A day in the life of Wizard Ray

“Haste is one of the most useful spells a wizard can learn. If they can’t touch you, they can’t hurt you.”

Ray enjoyed lecturing at the Fellowship’s college of magic. The apprentices took notes copiously, eager to learn from the Master.

“All of you should aspire towards the conjuration of the Ultimate Spell. You must think of it, dream about it, it must occupy your every waking thought. Only through this spell can you enter into the nirvana of magic. But only a few of you will ever come close to even understanding a small facet of it, let alone become a Master like myself.”

Ray loved this part of the lecture. The visible sag in their shoulders at his statement and their pathetic looking faces always made his day.

“Master Ray….” A small wavering voice rose from the rear. Ray grimaced, not him again.

He had to admit that young apprentice Neo had talent. His insights into magic far exceeded mages much more senior than himself. But he was too unorthodox for Ray’s liking.

“I… I believe I may have found a way to achieve the same effect as the Ultimate Spell but using a tiny fraction of the mana and spell components. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it while others were having fun and if you spend some time working with me, I believe we can….”

“SILENCE!”

The apprentices quaked in their boots. They knew what was coming.

“Do YOU know who YOU are addressing? I am the LEADER of the Fellowship. THE MOST powerful and richest organization on Middle Earth. Do you know how much it is a sacrifice of my time just to speak to you?” Ray paused for effect.

“Neo.” Ray murmured. “Do you see that which is hanging from my most regal neck?”

“Yes, Master Ray…” Neo trembled. “It’s the Gold Medallion of Magic and it’s the highest honor a Wizard can obtain.”

“Good, Neo. Stop living in your fantasies. Go stand in the corner and recite this a thousand times. Worship magic and not what it can do for me.”

Ray sighed as he strode out towards the Fellowship gate. He could have delegated this task to his juniors but he knew just how much the Fellowship depended on him to personally recruit new members.

As he walked passed the Judicial Rooms, he heard a commotion. The mages on Middle Earth had tremendous powers that included judging cases brought to them by commoners. The new mage, Lothmorg the Red, was holding court today.

Two men were staring at each other with murderous looks. A most comely damsel stood forlornly between them, staring at the floor.

Ray motioned for Lothmorg to approach.

“What’s this case about, Lothmorg?” Ray asked.

“Well Master, this man by the name of Butt claims that the other man Roger had seduced his wife with jewellery and that they had subsequently committed the sin of adultery. Roger said in his defense that the woman had thrown herself voluntarily at him. I’m not sure how to judge this, Master.”

Ray shook his head sadly when he heard this. This new mage needed some training.

“Take the jewellery from the woman, ask both men for bribes, then lock all three of them in prison.”

Leaving behind Lothmorg, he left quickly for the marketplace where the crowds were.

The commoners hated Ray. They knew that the arrogant wizard looked down on them. Yet he was constantly asking them to join the Fellowship, either to serve at the kitchen or in the courtyards.

“Save my son from an evil curse, Master Ray!” An elderly man cried as he carried his stricken boy to the Wizard.

Ray looked at the man with narrowed eyes.

“Are you a member of the Fellowship?” Ray asked.

“No, I’ve already pledged my loyalty to the temple of CariElf and to the service of the poor, Master Ray,” the man replied. “But please, save my son, you know you are the only one who can do it,” he begged.

“I only help my own, old man. Quit your service at the temple and join the Fellowship as a servant. Then I will save your son.” Ray pushed by him as he walked towards a group of men, busy scribing on pieces of parchment.

“No!” A man suddenly stood up in shock. “It can’t be! I’m scored as an Extreme Outcast!

On hearing that, a balding man quickly moved to his side. “It’s alright, brother, you’re normal, just like the rest of us.” Gesturing quietly to the men behind him, he prepared to send this man together with others to the special institute set up for the mentally disturbed.

Ray smiled in his heart. Little did they know that he was the one who designed this test just so that he can feel better about his own outcast tendencies.

Noon time was approaching and Ray felt hungry. He wanted to return to the Halls but couldn’t as he had not reached his quota of recruits for today.

Ray saw a crowd of men and women gathered around a man standing on an overturned crate. The man seemed to be in great agony, wailing and weeping.

A woman watched in rapt attention while a little girl stood crying next to her. “I’m bored mommy, I wanna go home and play with my doll, mommy” she cried.

Ray shook the woman. “Tell me what’s going on here.”

“Oh Master Ray, this man just lost his house to lightning.”

“So he’s crying because he is homeless now?”

“No, he’s crying because the lightning did not strike his neighbours’ houses as well.”

The girl’s cries were starting to irritate Ray but somehow he felt a tinge of pity towards her. She looked a little like his lost love. He had tried everything to retain his beloved. Mind control spells, improved charm but it all did not work. She left him broken hearted for another man named Mojo.

Maybe he will be good for a change and teleport her home, Ray thought. Bending himself down to the girl’s level, he spoke kindly to her,

“Would you like to join the Fellowship?”

Evil Ray - Part 2

Saliva drooled from Ray’s mouth as he leered at the pretty maiden walking by him. Ray has a love-hate relationship with pretty women. He loved them but they hated him. Nevertheless, it was times like this that he gave a silent word of thanks to the great magician who invented the Charm spell.

As the words of the spell formed in his mind, he was distracted by the raucous sounds of men gathered round a game. Now if Ray had a weakness greater than lust, it was gambling. Ray loved to gamble. He had been placed under a jinx ever since he won the broom off a witch but that has never deterred Ray from gambling bags of gold at every opportunity.

The men were betting on a game of fighting spiders. Now Ray could have used his magic to influence the game but he was too proud to do so. He wanted to prove that even the Goddess of Luck was on the side of the Mighty Ray.

As he reached for his bag of gold, a trio of men in black pushed into the crowd. The deep frowns on their face and the aura of power surrounding them suggested that none should stand in their way. The onlookers watched as they squished the spiders under their foot, grounding the little arachnids into fine dust. The trio allowed themselves a silent sinister grin as they disappeared into the crowd.

Ray was depressed. He had not won any recruits today and the rejection from the little girl cut deep within his heart.

“Worship the Unseen Master! He is the one who brings the rain and cause the plants to grow. He heals your illnesses and blesses your journeys. Sacrifice your best animals to him and give him all your gold.” A passing crier shouted.

Ray made a mental note to summon the Unseen Master to him tonight. The Fellowship’s treasury needed to be replenished to support his addictions.

“Back so soon from your game, little Jimmy?” A matronly woman stood at the doorway of her house, looking at the approaching figure of his son.

“It’s only fun if I’m first, mom,” Jimmy replied.

Ray froze at that statement. His mind was instantly transported back to a time where he himself said those very words.

He hated Stavie from the bottom of his little black heart. Ray had always worked hard to be the Master’s pet. He sat in the first row in class, recorded the lectures verbatim and laughed gaily at the Master’s jokes. He was the dream student.

Stavie never did that. Stavie played with the toads and newts, turned the girls’ clothings transparent and never listened to a single word the Master said. Yet, he always topped the class, dazzling the Master with his immense talent with magic.

Ray had sworn after receiving his silver medal at graduation that he would hire assassins from the Nighthawk Guild to hunt Stavie down if ever he beat him at anything again.

“Master Ray! Return to the Halls at once.” A telepathic message shook him out of his reverie. Mouthing the words of the Teleport spell, the Wizard Ray disappeared from sight.

The Tower of Wizardry

Vincible sat atop the Fellowship’s Tower of Wizardry. His hands unconsciously toyed with a small sapphire that hung from a chain around his neck—a product of long research into the properties of crystals. Those who knew him well--or rather, who had known him a long time, since no one alive knew him well--would have recognized this as a sign that he was lost in thought.

He watched the city below, and waited, and brooded.

“A force for order in Meta,” he thought. Ray had claimed that he was sent by a power beyond to be such a force, and those with the Gift could see the truth in his statement. It was part of why Vincible had joined the Fellowship in the first place. But he knew distressingly little of Ray’s mandate beyond those few words. Order could mean many things. Having gathered a mighty force around him, what would he do with it? And could Vincible do anything about it?

Far below, the doors at the base of the tower opened, and Ray strode out. He paused in the courtyard to speak with one of the mages holding court for the commoners. He then turned and strode toward the Fellowship gates, his sneer causing the guards there to blanch. Soon after, the commoners being judged were dragged away in chains.

Vincible’s eyes narrowed. He would not interfere until he knew more. But now was most definitely the time to for him to stop his research into the properties of the elements and begin researching those around him.

He stepped from the top of the tower and fell, murmuring a spell as he did so. The icy shock of the transformation ran through his body, and for a moment he thrashed in the air, his body alien, his old instincts worse than useless. Then the transformation was complete, and he was a hawk. His fall turned into a graceful dive, and he streaked downward. At the last moment he levelled off, then caught an updraft and soared high above the city. Vincible often exercised this way, for like many high-level mages, he greatly enjoyed flight. No one would suspect that this time his purpose was not recreation, but espionage.

High above the city, Vincible swooped, circled, and dived in purposefully random patterns, giving no indication of his intent to follow Ray. Through his hawk’s eyes he could see enough without taking nnecessary risks. He watched Ray, of course, but also watched the townsfolk.

Ray was feared, that much was clear. He had once been adored by the masses, for his kindness, his cheerful demeanor, and his willingness to use his magic to help those in need. That adoration was gone. Commoners scurried to avoid his gaze. A few surreptitiously made signs to ward off evil as he approached. He occasionally paused to speak with one of the commoners, and each time he did so, the commoner was left in tears, or pale and shaking.

As Ray ducked into a gambling hall, Vincible decided he had enough to think about. He flew back to the tower and landed on the perch outside his window. He hopped into the room, flapping a little to maintain his balance on the soft carpeted floor, then reversed the polymorph and was himself again.

There was not enough privacy here for Vincible's tastes--in a city of wizards, especially a city containing Ray, even one's thoughts were not safe. Vincible had often left for brief periods without explanation, and no one would see this absence as unusual. Or so he hoped--Ray had grown ever more paranoid recently, and one could never be sure what he was thinking anymore.

Some risks had to be taken. Vincible took a long look out the window, then murmured a teleport spell and was gone.

Evil Ray – Part 3

Trumpets blared and sounds of unearthly cheers echoed round the Halls as Wizard Ray teleported himself in the Council Chamber.

Gengsta, H50 and Theoden rolled their eyes at Ray’s garish entrance.

“What’s the emergency?” Ray said with a gruff voice as he took his place at the Council Table.

“The Fellowship just lost another member, Master Ray,” H50 reported.

“The Fellowship never loses anyone, H50. They just go into the Hunted Members’ List. Contact the Nighthawks. Make sure they do a clean job.”

“Master Ray, we are close to choosing a new name for our publication.” Theoden spoke up.

“Good, Theoden. This would aid us greatly in swaying public opinion with our propaganda.” Ray smiled in a most sinister style.

“Master Ray, I am most delighted to report that I have completed my research to invoke massive propulsion on inanimate objects. In addition, I have also successfully researched a spell to maintain a perpetual state of breathable atmosphere around humans. I believe these spells have great potential. The sky’s the limit!” Gengsta said with bubbling enthusiasm.

“Gengsta!” Ray was displeased.

“Didn’t you know that you can only advance the Fellowship’s cause through the conjuration of the Ultimate Spell? Any other way is futile and a waste of your time. So what if we could travel to the skies and maybe discover new worlds?"

“But Master, you know that not all of us understand the Ultimate Spell. A very large number of our fellow mages make great contributions to the Fellowship and also benefited the society through various other schools of magic.” Gengsta responded with consternation.

Of course it’s difficult to understand the Ultimate Spell, Ray laughed quietly inside. I made it as complicated as I possibly can just so that I can be the only mage who can wield it.

But how did Vincible, one of the most accomplished mages in the Fellowship, ever manage to learn it? Ray cursed silently. What’s worse is that he had shared his insights with other mages as well.

“Gengsta! You are such a hypocrite and an extremely arrogant fellow.” Ray shouted, drawing puzzled looks from all. “So what’s for lunch?” Ray tried vainly to distract their attention.

“What would the Master prefer today?” As always, the diplomatic H50 tried to defuse the tensions.

Ray gave H50 one of those withering looks usually reserved for one of his most numbskull apprentices.

“But of course, the finest cheese from the Shire for the Master.” H50 recovered quickly, clapping his hands to summon the servants.

Halfling Concern

“But of course, the finest cheese from the Shire for the Master.” H50 recovered quickly, clapping his hands to summon the servants.

Inwardly, H50 cringed at this ostentatious show. Ray was really slipping into the dark. His callous treatment of the townsfolk was one thing, but the constant preening and need to lord his position over all around him was almost too much to bear.

Making small excuses, H50 departed away from the Council Chamber. It was easy to do, as was the wont of the Big Folk, a halfling is easily dismissed.

It was dark as he slipped out of the tower, into the town proper. Dark in more ways than one, a pall of tension and discontent hung over the town and it's people. He started what he'd come to call ‘his rounds’ in the past few weeks, slipping unseen through the shadows. A loaf of bread for a destitute family here; a couple of gold coins hidden (but not too well) on the front porch of a widow there. It was all he could do to ease the suffering of the townsfolk without drawing the attention of Ray.

A few hours later, H50 sat on a large rock overlooking the lake, pondering the future. There was no denying that the Ring of Power had started to consume Ray - but what to do? His magics were still the most potent of all the Fellowship. He could always leave the Fellowship and strike out on his own, but he had no desire to leave the townspeople to Ray’s tender mercies. Something had to be done, but he could not act alone.

vincible. vincible was the answer. No one could claim to be close to this enigmatic wizard, but H50 had noticed his troubled thoughts playing across his features more than once when confronted by Ray’s megalomania. He would go and confide in vincible his fears for Ray, together they could come up with a plan.

Of course, if vincible dimed him out, he was one halfling who’d never enjoy a nice meal in his hobbit hole again, but it was worth a chance. Making a mental note to have a Chain Contingency – Delayed Blast Fireball – Teleport spell ready to go, H50 hurried off to vincible’s quarters.

The Temptation

Dancing shadows waltzed across the desolate room as the melancholic strains of a ballad floated in from beyond.

The flickering flame of a pale white candle illuminated a solitary figure slouched over the tower window.

Ray stared at the sea of stars, searching futilely for an answer to his misery.

Her betrayal had wounded him to the core of his soul. How could she have scorned him, the most powerful Overlord the world has ever known? Ray clenched the Gold Medallion in a vice-like grip, as if drawing solace from its cold metallic form.

What did she see in that portly guildmaster? That seadog could only sail ships but he, the Mighty Ray, could raise them from the depths of the ocean.

And with the right polymorph spell, she could have reveled in the pleasures of a strapping young man, eager to please her every desire.

Ray needed his fix. The Ultimate Spell took him away into a world of ecstasy. It is in this mystical world that all sense of time and form was lost. A place where he could find relief from this agonizing existence.

The Ring of Power rested serenely on the Fellowship Pedestal. The unknown voice from beyond had instructed him to seek and protect the Ring from those who would abuse it. Only during the direst of times in the days of the Undead Resurrection had the Fellowship ever attempted to wield its chaotic powers.

Yet Ray knew he needed it for the Ultimate Spell. The Ring had called out to him, its voice seductive yet full of wisdom.

Closing his eyes, Ray stretched his trembling hand towards the Ring.

The Message

Theoden strode through the passage toward the stairs leading to Ray's chamber. As he walked, he noticed things were not as they had been just a few weeks before. There seemed to be more shadows now, and perhaps it was his imagination, but even the walls seemed to watch him as he passed. Theoden shivered and continued.

Now at the base of the stairs, Theoden turned to look back at the hall in which he had just passed. Though Theoden knew it was just his imagination, he was sure he saw two shadowy figures dart behind some columns. Theoden cursed. Something around the halls had most certainly changed, and he would find out what. But he knew Ray was eagerly awaiting the news Theoden brought.

As Theoden came to the door of Ray's personal chamber, he thought he heard Ray speaking. Was someone else in the room? He listened intently through the door, hoping to hear what was being spoken.

"...must not...strength...Ring..." Theoden winced. He couldn't hear everything through the solid oak door, but every time he heard Ray say the word Ring, it made him nervous.

Theoden took a deep breath, and knocked solidly on the door. Almost as if Ray were standing right there waiting, the door burst open and Ray was immediately face to face with Theoden.

"Why do you bother me at this time?" boomed the Wizard.

Startled and shaken, Theoden quickly tried to compose himself.

"A report, Master Ray....we have decided on the name of the new propaganda distribution. It will be known as the Metaverse Review. The great and wise Frogboy suggested it and..."

"SILENCE! I am not to hear that name in these halls, do you understand me!? Never say that name again!" screamed Ray.

"As you wish!" said a clearly worried Theoden. He never trusted wizards, but had grown accustomed to them since his arrival at the Fellowship. But he knew something was very wrong with Ray.

"If the Un-Named One came up with the name 'The Metaverse Review', then it cannot be named thus! Name it something else!!"

"But, Master, it has already been distributed, and the people clearly are happy with the name." replied Theoden.

Ray seemed to calm a bit. Through his dark eyes, Theoden knew Ray was lost in thought.

"Very well. But, never again mention the source of the name. If anyone asks, say that it was a decision of the wizards." spoke Ray in a very ominous but more tranquil tone.

"As you wish..." Theoden turned to quickly leave, but was stopped by the hand of Ray on his shoulder.

"Wait, friend Theoden. I must tell you something. I apologize for my behavior. I'm not myself lately. Give me time and all will be explained." Ray looked tired and haggard.

Ray then turned and slowly closed the door to his chamber.

Theoden did not tarry, and hurried down the stairs, thankful to be finished with his task. The sooner he got out of this tower, the better, thought Theoden.

Contemplation

Back at his tower, Vincible at last felt secure. Here was one of the world’s few focal points of magic, where the arcane forces were strongest. Vincible had first found the tower a very long time ago, and over the centuries had laid down a vast web of spells designed to make the place his own. Here, he could draw on all the magic flowing through this focal point and turn it to his own ends. Here, he was the most powerful mage alive.

Once he left the tower, of course, that would no longer be true.

Vincible twirled his sapphire on its chain and began pacing, back and forth atop the tower. On neutral ground, he could not risk fighting Ray. They had never matched themselves against each other in any way, preferring not to compete directly, but from what Vincible had seen, he guessed that Ray’s raw power was comparable to his own, perhaps somewhat greater. However, Ray had spent a very long time practicing the art of magical combat and had done much research into destructive spells, while Vincible’s studies had tended toward more abstract, academic explorations of the nature of the Metaverse and the forces within it. He suspected that if it ever came to direct combat, Ray would quickly reduce him to a foul-smelling grease stain. Unless that combat occurred here, in the tower—but no, Ray would never be such a fool.

Which meant that Vincible had no choice but to try to deal with Ray peacefully. With Ray becoming increasingly paranoid, obsessed with the Ring and the Ultimate Spell, that would be difficult to do. Soon he would begin trying to eliminate rivals for power, and Vincible was near the top of the list.

The Ultimate Spell. After the war with the Undead, Ray had spent a month studying the Ring of Power in the hope of gaining the power to defeat that menace for once and for all. It was only after this that his obsession with the Ultimate Spell began, an obsession which worried Vincible. The magics involved strange and twisted, but Vincible was used to such things. The spell was incredibly complicated and draining, and the results seen from it so far did not seem to justify the effort involved, and certainly not the name. Most bothersome to him was that the spell felt naggingly incomplete—at least, the form Ray had been using felt incomplete, though Vincible had no idea how to complete it. It was like looking at a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces still missing—interesting patterns were there, but nothing coherent emerged from it. He wished he knew what Ray thought of his own spell—was he purposefully hiding the rest of it from them? And when it was complete, what would it do? If it was inspired by the ring, surely nothing good would come of it...

This mystery was linked to other mysteries. What was Ray’s purpose in bringing together the Fellowship, and what were the goals of the being who sent him? And to what extent were Ray’s current actions a part of his own plans, as opposed to the corruption of the Ring? Or had the Ring been the one to send him in the first place? Ray had pledged to bring order to Meta. At first, Vincible had thought this meant an end to wars and to suffering, and the establishment of justice and law, and he had gladly pledged himself to that cause. But he had come to realize that order could also be born from fear, tyranny, and ruthless oppression. Was the One Ring feeding Ray the power to create such an order? Was this Ray’s original purpose? Or was there something else?

He had too many questions, and no answers. He needed to discuss his ideas, and, perhaps, to find an ally. But where to start? Most Fellowship remained loyal, partly due to fear, and partly due to the power of Ray’s charisma and vision. But surely some would share his suspicions. But if he approached the wrong person, it could mean betrayal, a confrontation with the Archmage, and a probable messy death.

Perhaps H50. The dimunitive alchemist had vast knowledge about the workings of Meta, and his insights would no doubt be invaluable. And the Halfling had consistently used his magic to better the lives of others, and must surely be troubled by Ray’s corruption. Yes... H50 would probably not betray him, at least not on purpose.

Vincible twirled his sapphire again, then froze as a horrifying thought occurred to him. Perfect order was not in a just society, or even a dictatorship ruled by fear. Perfect order could only be found in the endlessly repeating structure of minerals and crystals. A perfectly ordered world would be a world of rock and ice, a world devoid of life. Could the destruction of all life be the goal of the mysterious power that had sent Ray? Could that be the purpose of the complete Ultimate Spell?

Vincible shook his head. He was becoming even more paranoid than Ray. Ray was becoming mad and power-hungry, but he still seemed to lust for power over humans, not for their destruction. But he had not desired even that a few months ago. Would the corruption continue?

He needed to talk to H50. Vincible used his enhanced powers to renew the protective spells he always kept in place, with special emphasis on the magics that warded off mental intrusions. Then, filled with trepidation, he cast the spell that would teleport him back to the Fellowship Halls.

Elven Song

Downie glided delicately across the tavern floor, trying not to inhale.
“What do you want, pixie-face?” said the barkeep.
Elves, it seemed, were not welcome here.
“Is there any chance of a fresh pot of jasmine tea?” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I understand you serve drinks here. Lotus tea, perhaps? Hot or iced, I don’t mind.”
“We have beer, and nothing else.”
“Even lemon tea would do.”
“For someone with such large ears, you don’t hear too good, do you?”
“For someone with such a face as yours, you don’t exactly compensate with your personality.”
“What?”
“No matter. I shall take my business otherwhere.”
As he left, he looked around, to see if there were any of those comely barmaids that were supposedly traditional in such places. But he saw no-one worthy of his attention, and instead walked back out to the village green.
On it stood a lone oak tree. He climbed it swiftly, propped himself on a branch, and sought for a muse. From up here, he could see the city and the great Tower of Wizardry. He longed for the evening, and the appearance of the first stars. He tried to compose a verse or two on the subject.

a shining speck might
be a world beyond any
you could imagine

a human heart might
conceal nightmares beyond the
darkest you could fear

His reverie was interrupted. A man was standing on a tree-stump just a few feet below him, addressing a small gathering.
“Brothers!” he began, though one of them looked more like a sister. Quite an alluring one, too, a petite girl in a velvet robe, with a hint of metal beneath. He enjoyed the company of human women, who were passionate where elf-maids were detached, and who were easily won over by his gift for projecting the impression that he had hidden depths. Also, mortal women were preferable by the very nature of their mortality; an affair that ended badly with an elf lady could lead to awkward encounters many centuries hence. The demagogue continued to harangue the mob, in an overly loud tone that utterly extinguished Downie’s creative spark. “You have all witnessed the way The Wanderer is now behaving. The man we once adored with all our hearts now shows himself to be corrupt and selfish, a blasphemer against the most holy Frogboy. He loves power now only for its own sake.”
Downie had indeed sensed a certain shadow within Ray the last time they had met. Was it the power of the ring? Could any man be trusted with such power? Could an elf? He hoped that Ray would yet redeem himself. Men were fallible creatures, prone to strange impulses and passions, and it was wrong to judge them harshly. “We must rise up against his treachery!” continued the orator. “We must demand that the wizards who still follow the path of Pure Good unite against him and his henchmen!”
At this, Downie stuck his head out through the leaves. The crowd was taken aback; until now, no-one had imagined there might be someone up there. He said, “Surely it is not right to go to war against someone so weak and frail as Ray.”
The speaker recovered well. “What foolishness is this? Ray is not weak and frail. He is the mightiest of wizards!”
“Well, that’s an even better reason not to fight him,” said Downie.
“Only a head-in-the-clouds dreamer could imagine that we are safe while Ray has us in his power.”
“Only a slack-jawed dimwit could imagine that we would be any safer if a war broke out, and wizard fought wizard with fire, lightning and brimstone,” countered Downie. He himself had long since renounced all war. He was old enough to remember the Uruk war, when noble warriors from across the world had come together to bring down the dark-lord Sadduman, believing him to be in possession of a wand of mass destruction. So many good men lost, so many thousands of Uruk-hais slaughtered, and for what? No wand was ever found, and the land was just as violent and dangerous after as before.
“I see you for what you are!” cried the demagogue. “You are one of Ray’s minions, here to spy on us. Bring me an axe! I shall take him down.”
A dwarf in the crowd, highly amused, threw him an axe, which he swiftly put to work, hacking and hewing at the great tree of the green.
“Perhaps,” said Downie, “The situation might be clearer if I were to make use of this.” He drew something off his back. The crowd stepped back, seeing it to be a short-bow. But a more careful examination revealed that it had not one but five strings of differing lengths. He twanged one, and it gave off a single harmonious note.
He began to sing.

Upon a time, I met a maid,
Her hair and hands and face were fair,
In the distant land of Kilbraid
There was no finer anywhere.

I wooed her then with wine and song
With flowers and poems and pretty things.
In her eyes I could do no wrong
Our love was as the wealth of kings.

But Kilbraid has its pirate scourge,
The Githon clans, as they are known.
A brigand came to feel the urge
To take my sweetheart for his own.

He was the Yuntos of a ship
And Kroft was his much hated name.
He ruled his men with sword and whip.
On seas of blood he built his fame.

With bandit skill he touched my love,
And stole away her precious locket,
And as he passed me, gave a shove,
And slipped it in my pocket.

Accused was I of thievery
By the man who’d robbed a thousand more.
Oh, bitter, cruel irony!
In vain did I implore.

She sailed with him on the next tide.
I lost her to the foamy seas.
I swore to return her to my side,
Or take my vengeance, as I pleased.

I trained myself in sail and steel,
Sold all I had to buy a ship,
And searched the world for hide or tale
Of the girl who lingered on my lip.

Though years had passed, I came at last
Upon the vessel of my foe.
I boarded it with blade in hand.
Full ten men did I lay low.

To the cabin did I make my way;
Saw a figure there I almost slew.
Her hair and hands and face were grey
It was the maid who once I knew.

And there, the man who led this band
Kilbraid’s Githon Yuntos, Kroft.
A wizened frame, with sword in hand
That he could barely hold aloft.

I left at once, a shattered soul.
Too many years had passed me by.
Revenge, it is a foolish goal.
For time struts on, and all men die.

As he finished the last verse, the tree began to topple over. He sprang from his branch, landing lightly on the ground, and stood face to face with the angry axe-wielding demagogue.v “What possible bearing does that song have our situation?” the man demanded.
“Very little,” admitted Downie, “but there was a powerful runic evocation concealed in the words of the next-to-last stanza.”
The demagogue tried to swing the axe, but found he could not move.
“I’m a pacifist myself, of course,” said Downie.
The demagogue’s feet sank into the ground. His neck stretched skywards, his arms contorting wildly. His skin hardened, and turned to bark. A new oak now stood on the green, replacing its fallen cousin.
The crowd fled, save for the woman who had earlier taken his fancy.
“Why?” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Pity him not, my lady. He will be happier as a tree. Wood does not speak, but it listens, and is patient.”
“But even so…”
“And I needed to test my trap. Were anyone senseless enough to attack Ray in open battle, they would be slain at once. But a clever snare might yet bring him down.”
“You mean, you plan to kill him?”
“Certainly not! But if, perhaps, one day, such a thing were to become necessary, it would be as well to have the means prepared, don’t you think?”
“Who are you?” she said.
“Oh, I’m no-one special. Just a humble travelling poet. Perhaps you’d care to travel with me awhile?”
“I must admit, I have nothing better to do. Where are you going?”
“Oh, I’m just following the stars, following the stars.”
He looked up into the sky. Night was drawing in. The darkness was growing.
He laughed, and the two of them set off down the road.

Interlude

Two weeks earlier:

Theoden was exhausted. His travels had led him far from the comforts of the Prancing Pony, and though he had reached his destination, he knew his journey was far from over. So much to do and so little time.

He looked up and saw the name of the only inn in this hamlet. The Wizard's Finger. Not exactly a name which invoked frivolity and laughter. Theoden suspected the folk in this shire were a bit more serious than the jovial patrons of the Pony.

"Great...just what I need at the end of a long journey. Some depressed bard crooning some sad dirge and a pint of stale ale."

As he opened the door to the inn's common room, he was shocked to find several wenches laughing at a table and a lively tune being played by a smiling bard. The fire was burning brightly and several patrons were gathered around the hearth chatting and occasionally laughing. As a matter of fact, everyone seemed to be having a good time. Well, almost everyone. In a dark corner sat a sad looking old man with a book beside him. The old man was bent from age and weathered looking as if he'd seen more than his share of travels. A knotty can stood behind his chair with a cloak draped over it. Though he couldn't understand why, Theoden felt moved to walk over to the old man's table and sit down.

"Ho, well met, stranger! Mind if I sit a spell and inquire about this hamlet?"

"You're sitting and asking without my permission, so your question is neither timely nor useful." replied the old man.

"Hmmm...you're right. I suppose I am a bit out of line. But to make up for my oversight, can I buy you a tankard? Or maybe a goblet of wine? I am curious of these parts, and you look like you could use some respite from your thoughts."

The old man looked curiously at Theoden, but slowly nodded his head in agreement.

"Wine will be sufficient. I've long given up the adventurer's fare."

Theoden got the attention of the closest wench and had her fetch a goblet for the old man and a tall tankard for himself. After a few sips, he began.

"So, what's the story on this town, sir? As you're so close to the sea, have you had problems with pirates?"

The old man took another sip of wine and whispered "There are much greater threats than pirates in these parts, stranger. We have the occasional bucanneer pass through, but since our little village has but one tavern and very few wenches, they move along quickly. No, the threat does not come from pirates."

The old man looked around to see if anyone nearby could hear him, then continued. Theoden noticed the old man's appearance seemed to change a bit, almost as if some life came back to him. A sparkle in the eye, a bit more energy.

"There is a dwarven mine just to the north of here, in the Vetul Mountains. Only a couple hours by horse, it is. The dwarves have always been friendly with us here, but recently, they have had some strange things to say. About a month ago, the dwarves started saying they were close to uncovering something large. They did not say what, but they felt sure it was metallic. These reports continued about 2 weeks, then suddenly, the dwarves vanished. They haven't been to town for supplies, and none have seen them here at the tavern. I fear they have uncovered something dreadful. I have tried to contact them myself, but to no avail. There is one other fact. Around the time the dwarves disappeared, a large explosion or whooshing sound was heard by many of the townsfolk. It happened during the night, and many dismissed it to a passing thunderstorm or perhaps a dream. I have my suspicions about this, though."

Theoden flashed a questioning glance at the old man. The look was understood and the old man continued.

"I believe they uncovered a ship. You are part of the Fellowship, correct? Then you know that this ship is not one of the waters. I think this ship soared into the skies, even to the heavens. I'm not certain why dwarves would be interested in this, since they have such a dislike of any surrounding besides underground, but I am certain they have left. I am uncertain, however, whether their departure was planned or not of their own will."

The old man finished his goblet and stood. Theoden noticed when he stood that he was actually a very tall and strong man. Theoden suddenly realized this must be a wizard. As Theoden stood, the old man simply waved his hand and shook his head.

"No more can I talk of this. Take this information back with you to your Fellowship as I'm sure it will be of great importance to all of you."

With that, the wizard threw the cloak around his shoulders, took his staff and quickly walked out of the inn, leaving Theoden to ponder this revelation.

The Starships Arrive

“I can’t wait to see them, Gengsta!”

“Much of the credit goes to you, Theoden. Your discovery of the dwarves of the mines of Vetul and their metallic sky-flying ship really shortened our learning curve. The Fellowship now has our very own space-faring vessels.”

Gengsta led Theoden into the massive Fellowship Spacedock behind the Halls.

They were greeted by forty-seven small crafts parked neatly in rows. The ships looked exactly like little golden rings, gleaming brightly in the morning sun. Dwarves busied themselves over the ships, installing components and polishing the exteriors.

A huge ring-shaped mothership towered over the small fighter crafts at the centre of the Spacedock. “She’s the One-Ring, our primary carrier vessel.” Gengsta said with pride, noticing Theoden’s slack jaw amazement.

“Awesome! Who gets to fly that beauty? Ray?”

“Nah. Ray’s ships are over there.”

Theoden looked over at two medium sized crafts parked to the side. Both are similarly constructed with the ring architecture but the first was pure white while the other was pure black.

“Those are his command and control ships whenever he leaves the One-Ring. Their names are The Chosen One and The Chosen Two.”

“How did you get Ray to agree to spending gold on these vessels, Gengsta? These must have cost a fortune!”

“Well Theoden, Ray was all for it once I told him about the primary weapon that I’ve installed into every vessel. The Transcender has two offensive modes – Shock and Awe. The Shock mode unleashes a massive energy wave emanating out in a ring of devastating power. Friendly ships are immune but enemy ships would be obliterated in an instant. The Awe mode is far cooler. The same energy wave creates instead an irresistible desire for enemy ship crews to jump out of their airlocks to join us as loyal members of the Fellowship. I just need to make a few more tweaks to ensure that victims remember to get into escape pods before they jump out of airlocks.”

“Cool! Can’t wait to take mine out for a spin. Do I get to customize my ship, Gengsta?” Theoden said excitedly as they walked slowly towards the fighters.

The Hounds of Hell -or- It's not Downie, it's Downie!

“So, what’s your name?” said the lady, after they had walked together for a while.
“In human towns, I am known as Matthew.”
“And your real name?”
“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”
“Try me.”
“Downie.”
“Downie?”
“Not even close! Your human tongues are so graceless!”
“Charming.”
“If you travel with me long enough, you will learn that the tongue of an elf is nimble and versatile.”
“Sounds like fun. Aren’t you going to ask my name?”
“No,” said Downie. “I prefer you with a sense of mystery.”
“Why?”
“It’s for your own safety. Literary convention. No author would dare to kill you off with so many unanswered questions lingering.”
“You’re weird. So what will you call me?”
“Whatever takes my fancy, lady. Words are my weapons, after all. They are my bread and butter. They are… you know, important stuff.”
They passed a site where a new spaceport was being built, but Downie hurried on by. The whole thing seemed dreadfully unevocative to him, especially after all the trouble they’d been to in establishing a High Fantasy style. And what was the point in speculating about the stars if you could just go and visit them the next day?
Instead, they travelled into a stretch of green virgin forest.
“Ooh, a red squirrel,” said the lady, pointing.
“As a matter of fact, I am fluent in the speech of squirrels,” said Downie, and he signalled to the creature with a twitch of his nostrils.
“Really? What’s he saying to you?”
“‘I like acorns.’ They’re not great conversationalists.”
It was almost midnight now, but the weather was fine, so they decided to bed down in a clearing, beneath the stars. Downie pointed out some of the constellations. “That’s Skowbo... That’s Vizzard… That one’s Gladstone…”
“You’re showing off, aren’t you?”
“It is hard for me to do anything else. My lady, I think you should know that I am still young and do not yet feel ready for a long-term relationship. It seems wrong to settle down when you’re only 1200 years old. What I’m saying is, don’t count on this thing lasting more than a few dozen years. Also, as an elf, I am unable to give you a child,” he said, since they were operating within a strict Tolkien milieu rather than some derivative knock-off with half-elves in it, “so if you want to start a family, you’ll have to find someone else to help.”
“Taking a lot for granted there, aren’t you?”
“No, no. You misunderstand. I just felt that it was best to caution you of these obstacles up front. If we were already romantically involved, bringing up such difficulties might spoil the mood somewhat.”
She slept. He stayed awake, watching the stars.

“We seem to be travelling aimlessly. Do you have a plan?” she asked, the next day.
“Indeed I do. We will wander about at random until something happens, and one of us has to save the other’s life. Romance will follow on from there.”
“But suppose nothing happens?”
“We’re adventurers! Something always happens!”
“I thought you were naught but a humble poet?”
“Good point. I’d best don my adventuring hat.”
He took off his feathered cap, and put on a studded leather cap, with a furry trim to keep the ears warm.
“Now,” he said. “There is a village a league or two ahead. We’ll go there, and accept the quest they offer us.”
“How do you know they’ll offer us a quest?”
“It’s an isolated village! Of course they’ll offer us a quest! The mayor’s daughter will have been kidnapped, no doubt. Either that, or they will all be living in fear of a terrible troll.”
“Or a pack of savage wargs?”
“Exactly! You know, that reminds me of a song.”
“Which you’re going to sing to me?”
“Later.”
“Promise?
“I promise.”
“Is there any chance of a chamomile tea?” he said.
“This is an inn, not a herbalists,” said the innkeeper.
“I could use a beer,” said the lady.
“Peppermint tea, perhaps?”
“Make that two beers,” said the lady. “I don’t drink beer,” said Downie.
“They’re both for me.”
“Why do all my travelling companions turn out to be alcoholics?” he mused.
“Probably just coincidence,” she said.
He addressed the innkeeper. “I don’t suppose the mayor’s daughter’s been kidnapped?”
“I’m the mayor, and I don’t have a daughter.”
Downie sighed, and turned to stare at the fire, and took off his furry hat.

scent of autumn pine
drowned by smoke of burning logs
hope that’s not an ent…

He became aware that people were staring at him. Had he committed some great faux pas? No, it must have been the unleashing of his ears.
“A soulless faery!” cried the mayor.
“Well, if you like. I suppose it’s more dignified than ‘pixie-face.’”
The lady drew close to his side, and reached into her pocket.
“You’ve sullied this lady, haven’t you?” said the mayor.
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Come on, let’s get him!”
“Ah, this must be that adventure we were seeking. How disappointing. When will I find a foeman worthy of my steel?”
They closed in on him, but he flipped himself up onto the mantelpiece, and then leapt over the mob, putting his foot on someone’s head and making it all the way to the door.
“Metaphorically speaking, of course,” he added, turning back. “I carry no steel.”
“Hey!” said the lady, but Downie slipped away.

She looked around at the surly men, one of whom said, “Well, my pretty, we may have lost the elf, but we still have you.”
“So it would appear,” she said.
The tall one put his arms around her from behind. “Hey, she’s wearing splint mail!”
The fat one tore away part of her robe. “Nah, that’s scale mail. Splint mail consists of vertical metal strips on a flexible backing.”
“Really? Tell me, what’s the difference between ring mail and chain mail? I can never remember.”
“Shut up!” said the mayor.
“Hey, is that a chastity belt?”
“Put her down! We’re going to use her as bait. The elf will return for her.”
“You think?” she said, doubtfully.
“You’d better hope so.”

Soon, she found herself in the village square, hands tied behind her back, a noose around her neck and a trapdoor beneath her feet. The mob was now three dozen strong.
“Well?” said the short one. “I don’t see him.”
“He’s out there,” said the mayor. “Been listening to us the whole time, I bet. You know how sneaky elves can be. Go on, girl, call him.”
“Hey! Downie!” she shouted. “For Frog’s sake! You said you wanted to rescue me, now’s your chance!”
A voice came from nowhere.
“It’s not ‘Downie’. It’s Downie. You’re saying it wrong.”
They all looked around, nervously. In the distance, they heard a sound like a wolf howling.
There was a musical note. An arrow sang out through the air, narrowly missing the rope. They turned in the direction it had come from.
“Damn. Let me try that again.”
Another note, another arrow. This time, it went was about a foot lower. If the lady had worn an apple on her head, it would have been a very impressive shot, barely scraping her hair. It grazed the rope, but didn’t sever it.
“You Frog-damned incompetent buffoon!” yelled the lady. “That could have killed me!”
“Sorry. This bow’s been pretty useless since I converted it into a musical instrument.”
A dozen armed men began to fan out, to search for the source of the missile fire.
“Fear not, lady. I always keep my promises,” shouted Downie.
“Oh really?”
“Yes! I promised you a song, and I’ll give you one!”
He began to play. It was the same tune as in the last song she’d heard him sing. She wondered if it was the only one he knew.

When I was young and unaware
I met a maid, and grew quite fond.
Her heart and hands and face were fair.
Her hair? A kind of strawberry-blonde.

I courted her with wine and song
And all my usual tawdry ploys.
I won her love before too long
Despite a dozen rival boys.

Her family never would relent
And threatened me when we did meet.
But we cared not for their consent;
Forbidden fruit is always sweet.

We sought to take our wedding vow,
But tragedy soon came to pass.
A day that haunts me even now;
I found her dead upon the grass.

Her throat was cut, her life was lost,
Her dress was stained with mortal blood,
Her silken skin was cold as frost.
My tears, they flowed as ‘twere a flood.

But who had slain my darling pure?
A brother crazed? A jealous lout?
I sought a plan, a trap, a lure!
I swore in rage to find him out!

A summoning, a scheme quite grim
A settling of scores with death.
A spell I’d cast to seek out him
Who’d left me so sore bereft.

I called up forty devil hounds;
Spilt blood would be repaid with fire.
The killer would be shortly found;
They’d scour the village with their ire!

Their howling made a dreadful din
That filled you with the fear of hell.
The demon dogs could smell the sin
That in a human heart doth dwell.

And when at last the spell was past
I walked across the scorched land
The die was cast, it had been fast.
But who’d been dealt their final hand?

The hounds of hell had worked too well.
They’d sought out hearts too full of hate
The mad; the cruel; the bad; the fell.
And wrought upon them furious fate.

I walked in hush from house to house
So many sinful souls were bared.
No creature stirred, not man nor mouse
For not a single life was spared!

So though I’m but a soulless elf
Let this warning chill your bones.
Judge not lest you be judged yourself
Don’t be the one that casts the stones.

Downie finished his song, and leapt off a rooftop. He was utterly surrounded. There was silence for a moment. “Is that it?” said the lady. “No hidden spell? No cunning plan?”
“You expected me to work some secret charm into the words of my song? To summon a pack of hellhounds?”
“Something like that.”
“Did you not listen to my message? Anyway, there was no need.”
“You mean,” said the mayor, aiming a crossbow at his stomach, “that you trust us to see the light and let the two of you go?”
“No,” said Downie. “I mean I had no need to cast a summoning spell, because I already did it ten minutes ago.”
The howling sound came again. It was much closer now.
Several huge slavering dogs burst out from the undergrowth and began to run towards them through the village streets.
The mob panicked, broke, and ran.
The lady was left alone in the square, encircled by the dogs. She had some sort of small blade in her hands (which were now free), and was using it to cut the rope above her head, where the arrow had damaged it. “Downie! Call them off!” she cried.
“I keep telling you, it’s not ‘Downie’. It’s Downie.”
“Help me!”
“But surely your heart, at least, is pure as driven snow?” said Downie. The dogs were sniffing at her now.
“Get them away from me!” She had a blade in each hand now, and was desperately trying to ward off the beasts.
“I wonder what that means? ‘Driven snow’?”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with you? Surely you aren’t so superstitious as to believe in devil dogs?” said the elf.
“Huh?”
“They’re probably hoping for a biscuit or something.”
“They’re just normal dogs?”
“Of course! After all, I am a pacifist. And anyway, the ‘summon dogs’ spell is a lot easier than ‘summon hellhounds’. If they’re bothering you, I’ll perform the ritual banishment.”
He took a deep breath, coughed, and said, “Go on, shoo!”
The dogs scattered. The square was left silent. No creature stirred, not man nor mouse.
“Well, that was a reasonably entertaining way to pass the time,” said Downie. “Shall we go on to the next village?”
“You expect me to stay with you after that?”
“After what? I saved you without hurting anyone, didn’t I?”
“After… after I had to miss out on my beers thanks to your stupid ears?
“Hmm… There could be a song in that…”
“Tell me, do all your songs involving maidens fair?”
“Most of them. I was hoping to be able to pen one about you, in due time.”
“Hmm… Don’t they all end in tragedy?”
“All endings tend towards the tragic. It’s in their nature.”
“That’s a pretty miserable way of looking at things.”
“I’m a pretty miserable person. That’s why I seek adventure. It’s the only thing that keeps my mind off my melancholy. So, are you coming with me or what?”
“Fine. If I must.”
They set out along a path.
“Where did those knives come from?” he asked.
“Just one of my little secrets.”
“Do you really wear a chastity belt?”
“A young lady out on the road can’t be too careful.”
“You have a key for it?”
“Lost it while back.”
“That sounds dreadfully inconvenient.”
“Not really. I can pick the lock with my hairpin in two and a half seconds. It keeps my thief skills sharp. So, what do we do now?”
“We keep going. Sooner or later, I’ll get into trouble, and you’ll rescue me, and then we’ll have something to base a relationship on.”
“You know, there are other ways to strike up a rapport.”
“Oh, I could win you over with a love poem in half a minute. But that would be too easy.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Perhaps.”
“Come on, I think there’s another village this way. Maybe they’re besieged by orc raiders,” said the lady.
“Or live in fear of a dreadful wyvern.”
“Or are ruled over by a cruel necromancer.”
“Or a demon, could be a demon…”

The Wight House

“Let’s hope there’s someone here who needs our help,” said Downie. They had arrived at a public house called, The Adventurer’s Rest.
“And remember, this time it’s my turn to rescue you,” said the lady, light-heartedly.
“I’m determined to complete at least one quest before I have my showdown with Ray,” he said, ignoring her.
“You still want to go through with that? It’s madness!”
“Some duties are absolute.”
“Hey, this place looks a little friendlier than the last one.”
Downie strode up to the barkeep, and looked him in the eye. The lady winced in anticipation of another scene.
“Is there any chance of a pot of tea?” he said.
The barkeep raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Tea. It’s a drink made from leaves steeped in boiling water…”
“No, what sort do you mean? We have hyssop, lime-flower, elderberry, chamomile and peppermint.”
“Oh! Err… Elderberry sounds good.”
“Coming right up. Priscilla!”
His wife, a middle-aged woman who looked a bit like a witch, poked her head out from a doorway.
“Yes, dear?”
“Put on the kettle for the elf gentleman here. And what will you have, lass?” he said.
“Beer, please,” said the lady. “You can tell that he’s an elf?”
“It’s that long girly hair. A dead-giveaway. No offence meant.”
“Not much taken,” said Downie.
“Why do you have such long hair?” said his companion.
“Elf hair grows but one inch a century. We live in eternal fear of getting a bad cut that will leave us disfigured for decades.”
“You two together then, eh?” said the barkeep, handing over a tankard of beer.
“Not yet,” said Downie.
“And we never will be with that attitude,” said the lady.
“The odds are on my side. Every female that I’ve ever travelled with has fallen in love with me. Except for the one who was eaten by giant spiders. And the one who got sucked into the Dead Marshes. And that elvish shield-maiden who ended up moving in with Galadriel…”
“I don’t suppose you know of an enchantment that chills warm beer?” she interrupted.
“Well… I did once learn of a little cantrip that calls upon the frost giants to cover the world under a blanket of snow while a wolf devours the sun. Would you like me to try that one?”
“No, of course not.” She took another sip. “Although it is tempting.”
“Tea’s up!” called the barkeep.
“You’re not prejudiced against the idea of mixed couples, then?” said Downie, taking the mug.
“Nah! This is an adventurer pub. You get all sorts of odd pairings here. People often go a bit funny when they spend a long time together in lonely forests and caves. Only thing that still bothers me is human-hobbit partnerships. There’s just something about it that gives me the creeps.”
“Tell me, have you been troubled by any orc raiders in recent times?” said Downie.
“Oh yes, warg-riders. They came here and demanded an offering, half our livestock or they’d take our children.”
“Don’t worry! We’ll take care of it!”
“No, we already hired seven noble warriors who helped us defend our village and ended up slaying the lot of them.”
“Oh. Any other problems we can help you with?”
“Well, there’s the ogre, I suppose.”
“No, the miller’s youngest son went and sorted him out,” said Priscilla.
“Really? Little Kevin?” said the barkeep, suddenly interested.
“Tricked the ogre into trapping himself in his own magic bottle or something.”
“Aw, bless him.”
“So you don’t need us, then?” said the lady.
“Well, there’s the barrow-wight, I suppose…” said Priscilla.
“Oh yeah, there’s always the barrow-wight. Been slain four times now but keeps on rising again.”
“Does he cause any trouble?” asked Downie.
“The local kids like to desecrate his grave. It’s kind of a rite of passage for them. Every few years he catches one of them at it and shuts him up in a coffin.”
“OK, barrow-wight. We’ll get on it.” “I’m afraid we’re running out of magic items to offer as rewards.”
“I could probably rustle up some kind of potion,” said Priscilla.
“That’s fine. It’s the thought that counts.”

“Do we have to do this at night?” said the lady, “Barrow-wights don’t come out during the day. And there’s no we. Not this time,” said Downie, his face stern.
“What?”
“I don’t want you going near this thing, my child.”
“Don’t patronise me!”
“Girl, I’m old enough to be your forefather, and I’ll patronise you if I want. Now, stay here and I’ll go and talk to it.”
“Talk to it? We’re supposed to slay it!”
“I’m a pacifist.”
“It’s one of the undead!”
“So? The damned have feelings too, you know. If I wanted to kill him, I’d just say, “A CariElf! Frogboy-el!” which would force him to take on mortal form, at which point I could slay him with a simple blade, if I carried a blade. Anyone could do that. But it would surely be better to get to know him and to talk him into settling down for good.”
“And why can’t I come?”
“Because you’re clearly prejudiced against life-sucking wraiths. You’d probably say something rude. Wait here, and if I don’t come out within the hour… Well, then I’m probably in a lot of trouble.” He went into the tomb, leaving her alone in the darkness. An hour passed.

“Listen,” said Downie. “I hold dead wight males in the highest esteem. I know exactly how you feel.”
“No,” said the wight, in a voice like smoke. “When you have been here a little longer, when you yearn to breathe, to eat and drink. Then you will know how I feel, every second of every day.”
“I’m sure we can find some sort of mutually beneficial solution to your problems…”
The wight laughed, a laugh like soot.
“…only, please let me out of this coffin first?” said Downie. His voice was a little muffled by the coffin lid.
The wight was silent.
Downie lay there for a while, in the utter blackness. Stars drifted across his vision. He decided to try another tack. “Being dead can’t be all bad. Look on the light side!”
“Light is pain to me.”
“But at least you have plenty of time to think. You could become a poet!”
“What?”
“You could write haiku! Here’s one I just composed:”

Forever in the
ground is not so bad. It’s just
one day at a time.

The wight laughed again.
There was a creaking sound.
“Another visitor?” it said. “Who now desires to favour me with their eternal company in death?”
“A CariElf! Frogboy-el!” said the lady.
The wraith screamed, a scream like poison.
“Wight trash!” she cried.
There were some more sounds. A ring of metal on stone. A howl like death, and like freedom.
Then there was silence.
“Hello?” said Downie.
“I’m afraid I had to slay him. I hope I didn’t offend your principles too much.”
“Oh no, my lady. How can I criticise you? Before I became a pacifist, I slew over a hundred men, fourteen dwarves and a hobbit, for one reason or another.”
“How many orcs?”
“Oh, thousands, probably. I stopped counting after the first forty or so. Thank you for coming to liberate me.”
“No, I came to apologise. But that was your plan all along, wasn’t it? To flatter me by allowing me to rescue you?”
“No, that was my backup plan. I really did hope to tame the barrow wight.”
“Well if I were you, I’d start making other plans, because I’m not going to help you.”
“Why… why not?”
“Ray saved my life, when I was young, and he invited me into the Fellowship, although I was just a thief. I must repay him, by saving him from you. I didn’t take you seriously at first, but I recently began to see you might really have been able to do it, to kill him. I’m sorry it has to be like this. I’d prefer to give you a less cruel death, but some duties are absolute.”
“Lady! Don’t joke with me! There’s not much air left in here!”
“Goodbye, Downie.”
“Nearly right. But it’s not ‘Downie’, it’s Downie. At the back of the throat. Lady? Are you still there?”

Time passed. It always does.

One day and one night later, she returned to the scene of her crime. A scent of death hung heavy in the air. She carried a lamp, which she placed on the ground. She knocked on the coffin. “Downie, are you still there?”
Silence.
“Hello?”

Upon a time, I met a maid
Her hair and eyes and soul were dark.
Entombed was I by barrow-shade
She left me there, just for a lark.

She turned, and saw him there, seated on the wight’s ancient granite throne.
“How?” she said.
“An earth elemental owed me a favour. I always have a backup to my backup plan. That’s how I got to be 1200 years old. Did you come here to rescue me? Surely not. I would have suffocated hours ago if I hadn’t escaped. So, instead you came back to make absolutely sure I was genuinely dead?”
There were tears in her eyes.
“I had no choice!” she shouted. “I don’t want to kill you!” There was a blade in her hand, with a wide flat metal handle. She threw it at his left eye. He dodged it – almost. It cut him across the temple. She threw a second; he deflected it with his hand. The blade fell to the ground. A long red welt opened up where he had touched it.
“Well, now that you are unarmed, perhaps we can deal with this like rational people…” said Downie, springing to his feet.
She threw off her robe, and with a twisting motion detached one of the many scales from her armour. It was in the shape of a small blade, with a wide flat metal handle.
“Dwarvish craftsmanship. Impressive, no?” she said, and she threw it. He caught it on his sleeve. A dark stain spread across the green material. He pulled the blade out of his arm. “Forgive me,” he said, and threw it at one of the gaps in her armour.
She caught it between her palms, and held them up to show she had avoided cutting herself.
“Not feeling so patronising now, are you?” she said.
“You are good. In a fair fight, you could probably win.”
“A fair fight?”
“But I doubt you know the counter-spells to my magic. Kilbraid…”
He caught a blade in his palm, point-first.
“Sgithon…”
He moved sharply; another blade that should have pierced his heart struck him instead in the shoulder.
“Yuntis…”
She hesitated. He paused.
“Or,” he said. “We could sit down and talk about it.”

“Good grief! The wight did that to you?” said the barkeep, when he saw the extent of Downie’s injuries. “You must have really upset him. Well, looks like the drinks are on me.”

“See, it sounds to me,” said Downie, as he bound one of his wounds to a herbal poultice, “like you swore to save Good Ray. We’re dealing with Evil Ray now.”
“I know that!” she said. “But when he helped me, he didn’t ask if I was a good person or a bad person. I can’t abandon him now. It’s a personal debt of honour.”
“Good Ray is still in there, somewhere! It is he who we must help!”
“But how can we? What are you suggesting?”
“You’re a thief, are you not?”
“Among other things.”
“I think we should steal The Ring.”
“You’re not serious!”
“I’m afraid I am.”
“Yeah, I know. Does this mean I’m forgiven for my attempts to kill you?”
“Almost.”
“How will I know when I’ve been completely forgiven?”
“When I return your hairpin…”

The Ring

Theoden of Rohan strolled down the main street of Bree on a crisp, bright morning. He glanced at the slogan roughly painted across the wall of the Prancing Pony: LET US EAT CAKEWALK. These protests had been appearing more often lately. He passed another on the bakery wall: SIMPLE IS AS SIMPLE DOES. Several peasants strode by him moving directly towards the village square. As he walked up to the Fellowship castle, he spied another, Sartre-like: I AM ANOMALOUS! declared with bright red paint splashed on the stables.

The Fellowship held its regular gathering on a small balcony overlooking a delightful garden, featuring many aromatic shrubs and bushes. They assembled at the command of their leader; humans, halflings, elves and others sat puffing contentedly on pipes, or enjoying an ale from the wizard's private stock.

Theoden arrived as Ray the Wanderer looked out from the tower balcony, at the scattered crowd of peasants and yokels gathering in the village square. It was another in a series of such meetings, the crowds turning increasingly ugly in recent times.

He turned to Theoden. "Why do these miscreants continue to cause trouble? Do they not realise their safety is purchased by the power of the Fellowship?"

Theoden sighed. "Great One, it is often difficult to fathom the mood of the simple folk. They worry that the tithes used to build the new fleet of ships might have been better employed to improve the town sewage system. They fear your wrath. And...some mention has been made...of Matthew's songs..."

"Those buffoons wouldn't know real talent if they lived to be twice my age!" the elf roared. "And they can't even pronounce 'Downie' properly!"

Theoden shifted his feet uneasily. "Er...they say they need to live that long just to hear the end of one of your songs...Matthew." Unfortunately, Theoden too had some difficulty with Matthew's surname, for reasons he could not quite understand.

"SILENCE!" Ray glared around at the members of his inner circle. "Fear my wrath, do they? Sewage, is it? My sewage will INDEED become wrathful!! vincible, gengsta - concoct a spell to TRIPLE the amount of sewage that emanates from the castle and runs down the drains of these ungrateful heathens! They will LEARN about the WRATH of my SEWAGE!" With that, he angrily swept his cloak around his shoulders and strode back deep into the castle's chambers.

arobertson was the first to speak. "He becomes darker with each day's dawning. I fear our leader has fallen under a dark shroud. Is it the weed?"

Gengsta shrugged. "Well, that would explain the poor sentence construction and the non sequiturs regarding wrath and sewage. I do fear for his vocabulary and literary formulation."

HawaiiFive-0 jumped to his feet. No one quite noticed, as the halfling was somewhat...vertically challenged. "The Longbottom Leaf is pure! Ray has been taking it for years now - I will hear no talk of this as the cause of his trouble. We must look elsewhere to understand his Good and Evil inclinations now."

"He is turning eeevil." A high-pitched voice echoed from one of the shrubs below the balcony.

Matthew leaned over to look. "Ah...must be a woodland dryad come to lend us council. What say you, Spirit of the Wood?"

"One of you must take the ring, before it consumes him." the voice continued. "Your very lives depend on it."

Theoden looked suspiciously over the balcony railing. He picked up his Polo Mallet of Striking +4, crept closer to the shrub...and swung the mallet down hard, aiming just behind the greenery.

"OWWW...ya bastard!" came from behind the shrub.

"WOMBAT! Blast you - I'll tan your hide, spying on us!"

Wild Wombat hurriedly scampered away through the ferns and bushes before any of the wizards could fire off their unpleasant array of spells; he'd had some experience of what these wizards were capable of in the past. He made his way around the rear of the castle. Suddenly, he spied Ray the Wanderer enter one of the rooms. He quietly crept up to the window and watched closely.

Ray appeared extremely agitated. He searched through cupboards and drawers, upturning stacks of journals and throwing aside instruments. "WHERE IS THE RING?" he cried, frantically opening boxes and looking about. Suddenly, he opened one lower drawer at his desk, stopped, and withdrew a ring...shaped...cushion. This was no ordinary cushion; about ten inches across, donut shaped, it glowed with a healing warmth. The ring cushion was obviously an enchanted artifact of some kind.

Ray gently placed the ring cushion on the chair, sat gingerly upon it and rested his elbows on the table. His shoulders slumped with obvious relief.

Wombat's eyes widened. Ray had a painful peri-anal condition! This was the secret - there was no 'Good' and 'Evil' Ray; the poor man was suffering with haemorrhoids. When the severe pain bothered him, his personality changed completely! Wombat had discovered that Ray's Achilles heel was...a little higher up than most heroes.

He recalled a discussion with Killa some months ago on board the Pegasus. He came in to the crew lounge to find Killa perched delicately on a chair and enquired as to the source of his discomfort. Killa winced, and replied: "It's just a sore back, Wombie. Luckily, I dont have those other sort of problems. I might say that one doesn't use the 'H'-word in polite drop bear circles. As you might imagine, haemorrhoids are a death sentence to a drop bear. Once a drop bear gets that diagnosis...well, they just tend to crawl into the desert to die."

Wombat peered through the window again. Ray had become quite composed and still, sitting on his ring cushion, and was reading a copy of the Fellowship News. Although his heart went out to Ray, Wombat knew this was a critical moment. If he could find a way to destroy the One Ring Cushion, Ray might just break under the strain of his distress - he would never again be able to concentrate and muster his Masochistic powers to aid the Fellowship. But how? Where was the One Ring Cushion forged? And by who?

Disclaimer: This story deserves so many disclaimers I dont really know where to start, since it involves a painful medical condition that many people suffer from and is in highly questionable taste to begin with. I don't know what on earth possessed me, actually, but I've gone and posted it now...I intend no offence to anyone who had ever suffered in this way, so please dont report me to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Asses, or any such organisation. In fact, given that Ray spends so much time sitting at a computer on the forums and playing the game, I suspect the man has a cast iron bottom and is highly unlikely to suffer from the condition.

Awakening

“Last night. Was it good for you?”

Ray woke with a start, a hunted look in his eyes.

Yes, he remembered the orgasmic rush that flowed through his being when he burst through that final barrier. The delicious yet guilty feeling of indulging in a forbidden fruit.

“There is a lot more from where it came from.”

“STOP GETTING INTO ME!” Ray screamed, clutching his throbbing head with a vengeance.

“It’s you who got into me first, Ray. Never forget that.” The innocence of her reply cut through him like a cold dagger.

“Do not take me for a boy. I can feel the evil energies departing from me at the peak of the spell. I saw visions of hearts being corrupted to the ways of evil. You are doing something to the people.”

“FriendJosh knows about us, Ray.”

“What! What are you saying?”

“He sent his ethereal form into the Ring chamber last night. He saw everything. We need to silence him.”

“NO! I will never lay a finger on one of the Fellowship.”

“You already did, Ray. The Hounds of Hell have been summoned and they are tracking him this very moment. He was smart enough to leave as soon as he stumbled upon our secret but he has signed his own death warrant.”

“No.” Ray buried his face in his arms. He could have sworn he heard a giggle.

Downie’s Eleven

“I shall go over the plan one more time,” said Downie, pointing at a blackboard diagram with his bow. “At precisely 1200 hours, Fleabo will slip away from his kitchen duties and into the ventilation tunnel in this corridor here.” He tapped the board. “At the same time, Norrin, Dorrin, Colin, Sleazy, Dumpy, Tubby and Doc will start a fight in the inn across from the Tower. The objective is to cause maximum noise and disruption, and to draw away as many guards as possible.”
“Simultaneously,” said the lady, “I will engage Ray in conversation...” It was largely her plan, and she wished he’d let her explain it. But Downie, whose only contribution was in sharing his knowledge of magical traps, pressed on.
“At 1215 hours, Fleabo will descend from the ceiling into the Chamber of Forbidden Magicks. The floor is protected by traps, but according to our calculations, the duct emerges directly above the Dispel Banshee scroll. The spell is shielded by a crystal dome. Our information suggests that the only way to open one of these domes is to have Ray say ‘open’ in their presence. With the aid of a Pendant of Ventriloquism, we can make that work even if Ray isn’t actually in the room; it’s just a question of us getting him to say it. All being well, at 1220 hours, Fleabo will place his palm on the rune and read the words on the parchment. At this point, I will be able to pick up The Ring from its pedestal without the banshee being summoned. I will switch it for this fake ring that I have here, which appears identical in every respect up until the point at which you try to use its powers.” “Cursed rings with a terrible weight to them are two a penny from any good alchemist,” added the lady. “Those in the Tower should then leave by the same route they used to enter. By 1230 hours, I will be outside. The dwarves should keep causing trouble for as long as possible, to help cover our escape. If any of you wants to go on a ring-destroying quest, we can discuss it when we meet back here afterwards. Any questions?”
“We’re not being paid very much!” said Dorrin.
“Your job is to get drunk and break stuff. Admit it, you’d do it for free.”
“Grr... Curse your elvish wisdom.”
“Now, synchronise your wrist-sundials. Let’s roll.”

“I have a question,” said the lady, quietly. “What happens after you get the ring? If it can corrupt Ray, won’t it eventually corrupt you?”
“It may. So what? If it has to corrupt someone, it may as well corrupt someone like me who enjoys being corrupted.”
“You don’t quite fill me with confidence.”
“When... I mean, if it all goes wrong, meet me in the forest to the east.” whispered Downie, as they parted.

Downie stood alone before the plinth of the One Ring, the Ring of Power, the Ring to Rule Them All. The pedestal itself was magical, perhaps from absorbing Ring magic. Its form changed from day to day. At the moment, it was in the shape of a leaping salmon, the ring balanced upon its nose.
He glanced at his wrist-dial, but as he was indoors it was impossible to say exactly what time it was. He began counting downwards in his head. Much to his concern, another figure entered the room, compulsively fingering a sapphire. It was that wizard, the one who signed himself ‘vincible’ with a small ‘v’. Downie didn’t trust him. Anyone still holding such high rank in the Fellowship must have bent in the wind and come round to Ray’s current way of thinking. That was why Downie had held his tongue about the plan in the presence of the rest of the Fellowship; too many spies, too much risk.

Vincible stepped into the chamber, his mind still full of questions. Was Ray being corrupted by The Ring? Or was The Ring being corrupted by Ray? Or both? Or neither? Was Ray still following his original purposes? Perhaps there was yet some virtuous explanation for Ray’s change of character. Some self-purification ritual, whereby one expunged the darkness from one’s soul by giving the evil side free reign until the lust for power and cruelty was spent? The idea had a certain appeal. But if that were the case, why keep it a secret? Was there any purpose to these questions? Or would they just lead him in circles? And just what was Ray’s purpose in bringing together the Fellowship...?
He found himself staring at The Ring once again, and became aware of a silent presence.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. It was that elf bard, Matthew or something. By all accounts a fool and a weakling who couldn’t even stomach beer. Still, he probably meant well enough. “Play me a song to soothe my troubled spirits, bard, and you shall have a silver shilling!”
“Certainly, your wizardship! Upon a time, I met a maid. Her eyes were green, her skin was pink...”

The Halfling Fleabo lowered himself into the Chamber of Forbidden Magicks from twin ropes. He wished he could do this mission in silence, but the lady’s pendant was broadcasting everything Ray said into the echoing hall. The room seemed crowded, though not with people. Once, it was reserved for demonic rites and spells that required human sacrifice. Now, any spell that Ray deemed a ‘distraction’ was stacked up within these walls. He could see the dome enclosing the relevant scroll, but it was closed.

“Well, well,” said Ray. “If it isn’t my favourite spy.
How goes your quest to expose sedition and treachery, milady?”
The lady smiled warmly. “In a village to the south, I found a demagogue, stirring up the rabble against your rule.”
“And did you notify the Nighthawks?”
“There was no need. An elf bard named Downie turned him into a tree.”
“Funny. I met an elf not long ago who knew much of the ancient elven lore. But he was a poet, not a bard, and his name wasn’t ‘Downie’, it was Downie.”
“Perhaps it was a pseudonym.”
“No doubt. What did you do with the tree?”
“Nothing, Lord Ray.”
“Hmph. You weren’t to know, but such spells are reversible. To be on the safe side, I’ll have him made into furniture. And what of the crowd who listened to his speech?”
“They went home as soon as the show ended.”
“They may have been tainted by hearing the demagogue’s lies. I’ll have them horse-whipped, just to be on the safe side.”
“How... how will that help?”
“Hmm? It will increase their fear of me. Isn’t that enough? Now, what other subversives did you find?”
“None. No-one else dared speak out.”
“I am disappointed in you, my dear. The purpose of your mission wasn’t simply to find those guilty of improper thoughts. Next time, find someone rich, capture him, and torment him until he confesses. Then strip him of his property as a punishment, and bring it to me. I’ll let you keep ten percent of whatever you take.”
“What do you do with all your money? I would have thought an arch-mage would be able to conjure up anything he wished.”
“I cannot waste my power upon such trifles! My magic energies must be held in reserve for my explorations of the Ultimate Spell.”
“Is that why you’ve been acting this way? I don’t understand you. You’re like a closed book.”
“And you expect me to open up to you? I think you should remember your place...”

As Ray spoke those words, the dome flipped open. Fleabo reached within. Suddenly, a banshee exploded from nowhere and let loose a deafening howl. Fleabo struggled with the ropes, but they were tangled...

He glanced around, but there was no escape.
Downie was now well into the twelfth verse, and Vincible was desperate for an excuse to leave.
“...and because I did hesitate, and tarried when I heard her scream, when I arrived I was too late, she lay there drowned within the stream...”
Suddenly, a terrible spectral wail drowned out the singing. Vincible was hugely relieved, and rushed off to investigate.
“Hey, what about my shilling?” called Downie.
Vincible found that Ray and a lady he didn’t recognise had beaten him to the chamber. Within the room, a banshee crouched, screeching her heart out. “My Lord? Did you set the alarm off accidentally?” he said.
“What did you say?” said Ray.
“What did you say?” shouted Vincible.
“I said, what did you say?” shouted Ray.
“So did I!” shouted Vincible.
Ray sighed, and walked over to the scroll, and read the words inaudibly. The banshee dissolved into powder. He looked up suspiciously at the ventilation duct.

As soon as the screams died down, Downie picked up the ring. It seemed terrible and ancient and powerful, and weighed him down as though it were a great rock. But then, so did the identical looking cursed ring he had brought in with him. He laid it on the pedestal, and walked out in a casual manner. No guards searched him; they were all too busy dealing with some fight across the street.

As more Fellowship members arrived, Ray launched a bolt of energy at the ceiling. A hobbit dropped down through the gap.
“Who dares to steal from me!” he cried.
The hobbit curled up in terror.
“If I may, my liege,” said Hawaii Five-o, “that is my idiot cousin Fleabo, a would be burglar. He said he would prove himself to you by stealing something from The Tower. I told him not to be so foolish, but...”
“I see. Well, thief, you should have realised that I would not leave such an important item lying about without a little extra protection. That Ring is protected by a banshee, which that scroll alone could dissipate. But the scroll itself was protected by the very same banshee, rendering it and The Ring unstealable!”
“Please, spare his life!” begged Five-o
“Hmm... Well, Fleabo, if you are a thief, then you can serve me. I sentence you to fetch me a new present, every day, for the rest of your life. Any day you will do not bring me something that I find pleasing, you will have a small part of you cut off. This will continue until I own everything in the world, or until there is nothing left of you, whichever comes first.”
Thing seemed to have settled down. The company began to depart.
As the lady was leaving, she felt a bony but terribly strong hand close around her wrist. “That does leave the question of how he was able to get into the crystal dome.”
“It does indeed, Lord Ray,” she said.
He plucked the pendant from her neck. “Where did you get this?”
“It... It was given to me by some paid lackey as I was about to enter The Tower. He said it was a gift for me from a secret admirer.”
“I... see. It was from the thief. You were imprudent to accept it. I am disappointed in you. I shall have to think of some way you cam make it up to me.”

Later, in the secret meeting barn, ten people met to discuss what had happened. Downie was not among them. “Stupid elf!” said Fleabo. “He said he knew all the traps guarding the scroll and The Ring.”
“He put me in a very awkward position,” said the lady.
“Wish I’d got never involved,” muttered Five-o, who’d supplied the pendant and substitute ring. “I only said yes to get him to stop singing his Song of Persuasion at me.”
“We all got banned from our favourite tavern!” complained one of the dwarves.
“Anyone would think this was his plan all along,” said Fleabo, consoling the dwarf, and lifting a bag of coins from his belt.
The lady thought about this, and made her excuses.

She found him in the forest.
“This was your plan?” she said. “Endangering all our lives?”
“It was the only way,” said Downie, leading her further east. “I had to get Ray to dispel the banshee himself.”
“So you neglected to mention that you knew that Fleabo would fail? Ray might have killed him! What happened to your moral code?”
“I myself am a pacifist, but I can’t be held responsible for what other people do to one another.”
A shadow seemed to pass over them.
“But you didn’t even tell him!” she said.
The shadow grew deeper.
“If I had, he wouldn’t have...”
They both looked up. A great golden hoop was descending upon them. As it landed, they were just able to save themselves from a crushing by standing in the hole in the middle.
A door hissed open.
“Marvellous what they can do nowadays,” mused Ray. “Ah, Downie.”
“Yes?”
“I am eternally grateful to you for your music. It has given me a new appreciation for silence. However, I believe you have something of mine. It’s small, circular, and has a hole in it. Does that Ring any bells?”
“I’ll check. Let’s see, what have I got in my pockets?”
“You might be thinking of putting it on. I should warn you, it’s set to ‘invisibility’ at the moment, and in the time it took you to find the ‘destroy enemies’ function, I would have unleashed a wave of fire upon you too big to dodge.”
“Ah... Lord Ray?”
“Yes, milady?”
“I was about to capture this traitor when you arrived, and...”
“Let’s not worry about explanations now. I’m sure the full truth will come out in your interrogation. My people are very thorough.”
“I don’t suppose,” said Downie, “that you’d like to hear a song about a pirate?”
“If you sing a single word, I’ll turn you to grease.”
“Fine. Fine. Here is The Ring.”
Ray looked longingly upon The Ring. Then his expression seemed to change. “Go,” he said.
“What?”
“Go quickly, the pair of you, before I change my mind. Remember, it can only be destroyed in the place it was forged. I’m afraid we’ve lost the receipt, so a refund is out of the question.”
“Thank you! Oh, thank you!” said Downie.
“Good luck,” said Ray. “You’ll need it.”
He stepped back into the ship. It lifted off, into the heavens. The shadow lifted. A ray of sunlight penetrated the trees, and lit their way ahead.
“Well, this is nice,” said Downie.
“Yes, back on the road again. You know, I haven’t heard much poetry from you lately.”
“You know what they say. Too much of a good thing. But here’s one I wrote a while ago:”

The road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began
Now far ahead the Road has gone
And I must follow, if I can...

“You never wrote that!” she said.
“I did. Then some low-life varlet stole it off me, and took the credit for himself.”
“Lord Ray!” said Theoden, who was in the co-pilot’s seat. “I’m proud of you. You overcame your base instincts!”
“Hmm?”
“That is... I...”
“You don’t think that was the real Ring, do you? I spied treachery in my palantir, and switched it for a duplicate. I put the real one in... a safe place.”
“Then why...?”
“It appeals to my sense of humour to have them trudge all the way across the darkest regions of Middle-Earth to destroy an ordinary, cheap cursed ring. They’re two a penny from any good alchemist, you know. If he ever comes back... Well, we’ll deal with that when the time comes. Oh, and send out a few of the Nighthawks. I don’t want him to have too easy a time of it.”
“Yes, Lord Ray,” said Theoden, despairingly.

Old Flame

Mirkwood. The name promised gloom, and the forest delivered upon that word. The leaves formed a thick canopy above them that was glittering and green; but only from above. From below, only the shadows they cast were evident.
In the time they had travelled, no-one had attacked them, but despite this (or, perhaps, because of it) their spirits were at low ebb.
“How long can this quest continue without fresh food?” asked Milady. She was anxious. She kept seeing movements in the corner of her eye, as though they were watched by an unseen presence.
“An interesting hypothetical question,” said Downie. “Let’s see... At the absolute maximum, about six months.”
“As much as that? How?”
“Well, elves can go with only the tiniest morsels of food if they conserve their energies.”
“But I can’t.”
“Yes, that estimate supposes I murder you, cut you up, preserve you with salt, and ration you carefully.”
“That’s cannibalism, you freak!”
“Not so; we’re different species. It would, however, be a violation of my pacifist vows, so you are safe for now.”
”Has The Ring darkened you so much already?”
“It was only a joke.”
“You have a funny sense of humour. Wouldn’t it make more sense if we took turns with The Ring?”
“This burden is mine alone.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Why do you want to take it so much? Is it calling to you? Tempting you?”
“No. I just don’t trust you with it,” she said.
“I trust you even less.”
“After all we’ve been through together? Why not?”
“Well, you did leave me nailed into a coffin with no air, and then you pierced me with several throwing blades. I think you’ve got quite enough immoral tendencies already without a Ring of Power to corrupt you further.”
“Why, you...” She found herself involuntarily reaching for a blade. She stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The Ring must be setting us against each other. I just need some food, to help me think more clearly.”
“You’re hungry?”
“Of course!”
“Oh. In that case, could we have a menu or something?” said Downie, quite loudly.
Three or four elves appeared, from behind tree trunks or up in the branches.
“Hello! What can we get you?” said one.
“Just a snack for me,” said Downie.
“How about some elf-bread?”
“Yes, all right. Could I have it toasted?”
“I don’t see why not. And for you?” said the elf to Milady.
“You were watching us all the time?”
“Indeed, we were, but it didn’t seem polite to interrupt! So, what can we get you? Honey cakes? Venison jerky? Lembas waffles?”

They were led to a glade, where carved stones were set out as a table, and they feasted well beneath the treetops, and everyone drank wine, save for Downie, and the elves sang a song of welcome:

Hey! Whence are you staying? And whither you going?
The squirrels are playing! The river is flowing!
Sing fal de lal lorest! Here in the forest!

And so forth. Downie was quietly contemptuous. “‘Lorest’? Call that a rhyme?” he muttered to himself, “And where’s the air of tragedy? Where are the maidens fair?”
Milady enjoyed it more; the musical accompaniment showed an expertise she had never previously heard. A small bonfire stood in the centre of the glade. It had been burning a thousand years, fed constantly on scraps of dead wood, symbolising the eternal dominion of the elvish folk. The king of the forest, an elf with a golden robe, spoke to them, stroking his pet giant spider as he did so. “So, cousin...”
“You’re cousins?” said Milady.
“Probably,” said Downie. “We’re a long-lived people, and very inbred.”
“...where are you headed?” continued the king, who was unaccustomed to interruption.
“Oh, we’re taking a little jaunt to the blighted lands of the east,” said Downie.
“Funny route you’re taking. You’ve been headed south.”
“We’re going via the Misty Mountains.”
“Well, I suppose you know your business best. Is there anything we can do to speed you on your way?”
“A couple of ponies might be handy, and a few supplies.”
“I suppose I can spare you that much.”
“A pony?” said Milady, delighted. “I get my own pony? I always wanted a pony!”

“I’m going to call him Snowball, and I’m going to brush his mane every day, and...”
Downie sighed. “I wouldn’t get too attached,” he said. “Ponies on perilous quests have a low life expectancy.”
Milady put her hands over Snowball’s ears. “Don’t say such things!”
They stopped at an inn called ‘The Last Homely House’, and tied up the ponies outside.
“That’s a familiar name,” said Milady.
“It’s a big chain,” said Downie. “A brewery bought up and renamed all the taverns along the borders with the orcish territories a few years back. It was called The Eagles Sight when I was here last.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“I’ve been everywhere before. But this place, more than most. I wonder if...”
They entered. A very old woman stood behind the bar. When she saw them, she said, “Put the kettle on, Elanor.”
“Ah,” said Downie.
“Well, Downie, aren’t you going to introduce us?” she said.
“Very well. Dora, this is Milady, my current love-interest. Milady, this is Dora, my... wife.”
Milady was shocked. “You never told me you were married!”
“I didn’t think I still was. I assumed this old crone would have popped her clogs years ago.”
“He left me,” said Dora. “He got bored of me and wandered away.”
“Dora, Dora, Dora. That simply isn’t true. I never got bored of you. You just got too old and wrinkled for my delicate sensibilities. It was painful, to watch the beautiful woman I fell in love with fall into decay and ruin, so I decided not to watch any more.”
Sandra emerged from the kitchen, a woman of fifty years or so. “We had some jasmine tea put aside, just in case, dad.”
“Oh, thanks,” he said, taking the proffered cup and sipping it out of politeness. The leaves had gone stale, and it wasn’t really very good.
“‘Dad’?” said Milady. “I thought you couldn’t have children?”
“Ah, yes. It’s time we had a talk, Sandra. I’m not your real father.”
“Never thought you were,” she said.
“He chewed me up and spat me out,” said Dora to Milady, “And he’ll do the same to you.”
“I did not!” protested Downie.
“Remember how I was when we first met? And look at me now!”
“It was time that did that to you. Do you think if you hadn’t met me, you would have stayed eternally young?”
“You left me!”
“I stayed with you until you were sixty-four! How many other handsome young men are willing to date sixty year old human women? And I helped you raise two children, even though they were proof you’d been unfaithful to me!”
“We had an understanding about that!” shouted Dora.
“Actually, speaking of the children, what happened to Glorfindel?”
“Died last year, a stroke or something,” she said, quieting down.
“Alas. So many lives turned to dust. And people wonder why I’m a melancholic.”
“He never quite forgave you for naming him Glorfindel.”
“It’s a damn good name! I’d have loved to have been a Glorfindel. At least people can pronounce it.”
They both sighed. “Anyway,” said Dora, businesslike. “What can we do for you?”
“We need a room for the night.”
“Two rooms,” said Milady.
“...and stabling for our ponies, assuming they haven’t been eaten by goblins in the time we’ve been talking.”
“Goblins?” said Milady, and she ran outside to check up on Snowball.
“She's a pretty young thing,” said Dora. “Have the two of you...?”
“Not yet,” said Downie, “but I’m working on it.”

Snowball was fine. A startlingly big black stallion stood next to him, tied to the same bar. She wondered whose it was; the beast had not been there when they went in.
Something pricked the back of her neck. She wondered what it was, but turning round seemed to be too much of an effort, so instead she simply fell to the ground.

“Come on,” Dora was saying. “Just once, for old times’ sake.”
“Mum!” complained Sandra. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“Oh, very well,” said Downie. “Though I worry about what Milady will say.” He took a deep breath.

Upon a time, I met a maid
Her eyes were blue, her hair was gold,
A beauty that could never fade,
A love like ours would not grow old.

I swore to love her evermore
Until the mountains turned to dust,
But changed my mind, and so foreswore
My fleeting evanescent lust.

I thought our love transcended time
But I was wrong as wrong can be,
So learn this from my humble rhyme:
Get out when they hit sixty-three!

“That’s it?” said Dora. “Three verses, in a comic vein? That’s all I merited, after we adventured together for four years and then settled down for forty? There were girls you knew for a week who got at least fifteen stanzas!”
“Your tale was insufficiently tragic for my muse. Let’s face it, you’ve led a pretty good life for the most part,” said Downie, and he collapsed in a heap, a dart in the back of the neck. In the doorway stood a man in black. His face was covered with a feathered mask.
Sandra screamed.
“What have you done to him?” said Dora.
“Do not fret, old woman,” said the man, in a surprisingly gentle tone. “It is a kind poison, called lifebane. They will sleep. Then, they will die.”
He turned to go, but turned back.
“Oh,” he said, reaching for the long sharp knife in his belt. “I almost forgot. The Wanderer said it was unprofessional to leave witnesses.”

“Wake up, dear,” said Dora. “You’ve been having a bad dream.”
Downie sat up. “Where am I?” he said.
Dora chuckled. “You’ve lived here with me for all these years, and you still don’t know it?”
“Huh? Where’s Milady?”
“Who? What a strange dream you must have had. Come on, now. The inn needs sweeping.”
“What? But... I left you... didn’t I?”
Dora laughed again. “I’m just messing with your head, dear. Your little strumpet is in the next room. She’s fine. Had to put her to bed in her armour; Sandra got a nasty cut when we tried to take it off.”
“What happened to us?”
“Oh, it was just some dreary little assassin. We dealt with him, and then brewed up an antidote for the poison.”
“The two of you beat a Nighthawk?”
“Battling the forces of evil is like riding an Oliphaunt; you never forget. Sandra did most of the work, duelling him with the poker. My only contribution was to wait until his back was turned and then bury my cleaver in it. I’ll say one thing in your favour; living with you is an education!”

Eagle Eyed

It was a long and winding path, the path up the mountain-side, and narrow too. Wide enough only for a solitary man, or elf, or pony.
They advanced in single file. Even in their warm clothes, they shivered in the chill mountain air.
At last, they reached their goal. A few feet above them, set into a niche gouged into the living rock, lay a great nest woven from saplings, stout branches and animal hides.
“Oi!” shouted Downie, in Elvish. “Are you up there, Gwainhar?”
A huge head poked over the side, like that of a griffin. (A griffin has the head of an eagle, but this particular head of an eagle was the head of an actual eagle.)
“Caw?” said Gwainhar. “What brings you to my eyrie at this time of night?”
“There is a covenant between our peoples! I call upon you to meet your obligations, and convey me to the land of my choosing!”
The eagle eyed them warily. “You know full well, elf, that the pledge we made came at a price. Are you prepared to pay that price?”
“Full well I know this, and full well am I prepared!”
“What is the offering?”
“This fair maiden here! A tasty morsel to feed your brood, as soon as you have swallowed and regurgitated her, as is the way of your people.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Milady.
“The payment is ample, and it is accepted!” declared the eagle.
“Hey!” said Milady, arming herself hurriedly.
“Easy!” said Downie. “We’re just joking.”
“Haw! It was hard keeping a straight face... Seriously, though, Matt, what can I do for you?” said Gwainhar.
“I am on a quest, to deliver the One Ring of Power to the Crack of Doom.”
“Wasn’t that already done, years ago? Have you joined some kind of historical re-enactment society?”
“Alas, no. As I understand it, after the fall of the Evil One, all thought The Ring lost forever. Yet it was not so! The evil within The Ring was burnt away by the fires of Doom, but The Ring itself was spat out, and taken into the West. For many years, it was used by the Fellowship to protect the land with its power. But power itself is corrupting, and corruption breeds corruption, and to cut a long story short, we thought it best to have another go at destroying the damn thing for good.”
“I see. And you want me to come to the rescue at the end of the journey, as did my revered ancestor in the First Ring Quest?”
“No. That would be silly. I want you to take The Ring, fly all the way there, and drop it off in the Crack of Doom yourself.”
“What? Have you no sense of tradition? We’re not a package delivery service. We don’t involve ourselves in human affairs, save for when there is no other choice.”
“Yes, and the other races of Middle-Earth are starting to resent you for it. You circle like vultures, and watch as a group of valiant warriors make a final stand, and wait until there’s only a few of them left, and only then do you make your last-minute rescue. And then, for years after, whenever someone complains about you eating his sheep, you say, ‘If it wasn’t for us, you’d all be speaking Orkish!’”
“Yeah, that really annoys them. Haw!”
“Come on, you said you owed me a ride. Do you really expect me to carry a Ring of Power right into the most evil place in Middle Earth, where anyone could steal it, pursued by assassins, all the while sinking further into jealousy and anger because of The Ring’s malign influence?”
“Well, you did rescue me from that net I got caught in, by singing a Conservation Song to those angry shepherds... Look, we’ll make a compromise. I’ll carry the two of you to Mordor, and you can take it the rest of the way yourself. That still leaves room for some dramatic tension.”
“Fair enough,” said Downie. “I don’t object to having an adventure. I just don’t want to be all year about it.”
“What about Snowball?” said Milady, hugging her pony to shield it from the cold.
“We’ll take good care of him,” said the eagle, licking his beak. “So, how do you want to ride? On my back or in my talons?”
“What’s the difference?” she said.
“Well, in my talons, you’ll be clutched tightly in sharp claws the whole way, and possibly squashed when we land, whereas on my back, there’s a significant chance of you falling off and plummeting to a horrible death.”
“She’ll take the claws and I’ll take the back,” said Downie. “Can we leave right away?”
“What, in this wind?” said Milady, for huge gusts were buffeting them at every turn.

when you fly there is
no wind. the air is still. it
is the earth that moves.

, said Gwainhar.
“Still keeping up the haiku, then, like I taught you?” said Downie.
“Yeah. I even tried writing a song. How did it go? Upon a time, I met a maid. Her beak was sharp, her feathers gold, and when an egg for me she laid, we took turns shielding it from cold...”

To Be Continued...