The Mordor Post Office

[The Good Hunter]

Angmar
Dol Amroth
Ithilien
Minas Tirith
Mordor
Umbar


Rules:
1) Be creative, boring letters will be tossed in the fires
2) Don't post in foo colors or risk the wrath of the Post Master
3) Use the stamps (or don't it's your life your risking not mine)

Stamps donated by the ever merciful @Moriel

[The Good Hunter]

@Zôrzimril


Regdûsh aka Trollpuke

You’re never going to get my shop! I know it was you that put me on that boat in the middle of the ocean. Don’t try to deny it. The plot was so dumb and convoluted who else could it be? Did you think pretending to be stuck out there too was going to fool me? Ha! I’m the smart one, you’re the ugly one. Remember ChAoS bRo? You can’t have my murder hornet shop either, you don’t’ have the green to be able to handle them. Though you’re welcome to a free sample of a bee in your bonnet!

Your Best ChAOs BrO
Fleeg Phlegmson

[Zôrzimril]

@Mama's Murder Muffin

Reg was surprised to find a letter had arrived for him. Everyone knew he couldn't read!! Who would throw this knowledge in his face like this?!?!? He kicked a nearby rock, then trundled about, looking for someone to decipher the weird squiggly symbols on the parchment. His eyes widened when a man read him the message. "Psss psss psssss psssss," he dictated in the man's ear as the other scribbled out the response. It said:


tO: FlEeG!!
fRoM: ReG!!!!!

CoOl sTOrY, BrO

[Moriel]

@Mama's Murder Muffin
------

With a flutter of glossy wings and a GWAH! to demand the attention of its recipient, a raven delivers a small scroll of fine, thick parchment, sealed with golden wax, and smelling faintly of anise…



Nixë,

I must admit I was surprised to receive your invitation to supper, but the evening did not disappoint. Quite some time has passed since I attended such a delicious and illuminating occasion. After such hospitality, it is only right that one return the compliment. You will attend upon me this evening in my chambers at Minas Morgul. It will be a private affair.

May the Ice be cold and the Iron be cruel.

Sombelenë

[The Good Hunter]

@Zôrzimril
----------


Mig,

Look, I know you said the murder hornet apiary was a bad idea and that you thought I was going yo get myself killed try it. But guess what! I did it! I put in a petition in the Black Market and they approved it! I need to find the space for a tent and someone willing to build the apiary frames but other than that I’m in the clear! Ha! And you said it would be a bad investment. What do you think now, dear brother? Your dumb younger brother isn’t so dumb after all is he? Anyway, I’m going to give you another opportunity to invest before I talk to my cHaOs BrO, Reg. I’m certain he'll invest, and once people see how amazing an idea this apiary is they'll want to invest too! Now is your chance to be a part of the Fleeg Empire!

Your brother from the same mother
Fleeg

[Zôrzimril]

@Mama's Murder Muffin



Fleeg, you hopeless moron,

It's not so much that a murder hornet apiary is a terrible idea (I mean, don't get me wrong, it IS a terrible idea), it's that you are an endless garbage stream of terrible ideas! What in Melkor's stinking pits makes you think that you, of all people, will be a successful businessgoblin?

For one thing, you're utterly unable to keep a normal schedule. People like knowing when they can come buy your stuff! But if you're not there half the time (as you so clearly aren't, given all the ludicrous adventures you and that Regdûsh are always going on), how are people going to give you their hard-won or stolen coin for the goods you have to offer?

For another thing, you've now sunk your entire inheritance into failed business endeavors. Yes, I know this because I snooped on your accounts. So what? Try to stop me. I have access to information about your financials you could never dream of! And no, you are NOT getting my half of the inheritance. It's mine, and I'm going to sock it away like the miserly bookie I am so I can retire from the Necromancer's Guild in style in just a few years. I'll be set for life with the interest I'm earning at JPMorgoth's Mace & Co.!

Good luck with asking Reg for money. He can't even read, let alone keep hold of any of his possessions. Yeah, I talked to his old lava snake the other day. PLEASE don't mention this to him, though. I really don't like talking to that guy.

Don't forget that I have offered to teach you the basics of accounting NUMEROUS times. I will gladly offer those services once more if you will just stop this tomfoolery and do something sensible with your life.

Your brother in blood but apparently not brains,

Mig

[Zôrzimril]

It was time for Regdûsh to pay his brother Arthûr a visit. Art was far more accomplished than Reg in what we might call "book learnin'" and so Reg often pestered his little brother to write letters on his behalf. Why bother learning to read and write, Reg reasoned, when he could just bully his stupid scrawny little brother into doing it for him? It saved him a lot of time and effort and yielded excellent entertainment when he made Art howl with pain.

Today, he wrestled Art into submission, then held a hot coal to his neck with some tongs while Art hastily scribbled out the following letter:


To: FleEg
From: ReG

Hey duDe,

I'm in the mood to kill some guys. I mean, I always am, but right now I've an urge to beat up several increasingly tough guys in a row and then leave their bleeding carcasses behind for some poor bugger to clean up after me. Meet me at the Tower of Might tomorrow at sundown if you wanna try claiming some of the glory or whatever, ya blasted centipede for brains.

Your ChAOs bRo,

Reg

[The Good Hunter]

@Zôrzimril

Reg-douche,

Finally coming to your senses, I see? I knew you’d be the KaOs HerManO that gave in first. But that’s okay, I still think you smell like spider guts. You want to take on the Towers of No Return eh? But what happens when you die and I have to leave you in there because you’re not allowed to come back? Don’t get me wrong, oliphaunt breath, I’m 100% done for this (that means yes you tusk toothed oaf), I just want you to know that I plan on winning and if that means I have leave you behind to get eaten by a balrog, so be it. I know, I know about our mutual murder pact. I haven’t forgotten. Fear not, dear Reg-douche, I will definitely, absolutely kill that balrog if he eats you in revenge. I promise you. See you at the towers ole buddy!

Your much more handsome, smarter, more business savvy, and cleverer friend
Fleeg Phlegmson

PS: I’m bringing my murder hornets and you can’t stop me

[The Good Hunter]

@Zôrzimril

Dear Blinky,

Can you read? Where do you live? I realize these are two questions I should already know the answer to given that I am trying to write to you but I’ve already stolen the pen and paper so I might as well make the most of it. I have a problem. I think you know his name. Regdûsh. Remember him? See he’s really mad at me for, uh, something. I can’t remember why exactly. Anyway, I cramped up in a storage closet in the Halls of Injustice and I know he’s down at the pub but if you could keep him distracted while I plan a way to escape.

I’m Fleeg by the way. I don’t know if you know who I am at all. Or if you care. I’m a friend of Reg. His CHaoS BrO. I don’t know why I wrote it like that. I think that’s just how we say it. Wow that looks dumb. I can’t erase it though and I don’t want to risk trying to steal more paper so, whatever. He’s my friend and he wants to kill me I’m pretty sure. I think he just needs time to cool down. You know how he can be when he’s red hot with anger. He’s dumb as a sack of snails though so it shouldn’t take long for him to get distracted and wander off.

I’m not sure what lava snakes like but I’m a procurer of fine things (do you like murder hornets?) and I can give you the Fleeg Guarantee (trademark pending) that I can get you whatever you need.

Fleeg Phlegmson

PS. Currently I’m stuck in a closet so in lieu of sending a letter back return of post, just send it to Druviz Kadar and I’ll find a way to get it.

[Zôrzimril]

@Whatever I Want

A well-muscled lava snake slithered up to the post office with a letter clutched in his sinuous tail. How he had learned to read and write and rhyme was anyone's guess, but here he was, about to send off a missive.



Dear Sir,

I hope this letter finds you in good health
And in a prosperous enough position to put wealth
In the pockets of small snakes like me, down on their luck
You see, I hate that Reg guy cause he's such a dumb fred
Uh oh, it's plain that you're a guy in trouble
So if you want my help, well, you'll have to pay double
But hey, I can help distract old Regdûsh if the price is right
If not, then have a nice life.

- Blinky

[Giliathriel]

@Allacan ob Burzum

A crusty looking Lizard bearing a package waddles inside the post office at the behest of its owner, who is doing her best to remain out of sight. He makes his way up to the Post Master, where the package is already stamped with a handwritten letter on it.



To: Grobby
From: It doesn't matter, you can't even read, right?

I've met you once before, and I just had to do something nice for you. Every child deserves a nice toy, right? So I had this one made just for you! Hope you like it!

Signed, C

The package contains a stuffed lizard, not unlike the one that delivered the package. Each of the legs is attached to the body by way of strange little spines that seem perfect for detaching and reattaching, letting little Grobby rip the legs off of it as many times as they desire.

[Pele Alarion]

To Relic,

Don't worry about my secrets; they know more than you do, and I can trust them to protect my back. Heed my advice: leave me alone.

Best wishes (of the worst)
You know who

@Isolde Alarion

[The Good Hunter]

@Tarawen


Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you well and with father out of your hair. I am sorry it has been so long since I have been able to contact you. As you might remember I was recently forced to relocate to a new premise. Regdûsh’s insistence that he not have to clean up his “alarm clock” every morning finally reached its zenith when I found something… growing out of the pile of dead bodies. I’ll save you the fungal horror and not describe it too much, but I hope you can see my reasons. I found a place in Udûn though. It’s a bit on the expensive side but the views are excellent and all bills are included in the rent. I’m hoping I can reach out to my old professors at the University to see if there are any positions available amongst the faculty. I’m hoping they have a rhetoric position available. I think I would do quite well in that niche. I hate to ask, but perhaps you could use some of our family connections to make sure the position is available? The department head is close to retirement I’m sure. I bet a visit from you or from grandfather would expediate his departure?

I’m teaching Regdûsh to write. I think that was a mistake. He has only mastered the first three letters of his name but he seems to be quite proud of that ability. He’s ruined more than a few copies of my first editions. I had to move or I might have killed him.

Speaking of killing him, have you heard that he had his friend have opened a spa? A spa, in Mordor? I don’t understand how we are brothers. Do you think you picked up the wrong infant at the spawning pits? He’s growing mushrooms in there. I don’t understand his obsession with fungus. It’s creepy.

I am keeping an eye on him though. Just because I want to kill him and let his mushrooms eat him doesn’t mean I would actually do it.

Anyway, I hope all is well. I’m enclosing a chapbook of poetry by Lugzug Death Axe. He’s new. I think you’ll enjoy his haikus.

Your son,
Arthûr

[Lail]

@anyone or no one, it really does not matter

Dear Steed-master of Mordor,

I have placed at least a hundred orders for this and I don't know where they keep winding up!! Probably in some pit somewhere!

Let me make it a hundred and one -

GIVE ME A WINGED BEASTIE.

It will cut my messaging time in half at least! Don't you give a shire about efficiency around here?!

From,

Durzhat the Messengorc
who sometimes gets tired of running marathons back and forth over hot sand and spewing lava all day and night and would appreciate a winged beastie of her own (and is beginning to think this is a class-ist society in which only the precious Nazgul get to fly. SO unfair.)

[Zôrzimril]

@Baphởmet



My dearest son,

You know me too well. I kicked your father out of the house for the 69,284,305th time yesterday, so he is well and truly out of my hair - for now, at least. I will enjoy the peace afforded me by his absence while it lasts.

I applaud you for making your escape from Regdûsh. You know I had such high hopes for what a positive influence you could have on that boy, but knowing when there’s no path forward is wise. I suggest you keep that in mind where this experiment in teaching him to write is concerned. I’m afraid very little good will come of it, for his sake and society’s.

As my son, you are more than deserving of every good thing that comes your way, including a job, so of course I will write to everyone I know with connections to the University. What is the point of being the brilliant grandchild of a pioneer in his field if you aren’t entitled to a few benefits from time to time? Your grandfather and I shall pay the aged rhetoric professor a visit, too.

I had heard about the spa. Ordinarily, I would be keen to pay such an establishment a visit - do you know how hard it is to come by a good manicure in these parts? - but it’s probably for the best that we ignore them. Nothing good can come of indulging Reg’s flights of idiocy. And that friend of his! Such a shame he didn’t turn out as well as your friend Mig did. Do you hear much from him these days? Please tell him I say hello if you see him.

At any rate, I’ve had several ancient volumes delivered here while your father is away, courtesy of your grandfather’s old colleagues. There’s one on the Philosophy of Nothingness that you might particularly enjoy. Do feel free to drop by and visit your old mother sometime!

All my affection (I mean it. I have none left for Reg or your father),

Mother

P.S. - I found the poetry delightfully brutal. We should try to attend Mr. Death Axe's next public reading.

[The Good Hunter]

Dearest Mother,

It does my heart good to hear from you, it also does me good to hear that you’ve kicked out father once again. Perhaps he will be taken by one of the many roving bands of wild wargs that pick off stragglers. One can hope at least, however with Father’s luck he will return home with an entire pack in tow. I recall a time in my childhood when you kicked him out (and off a cliff) that he came home on the back of a giant sabertoothed cat. Reg and I were very excited by the prospect of having such a fearsome beast that you couldn’t say no. It would have been better to suffer the disappointments of a child and an idiot though, in retrospect. Father forgot to let the cat loose when a rainstorm hit at the cat ended up drowning. I miss fluffy sometimes. I wonder if he was the last of his kind. I rarely visit the biology department of the University but that is mostly due to the smell and the strange sounds that come from that building at night.

I will take your advice as it concerns teaching Reg anything. I truly thought I could teach him how to break from our father’s pestilent influence. I was so wrong. It seems that all Reg truly excels at, other than being a disgrace, is growing mushrooms. He’s developed a strange relationship with the mycelium of Mordor. If I were to guess, I would say it has something to do with the simple neural pathways they both share. Pray to the Void that those two never combine into anything. Society would be the least of our worries. Reg is a moron, but he does have potential. I thought I could shape that potential and build upon our family’s prowess, alas for my hubris.

Would that Mig were my brother instead! The goblin is much more fit to be a member of our family than Reg, and he is out of place within his own clan. He might be descended from royalty, but that line is stretched so thin it creates miscreants like Fleeg. Mig, though, is different. He has a brilliant mind for numbers and schemes. He and I play chess regularly, a vice we picked up at University that has never truly been sated. We know it’s a human game, and though you have always taught me that “nothing good can come from human things” I believe we can use this game to understand our foes and eventually out maneuver them, or at least find a way to come up with a superior, pure orkish game based on similar principles. Mig is working at the Necromancer’s Guild last we spoke. It might not be the vaunted obsidian halls of academia, but he has a finger on the pulse of all the clans and gangs of Mordor through that hub. Perhaps we ought join him and watch a match or two sometime?

You found a book on the Philosophy of Nothingness? I bow to your skills Mother, truly. I have searched the libraries night and day and found nothing. I even put in a request to search the archives of Minas Morgul. You must tell me your secrets!

I appreciate your assistance in the matter of the rhetorics professor. I am sure that, once he sees reason and the logic behind… early retirement, that I will be a shoe in for his position. There are so many things I believe I can teach the young orcs of tomorrow. We can be more than brutes like Reg and Father. Imagine a world were orkish philosophy has overtaken the vile elven stuff! The will to power!

I will visit you soon, I give you my word dear Mother. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than walking the halls of our estate once more, skulking through the stalagmite gardens until the light of a hunter’s moon or haunting the lofty towers of midnight. Lugburz might be the capital and the center of all politics in Mordor, but the Von Zautok Estate is the truest gem.

Your ever obedient son,

Arthûr

P.S. – I have heard rumor that Lugzug Death Axe is going to participate in something called a “Rap Battle” with the troll Derph in the Ashen Amphitheatre. I can only speculate what the nature of the battle will be, but perhaps it will be an event we can attend?

-------
@Marceline

[Zôrzimril]

@Baphởmet



My dârling son,

How are you? Truly? I know that the delay in your ascension to a full professorship at Cirith Ungol University has worn hard on your spirits. In recent weeks, I wrote many letters, but all the ravens I sent returned with empty claws. However, I have some better news on that score: your grandfather and I paid the elderly department head. While he was extremely reluctant to step down, we made him see sense. He has since retired to a dark, sealed chamber at the base of the longest underground staircase in the building. The door is stone, so I should think it thick enough that no one will hear his screams.

In order to assume his role, I believe you are summoned to some sort of duel with the presumed heir to the position. I think he still teaches that idiotic seminar, “The Meaning of Nihilism.” I have no doubt that you will best him at every turn. You know where to find the terms and rules of engagement for this duel. Please keep me updated on when and where it is to occur. I would like to attend to show my support, and so would your grandfather.

I hope you have been spending more time with Mig and on this “chess” you speak of than with your brother. The former seems likely to augment your skills of reasoning and abstraction, while time spent with Reg is predestined to erode your intellect simply by association. Dark stars, what did I do to deserve such a child? I ask myself that question every day. The best antidote for this shame is knowing that you are out there, doing great things and ensuring that our family’s name is not stamped into the mud and mushrooms.

As for procuring that book, it was nothing. In fact, the Philosophy of Nothingness teaches such things. It would give me great joy to loan you the book. Learned as you are, sometimes there is great power in an empty mind. (Not the same kind of emptiness that fills your father’s head and Reg’s, to be clear. Philosophical Nothingness far outstrips anything their feeble little brains are capable of.)

We should most certainly attend this “Rap Battle” - I saw a poster for it on the way home from the university. I’m intrigued by the idea of verse set to a rhythmic beat. And of course, the notion of a battle is always intriguing.

On a different note entirely, have you seen or heard from your father recently? I’m not worried about him, exactly, but there have been a series of disturbing scratching noises at my bedroom windows at night, and I wondered if it might be him, trying to claw his way back into my home and my bed. Perhaps it is merely a murder attempt. I’ll let you guess as to which I would prefer.

All my love,

Môther

[The Good Hunter]

Môther,

I owe you a debt of gratitude! You were indeed correct. I was summoned to a meeting of the Board of Regents right after I read you letter. Your timing could not have been more impeccable! I was able to prepare some notes in preparation for this “duel” and let me tell you, it made all the difference. The little gnat didn’t know what hit him! He was clearly being groomed by the old department head, but even with all his experience and training he was no match for your son! I would hazard a pun to say he no doubt knows the true “Meaning of Nihilism” after his sound defeat. I’m sure he would relish the idea of an independent study, far, far from here, perhaps somewhere in Khand? I will see what I can do with my influence now. Your favorite son is now the Head of the Department of Orkish Philosophy and Rhetoric! I could not have done this with you and grandfather. The wheels of educational justice have finally begun to turn after so long having been stagnated by putrescent minds and fearful rhetoric for so long. Believe me when I tell you mother, we are at the cusp of a new age! New schools of thought will spring like cactus from the dry earth bed, they will be as weeds and choke out the old, decrepit, and closeminded viewpoints. The Age of the Orc will be a great one indeed. And I shall make sure all the histories know that you, mother, were at the forefront, fighting for reform. You will be remembered as a saint.

Rest assured, dear mother, I have given up trying to teach Reg anything. I longed for him to at least be able to do a small measure of mathematical equations and being able to read the simplest of words, but I see the folly in that endeavor now. Some orcs were meant to be crushed under the wheel of progress. I can only mourn all the lost time I could have used to better myself. Selflessness oft is the bane of the innovator, I fear. But no more! I shall pour myself into my work. Chess will be ever present of course. Strange that a human game of strategy can be so compelling. Mig and I are working on some rule alterations to make the game more orkish and suitable for popular consumption. I find that exercise a much better use of my time.

I have precured us two front row tickets to the event! I hear there will be a question and answer segment at the end of the battle that will help expound on the themes and motifs they used during the battle. I’ve done a bit more research into the two combatants as well. Apparently, there is a “beef” between the two of them, something about Death Axe stealing Derph’s fiancée the night before the wedding. Odd, but I suppose some people do care about such things. I will admit the colloquial term confused me, something the younger generations are using to refer to bad blood. Interesting use of language, wouldn’t you say? I am quite excited as I have no idea what to expect.

The Philosophy of Nothingness was nothing short of brilliant. I have learned so much and I have only read the book once. The void is such a fascinating concept, to fill one’s self with such emptiness, ah, it is too brilliant for words. I suppose that could be a pun as well. No words can describe nothingness after all.

I have not heard from father in some time. I came to me a month or so ago, after you had kicked him out again. He asked if he could spend the night on my couch. I lent it to him but he never made good. I arrived home that evening from work (grading papers into the early morning hours) but found no telltale sign of his habitation. The couch was not covered in an oily sheen, there was no odor of malfeasance, nor were there any of his things. I assumed he found better accommodations with his favorite son. The events you describe sound very much like father, a blunderingly bad attempt at, well at anything. I’ve given a few of my students an extra credit assignment: find him and make sure he cannot get within a mile of your home without your expressed consent.

Ever faithfully and favorably your son,

Arthûr

-------
@Marceline

[Zôrzimril]

@Baphởmet



Dearest Arthûr,

I hope I have already conveyed this in person with the big box of Mordor’s most biting peppermint tea and that stack of rare, ancient tomes, but I will say it again: congratulations, my boy, on your glorious victory! If anyone could outsmart that old obnoxious moron (finding meaning in nihilism, I tell you…), it would be you. Regarding the dawning of a new era, I believe your every word. A new order - an Arthûrian order - will arise from the ashes of its former department head (assuming someone finds and cremates him) and bring incredible scholarship and grant funding uncounted to the University. I shall have to buy myself a CUU sweater the next time I’m in the bookshop. Or perhaps you could pick one up for me? I’ll gladly reimburse you for whatever it costs.

I am pleased to hear that you’ve abandoned all your - undoubtedly well-intentioned - plans for Reg. The last time I saw him, he was chasing a geode which was rolling down a hill. This is his place. Yours is in the ivory (or is it obsidian?) tower of the Philosophy Department. It is a law of nature, just like the one that makes lava flow down the mountain, and not up it.

Speaking of Mig, would the two of you like to stop by sometime for dinner? It’s been an age since I saw that clever little friend of yours. I would like to hear from Mig himself how he’s doing and how his parents are dealing with Fleeg (his brother, not the other ones). I think we might all be able to commiserate or swap tips for dealing with moronic children, so maybe I’ll ask him if they might be interested in getting together sometime.

I have been investigating the origins of the word “beef” to refer to an interpersonal conflict. Apparently the denizens of the White City (and other ostensibly “free” lands) used to scream “Hot beef!” when confronted by the likes of you or me in a attempt to get the authorities to take action and apprehend us. No idea why. Anyway, when you and Mig stop by for supper I’ll explain all the rest to you. The term has a long and storied history and I was very pleased to witness its latest incarnation. That poor Mr. Death Axe - I hope losing a leg won’t impede his career writing verse.

Your father has arrived in the vicinity. The other afternoon, one of the slaves showed up at the main house all singed and screaming. “Him…” the little thing moaned. “He’s back…” I’m not sure what your father means by it, burning up a perfectly good servant. Maybe he is trying to send a message? If so, it’s not one I particularly care about. There are always more snagas to be purchased.

Anyway. Please let me know if and when you and Mig might like to stop by. It would be a delight to host the two of you.

Congratulations again on a lifetime of achievements!

Your loving,

Mothêr

[The Good Hunter]

Mothêr,

From your lips to Sauron’s ears! The dawn of an Arthûrian Age. I like that. I like that quite a lot. We should run down to the patent office in the Hall of Injustice to fill out the copyright paperwork. There is sure a profit in that and, if you’ve taught me anything in my years, it is to have an eye out for any way to make a profit (and keep it in a separate bank account that father and Reg can’t access). And speaking of grants and scholarships, the annual Fundraiser’s Masquerade is coming up soon. As the new department head is falls to me to organize the event. Thankfully, I have an assistant now that I can use and abuse to make sure all the details are taken care of. You might like her, her name is Chârlotte. Her handwriting is impeccable. Should you need a hundred invites written, she’s your snaga (she is, of course on loan to you, dear Mother). I hope you will be able to attend, and maybe father can go missing around that time (off another mushroom bender I’m sure) so that you can have a more worthy escort. I will certain that Chârlotte has the bar stocked with your favorite brand of absinthe.

I have taken the liberty of buying a dozen variety of CUU attire. The package might arrive a little later than the letter, the post office can be so inefficient, but I assure you that you will love the designs. You needed worry either, if there is a design you find distasteful or boring or reminds you too much of father, we can have the graphics department make you a new custom design (whilst roasting the previous graphic student on an open barbeque pit).

I will send word to Mig immediately! He has been itching for an excuse to get out of the Plains of Gorgoroth and a visit to high society is just the thing he needs. (Fleeg… I just can’t)

The origins of “beef” shock but do not surprise me. The “Free Cities” are ever full of racism, classism, and sexism of every kind. And they dare to call us barbaric. Ha! I sometimes wonder if they really believe they are on the right side of this conflict or if they are so used to going through the motions of hating orcs and goblins that that’s all they know. As the saying goes though “racism isn’t inherent, it’s taught”.

Ah, poor Death Axe. I certainly didn’t expect the troll to bring, well an axe. It certainly made the event lively didn’t it? I hear they are now selling off parts of the leg as souvenirs, signed by Death Axe himself of course before he nearly expired. Shall I purchase one for you? The University’s expense account is quite vast and discretionary. A few inches of femur would look amazing on the mantelpiece next to that bit of the Dark Lord’s old armor that great-great-great grandfather Liâm was able to pilfer and smuggle out of Minas Tirith. They’re also selling vials of his blood, but they are selling rather quickly due to their lower price.

I will admit, I do not understand the inner workings of father’s mind. The phrase I believe is “the wheel is spinning by the hamster is dead”. I believe it’s a goblin phrase used to describe how stupid a person can be while still ambling about. Apparently, goblins experimented with necromancy and zombie-ism in the old days. Naturally it did not go well because the dead like to stay dead. In father’s case, however, I believe it has something to do with courting rituals. I did some research before writing you back. Apparently, back in the days before the sun, apologies were given between members of the upper class by burning a servant. It was discontinued during the Second Age because the orcs were needed for all the war efforts and the feuds between orkish houses was growing to such an extent that an apology could end up wiping out a regiment (and a forest). Why father is doing this and where he learned it is a mystery to me. I will make sure the students keep him at a distance. Should I put a bounty on him? Just so we can keep track of his movements?

I look forward to dinner with you and Mig! I will bring a bottle of the finest mushroom grog to celebrate.

Your son,
Arthûr

-------
@Marceline

[Zôrzimril]

@Baphởmet



My dear sôn,

A profit from a patent sounds exactly like the kind of thing that built my family up from the ash and rabble of Mordor and made us what we are (save your father and Reg, of course). I’m glad that Mig brought up all the tax benefits of filing a patent for the phrase over dinner, too. That lad has a good head on his shoulders. I’m quite glad it’s not been forcibly removed by someone at the Necromancer’s Guild by now - I haven’t been there in ages, but accidental beheading does seem like the kind of thing that would happen to a scrawny bookie in such a place.

I am enclosing a few sweaters which, alas, did not quite suit me. There was one rather hairy knitted thing that did, in fact, remind me of your father. So much so that putting it on reminded me of his disgusting embrace. I hope that the bookshop will not object to it having been stomped and spat on after I took it off in my distaste. It was a momentary lapse of judgement, but the thing is still in one piece.

The “Free Cities” - ha! What a misnomer. The minds of their people are certainly enslaved to a high degree of prejudice and rule-following. While there is a certain amount of chaos to be found in our lands, there is certainly far more intellectual freedom. So much so, in fact, that there seems to be an imminent socialist uprising. I only hope they will not reach us in our mansion on the lake. Of course, you are welcome to shelter here, as I imagine the university is a hotbed of this kind of backwards thinking. Do you happen to know any of these discontents? Where they get their ideas, I’ll never understand. “Even distribution of resources” - ha! Our family didn’t claw our way to the top only to evenly distribute all the swag we pocketed along the way to perfect strangers and layabouts like your father. I intend to hire the troll who battled Death Axe to stand guard with the rest of my security staff. They all can eliminate the rebels, should they make it this far. In any case, I am very glad you and Mig stopped by when you did. It’s possible that conditions will be rather hit or miss in the coming weeks.

As for the strange little snaga sent by your father . . . I’ve decided to ignore it. Your students have been doing an excellent job keeping him off the grounds - I’ve had several reports of him trying to scale the outer walls, only to be pelted with dung and rocks and other such unpleasant objects from above. Perhaps you should put a bounty on him - I hope you’re rewarding your students well with inflated grades or extra parchment or whatever it is that students want these days. Just so long as you aren’t falling victim to these silly socialist ideals with them!

At any rate, I once again thank you for visiting your old mamâ. Please keep me updated on the plans for the Fundraiser’s Masquerade. I shall, of course, be glad to donate.

~ Your loving Môther

[The Good Hunter]

Dear Môthêr,

Fear not, the designer of this hairy sweater has been dealt with. I’ve used my connections within the department, not to mention our family’s considerable weight, to make sure the poor, wretched fool that so offended you with the design of his sweater has been relegated to the custodianship of the locker room of the men’s cheese rolling team. That will teach him to make something overly wooly and hairy! I do apologize for the inconvenience you were forced to endure mother. A lady of your community standing should not have to suffer such indignities. Also, I’ve sent the few of the “designers” that okayed his work to you to act as guards. Use them accordingly.

Mig and I got right to work on the patent. We had one of his lackeys from the Necromancer’s Guild work on the proposal whilst we crunched the numbers. Sadly, that phrase was a bit too literal as we got rather uproariously drunk at the bar and broke his abacus when we tried to balance on top of it. I will admit it was not one of my finer moments, but even a Doctor of Philosophy has to cut back and break loose ever once in a while? Don’t worry, I got him a replacement the next day, well the day after because the next morning I felt like I had a hangover the size of a fell beast. How do father and Reg handle it so? Do they just… never become undrunk? Oh, who cares about them. The point I was trying to work to getting to, was that we’re ready to file the paperwork. We will need to talk to someone named Bubōsha about making sure the wheels are greased and such (can’t have our petition waiting in the wings with the great unwashed, now can we?). We will have to come up with a decent enough bribe for her. I swear though, that name sounds familiar. Is she a family friend?

I see the rumors have reached you as well. Yes, there seems to be talk going around about “equality and equity” or something such alliterative bother. While no one is as of yet fessing up to starting these rumors I have no doubt it’s coming from the literature department. While they can create wonderful battle sonnets and epic war poetry or erotic tales of trolls and the women who love them, they are not the best at playing political games. They don’t understand that the system of meritocracy and plutocracy is what makes Mordor better that places like Rohan and Gondor. Our rigid, lawfully evil, social structure is what makes us so powerful. Think of it. If Rohan stopped complaining about its chickens and forced the Dunlendings to work for them they would be much better off. Gondor is a perfect example of failed nation. Look at Númenor. Our Dark Lord could never hope to be so evil as they were at their height. The subjection and appropriations of so many cultures, ah, it’s a thing of beauty. And Gondor has failed to live up to their forefathers in every way. Sad really. If I didn’t want to kill and eat them all, I would feel pity for them. I did hear one strange rumor that I can’t quite get a handle on. Apparently, one of the people pressing for more “socialist ideals” is a sentient mushroom. That can’t be right, can it?

My students felt that a bounty was the best way, the most orkish way, to deal with such a pest. Really the bounty system works so well. It is one great wheel amongst a hundred thousand that keep the Bureaucracy of Mordor rolling along at such a pace. No sooner had I put the bounty in place, at the beginning of my lecture, than they brought me the snaga’s head, by the end of said lecture. I assume they were waiting to reveal him for the purposes of dramatics. I appreciated that they let me get my lecture on Old Frêd Nietzsche out of the way before presenting the bloody thing on my lectern. They were rewarded with a bump in a letter grade for themselves and a lower letter for whomever they choose. I do so love academy competitions!

By the time this letter reaches you, given that our postal service is still suffering controversial slow pace, the Fundraiser will be the night after. I look forward to seeing you again mother!

Your dear sôn
Arthûr

-------
@Marceline

[The Good Hunter]

Son.

Your mother kicked me out again. Can you believe it? The things I put up with from her.

I don’t even know what I did. I came up drunk one night and… I don’t remember

I think I was drinking with you and that little weirdo, Flea or something, at that new pub that we found. Can’t rememember the name. Something about ice and bones. I dunno

Do you remember what it was I drank? I think it was green. I didn’t drink troll piss again did I? I thought I told you to stop doin that

Or was it your brother? Was he there? Probably not. loser only drinks with his universititty members. What a rube

Anyway, your mom is mad at me again and I can’t remember why.

Can I stay with you for a few nights?

Dad. Hârry

-------
@Marceline

[The Good Hunter]

To “Durzhat the Messengorc”

Please be advised that your letter requesting a “winged beastie” has been considered and denied. The reasons for this denial are many-fold and will be detailed below. It is also the request of this office that you cease and desist your myriad and banal requests. The Fell Beast Academy of Southern Nurn is a prestigious program with a rigorous training program, as you are no doubt aware. We are a decerning academic institution, one that requires such things as references, transcripts, and donations. Miss Durzhat, you have provided the academy with none of these. We have not even received a formal request for admission into our respected organization from you. Perhaps you were unaware of the procedures that govern much of Mordor’s inner workings? We at the Academy do not fault you though, Miss Durzhat, you are not to be blamed for your lack of etiquette and decorum. As a “messengorc” it must be difficult for you to find the time to study “The Ways of the Educated Uruk” by Teq-Viad the Vanquisher. However we have enclosed a copy for you to read at your leisure in hopes that it will contribute to your edification. Should you chose to submit a formal request for admission, you will need to obtain four letters of reference including one from an alumnus of the Academy. Once you have submitted your request the Council of Dark Riders will convene and deliberate on whether or not an admission form will be sent to you. We also offer scholarly loan programs for those of lesser financial endowments should you require assistance. That being said, if you are not serious about attending the Fell Beast Academy it would be wise of you to stop pestering us with inane demands, otherwise we will be forced to send a less cordial reminder of our power and reach

Kind Regards,
Ogidixea, Director of Admissions and Assassinations

-------
@Lailyn

[Lail]

@Marshall Lee

Dear Ogidixea, "Dir., .missions and Asses",

You can take your book and bear-ocracy and shove it where the lava light don’t shine! (I’ll give you a clue, Oh Wise and Scholarly One, that means UP YOURS!)

You think you’re so smart using your big words from up in your Ivory Tower (I tell you I’ve had it with all the towers around these parts where everyone thinks they can lord over us leather-and-iron-collared ground-dwellers!). Let me tell you something else… I don’t need re-furrals or high interest loans that will sink me into a lifetime of slavery paying off debt that you offer under the guys of generosity. I know a trap when I see one. I will not be made a slave, I am Durzhat!

If I want a winged beastie, I’ll get one myself! I don’t need you or your Academy. Just you wait and see!

Not yours,
Not kindly,
with no regards whatsoever
& in fact hoping you fall from your high tower and splatter on the ground below,
Durzhat

Durzhat chucked the “The Ways of the Educated Uruk” by Teq-Viad the Vanquisher into the first lava tube she passed.

[The Good Hunter]

Attached to the letter is a massive portfolio of paperwork, the first (of 300) page is titled “The Reclamation and Reconsideration Scholarship and Hardship Application”. Also attached is another, less pristine, copy of “The Ways of the Educated Uruk” by Teq-Viad the Vanquisher



To “Durzhat the Messengorc”

Your lack of manners is amusing, your lack of decorum is boring. However, these things are easily correctable.

You seem like the kind of orc that wants to better her position in life. I see this as an admirable trait. No doubt you have killed more than a few that have stood in your way, allowing yourself to rise up through the muck and filth that most of our brethren wallow in. Do you want to continue on your upward track, or do you want to fall back into muck and get trampled by some toothless rube? I find your attitude perfectly repellant; you remind me of me when I was a young orcling, trying to understand the chaos around me.

We have a scholarship available here at the Academy, one that most of the students, staff, and faculty don’t know about. I’ve enclosed the forms you would need to fill out with along with this letter. I’ve also included another copy of “The Ways of the Educated Uruk” because, despite your irrational attempts to the contrary, it is something you will need to know. Do you want to stay a messengorc forever? There is only one way for you to rise.

This is will also be your last chance. Unless this scholarship and hardship application is filled out correctly and, in its entirety, there will be no more communication between the Academy and yourself. A restraining order will be filed against you in the Halls of Injustice and you will be killed on sight if you are seen skulking about our unholy grounds, the only place where the winged Fell Beasts are raised and reared.

A pleasant, ashy day to you, Miss Durzhat
Ogidixea, Director of Admissions and Assassinations

------
@Lailyn

[The Black Serpent]

@Moriel

[Zôrzimril]

@The Ursinologist

Hi dad,

Mom is so mene. You dessurv bettr. Come hang out. We can feest on sum todz. I kawt sum with Fleeg. One tod was his wurst enemie. It wil be tastee. Art is stoopid.

Reg

[Lail]

@Frost

Dear Ogidixea, "Dir., .missions and Asses",

You do not seem very smart. You seem to think I am not an orc of means. Lemme tell you-- I am VERY mean!!! I am Durzhat the Death-bringer! And I do not need your skullership! I will pay my way and paint the halls of your Ivory Tower red with the blood of my enemies! Just you watch!

If you reject my application, you better run! And fast, ha! I’ll see that you never write another letter again and you’ll wish one of your fell beasts ate you for brekkies. Don’t believe me? I know where you live. It’s not hard to find your disgustingly offensive white tower.

Name: Durzhat
Occupation: Messengorc
SAT (Sauronic Aptitude Test) score: 660
ACT (Assassination Count Total) score: 92
Extracurriculars: President, First Lady and Founding Father of the Fleeg Fan Club
reigning grog-snorting champion at The Tickled Troll
Tied for second place neck-and-neck in the Mordor Marathon Mayhem
murder-by-machete
mud bathing

Statement of Interest: read my letters, dingbat!

References: good luck I hope you can talk to the dead. they sure know how good I am at killing!!

Not yours,
Not kindly,
with no regards whatsoever
& you better give me a winged beastie OR ELSE,

Durzhat

This time, Durzhat keeps the abused copy of “The Ways of the Educated Uruk”. She has seen what happens to messengorcs who lose their limbs and that shire ain’t pretty. This is her retirement plan. If it doesn’t work out, she can always use the pages for TP.

[The Good Hunter]

To “Durzhat the Death-bringer”

I do not doubt that you are “mean” but my pet hamster is mean and that does not qualify him to be entered int our program. Mean is the basic mode of living in Mordor. If you were not “mean” I would assume you were already dead and eaten by your brothers and sisters. I do hope you have brothers and sisters that would eat you. It would do well on your application. It would show gumption on your part. You do know what that is, correct? Of course you do. You’re an orc of means after all.

I think you mean “scholarship” and you are in urgent, nay I think desperate need of it. Thankfully for you, scholarship isn’t really needed in our department. It’s more a suggestion that you take up in your free time (and is not a suggestion at all). Skullership though might be up your alley. If riding a fell beast does not work out for you and you aren’t eaten by your mount, I know several work study programs that could be of interest to you. It’s a smelly job, but you seem the kind to love getting your hands, and feet, and torso, and face, dirty. I hope you aren’t squeamish. How do you feel about boiling and cleaning the flesh off bones? I hear there is an opening in the kitchen staff janitorial staff. I can put in a good word for if you’d like me to pass along your interest?

Now onto the meat of your application.

First of all, I am impressed with your scores. Your SATs and ACTs prove that, at the very least, you are terrible at coming up with realistic lies for your numbers. I applaud your audacity. That is the kind of spirit we need in the program. It really makes the higher ups happy to see the young and down-on-their-luck reaching for the heights. It’s arrogant nitwits like you that die loudly and wetly preserver and conquer your personality flaws. While belief in yourself won’t stop a fell beast from biting your head off, it certainly helps you get close enough for it to happen.

I’m not sure who Fleeg is or why he has a fan club, but I suppose being the President, First Lady, and Founding Father is impressive. We welcome a diverse organization and welcome orcs from all ways of life. We have a very robust LGBTQIA+ chapter where I think you will in wonderfully. You didn’t mention being genderfluid on your previous application, however. I want to assure you that it is nothing to be ashamed of.

What is a Tickled Troll and why were you snorting grog with it?

Coming in first in the marathon would have served better on your resumé, but I suppose at this point beggars can’t be choosers. Second place may by the first loser, but it also the place where you can improve to not be a loser. You will have your physical work cut out for you. We do expect body to be as sharp and deadly as the mind. Second place, Miss Durzhat, will not be tolerated if you are accepted into the program.

Murder and mud bathing are not skills in the same way sleeping and eating are not skills.

Your statement of interest is lacking, to say the least, but at least it’s concise and to the point.

Without references we can’t really verify any of the nonsense you are passing off as reason to bring you aboard, but the fell beasts do need a diverse source of protein in their diet.

You will hear from enrollment and financial aid within a week. When you have accepted the classes you will take, be ready with 50% of the payment up front, otherwise there will be no financial aid. They are strict and less tolerant of silly behavior so I would not “troll” them as the kids are fond of saying these days.

Your threats make me laugh, do tell whoever taught you how to string words together that he, she, or they have earned a round at the Ungol Porter House.

Good bye, Miss Durzhat. It has not been nice communicating with you.

I hope you get eaten by your fellow students.

A pleasant, ashy day to you, Miss Durzhat
Ogidixea, Director of Admissions and Assassinations

------
@Tuilindo

[The Good Hunter]

Son,

You get me, you really get me. Why can't your mother see that I'm a good guy and she's being mean and unseason unreeesum snooty. Your grandpa was the same way. Old CROW look down his nose at me. Said I was no good for his daughter and told me I couldn't marry her. So I showed him and married your mom! He was so mad, tried to kill me at the wedding ceremony.

Your friends with a Fleeg? That's my boy! I knew you were the better son. Your rite wright... yes. Art is dumb. if he were so smart he wouldnt still be in schoool. Ha! what a loser. Too bad Fleeg isn't your brother. I like him like a son. Does he have a dad?

Toads sound good. I'll bring the ghost peppers

Dad. Hârry

-------
@Zôrzimril

[The Good Hunter]

Dear Blinky,

Please allow me to congratulate you, albeit somewhat late, on your retirement from the horrific sport of “lava snake racing”. I applaud your courage and your cleverness upon deciding to leave, it is not an easy thing to escape from. I pray that future generations of lava snakes see you as an example and throw off the shackles of racing and rise up against their oppressors. No more will lava snakes be subject to the whims and desires of the bourgeoise classes of orc and human. No longer will the working classes be oppressed by those who believe wealthy stands as a shield against reality. With your example, the working class will rise up and overthrow their master, they will take the very whips from their hands and cast them into the fires. Mordor is meant to be a free, classless society, Mordor is meant to be a paradise for all, not just a few.

I will say no more yet, out of respect for your bodily autonomy. I will say this, myself and a few like minded individuals are meeting in the sewers of Cirith Ungol. There is a secret meeting place there that none but the society know about. If you were so inclined, we invite you to partake in our discussions and debates. You would be a valuable asset to the Mordor Free Council, and you would be welcomed with open arms, so to speak. We are meeting again soon, should you wish to join send a letter back by return of post and I will pass along the details you will need to enter. In the meantime, please accept this gift.

A Friend

P.S. – Do not worry, I was able to send this letter without attracting the attention of one Regdûsh, your location is still a secret from him

[Along with the letter is a crate of a dozen books on political philosophy, metaphysics, historiography, linguists, and economics]

-------
@Zôrzimril

[Zôrzimril]

@Sorceress



To Whom It May Concern:

A secret society meeting in the sewers sounds splendid. However, I must admit that I am curious as to the connotation of “Free” in “Mordor Free Council.” Does it mean that you - the council - provide counsel at no cost? Does the Council meet only to discuss matters of freedom (of the mind or body, I suppose it doesn’t much matter which in these parts)? Does it mean you are free with your resources, as in “to spend without restraint”? I will admit that the provided tomes (a very generous gift, indeed) did not illuminate this matter fully. Your introductory paragraph implies one specific meaning of the word “free,” but I am a curious snake and would like to be sure. Plus, I don’t know you.

Anyway. Pending clarification on this matter, I should be happy to receive details about some sewage-strewn meeting and await your reply.

Yours,

Blinky

[Zôrzimril]

@Sorceress



Hay Dad,

That was fun!! Todz are deelishus. I likd when we ripd off all four legs. Gost pepers are taystee. Thanks for shoing them to me. Fire in the holl!

Bye,

Reg

[The Good Hunter]

Sön,

Haha! Fleeg catching on fire after he eight those peppers was the best. Little goblins make big flames.

We should do that to you’re mom. Trick her and her other sun, whatshisface, into eating them. Then they burn all they’re books on accident and get real mad! It’s to bad they don’t like toads like you and Fleeg. There uppity. That’s a word I learned from listening in the market twoday. Uppity means snooty and dumb.

I think your mom is going too ask for a divorce soon. She won’t listen two any of my poetry or beet boxing. And she won’t let me back inn the house. Do you know any good lawyers? By the way, I herd snails were good to eat with toads. Maybe we should kelebreight sellabright go get drunk at the Troll’s Bellybutton.

Däd

PS - Was it the toads we eight or do you have little mushroom people in you’re cave?

--------
@Zôrzimril

[Arnyn]

Found an egg!

Also: Dear Mairon
@Csevet Aisava

I understand it wasn't exactly right to send this reply back as if I am asking for more advice, hence the slightly different way of addressing this message. I understand that the gist of your advice is: Get a grip and explore your options. Although I won't be exploring slavery, thank you.

Regardless of how the tone may have been perceived, the core of the message was well received.

Sincerely,
Mr Out-of-Work

[Csevet Aisava]

OOC: What's an egg? EDIT: I have figured out the egg mystery.
@Arnyn
------

The Intern, fetcher of coffee extraordinaire, she/her

Dear Mr. Out-of-Work,

Thank you for your kind words! We here at Rodrom, LLC are more than happy to receive your messages through any means of address, so long as they reach us, and were happy to receive your follow-up. Of course, we recognize that in many locales it is considered outside the norm to explore servitude as an option, and we respect and understand your hesitation to do so. That said, we are also committed to ensuring that those who reach out to us are aware of all the options at their disposal, including those which may not be considered traditional. After all, I understand that even the greatest among the Maiar were created in the beginning to serve the Valar, and many of them have found a great deal of fulfillment and satisfaction in doing so over the past millennia!

Assuming that you remain committed to a change of career, Mr. Mairon and I would reiterate his advice to consider simply picking one of the options available to you and sticking with it for a while. In reading your first letter, something which stood out to me a great deal was your use of the word "seems" — being a professional hunter seems like a lonely life, interior politics seem incredibly boring. Our concern for you would be that you might miss out on what you may come to find are deeply fulfilling roles, simply because of not-yet-proven pre-existing ideas about what they might be like.

Take interior politics, for example. While these may not draw national headlines in the same manner as international politics, even the local mayor of a settlement too small to be featured on any map has the ability to positively impact the lives of their constituents if they choose to do so. Arbitrating matters of local sanitation, building codes, business licensing, public health, and so forth might appear dull at first glance, but think of what all of those things mean to the people of that settlement. To a person who might otherwise live their entire life in a squalid, ramshackle town where disease runs rampant, those things mean the world.

Wishing you the best on your future endeavors,
The Intern

(23)

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

A snowy-white gyrfalcon will arrive at the Temple of Sauron in Umbar, with a small backpack affixed to the bird. Inside is a letter, tightly rolled up and sealed with wax, with the letters 'AA' stamped into the wax.

The letter is addressed to Pharak, High Priest of the Temple of Zigûr
House of Halsad, Umbar

Inside reads:

Greetings,

I am aware that it has been some time since I last contacted you, but I believe my recent findings ought to thoroughly compensate for that. Through a very fortunate chain of coincidence, I have recently learned something of great interest, which has led me to investigate further. Perhaps it was not at all a coincidence after all, as I am sure you would say. Perhaps, these matters were guided by the influence of our revered Lord Zigûr. Whatever the case, I shall get straight to the point. I am pleased to report, with absolute certainty, that your old friend, Raxelilta, has returned to the White City.

As of the writing of this letter, he is laying low, hiding out in an obscure shop, which is not open for business. I have made some inquiries about the place, and it seems that it is owned by one Ilisys Azrubel, of whom I am vaguely familiar, mostly by reputation as a 'lady knight' of Dol Amroth, turned Ranger in recent times. As for Raxelilta, he has yet to make contact with any of his relatives, and seems to be keeping his presence a secret from them, at great lengths. As a result, neither his brother, nor his nephew have indicated any knowledge of his being anywhere in the vicinity. As far as I have been able to learn, there are only two people besides myself who are aware of his presence, much less his identity. Those people are; firstly, the Lady Ilisys Azrubel, formerly of Lond Col, who is harboring him, and secondly, a man who seems to be a close friend of his from childhood. The only name I was able to discover for this man is 'Duinion', but judging from their conversation, it seems they were, at one time, quite close friends.

As for other the matters which you have requested of me, I regret to write that there is very little to report in those areas. Still, I am making steady progress, which will surely prove that patience and determination do, certainly, bring results in the end. Regardless of that, I am writing to you now because I felt that you would be most interested to learn of Raxelilta's recent activities, given the long history between you and he. I shall await a reply from you through the usual means of correspondence, in the event you should have any messages for your old "friend".

Cordially, your most enthusiastic pupil,
Nâluthor

[The Good Hunter]

It was time to put this place under new management. Whoever had been running the Post Office before the Fall had been, wait, had there been a person running the Post Office? Well, if there had been they were the worst organizer in the history of organization. There was so much disorganization that one could call it cluttered and misorganization. They ought to be sued for… Qrarru stopped his internal monologue a moment, realizing the lack a governmental system meant a lack of a judicial system which in turn meant, well it didn’t mean there were no courts where civil suits could be brought, but it did mean the process was made more difficult. He laughed. Who would have thought that the ultra-bureaucracy of Mordor could have actually made things more efficient? He shook his head. It was such a sad irony. Maybe one day it could return. No, he was being unrealistic, foolish, nostalgic. The days of inefficient governments were over, never to return. Lawlessness and kangaroo courts were the order of the day, and spike clad arena warriors fighting over water. What even was a kangaroo and why did it have courts? The world made no more damned sense!

The goblin slapped himself. This was no time for him to get sidetracked by the voiceless monologues that played in his head. He could not entertain them now. He had work to do. What work was that? Well the damn most important task in all the world (for the moment)! He was commandeering the Post Office! No one gave a thought to the place in the shuffle after the war. They just ran past it, carrying whatever pitchfork or torch they could carry. No one gave a hoot about the library. Except Qrarru. He had a plan, a cunning plan, a brilliant plan! Now would have been the perfect time for ominous, grandiose laughter and a bolt of lightning.

But Qrarru didn’t have time for that! He had had to make sense of the Post Office and the organizations and categorizations it used. Men (Men!) had been using it in the past, he could see notations and bird droppings that pointed toward the Harbor City down south. Qrarru spat in distaste. Men! What were they good for, absolutely nothing. This was a goblin’s world! When he ran the place Men were going to have pay double for using his services. No more freebies. Clearly the old owner was a pisspot and a softie. Probably a sympathizer too. Those sorts of people were the worst.

He slapped himself again, using his left hand this time (balance and all that). FOCUS QRARRU!

He who owns the Post Office controls the information.

At least that’s what he thought. He grabbed a bunch of paper began crumpling it up indiscriminately. He lit a match, throw it in a bowl, and tossed all the crumpled paper inside.

Best just to start over. Anyone who didn’t get their mail or their money would just have to suck it up.

[Pele Alarion]

@Isolde Alarion

To Dahak,

For your information:
The gift was retrieved, not wholly spoiled but in a rather sorry state. I am not sure it matches the tone of your previous message.
By the way, people are not considered THINGS to be gifted in Gondor.
I hope you will make some conclusions from this.

Signed,
Pele Alarion

[The Good Hunter]

Giqhoqha was not one for frilly, over-the-top decorativity. She found the addition of vivid colors, shapes, curlicue fonts to be a waste of time, not to mention eyesores. When it came to advertising, she preferred a much more direct, pragmatic approach. She’d been spying on people as they came in and out of Mordor the last few months, writing down names of people who might be amenable (or not, for this scheme it really didn’t matter) and filing them away. Once the spa, renamed as the “Black Star and Sand Spa”, was renovated, cleaned, and ready for business, she planned on sending out a few thousand flyers to these names, flooding them and inundating them with exhortations to come to the spa. It was a risky move, an expensive move, but Giqhoqha knew she needed to be bold (and possibly annoying) in order to get noticed. While there was no competition for the Black Star and Sand Spa, in fact there wasn’t much of anything, traffic in Mordor had gone starkly in the opposite direction and she needed to pull it back, by any means necessary. Originally, her tribe had been farmers and ranchers, persuading stubborn donkeys or stupid sheep to go in the direction she wanted was in her blood, even if she never actually did any shepherding. This was going to be much the same, she assumed.

The invitations themselves were not precocious or flamboyant, they were direct, sensible, and to the point.

Giqhoqha was pleased with them. On the one side was the invitation, an alluring picture of the spa drawn in a woodcut style with “Grand Re-Opening” and “under new management” written above and below, respectively. On the reverse, Giqhoqha wrote out handwritten notes to each of the recipients. It was a form letter, of course, she didn’t have the time, creativity, or patience for a personal plea to each one of them, but since the whole thing was hand written anyway it lent itself an air of personability. Exactly what the middle-aged goblinette was going for.

---

Dear [Insert Name],

Things have been quiet in Mordor lately, something I’m sure you’ve noticed. We at the Black Star and Sand Spa aim to change that. Formerly the “Uhhhhhhhh Spa”, we have rebranded under new management to better serve our clientele and our community. The previous management let the place fall into ruin. We do not plan on doing such, we plan on revitalizing the whole of Mordor. Our homeland doesn’t deserve to rot and waste away!

We also recognize that enticement is needed after so long. The Uhhhhhhh Spa made many promises and delivered on exactly none of them. While we at Black Star and Sand cannot be held legally responsible for the failures of the previous management, we do want to make things up to our new potential members. For starters, any new member of the Spa (that’s you) can gain access to an unprecedented amount perks including private rooms, special rotating menus, special, experimental treatments, and dozens more! And the first dozen new members can get this for a reduced price! Naturally, we are up for negotiations.

The era of Fleeg is over, the era of The Black Star and Sand has begun!

---

Giqhoqha was apprehensive about any of this working. She was confident, of course, but the threat of failure loomed heavy just over her shoulder. It was now or never. She paid the extortionist fee to Qrarru to mail her flyers out, took a deep breath, and said a little prayer to whatever dark god might bestow some luck on her.

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@Rillewen @Pele Alarion @Lantaelen @Isolde Alarion @Chrysophylax Dives @Rior Laegiel @Drifa @Fuin Elda @Romeran

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Dear Giqhoqha,

Thank you for your letter. It felt timely. I came to the plaza for Lore but over the last half year have been exploring the lower regions. I tried being a tree in Fangorn, but I discovered my heart was rotten like Old Man Willow. I tried being a Hill, like a Hobbit's Burrow, but my internal corridor has a corner, and I discovered that I was really a Barrow. I even helped set up a new colony of Undertowers in the Shire, which is where the Elvish light is focused, but the result was the establishment of an ugly huorn-breeding farm on the Westmarch reminscent of The Island of Dr. Moreau (did you ever read? H.G. Wells' most disturbing story). And the thing is, the huorn-breeding was far more fun than reading stupid books in Dwarvish in the Elvish Library of Undertowers (we developed a special technique that allows living birds to be grafted into the branches of walking trees, thereby allowing eggs to be harvested from trees, ensuring that one can pick breakfast and then cook it, just so long as one has a frying pan handy). So I am considering making a kingdom change and checking in at the Black Star and Sand Spa.

My one concern. I already have one strike. A second is said to be pending. So that leaves only one left. I worry that realizing my authentic inner nature in Mordor will see me banned from the plaza as quick as you can say 'rocks to the head'.

Sincerely,
Chrys. Dives

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Dear Giqhoqha,

I would not have you think me infirm of purpose; yet, with sorrow in my heart, I must after all decline any Mordor invitation. I wish you all the luck in Middle-earth, and hope to post on the occasional thread. But for me to switch kingdom to Mordor would, I now think, invite catastrophe.

I feel I owe you some explanation. Briefly, it is this. Within an uncertain world in which rationality has its limits each one of us must still make decisions. For myself, Crom, as a gloomy and savage god who never replies, is much like all the others, and I do not ask those ones for advice. Instead I read omens.

Today, a few hours after posting an enthusiastic response to the Mordor Spa circular I was bitten in the leg by a dog as I got into my car after visiting a friend (to whom I was bringing groceries as he is laid up after an operation, may I add).

While any correlation or connection between the two events may be purely accidental, I choose to suspect an omen. As my current plaza strike position is precarious, as noted, I think that for the time being I should confine myself to posting in Lore, where I may be better protected against the weather. I will of course do my utmost best to drive other plaza members to Mordor.

In the meanwhile, I have every faith in your ability to stoke the fires of the nameless land and look forward to the hatching of a new (or rehabilitated) army of Mordor goblins.

Regretfully,
Chrys. Dives

[The Good Hunter]

Dear Mr. Dives,

I was surprised to hear back from you not once but twice in such a short time. The contents of both letters, while melancholic, fills me with some hope for the future. I cannot pretend to understand many of your references, for example what is this “plaza” you speak of, additionally I am unsure what a strike is and why you are afraid of an impending third, but I will respect them as you seem to be a… tree(?) of some note. From the tales I heard about ents and huorns, those that managed to reach these blasted lands, I assumed you were slow and ponderous, more prone to meandering and lollygagging about, I see though my assumptions of your race need to be evaluated and reconstructed.

While I might not understand all the particulars of your reticence to come to Mordor, I do understand the root cause. Concerning Mr. Wells, his texts are hard to come by out here, there are a few rare book sellers at the black market but you would be shocked at the extortionist rates they charge. I have managed to steal a copy of the Invisible Man and a book of short stories, but this “Island of Dr. Moreau” is not one I have managed to come across. Perhaps I need to scavenge deeper in other areas, I hear Minas Morgul has a decent library and with it being abandoned by all but the most ghastly of ghosts, I will look there. If we are trading recommendations for reading, might I suggest Jack Williamson? He was a pioneer of the golden age of “science fiction” (whatever that means). I think you might find his tales agreeable.

Worry not about your morality here in Mordor and the Sword of Damocles you feel hanging over you. I have given into some quite horrific urges (not the least of which was anthropophagery) and have yet to receive warning. Evil, as some say, is more fun.

However, I shall respect your boundaries (something we do here in Mordor despite slander from certain Tarkish influences) and wish you well. Perhaps one day you will be able to “simply walk into Mordor” and on that day, make sure I am the one attending you, not my brothers.


Yours respectfully,
Giqhohqha

P.S. In order to ensure the prompt delivery of certified letters, one must pay Qrraru a nominal fee

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@Chrysophylax Dives

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Certified letter for Giqhohqha. Nominal fee deposited outside the door plus tip (the heads of 3 Tolkien scholars in a basket, for preservation, edifaction, or consumption at your pleasure).


Dear Giqhohqha,

This is not the reply to your kind letter of May 06 that I have been mulling ever since I had the pleasure to read it. That letter I still hope to see delivered, by someone else. Indeed, I have passed the matter on to higher authorities and will now bug them about it now and then, as the whim takes, because sure as the nameless land they aint gonna sort out the postal service anytime soon. Actually, it is on related matters that I have felt compelled to walk myself into the Mordor post office with this second letter for your good self.

Giqhohqha, let us stop smearing porridge over a clean table. You and I both know that evil is found in a fairy-story and that in the real world the operative word is power. O to have the power of the great Troll and be able to blast the entire universe (what some call 'the plaza') into smithereens just at the touch of a button! But alas, the likes of you and I are not entrusted with that power which is rightfully ours and which we - not these others - we would wield so wisely. After all, have we not all our lives watched those with power abuse it? Have we not learned along the way? But we are left out in the cold while others fiddle with lightning strikes, postal services, and the Halls of Injustice.

So basically, my dear Giqhohqha, I was very much hoping that you would have some power put in your hands and have been buttering you up accordingly. As things turn out, I see no need to change policy but a new need to speak more plainly.

At present I am in feud with two, who I will not name because it would no doubt fall foul of some ridiculous nuplaza bylaw. Let us call one The Ranger and the other Büboshâ. The second might be known to you as a denizen of Mordor. I fear both but until around now felt protected by the fact that the pair had sworn some Tarkish oath of adminstration to keep their patience and not bite, flog, or maim those who displeased them. Now things are changed and I need to watch my back. But I was already watching my back because I am also feuding with the Dwarves, and now am bumping into things in front of me. Even the Librarian at Undertowers is giving me the cold shoulder. It is too much! I am in dire need of allies.

I propose an alliance between Undertowers and Mordor - you keep your goblin in order and we will keep the butter flowing out of Fangorn and resume huorn-egg production in the Shire (we went off the grid this last month due to storms*).

Yours hopefully,
Dr Dives

* I really do recommend Wells' Island of Dr. Moreau, though it is deeply disturbing.

@The Good Hunter

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Certified letter for Giqhohqha. Nominal fee for Qrraru deposited outside the door - head of 1 Old Lorist (apologies, I was in a hurry and have no spare heads to tip.)

Dear Giqhohqha,

Thank you and Outis for writing and delivery of a letter about a week ago. It was barely gummed. I have not enjoyed reading a letter so much for many a year. The goblin goddess is obeyed, feared, and revered. And I did not know how quite how old you were, though I knew of course that I was addressing the Balrog.

Negotiatons can take so long to arrive at a mutual understanding. Heads in baskets is so much more efficient than the written word as a mode of communication. But I will attempt to answer some of your questions freely. The official certificate that hangs on the wall of my office in the middle Elf-tower in the Westmarch is a forgery. But I pass as a doctor of egg-burglary and - this is true - learned my trade from Gollum's grandmother in the long ago (but we did apprenticeships, not doctorates in those days). This fake doctorate was invented on reading your letter above, which also explains my unwillingness to enter Mordor to say this - but well, here we are. I have learned here in recent years to mind my pronouns, or to try to, and that it matters. On my part, I never hitherto questioned my pronoun preference, and feel too old and tired to care. But I do respect that other people do care. Well, it is not of the same dimension of significance, to be sure, but I cannot abide 'Mr.', mister. Titles are optional, and are certainly not expected, but if applied my preference is Dr. (abbreviated or full spelling, as you please).

So, what have you to gain from an alliance with Undertowers in the Shire? Well, is that not for you to determine for yourself? Who am I to say what you wish and how an alliance might foster such dreams? That is for you to work out - and then you could tell me what you wish.

For my part, I just think we have come down to the point where (a) this place has shrunk almost to oblivion and does not have a good self-image, and (b) we are all old enough and have been around the block enough times in our own worlds and also in feuding with one another, that we could change that around. An alliance would have us talking all the way from Mordor up to Lore and down again - the dog can wag the tail, for a change.

For myself, after a day's head-hunting, it would be good to know that I have a place where I don't have to watch my back. I am not sure what I can give aside from a scalp every now and again. I would offer eggs, but the truth of the matter is that all my eggs are stolen from here, so that would just be internal circulation.

Well, I am sure I have missed something. O yes. What Mordor has to gain is a Library and a place to discuss fin-de-siecle literature, and related matters (such as why the previous administration allowed an illegal huorn-breeding program to be set up in the Shire?)

Yours sincerely,
Chrys. Dives.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Certified letter for Giqhohqha. Nominal fee for Qrraru: IOU 1 head.

This letter was originally deposited in a drop box in Rohan but the Dwarves (with whom I am feuding at present) made a fuss and I had to pick it up and deliver it here myself.

Dear Giqhohqha,

I am a DRAGON, yes. But for the umpteenth time, please take the time to read your source material. To think that on the plaza I would encounter two Goblins in succession who do not recognize the dragon who is before their eyes. I am a TAME DRAGON. Although the taming is not something I wish ever to go through again - possibly the most horrendous experience of my life. Still, I am out the other side and for this reason the Elf from Rivendell who is our official Adamanta Chubb Librarian trusts me with the keys to all three towers. The Hobbits of Undertowers I don't really care about - the point is Undertowers, or rather the towers above Undertowers, or rather Elostirion, the tallest and most western of the three towers, or rather the Stone in the topmost chamber of Elostirion. As I said, I am an egg-burglar, but were I to get my hands on this Stone I could retire from the business. Too high a price? Domestication was humiliating. I gave up my pride, just to get my hands on a precious stone. In youth my pride would have held me back. I've reached a time in life where a precious stone would mean a lot, but I have to level with you that my pride would still rebel, were it not for the wider rewards on offer. This is the brutal lesson that I learned back in October, and, deep down, why I court your powers of chaos and darkness. Domestication is a local affair, and to speak bluntly, there is not much to eat around here these days anyway. Much more living blood is to be found outside our borders. The Eye in your Mordor Tower seeks to look out over all of Middle-earth. From our Elf-tower we are trying to look outside our universe, and so open a door. When we succeed – well, O great, revered, and thrice-worshiped Goblin, I tell you that there is a vaster realm than you know awaiting your dominion. I reckon I can open the door without the admins raising an eyebrow. But I have no chance if I walk through that door alone. Once we are stepping outside, we will need all the hellish devilry that you can brew up, and more.

Dr. Dives

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Certified letter for Giqhohqha. Nominal fee for Qrraru: 1 brass button, cut from the waistcoat of a dead Hobbit.

Dear Giqhohqha,

Let's talk buttons. I am now writing to you, the Supreme Goblin of Mordor, not in a personal capacity but as the servant of the Librarian of Undertowers, whose will I am bound to obey.

As we in Elostirion see it, you are a bit lost down here in Mordor, what with your once great Dark Tower but a heap of rubble on the central plane. It is not just an architectural loss, you know. When that supreme monument to darkness was demolished, Mordor lost the foundation-stone of its Dark Lore. Well, that is what we reckon after consulting the books in our Library.

Our Library, may I remind you, is housed in a white Elf-tower, and unlike Barad-dûr, Elostirion still stands. I don't mean to rub salt in the wounds of your bitter defeat, only to underline that our buttons can be silver and gold as well as brass.

We are the keepers of Lore, the only guardians who remain in this forsaken world of ours. And because we are the guardians of Lore, we know that there is not one Elvish Lore and another Lore of Mordor. No, there is but one Lore, which may be read in one of two ways, depending on what colour tower you wish to end up with.

Elostirion is committed to Diversity and Inclusivity in the reading and borrowing of its great treasure of books, and we do not wish to hoard our Lore knowledge. Nevertheless, the Adamanta Chubb Librarian is an Elf from Rivendell and rather old-fashioned, and so still looks at things as if the aim is to educate the Goblins. Be that as it may, Undertowers proposes a twinning of two towers.

We have three Elf-towers on our Tower Hills. Really, only the western one is used. We could turn one of the other two over to you as a sort of Mordor home from home up in the western Shire. This would be sold to the Librarian as providing dorms for parties of Goblins eager to be educated. Meanwhile, if you turn one of your towers over to an Elostirion Library team we will set to work on clearing, planning, locating material, and then construction of a new Dark Tower.

Yours professionally,
Dr. Chrys. Dives PLM, servant of the mistress of Elostirion

@The Good Hunter

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Certified letter for Giqhohqha. Nominal fee for Qrraru: 2 brass buttons, cut from the waistcoat of the same dead Hobbit.

Dear Giqhohqha,
An alternative/additional suggestion. How would you feel about leading or sending out an army of Mordor to occupy Helms Deep in Rohan? We have recently claimed Orthanc in the name of Lore-in-Elostirion. If you claimed Helms Deep we can meet at the Fords of Isen for parleys and exchange of precious commodities and prisoners.
Yours faithfully,
Chrys. Dives. Slave of the Supreme Librarian

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Dear @Saranna,

How is the weather up in the Westmarch? Mordor is hot and dusty and full of ash and rubble and, generally, not very nice at all. I have been forced to walk far into its interior looking for Goblins, but the place seems almost deserted. So I guess no Goblin educational parties visiting the Library in the near future - not unless they begin breeding again. One never knows with Goblins.

Anyway, Librarian, as I am out and about - back to Isengard once I drop this off at the Mordor Post Office, and I recall that you will be leaving Elostirion following up some manuscript trails? So I thought maybe we should check in on Elostirion 'Special Collection'?

Why don't you make a list, pinned to the wall back at Elostirion, of collections scattered in the darker crevices of Middle-earth that the Library might wish to transfer to the Westmarch for safe-keeping? I was thinking of the forgotten lore books of the Dwimorberg, for example, and the lost lore of Angband. Between you and me, I've already been keeping an eye out for this stuff - but is there anything specific you wish us to get our hands on sooner rather than later?

Yours as ever,
Minion of the Library & Slave of the Adamanta Chubb Librarian, the One Ruler of Elostirion,
Chrys. Dives