took-run wonder. It even inspired her to write her own story in similar fashion, basing some of her characters on the people around her, calling it “friend fiction”. After a pleasant cruising the protagonists and privateers could enjoy the unwelcoming view of the Wild Lands of Dunland. By this time, Runar and Halvdan had gotten completely used to being on the ship and did not at all look forward to having to travel by land. Quite primitive. Isabella was right. Sailing ruled.

Part 24.5

___________________________Part 24½. Easterlings at Edoras_______________________ - My King! - My messenger! - The little goblin rabble has been repelled from the walls of Edoras but even greater danger lurks behind the imaginary corners of far-fetched metaphors! The Easterlings who made the lightning-fast march to the centre of Rohan and are laying siege to Edoras as we speak! Unless they have taken it already? You never know with such incompetent defenders as the men of Rohan. Except that you can be sure about their incompetence. - As I thought! Everything is proceeding exactly as I have foreseen. - First, that phrase is more in the right place when said by a dark and evil emperor and you are supposed to be our noble and wise, if grumpy, king. A paragon of good ruling. Secondly, it is not really a great feat of foresight to foresee that an invasion army ends up at Edoras when Edoras is (as usual) the target of the invasion. - Pfff, where ist thy obedience and awe of thy respectable sovereign? - I think I left it at the door, should I go and check? - I can’t believe I ever wanted this job. - But there is no one that could be the king you are my lord! - I will need to have my ear examined. Was that a compliment from you directed to me? - If I where you, I would go up to the conference hall. There are quite a crowd there debating the goblin movements. It seems that the entire United Kingdom is just about overrun and our, hrrm, allies in Mirkwood have also had trouble shooting down all intruders despite their loud breathing. - My goodness, that is such a worn out saying of theirs! We breathe loud, so what? Any news of Runar and Halvdan? - Hugin has just returned. They have actually travelled quite a bit by sea on some ship called the “Arrrgos”, and were approaching Dunland when he took off. - Hmm, that Arrrgos would then be classified as a kind of “airforce carrier”, with the latter performing an almost vertical take-off and landing. We and our allies are very modern, I say! -

Part 25

___________________________Part 25. The Wild Men of Dunland, or was it Dumbland?_______________________ It was not an easy thing, leaving the Arrrgos. The melancholy of parting ways with the dear Arrrgonauts drove Runar to sing a sad melody while standing at the bow of the ship with his arms outstretched as if wanting to embrace the whole sea and all in it… “Every time in my ale, I see you, I feel you That is how I know you sail on Far across the hobbits and krakens between us You have come to show we fence wrong Neeaaar, faar, wherever you are I believe that my beard will go on Oonce mooore, I look at the fore And you’re here in my beard and my beard will go ooon and ooon” Captain Silver asked him to stop, because singing like that could bring bad luck to the ship. Runar inquired what kind of bad luck, was it things like running aground or hitting icebergs drifting south? Captain Silver refuted that most profoundly. That kind of bad luck was caused by having insufficient safety and life-saving equipment and keeping insufficient watch. And he would be dead before that happened for he was a captain with honour. Singing at the bow with arms outstretched could however lead to something almost equally fatal; it had been known to attract passenger painters of the slimiest and most disgusting kind. Dunland neither was nor is a particularly famous part of Middle Earth. It was the sparsely populated wilderness that lay west of Rohan and north of the western end of the White Mountains that marked the northern border of Gondor. Truly, Dunland could be said to be one of the Forgotten Realms of Middle Earth. The Dunlendings held a bitter grudge against the Rohirrim that had passed down through generations. The Rohirrim had been given the land of Rohan by the Gondorians as thanks for military aid, something that the Dunlendings regarded as outright theft and occupation of their land. They had been forced to move west to the less fertile and poorer lands that now made up Dunland. Consequently they were among the most eager to answer the call to invade Edoras, but since they were also ill equipped and generally as simple minded, not to say outright stupid, as the men of Rohan, the invasion attempt had not gone precisely according to plan. When Runar and Halvdan arrived there was therefore a kind of unofficial truce between the arch-enemies simply because they had run out of available armies to invade with. There was even talk about a kind of sports tournament, or at least contest, between the Dunlendings and Rohirrim. Humans have (far too) many despicable traits but sometimes a faint glow of honour and chivalry can shine through in the shape of a spontaneous truce or ceasefire in the bitterest of conflicts. And sometimes, or many more times, it is just the matter of a random drop in the intensity of the hostilities. In any case, there was much talk about current talks with the Rohirrim in the rural backwaters and villages that Runar and Halvdan passed through on their way to someone with something that resembled authority over Dunland. Erebor was neutral in the conflict and dwarfs had not had much to do with Dunlendings before so they could pass freely through the rough lands. They first went through the uninteresting village of Lond Angren followed by the windy and rough ridge of Lond Angren with its charming view of bogs and swamps to the northwest and impassable forests to the southeast. After a while they found the lame excuse for a road that would lead to the capitol, Dunhold. Following the road to a crossroads Runar and Halvdan exoected to find a sign for the road to Dunhold which was the closest town from there…but no. The road happened to be under the control of the southern town of Erindol which did not look kindly on Dunhold getting all the attention and income from tourism. The latter was by all means purely potential (at best…) and theoretical but it was a matter of principle. Grudgingly, the dwarfs turned south and eventually came upon Erindol, the uncooperative town. The food was substandard, the beer laughable and the beds nothing compared to the hammocks of the Arrrgos. Only one thing in Erindol was worth remembering – a very weird and strange author that the dwarfs came across at the town square. It was actually hard not to come across this author because he constantly pestered the people passing by with his advertisements and announcements. His enthusiasm and persistence was actually quite commendable, considering the fact that the other townspeople were illiterate. - Hear ye, hear ye! Special offer only for ye two gentlemen! - Which I am sure nobody else here has received…mumbled Runar as Halvdan sniggered. - The latest edition of my fantastic work “I, Chroniclus”! - I see. How many editions are there? asked Halvdan. - Eeeh, hrm, just one so far…yes, imagine that! The very first edition of this magnificent work and it can be yours today! - Well what is this about, then? asked Runar. - “I, Chroniclus” is an AAARR! The very first in Middle Earth I dare say! - AAARR? - Yes, After After Action Report Report. You know how some players of strategic and tactical imperialistic war games sometimes writes After Action Reports about it, detailing how the campaign goes and how the grand battles are won or lost? Occasionally the AAR:s are spiced up by deep character development and intriguing stories about persons and nations. My revolutionary work will instead be about the author of one of the AARs and the exciting daily life of his. An After AAR Report. - So you’re writing a…story about a storywriter? - Exactly! Brilliant, isn’t it? - Ehm, just how exciting can the daily life of an AAR writer be? - Thrilling! Just listen to the list of content; chapter one: The Forum Entry – how long can the protagonist survive without being able to edit his posts? Chapter five: The Monthly AAR Competition – our protagonist faces the hordes of the nether darkness in fierce competition to the last drop of word. Chapter seventeen: The spammer – how will the protagonist deal with the evil malign entity that clogs his thread with meaningless nonsense? Chapter… - Wait a second! Meaningless nonsense…aren’t there a kind of AARs which are just chapter after chapter of silly nonsense with just about zero connection to the actual campaign? - Yes, like that of the silly “Malt-Curse” or whatever. “Comedy” AARs, pfff. “Snigger”. Anyway, where was I? Chapter twenty-four: The Bugged Traits – what can the protagonist do to explain the insane wrong trait distribution and description of the main general to the readers? - OK, we get the picture! Good luck with your writing but I think we have to be on our way. We have an urgent appointment with a very difficult quest. - Wait! You must hear about my other grand project! - “Sigh” What about it? - It is the ultimate comedy. And I know what you think, but no, this is nothing like some lame comedy AAR about Middle Earth. This is the DIVINE COMEDY! And it will bring me, DANTE EVILIGHIERI, everlasting shame! - You mean fame? - What? - You mean it will bring you everlasting fame, not everlasting shame? - Yes of course, just as I said. You’ve got to listen better! - “Sigh” What is this divinity about, then? - The protagonist is sent to a hellish hell to witness all the cruel and horrifying tortures of its victims on the different levels. - Wow, how funny and merry. I can barely keep myself from laughing. - And then the protagonist miraculously escapes back to the earth unscathed. And that makes it a comedy! - What a happy ending, with him knowing what is in store for him…So your idea of comedy and fun is basically “burn and go to hell!”? - Yes… - Halvdan, isn’t there a human word or name for someone like that? - Yes there is. A human whose idea of comedy is rudely and not at all funnily telling people to burn and go to hell is called “Magnus Betnér”. And now Mr Evil-eye or whatever it was, please excuse us, we have urgent business elsewhere. Walking north from Erindol the dwarfs reached Dunhold after lots of boring experience of the bad roads of the Dunlendings. Dunholds position as capitol of the Dunlendings did not come with any particular refinement or civilisation. Most of the population of Dunland had large beards, for a human. They were therefore quite impressed by those of Runar and Halvdan which also looked suitably rough after the long travels. In fact, the very fact that an outlander emissary actually wanted to set foot in Dunhold was a small sensation in itself. In a stark and welcome contrast to the reception among the elves and goblins, Runar and Halvdan got to meet the chieftain of Dunhold, who were also one of the chieftains that would have the possibility to bully his way to the position of faction leader. Chieftain Larnach (who did not enjoy the references to the Gondor town Lossarnach and his name) greeted them in full armour as if that would impress them. - Me great chieftain Larnach. - Greetings, I am Runar and this is Halvdan. We are emissaries of Erebor and King Dain. We would like to discuss diplomatic relations with you on behalf of Erebor. - Huh? Me only have relations with Dunland lasses. Hahahahaha! - How stylish and mature… Yes of course, but would you like to establish trade rights between our two peoples? - Trade, huh? - Naaoh…Nah…Nope. First ye must prove to be trady and tradeworthy. - And how are we supposed to do that, o great and intellectual despot? - I propose a trade between us. You see, I have this problem with the Rohirrim – they are a miserable and grumpy lot. Just because we tried to do a small invasion on our free time they refuse to take part in the annual brawling contest between our peoples. They think that the judges, that we usually elect together, will be manipulated by us to judge in our favour. - This invasion of yours, was it perhaps directed at Edoras? - Well, perhaps. - Why on Middle Earth would that upset them? Can you think of anything, Halvdan? - Alright, maybe we did upset them a little. But here’s what I thought: you two accompany me to serve as judges. Erebor is still neutral to our conflict and the dwarf stubbornness is legendary. No one could believe I would be able to bribe or influence your judgement. However, should you wish to have a look at this keg of fine beer or those gold-filled chests… - NO THANKS. We have had our share of your drinks. Fine, we will accompany you to this brawl contest. - Excellent! I will send word to the strawheads. We will meet them at the border in the northeast of our lands. Onward! Runar and Halvdan now travelled with a sizeable diplomatic escort and despite the unpleasant smell, not to say nasty odour, resisting the term putrid fume, of the Dunlending upper class. Despite this partial success Runar worried about them not yet having been able to conclude any sort of treaty and Halvdan thought that the discretion component of their travels was sorely lacking. He had contemplated dressing up as human (possibly standing on Runars shoulders to gain height and annoy Runar) but now that their faces were so well known the idea would probably turn out bad and be a party trick and laughing stock at best. The chosen place was an old ruin with dry leaves. The brown and green distrustful parties had gathered on the opposite side of it and glared at each other with cold eyes. - Diplomacy time! said Runar with the voice of a superhero about to rush to the rescue of a crowd in a collapsing building, on his way to free whatever babe taken hostage by the current villain of the episode. - Discretion time! Halvdan hissed to him. Runar climbed the largest tower of the ruin and from the top he had a good view of both delegations and was quite visible and audible too. Halvdan watched with great concern. If discretion was the better part of valour, why was it so often overshadowed and forgotten? Runar addressed the assembly with his most booming voice. - Members of the Rohirrim, and the Dunlendings! We have now, after careful consultation of all possible and available rules and guidelines and wisdoms, decided to let the contests begin! Today the fierce champions of Dunland and Rohan will meet in brutish brawling! I call upon any Dunlending or Rohirrim without the heart or stomach for such savagery to leave now or be forever intimidated by the grisly sights that are about to present themselves! If ye think yourselves hard enough, take your places and let the contest BEGIN! I present to you Mattis of Dunland, facing Borka of Rohan! There was considerable surprise and confusion among both the Rohan and Dunland delegations. Neither of them seemed to really know what to do, now that their chosen brawlers had been called forward without a word being said about their previous disagreements. The only one that looked really pleased with the decision was the referee, Per the Bald of Dunland. He was one of the few who had mastered the ancient and almost sacred language of the brawl referees, a language with which one can form seemingly endless words. The old hooligan sat on a wall overlooking the middle of the small arena with his eyes beaming with anticipation. Eventually Mattis and Borka stepped out. Mattis was a dark-haired and broad brute who shouted and roared at pretty much everyone and for any reason. Borka was not as broad, but at the same time his beard was greater. He usually tended to mutter grudgingly rather than shout. Both the contestants knew the other well, for they owned small forts on the opposite side of the border and frequently raided each others lands to rob passing merchants and sack enemy residences. Upon Runars command, two functionaries crossed their swords and then removed them as a signal to start. The brawl had begun! It was a truly brutish and uncivilised affair. Mattis and Borka strived to humiliate and insult each other just as much as beating the foe. Their characteristic style of taunting involved regretting that they had to increase each others already considerable ugliness so much, or expressing how sorry they were about the blockheadedness and general ineptitude of the other: - It is a great sorrow…smack!...that you have to be such a boot of dirt…bash!...otherwise I could have made you my deputy long ago! - It brings me great sorrow...thud!...that I shall have to ruin your snout…bam!...for you were already as ugly as anyone could want! Here you can see the whole brawl from the dwarfs tower, starting around 4.00. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  After the resounding victory of Mattis it was time for lunch. To avoid being seen as biased (and to avoid the smell and taste of either sides unpleasant food) Runar and Halvdan sat down between the two camps to eat. Halvdan inquired why Runar had done something so seemingly stupid as to start the contest before it had even been agreed upon. Surely that was not so diplomatic. - Elementary, my dear spy. Humans are terrified of looking like cowards. They are in some ways veritable slaves to that vice. As soon as I had appealed to the courage and bravery, or potential lack of it, the contestants really had no choice. Challenging the authority of us as judges or Per as referee would look like excuses not to fight and cowardice. But I suppose that will come after the brawl when the losing side tries to annul the outcome. - The humans are really silly sods. Sometimes it’s just blatantly pathetic. - Diplomacy is a powerful force. - Pfff, rather; the force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded. Chieftain Larnach approached them. - Haha, great, we be winners of morning brawl! We rule! - Morning brawl? - Of course. In the afternoon the women’s contestants will meet in brawl. Then the winners of both brawls meet if they be of different factions. - “Sigh” So we have to stay until the afternoon? - Yes! - But now we need to discuss some of the diplomacy issues, otherwise no judging. - Bah, boring. Go ahead then. - First there was the matter of trade… - Ah, fine then. We’ll trade with you. - And now I have an idea that you may find unorthodox, chief. How would you like to be our allies? - “cough!” “cough!” - Halvdan, did you want to say something? As I was saying… - “cough!” Runar what are you… - Trust me, I’m the diplomat here. Ignore my rigid companion, chief. What say you? - Hmm, me not knowing. Let’s wait until you have presided over the next brawl! - Aaaah! You drive me mad! What do you need us to judge anyway? Per the Bald is the referee. - You two will judge which faction proved to be the greatest, based on the results of the brawl. Per will assist you but you have the final word. - Not if our opinions differ, obviously, since one more vote for either of us will be decisive. Midday came and went while the two teams prepared and the contestants discussed tactics and warmed up. The chosen of Rohan was the barbaric Barbara, known for her outbursts of berserker rage. For some reason she was especially enraged by jokes about the blonde hair of hers that was common in Rohan (strawheads) and by being nicknamed Barbie. Nicknames are usually a sign of affection but Barbara the Barbarian seemed to regard this particular one as a derogative term and dismissal of her fighting, ale-drinking and cursing skills, instead painting her as a pretty useless piece of decoration. No one really knew why… Her opponent was equally fearsome and also known for cursing, or at least shouting. From Dunland came Xena the Warrior Princess. Known as she was for her lawlessness and the lucidness with which she could perceive new opportunities to plunder, she had been made an honorary princess by the Dunland chieftain to get rid of the pillaging of the roads she frequently travelled on, accompanied by her very close advisor and manager Gabrielle. She did indeed seem to care much more for Gabrielle than warrior princesses typically care for their advisors, but such was her reputation that none dared to ask anything about her private life or any other potentially touching subject, and the matter thus remained a source of speculation and interpretation. Xena’s greatest weapon was her battle cries which had inspired such fear and awe that one could talk about complete Xenaphobia among the enemies of Dunland. Such ignorant and narrow-minded sods… VERSUS As the next brawl approached, Runar and Halvdan noticed how the Dunlendings lined up in a much more organised manner than before, a bit like a ceremony or a choir or group of actors preparing to perform. Some had also brought what looked like some sort of fiddles of violin size. The dwarfs thought it quite strange to bring musical instruments for a time like this. - Lords and ladies, take your positions! said Runar. Let the second brawl…BEGIN! The second brawl began just as fiercely as the first. The contestants jumped through the air in acrobatic attempts to beat the crap out of each other. It was an even struggle and nervous gasps from both sides were followed by excited exclaims and encouragements. Then the Dunlendings unleashed their secret weapon. They started to sing a hideous song. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Bah, this is indeed a silly song. Who wrote this parody nonsense? Maltacus: Just present the background music now. The text is as silly as JiYoun Kim is skilled so you can just refuse to sing if you like and enjoy the music. From what I know you are good at refusing to sing from time to time. What!? How dare you!? Hmpf! Amateur! Very well…maestrooo! Maltacus: It’s maestra, not maestro, you moron. Ah, old habit. Scusi. Maestra! You’re a Barbie girl In your Barbie world This is Dunland And it is not your fun land Go home and brush your hair And tremble everywhere Imagination For real you’re no sensation Come on Barbie Leave this party You’re a strawhead girl In a strawhead world Life is static And really not fantastic We will crush your hair And soon invade your lair What temptation To restart the invasion You’re a blonde bimbo girl in a fantasy world Just for show - looks and glow - you’re their dolly You’re their doll, take your toll, on their stashes of pink Silk and pearls, just for girls, who are silly You can’t fight, you just play, but no triumph will be yours You’re a Rohan girl From a Rohan world Eating horse dung Just like Larnach's bard sung A sickening affair To meet you anywhere Manifestation Of putrid depravation Come on Barbie Leave this party What a foul smell Come on Barbie Leave this party What a stench, what a stench Come on Barbie Leave this party What a foul smell Come on Barbie Leave this party What a stench, what a stench Fake your walk, fake your talk, do whatever they please With a head, like a jar, filled with nothing Now give up, quit the cup, and run home with a scream Show the judge, you’re like fudge, soft and squishy You don’t fight, just pretend to, no reward, will be yours You don’t fight, just pretend to, no reward, will be yours Come on Barbie Leave this party What a loser Come on Barbie Leave this party What a weed, what a weed Come on Barbie Leave this party What a loser Come on Barbie Leave this party What a weed, what a weed You’re a Barbie girl From a Barbie doll city Berserking’s drastic And not at all fantastic Your chances are so slim We’ll end you with a whim of ours Today will Xena Be queen of the arena You’re a Barbie girl From a Barbie doll city Berserking’s drastic And really quite craptastic Your chances are so low You’ll fall with just one blow more Today is Xena The god of the arena This is Dunland What a fun land How we own you This is Dunland What a fun land We’re the best, we’re the best This is Dunland What a fun land How we own you This is Dunland What a fun land We’re the best, we’re the best The insulting insult went straight to the heart of Barbara the Barbarian. Her eyes burning, fists clenched and nostrils flaring presented an intimidating sight as she went paler and paler until she roared like a demonic orc chieftain and rushed at Xena with all technique and tactics forgotten. Xena easily threw her to the ground. The brawl was over. Runar and Halvdan went aside to discuss the whole situation. They thought that the disturbing tactics of the Dunland supporters were not entirely fair. On the other hand, it was not Xena who had done anything and it had been a contest between chosen champions and not whole teams so they should not bear the responsibility for something done by others. How could one balance the outcome? Eventually the dwarfs agreed on a decision and returned to announce their verdict. - Members of the Rohirrim, and the Dunlendings! I have now, after careful consultation with myself, the referee Per the Bald, and my insubstantial friend… - What?! Insubstantial?! - …my insubstantial friend Halvdan, decided on the choice of outcome of today’s contests! The robber chieftain Mattis has won the first brawl and Dunland is awarded the honour of that victory. There was a lot of cheering on the Dunland side while the Rohirrim muttered. - The warrior princess Xena has won the second brawl. The decisive factor of the brawl we do however regard as the jeering and singing of the Dunlending supporters. It is not known how it would have ended without their interference in such an unsportsmanlike manner. Therefore, Xena is declared the winner but the glory of the brawl goes to Rohan. Barbara the Barbarian shall also not suffer any penalty that could befall a loser of a brawl and she and Xena shall meet the next year if they please, when there will be no interference from the hooligans of the audience. Since both the Dunlending champions are victorious, there will be no finals this year. The brawls are concluded and I bid you a good day. The decision appalled many on both sides. Comments ranged from “absurd” to “outrageous”. Larnach the chieftain was not too pleased either. - Huh, you think this is funny, dwarfs? - No, but fair. But your face was quite the sight, I can’t deny that. Now, about this alliance… - Bah, go and crawl down a mine and die! I isn’t allying with you! - Your funeral. - What? - It was you who brought us here. Your initiative made this whole contest possible. And now you have made Dunland look silly by not gaining the glory from Xena’s victory. Your vassals and the High Chieftain of Dunland won’t be too pleased, will they? - Ehm… - But tha does of course pale in comparison to what the Rohirrim will feel, so I understand that you haven’t thought too much about it. - Er… - Because the Rohirrim are going to be furious about your singing sabotage and will likely want your head along with the rest of the choir. And with the outcome of the contest, I wouldn’t bet on you receiving too much support from the other chieftains if, say, a Rohirrim raid would one day target your residence. On the other hand, if you can present them with a skilfully forged alliance with Erebor, they may think better of you, and Rohan may not be too inclined to attack lest they want to wake up to the tones of “Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai menu!”. - “Sigh” Bah! Have your alliance then! - Now get out of my sight, stupid undersized scum! - Nothing would please me more, I assure you, but which way? Tell us where you are going and we will tell you where we are going so we can avoid each others mutually disliked company. - I want compensation for this humiliation, too! 1570 gold coins! - Can you barbarians even count to that much? I can give you 300 if you give us your freshest or at least least distasteful bread and cabbage. - 500! Not a coin less! - How about 400 less? That will not be a coin less, but several. - Alright then. Now get away with you! Most pleased with the prospect of leaving the Dunlendings, Runar and Halvdan hurried up towards the east where hills and plains of green grass presented a dream landscape for any horse. They did their best not to think of what people at home would think of all this… …and how the hideously expensive Dunlending food would taste. In any case, they had actually completed the mission and King Dain should be able to count on some more support from the Miners Guild.

Part 25.5

___________________________Part 25½ Balin's Random Thoughts_______________________ Journal of Balin At last! I have reached the capital again and now there will be no more holding back or being left unfunded! Onward towards Khazad Dum we must go! I wonder if the whole campaign in Kugavod was just one big delaying ruse by Thorin? Wouldn’t surprise me. The slithering slug… The goblins are the main threat and they drove our people from the mines that were ours. We beat them back later and we can do it today just as well! Thorin is accumulating sickeningly great power himself. He must be paid by the Miners Guild lobbyists, I am sure. Is he trying to seize control of Erebor himself? I better be far away when that happens. If it does. But why would he otherwise try to lure so many dwarfs to Kugavod? It can’t be just the gold. If someone like, say, I, ruled there that would of course be the case but I bet my dirtiest pair of socks that Thorin is plotting to do something totally immoral and unworthy with those forces. Some people talk about reports of our people’s military preparations being complete. What the heck are they babbling about? We fought the battle of five armies and before that decades of raids from the goblins. How would a nation of battle-crazy dwarfs possibly be “unprepared” for war? Clearly this is only the idea of some delusional fool and utterly stupid moron. “Unprepared”, HA! Laughable! Something that however is preparing is apparently an expedition westward! The King has called for volunteers to form some sort of scouting and raiding force to make longer expeditions into goblin territory. Right now only small teams of scouts travel into the desolate lands near Dains Halls. Hmm, why am I writing this for myself? I should most certainly not need any background information in my own journal. It feels as if someone is sneaking up on me and reading over my shoulder every time I write something interesting in it… Odd… Perhaps Thorin is behind this as well? Rumour has it that the King wishes Gimli to lead this future force, if it can be created. Hmpf! While Gimli may be a promising younger dwarf, he doesn’t really have the spirit for battle like, say, I do. Nor does he have my expert knowledge of logistics. At least Thorin will not be in command, praise all higher powers behind that! Gimli is apparently caught up in administration of, “snigger”, Wormcove. The name, hahahahahaaaa! News from abroad has also crept in while I have been on my way here. Apparently the greenling humans meeting hall still stands, despite numerous attempts by the invaders. King Dain has sent Hugin south with orders to our apparently famous emissaries Runar and Halvdan to find out what part Isengard plays in all this and establish diplomatic relations. I don’t know how a world-famous spy is supposed to be able to spy on anything but somehow that Halvdan has managed to become quite successful with whatever he does. Judging by Hugins reports it seems that they both do little apart from taunting each other and complaining about the bad food and drinks of the humans. Luckily I am not in such a dire situation. I think I will head down to the castle tavern and see if the new Durin’s Dragonstew lives up to its boasted reputation. Hmm…there it is again. Why am I writing this instead of doing it? That damnable Thorin!

Part 26

The second episode I wrote and a very stupid one. The amount of shameless bragging present in such an early chapter tells a lot of the literary integrity of the author. ______________________________Part 26. BONUS EPISODE__________________________ In the land of Mordor, near the fire of Mount Doom, the dark lord Sauron greeted in secret a visitor. Sauron: STRANGER OF DISTANT LAND, ENEMY OF OLD. YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED HERE TO ANSWER THE THREATS OF SAURON. MIDDLE-EARTH STANDS UPON THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, NONE CAN ESCAPE IT. YOU WILL BOW OR YOU WILL FALL. Maltacus: “Yaaawwn”…. -YOU DARE YAWN AT ME, THE DARK LORD OF MORDOR! -What do you expect when you can’t even think up a decent own line? Borrowing from the MOVIE, that is really beneath you, Sauron. I mean, borrowing from elves is bad enough, but from movie elves… -SILENCE! HEAR ME OUT, INSUBORDINATE INSECT! -Well, there’s not much else left to do here, is it? Being a totally empty room with a loud, booming voice as the only attraction…Why do you always speak in cap’s? -FIRST, I AM THE CAP-TAIN OF ALL OF MORDOR WITH NEIGHBOURHOOD! ALSO, WE ARE AFTER ALL IN THE CAP-ITAL OF MORDOR, MIGHTY BARAD-DUR! -I see. Very witty. -IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT YOU ARE WRITING AN AAR ABOUT MIDDLE-EARTH. -Always nice to speak with educated people. -IT IS SAID THAT IT IS AIMED TOWARDS COMEDY. -Not only educated people, but with good taste as well! -YOUR AAR IS VIOLATING THE SACRED PRINCIPLES THAT ARE THE VERY FOUNDATION OF NOT ONLY MIDDLE-EARTH BUT ALSO THE TWC UNIVERSE! -While attempting to control the mind and life of every single creature of Middle-Earth with or without magic rings is perfectly in line with maintaining the balance of things? -DO NOT INTERRUPT ME! EVERY COMEDY AAR MUST INCLUDE A SUFFICIENT NUMBER OF MONTY PYTHON REFERENCES! ANYTHING ELSE IS INTOLERABLE! YOURS HAVE GONE ON FOR SEVERAL UPDATES AND MOCKED ABOUT HALF OF THE MOD’S FACTIONS WITHOUT A SINGLE SUCH REFERENCE! -Yes, I thought that Notenome and Musthavename had already covered that area thoroughly. I would not be able to create more than a feeble repetition of their masterpieces so I thought it best to leave it altogether. -YOUR READERS EXPECT TO HEAR FROM THE SPANISH INQUISITION, AND SO SHALL YOU UNLESS YOU BEGIN TO SHAPE UP THIS RANDOM MESS YOU CALL A STORY! -Lame. Utterly lame. Do you really expect me to fall into this obvious trap and say “Nobody expects the…” and so on? “Turns and quickly shoots an arrow at one of the doors barred from outside, piercing it and its bar, thereby locking it even more as well as locking out three cardinals clad in red about to enter” -THAT IS NOT THE ONLY THING. WHERE ARE THE REFERENCES TO THE CUMAN CAKE CONFEDERACY? -I saved those for annoying Skantarios at the beginning of his pagan AAR. -A WORTHY CAUSE THOUGH THAT MAY BE, IT MEANS YOU HAVE FORFEITED YOUR SORRY EXISTENCE IN THIS AND ALL OTHER REALMS! PREPARE TO DIE!! -If you as much as think of touching me the entire country between Argonath and southern Harad will be trampled beneath the hooves of the largest Cuman horde this world could ever have nightmares about! Mordor nightmare: Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  -WHY WOULD THE CUMANS FOLLOW YOU? -They are my favourite faction. I keep them alive and well protected, saving even the lowliest of Cuman horse archer even in battles between thousands. And that is with a zoomed general-centred camera! Fear me! -YOU CERTAINLY ARE ZOOMED IN ON YOURSELF AND GENERALLY EGO-CENTRED… -Don’t interrupt me, I’m not finished. As said, I keep my Cumans well fed with conquests and supplies and keep them out of harms way as much as possible. More that could be said about some people and their orcs… -ARE YOU PROMOTING SOME KIND OF STRATEGY GUIDE OR SOMETHING? BESIDES, I GO ONE BETTER; I KEEP MY ORCS IN A MOD THAT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE SUPPLIES. -Imagine then what respect I must command if I have led my army to a world where they never have to worry about being hungry again. And I also made new cool unit cards for some of them. -AMUSING, BUT IT MATTERS NOT. MY ORC COMPANIES OUTNUMBER YOURS BY FAR. YOU WILL BE OVERWHELMED. -Are you telling me you seriously contemplate sending virtually unarmoured infantry with archers of medium range at most, against a nation of horse archers whose favourite sport is shooting outnumbering stacks of Kievan and Novgorodian militia? Good luck… -WE HAVE TROLLS… -You mean those big smelly fools whose hardcoded charge is easily dodged by quickly turning right or left? You may then wish to find a new name for them instead of Olog-hai. Olog-pincushion perhaps? -YOU SAID IT’S HARDCODED! YOU ARE NOT TOTALLY ABOVE AAR CLICHÉS AFTER ALL. AS FOR MY TROLLS, ARROWS WILL HARDLY HARM THEM. -Never said I was. Regarding said stinking creatures; did I mention that Cuman Noblemen carry armour piercing axes as secondary weapon? -CRAP. THIS IS NOT FAIR. -Now that we are done with the pleasantries, can I ask you one thing? What is that large neon eye-sign for? The one on top of this tower? -WHAT IS THIS, SOME NEW DEVILRY? -Now you are borrowing bad lines again, and this is no devilry. Let’s go out and have a look. -WHAT THE (INSERT RANDOM CURSE WORD REFERRING TO REALM OF THE DEAD HERE. LIKE HELL/HADES/CLASSROOM)!!?? -Cap’s, increased size AND bold letters. You must be really angry. But I was about to ask you essentially the same. What on Earth and Middle-Earth is that? -IT IT IT…IT IS PREPOSTEROUS! OUTRAGEOUS! BY MELKOR, THAT LOOKS LIKE THE NETHER PARTS BEST LEFT UNMENTIONED OF A BALROG! -I think I have heard someone say it was the eye of Sauron? -MY EYE!? BUT EVERYONE KNOWS THAT THE EYE OF SAURON IS BUT A METAPHOR OF MY ALL-PIERCING GAZE! I DO INDEED HAVE AN EYE BUT ALSO A BIT MORE IF I MAY SAY SO! WHICH I MAY, SINCE I AM THE DARK LORD! -I really wondered about how Gandalf could spy on your cover identity, “the necromancer of Dol Guldur”, if you were just a big shining eye? How can an eye without arms make necromantic experiments or conjure dark arts and such? -LUDICROUS! -And then when the high council attacked and drove you away you fled back to good old Mordor. If you are an eye, did you roll across the ground to escape the wizards? Quite a stealthy escape, a glowing big red orb. No one would ever notice…No, wait, I know! Your eye was attached to the same kind of artificial pillars in Dol Guldur and when let loose, it bounced across the Brown Lands and Dagorlad like a huge ball! -YOU MEAN THOSE EMBARRASSING STONE HORNS ON TOP OF BARAD DUR? WHO PUT THEM THERE? -If the eye could fly, it would look like the proverbial flying saucer…Or like a thick Frisbee someone had thrown. I don’t think the eye could blink its way onward to Mordor, especially since it is lidless… -WHO PUT THAT BULLHORN BULL-%#§* THERE!? -I believe it was the architect named Jack Peterson. He also designed that flail of the witch king. Some believe he has secret genetical engineering projects as well, giving the commander Gothmog tragically deformed, grotesque features. But it is all rumours. -I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT FLAIL WAS A PRACTICAL JOKE MADE FOR SOME TASTELESS GOBLIN FEAST. LIKE WHEN A NAIL FACTORY PRODUCES JUST ONE ENORMOUS NAIL TO SHOW THEY HAVE MET THE DEMANDED VOLUME AND THAT NO ONE REMEMBERED TO MENTION THE NUMBER OF NAILS REQUESTED. -Speaking of that, you are very much into the so called command economy system here in Mordor, right? Wouldn’t a more market-based economy work better, given the general competitive spirit and rivalry of your Orcish subjects? -MAYBE, BUT REMEMBER THAT I AM SAURON, WHO SEEKS TO DOMINATE EVERYONE. COMMANDING SUITS ME MUCH BETTER. BESIDES, ANY MARKET ECONOMY HERE WOULD, FOR NAMED REASONS, TURN INTO MY PERSONAL MONOPOLY IN A BLINK, THUS REVERTING TO A COMMAND ECONOMY. -I see. -YOU ARE AS ANNOYING AS A WHOLE VILLAGE OF HOBBITS BUT I LET YOU LIVE FOR NOW. CONTINUE YOUR MESSY STORY IF YOU LIKE. I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO LOOK INTO. LIKE FINDING A CERTAIN JACK PETERSON. ANY IDEA WHERE HE MAY BE HIDING? -Armourica. The land of Arms and Armour Industry, hence the name. -NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY THIS, BUT…THANK YOU. -One does ones best. I never liked his work either. Good hunting! And so, Sauron set out to find the architect with such excessively bad taste. Or at least he climbed his tower and looked out to find him. Sauron was so intimidated by the prospect of facing ruthless horsemen that he for a long time saw Rohan as an impossible obstacle when it came to realizing his plans of world domination. Then, he had the most brilliant idea! Let someone else do the work. Honestly, how hard could it be to find a random power-hungry fool to slavishly do his bidding and take all the risks of being impaled by lances or crushed by giant tree-monsters? The ideal candidate for the job! Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Maltacus was at the same time on his way to return from this arrogant detour of an ego trip and slowly making his way back toward the actual story in this AAR.

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 26.5

This episode is a small tribute to the "Sagan om de Bannlysta" ("Tale of the Banished") Swedish Lord of the Rings parody seen on Youtube and maybe other sites. It is in my opinion awesome and epic (the parody, not this tribute to it). ______________________________Part 26½ News of the Banished__________________________ While all the exciting and scary things happened in the outside world, Gandalf spent his time travelling here and there in his usual wise and absent-minded fashion. He eventually came to Erebor where his old friend Libri greeted him in the common wizard-greeting way: - You are late, said Libri. - Hmpf! And who the heck do you think you are, then? Keep your mouth shut! I know who you are, but you are very ugly anyway. - …… - Hnjehehehehe! - Hahahahahaha! Libri and Gandalf travelled onward to the mountain in Gandalfs cart. - So, what is Bilbo up to nowadays? Gandalf asked. - Rotting or something, I don’t know. - Yes, he is about 111 years old so it’s not so strange if that’s the case, hehehehe. - By the way, I have an End Turn Report for you. - Gandalf, those are worthless. You know that nobody reads the End Turn Reports except when they misclick when trying to read the Sovereignty Announcements. Libri and Gandalf stopped to drink tea. - Boiled water, that is good. Do you like rotten bread? - Hm…no. - Damn it Gandalf, why haven’t you watered my flowers, you never do that, maybe it was I who should have done that. Look here, I have written a letter to king Dain, about the recent development of the Edoras invasion. The bad guys seem content with surrounding the city only and nobody but the meekly Gundabad force attacked. Maybe they wait to draw all Rohirrim to them to dispose of the field armies before they storm? Later that day the two travellers approached the Lonely Mountain itself. - Libri, look! What a flat and high wall. - It is the wall of the Lonely Mountain, you idiot. Perhaps you should appoint a new spy just like we have. - Bad, said Aragorn far, far away. North of those random comments, the village of Wormcove had at last grown beyond it’s unrespectable name and plans were made for a minor wall around the settlement. Gimli stayed to watch the beginning of the work with the palisade and then started on a journey south. Some say he marched rather quickly. There are even claims that he almost ran and one or two rumours have been heard stating that he bolted madly towards Erebor shouting “FINALLY IT’S OVER! NO MORE OF THE IDIOTIC UNBEARABLE SMALL-TOWN SUBURB HOLE! I’M FREEEEE!” but that is just heresay. In Erebor things were hectic. The homely and comfortable air of comedy AAR was being disturbed by the foul stench of recruitment of armies. Axethrowers and crossbowdwarfs practised in the ranges of the city, hitting barrels and kegs donated by local taverns and breweries. It was a sure testament to the dire situation that apparently existed that such items were used for target practise and not feasts.

Part 27

______________________________Part 27 Rohan, Land of the Idiots__________________________ It would come as a surprise to very few with even the smallest insight of the political comings and goings of Middle Earth that Rohan was a kingdom in decline. This was mostly due to the lack of military aptitude of the Rohan kings whose mad schemes brought upon them ruin after ruin. The current leader really stood out even among such a collection of lunatics. In an effort to evoke the aid of gods, good luck or just invent a memorable gesture, he used to ride up and down his lines of heavy cavalry and strike their spears with his sword. This was odd enough but it didn’t stop at that. The king did not use the flat side of his sword, but slashed the spears with the edge! Predictably enough, this resulted in Rohan cavalrymen being regularly disarmed before battles as the spear tips had been sheared away (notice the confused and lost look on the kings face; clearly he has no idea at all of what he is doing). The Rohirrim cavalry had been quick to adapt. Unwilling to charge armed with just a pointed pole; they did instead use their own swords to sharpen the other edge of the pole and then fling it with all their might at the ground in the enemy’s path. This would create a wide barrier of sharpened stakes, effectively hindering any charge by enemy cavalry, giving Rohan’s forces an edge over their enemies. It was just one tiny thing…Since the poles were hurled forward they hit the ground diagonally and had the tips pointed at the Rohirrim cavalry. And since the Rohirrim were impetuous and under the command of a king of named intellectual level, they always charged ahead as soon as the enemy had been spotted. The results were predictable. Thus, it was no surprise that Rohan was the all-time favourite target of all evil powers imaginable. The dark lord of Mordor regularly launched invasions against its capitol, Edoras, and orcs, trolls and goblins raided the countryside in great numbers. That was not all. The Easterling and Southron kingdoms actually sent humans to scourge the poor kingdom. These intruders, taller than most orcs, dressed in silly clothes and even painted themselves. The humans were clearly one of the more eccentric races of Middle-Earth. No wonder Rohan was going down, being ruled by humans. Having already encountered far too many humans, Runar and Halvdan had suitably low expectations of the negotiations with the Rohan king. What they did not expect, was the “efficiency” of the Rohan bureaucracy. Rohan was organised in strictly separated departments. Each department ruled a portion of the lands and took care of the administrative affairs of that territory. All complaints were collected in a special, almost sacred, folder which was presented in the town hall (or just in a moderately clean stable in less developed cities). This system of governance was so intertwined with the Rohan people that they had begun to name their territories after the folders they belonged to. Runar and Halvdan, entering from the West, consequently entered the West Folder, shortened to “Westfold” in daily speech. Since the dwarfs were approaching from the northwest, they would be passing rather close to Isengard. Its dark ring of mountains was the home of the Isengard faction, as surprising as it may sound. Runar intended to make a good impression with Gandalf’s colleague Saruman and see if other wizards were as absent-minded as him and susceptible to diplomatic ruses and…but no. As Halvdan climbed down from a rock he had climbed to scout ahead he reported that they had indeed reached Isengard. Halvdan also reported that green banners flew from the battlements of the citadel. Runar thought that he had to be imagining things. Green banners would mean that the mighty fortifications had been conquered by the unwashed strawheads (sometimes known as the Rohirrim) who impaled themselves when charging and cut off each others spear tips. That could surely not have happened. Could it? The dwarfs approached the great gate through the mountainous wall. Some scruffy-looking guards stood beside it but they seemed to be humans, despite their Orcish level of filthiness. Runar greeted them. - Good day, merry guardsmen. We are Runar – me – and Halvdan – my shady and shadowy sidekick. We come in peace. Take us to your leader. - Huh? Oh, leader. You be needing to sign these papers first, sir. Then you will be put in the queue for application for leader audience which may be granted if you pass the eligibility test, which can be taken by anyone who has been deemed worthy in the preliminary proceedings of entrance permission and filled in the correct application form for… - STOP! What has happened to this place!? Since when do Saruman engage so much in these ridiculous bureaucracy? - Saruman? He is still in house arrest at the top of the mountain in the summer house settlement. Isengard is now under Rohan administration. - You have to be joking…Can’t you make an exception for foreign dignitaries or something? - Of course! I don’t know what I was thinking about. - Now we’re talking. - As foreign dignitary you first apply for a meeting with the application secretary and then the chief application administrator who will, if your application is deemed worthy in the preliminary meeting, direct you to the visiting office where you can apply for… - Aaaaah! Runar quickly relocated to a safer spot out of hearing distance before his ears would explode. He and Halvdan discussed the situation. It seemed to be impossible to pass through the gate and citadel with ones sanity intact. Runar suggested climbing the mountainside to bypass the Rohan guards but Halvdan turned the idea down as too risky. -…because the top of the mountain is actually, as surprising as it may sound, entirely flat and almost rid of trees. It is perfect cavalry ground and the Rohirrim must have plenty of patrols there. I know it looks like all hilly and such from a great distance but if you ever study the battlefields up there it is surprisingly plain. - Danm! Now we can’t complete the mission! - We can hardly be blamed for that. This is simply out of our control. I mean, no sane person, not even the king’s advisors, could have foreseen that Rohan would actually manage to take Isengard. It is totally unlikely. It was quickly decided that they should instead go south to Foldburg, the capital of Westfold, and see if there was more reason among the administrators there. Rohan was a pleasant country to travel in with lots of grass and small hills to look far from, but the weather soon turned inhospitable with cold winds and wet snow so it was with considerable delight that the two dwarfs viewed the slightly less impressive fortifications of the wooden office of Westfold. Here an ugly and grim door guard hailed the travellers. - Stand and declare yourselves, untrustworthy foreigners! - I am Runar, untrustworthy foreigner and danger to your sphere of personal comfort. - I am Halvdan the Untrustworthy, lord of lies and demagogue of deceit. At your service. - Huh? - Irony is not in its zenith in Rohan, is it? We are Runar and Halvdan, emissaries from Erebor seeking a representative of Rohan. May we enter? - Hmmm, what be it worth to you to enter, I wonder… Perhaps we can strike a deal and work things out just between us, no questions? Runar sighed inwards at the clumsy and feeble attempt at subtle corruption. - So you wish to trade something of ours for doing your job of letting us in? - Aye, said Fulgrim and winked enthusiastically to the irritation of Halvdan. - Any immediate thoughts of a reasonable price for letting two frozen and hungry travellers enjoy some little warmth and moments of shelter from the biting wind? - Wha… You don’t look to starve to me… - That is but a faulty deception of our great beards and much heavy luggage. I assure you, we will likely seem like wraiths without it, and I am sure more of my toes are blue than not. - Alright, alright…uuh, let’s say you give me a copper and we don’t talk more about this then. - Could you perhaps also tell us the way to the other towns in Rohan? Especially Edoras. - Aha! That be heavily classifeaid infermation! It be expensive! - It’s “classified information”, not “classifeaid infermation”. And that sum is outrageous. We could perhaps pay you 400 gold coins if you could get us a really good map. That is more reasonable since there are four main roads from Westfold. - Mkayyy… Despite the low quality of the door guard the new maps presented to the dwarfs were quite readable. They described in detail both Edoras, Helms Deep, The Falls of Rauros and the road network of Rohan which was modest but thankfully not as confusing as that of Eriador. Obviously there was much to see for the interested visitor. There was just the question of how much time an eager tourist really would have before the whole kingdom collapsed into invaded anarchy. Truly, it had stood for a surprisingly long time already.

Part 27.5

______________________________Part 27,5 Tedious Royal Readings__________________________ 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.

Part 28

_________________________________Part 28 Yes, Minister_____________________________ 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!

Part 28.5

______________________________Part 28½ Violint Plans for Dwarven Ranger Violince__________________________ 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. Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  - 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! Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  - 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.

Part 29

_______________________Part 29 Gondor______________________ 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.”

Part 29.5

___________________Part 29½ Ranging Rants__________________ 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.

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 30

___________________Part 30 White Tower Politics__________________ 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.

Part 30.5

_______________Part 30½ The Goblin War Begins_______________ - 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…

Part 31

_____________________Part 31 The Moored Haradrim____________________ 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.

Part 31.5

_______________Part 31½ The Storming of Dain's Halls____________ 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.

Part 32

___________________Part 32 Humans Know Silly Dances__________________ 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.

Part 32.5

___________________Part 32,5 The Snaga Hunt__________________ 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.

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 33

___________________Part 33 Make Lovecraft not Warcraft__________________ 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

Part 33.5

___________________Part 33,5 Banditry__________________ 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?

Part 34

___________________Part 34 Road Reaver Next to the Bogs__________________ 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.

Part 34.5

___________________Part 34,5 The Storming of Wrakyaburg__________________ 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] 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.

[Lord Thesaurian]

Part 35

___________________Part 35 The Elven Union__________________ 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.

Part 35.5

___________________Part 35,5 The Goblins Unpleasant Inventiveness__________________ - 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…

Part 36

___________________Part 36 The Elves Breathe So Loud__________________ 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.

Part 36.5

___________________Part 36,5 The Debacle of Gobel Erynen__________________ 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!

Part 37 - Conclusion

_________________________Part 37 Home________________________ 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.