The Hobbit INSANITY: A Somewhat Expected Quest

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

"Oh, that's just not fair!!!!" Thalionwen shouted, shooting up out of her seat as Azog (Sil) had one of his minions fling a lumpy, extremely hard-looking bag at Thrain (Lirimaer). The supposed dwarf prince was already down and bleeding profusely, and while Thali's personal moral code was more or less in a free-fall of late, she did have some sense of honor left. The sort that meant you didn't throw hard objects at actors who were already exsanguinating before an audience.

"BOOOO AZOG, BOOOOOO," she called out, getting quite into the spirit of things. And while she should have been firmly on the side of evil, given the setting and the audience, there was something about the Pale Orc that just rubbed her the wrong way. He seemed very full of his own virtue and talent, and Thali thought he needed to be taken down a peg. Besides, it would be incredibly satisfying to see a rotten tomato splatter against all that flour.

Fishing beneath her seat, she found the squishiest, most noxious, maggot-riddled tomato in her bucket, took careful aim, and let it fly, hoping it would hit that pompous Azog square in the face.

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Dimcairien, an elf, playing Balin

As Dimcairien once again struggled to her feet, even stronger burning smells entered her nostrils. She looked around and saw Dwalin waving around the Oakenshield, which clearly was on fire by this point. And then the ent came barrelling out of nowhere shouting something about her stick being on fire. Breaking into spontaneous song, Dimcairien as Balin sang out as loudly as she could, while drukenly gesticulating at the ent "This girl is on fire. This girl is on fire. She's walking on fire. This girl is on fire."

And then out of nowhere, squishy, stinky objects started to pelt the stage. Dimcairien was in absolutely no way able to keep her balance and avoid the projectiles. "Hey!" she shouted to no one in particular, "Watch where you're aiming those things! You'll shoot my eye out!" She blinked, and suddenly there was the sound of rushing water, Nuren Natural Water, to be precise. "First a fire, then a flood," she mumbled, "what's next, an earthquake and tornado? Might as well have all the elements destroy the stage."

She stumbled and run upstage in the hopes of avoiding both drowning by flood and become an elven work of modern art dotted in various shades of rot.

[Lirimaer]

Ears - former slave/Easterling shadow dancer (on the run) - audience and aspiring actor: THRAIN

In the darkness of the wings, the spider Kristel (Kirstel) lurked, but she was evidently busy with all her legs - knitting or something and totally focused. She crept up behind the spider and eyed its spinnarets warily. She'd heard it didn't hurt spiders to be milked, but the prospect of doing it to one this size filled her with terror.

Of course, it wouldn't hurt to try. Well, it might hurt a lot, but she was here, anyway. Might as well take advantage of it.

Her hand was just below the spinnarets when a little balloon of spider silk wafted out and burst on her hand. Did the spider just FART on her? Disgusting. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, and with a little spider silk now stuck to her hand, she drew it back to herself slowly, winding it around her wounded palm. She cut the excess with her knife, but there was a commotion on the stage - was that water? It sounded like a waterfall.

She stood up in a hurry, and backed away toward the stage, but the spider had turned too, eight malevolent black eyes glinting in the darkness. She stumbled backwards as the spider moved, prehistoric menace in every twitching limb, falling over a barrel and lurching backward into Stage Hand #7 who was oiling (IN A FIRE?!) the very cardboard enemy which had caused this foolish course of events. Durin's Bane, untouched at this time by water, was still standing malevolently proud, or was, until she stumbled into him.

Having learnt not to grab His Demonic Paperyness, she brushed past him with her beard, turning at the last minute so that she was going forward, such was her fear of the spider, she kept going ...

She arrived on stage unceremoniously, unfortunately stopping in front of the mean Elf playing Azog, who'd hate her stealing his/her/its limelight. She skipped away from any excitable machinations with swords, just in time to avoid a flying tomato. What? Was this part of the show now? She'd thought this was Serious Acting. Well, to be fair she was one long scene away from believing any such thing, but still. She was forgetting where she'd run off to, Mordor wasn't quite going to be like the sophisticated halls of Khandish nobility.

Unfortunately she'd skipped haphazardly across the stage avoiding the water, and this landed her out of the proverbial frying pan and into literal fire. Her bearskin beard, apparently coming away oily from its brief meeting with Durin's Bane burst into bright flame, and she tore the thing off in a hurry, chucking it away from herself out into the audience - not intentionally, of course, but the aerodynamics of currently-immolated triangular bearskins have not been exhaustively tested.

She couldn't worry about that right now though, because her woollen coat was uncomfortably warm - oh turdbuckets, it was starting to singe!

She shrieked as the back of the coat erupted into flame, looking uncannily like the Dread Pirate Roberts, that Easterling balrog bogeyman who would come for your souls - but this was no holocaust cloak! She threw herself into the nearest torrent of water, rolling over and over to staunch the fire.

The last thing she saw before she rolled right off the stage into the pit was the glassy murderball eyes of Kirstel (Kristel) looming over her.

[Laintaen]

Dworc, a Dwarf-Orc, playing Dwalin

There were certainly a large number of aspects to Dworc's current situation that were hazardous to her health, not least of which was the fact that she was in Mordor. The stage was on fire, one of the actors may have actually murdered another, the makeup artist was a spider the size of a horse and the audience had joined in the fun of throwing items at the actors.

But it is a truth universally acknowledged that there exists nothing more dangerous on Arda than an Ent who has just realised you stole one of her branches and set it on fire.

The righteously enraged Thorin barreled towards her. Dwalin might have stood his ground but Dworc considered which was likely to hurt more: death by Ent, or jumping straight into the ever growing flames. Unfortunately, one of those choices was taken out of her hands as a deluge of water erupted from all over, dousing the burning torch, "her" trusty branch and the Oakenshield. A rogue splash managed to douse one side of her, washing off half her mud and giving her a Harvey Dent-esque appearance.

By the time she was able to take stock of her new look and turn her attention back to the multitude of threats, Thorin had taken the Oakenshield. The branch was still by her feet and it seemed so disappointed at being ignored by its former owner that it only gave Dworc a small pinch as she reclaimed it.

Dworc looked around at the unfolding chaos around her. It was really quite overwhelming.

To the Void with this, she thought.

She picked up a discarded goblet once used by Balin, scooped up some water, and proceeded to heat it over the flames still smoldering from Dain's discarded beard. I need a cup of tea, she thought, pulling Orf's tea bags from her pocket.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien, playing AZOG

Chaos had erupted throughout the stage - not unusual for one of Orco Del Orco's productions. Silarien had known the orc was volatile when she'd agreed to work with him, but wasn't that indicative of talent? At any rate, this certainly explained the contract she'd had to sign and why the disclaimer had lengthily explained that there would be no claims available against injury, death, scalding, being drenched by water, tomatoes, and numerous other things. In fact the print became so fine it was scarcely readable. Amazing how Orco had managed to write this out with his great clunky hammer hands really - this was the sort of finesse Silarien expected from an Elf. Perhaps he had an Elf lawyer? Seemed as plausible as anything else that was going on here.

At any rate, she had to remain IN CHARACTER, it was very important for her ART. In the spirit of doing so, she raised her enormous blade and contemptuously used it to fend off some of the tomatoes. Azog wouldn't look nearly as dramatic splattered in tomato juice. Unless she could use it to symbolise blood, somehow? Orcs probably rolled in rotten tomato juice all the time, the filthy beggars.

[Aerlinn]

Orf -- Disposable Dwarf Soldier, actually a dwarf

There was fire, there was flooding, there was blood oozing through the boards of the stage, but there was definitely no sign of liquid left in Orf's goblet. Well, at least it had a decent weight to it. He hefted it in the hand not holding onto his shabby excuse for an axe and hurled it into the chaos. It bounced off the floor a few feet away.

Something rotten flew past him. A tree hurled itself across the stage. He dared a glimpse at the smoking cardboard cutout being dragged into the wings and a sweet little piano melody began running through his head. Huh? Was someone singing?

Orf shook his head to clear it and Kirstel's (Krislet's?) rat-skin toupee went spinning into the remaining flames, where a...thing, playing Dwalin, appeared to be brewing a cup of tea. The moldy pelts lent a fragrant new note to the stench of burning hair and scummy steam that had pervaded the theater. Then, at the edge of his vision, he saw his doom. Another huge barrel of Nurnen Natural Water was being heaved onto the stage, right at him. Would he drown in its ash-stained depths or was this his moment to prove his worth to the art of theater?

It was not.

"T'DR'DUZK B'HAZG T'T! T'DR'DUZK B'HAZG T'T! T'DR'DUZK B'HAZG T'T!" Orf yelled, and raised his axe over his head to charge into what was left of the fray. But the edge of his boot caught the goblet he had chucked away and his left leg shot sideways. The dwarf tumbled face first into the floorboards and skidded into the middle of the stage. The rough wood of the stage ripped away at his makeshift beard, revealing his bare chin and trembling jaw. He scrambled to hide the shameful sight in his hands even has he heard another rush of splashing water...

[KingODuckingham]

Ducky playing Dain

Nobody had responded to the call for revolution. At least, not directly. The opportunity was slipping away. There would be no dwarven proletariat. There would be no classless dwarven nation. There would be no Dain Oakenshield. Ducky slumped to his knees in despair as the tomatoes began flying. He knew now he had misunderstood. Thror was dead. The revolution was also dead. There was no part left to play but that of the martyr. He looked up to the heavens.

"Mahal, forgive them, for they know not what they do." he whispered quietly.

He heard a voice. No, really, he actually heard a voice respond to his prayer.

"HELL NO." it said. "WHAT, DID YOU MISTAKE ME FOR THE KIND OF GOD THAT FORGIVES? IT IS NOT FORGIVENESS I GRANT, BUT RETRIBUTION. DAIN, I HAVE CHOSEN YOU TO BECOME MY INSTRUMENT, MY AVATAR. ARISE."

Ducky looked around furtively. Was anyone else hearing this? Was this in the script? He was pretty sure this was not in the script. Then again, neither were tomatoes.

"ARIIIIIISE" the voice said again, insistently. Ducky struggled back to his feet, buckling a bit under the weight of his costume. It really didn't fit well.

"YOU SHALL DO MY WONDERS, DAIN." the voice continued.

"Okay, okay, this really isn't funny." Ducky said out loud in a not-Dain voice. "Who is projecting that voice at me?"

"THEY CANNOT HEAR YOU FOR THE MOMENT, DAIN." the voice said. "I HAVE CAPTURED YOUR BODY ALONG WITH YOUR ATTENTION. YOU WILL BE RELEASED BACK TO THE PLANE OF MIDDLE-EARTH MOMENTARILY, WHEN YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU MUST DO."

"Wait, so what is everyone seeing while we're having this conversation?" Ducky asked skeptically. "And why do you keep calling me Dain, I'm not even a dwarf."

"DO NOT UTTER BLASPHEMY, DAIN." the voice thundered. "YOU ARE MY CHILD, THIS DAY HAVE I BEGOTTEN YOU. YOU ARE AS I SAY YOU ARE, AND YOU ALSO ARE HUDDLED IN THE FETAL POSITION ON THE STAGE, SOMEWHERE BACKSTAGE LEFT."

Ducky wanted to roll his eyes a bit, but he was also getting rather scared. "Are you for real? And how am I supposed to dodge those tomatoes that are being thrown if I'm all curled up?"

"PERHAPS YOU WILL LEARN SOMETHING NEW ABOUT REALITY, DAIN. BUT DODGING TOMATOES? YOU WON'T."

The voice continued talking to Ducky, explaining to him the new rules by which Dain must act...

[Rivvy Elf]

Dice Rolls:

WHO GETS TO BE EARN THE TITLE OF OAKENSHIELD: I loved all your posts, so you all had as much of a chance as Oakenshield being completely incinerated and nobody earning the title.

Legend Key: 1- NOBODY. 2-THORIN. 3-BALIN. 4-DWALIN. 5-DAIN
Results: 100 5-sided die were cast. 1 was rolled 23 times. 2 was rolled 17 times. 3 was rolled 20 times. 4 was rolled 16 times. 5 was rolled 24 times. DAIN HAS EARNED THE TITLE OF OAKENSHIELD! I guess your last post literally convinced the RNG gods to favor you since you won by one die roll. @Fairy Nuff: Because the RNG gods have favored Dain, I'm going to assume that your ent character, in haste, mistook one of the loose floorboards for Oakenshield.

NURNEN NATURAL WATER DELUGE

Results- Ten 6-sided die were rolled. People could earn up to a saving throw of up to 5. Damage is turned into healing if adequate conditions are met.

@Sil: You earned a saving throw of 4. Rakhash's post was hilarious, but unfortunately Silarien failed to adequately elaborate how a blade would parry the Nurnen Water. You received 3 points of damage! 3 points are deducted from your tomato points.

@Lirimaer: You earned a saving throw of 1, which is good since you're trying to douse the fire on you. You did very well in describing the chaos in the coliseum, summarizing the actions of others while continuing your interaction with the giant spider. You received 8 points of healing! 8 points are added to your tomato points.

@Dimcairien Luiniel: You earned a saving throw of 5. Your post was funny and amused me, particularly your reference to a song and elven modern art :). You received 2 points of damage! 2 points are deducted from your tomato points.

@KingODuckingham: You earned a saving throw of 5. Your post was out of this world and in a good way, we'll see how the future holds in regards to the voice. You received 0 points of damage! No points are deducted from your tomato points

@Fairy Nuff: You earned a saving throw of 1, which is good since you're trying to douse the fire on you. The post was well done, hilarious and descriptive at the same time. I could easily see the ent trying to save Oakenshield, and you used good logic in trying not to avoid the water because you are an ent, after all. You received 7 points of healing! 7 points are added to your tomato points.

@Aerlinn: You earned a saving throw of 5. I liked your amusing post including the Dwarvish. You received 2 points of damage! 2 points are deducted from your tomato points.

@Laintaen: You earned a saving throw of 3, not due to the quality of your post (you had good post quality), but because you willingly accepted half of the water deluge damage. You received 5 points of damage! 5 points are deducted from your tomato points.

@Moriel: You earned a saving throw of 1 :(. You received 8 points of damage! 8 points are deducted from your tomato points

@Loke Clogwearer: You somehow bugged out the game and earned a saving throw of 6. I don't even know how you did that, maybe it was because of your hilarious post or your epic description of the balrog's "wings." You also somehow received 10 points of healing. 10 points are added to your tomato points. A patch was soon installed and hopefully the bug is fixed.

@Oro: You earned a saving throw of 1 :(. You rolled badly for all ten die and received 10 points of damage! 8 points are deducted from your tomato points

@Landy: You earned a saving throw of 1 :(. You rolled badly for all ten die and received 10 points of damage! 8 points are deducted from your tomato points


ROTTEN TOMATO MINI GAME RESULTS:

Sil: Thalionwen threw a maggot-infested tomato at your character! Unfortunately you opted to use your weapon to parry it, but that may not prevent maggot and tomato residue from sticking to your body. You earned a saving throw of 3. You rolled a 5, and was hit by the rotten tomato! 1 point is deducted from your tomato point

~~~

NURNEN NATURAL WATER DELUGE and the ROTTEN TOMATO MINI-GAME is over for this prompt. On to the next one! I will post all the achievements you earned tomorrow.


PROMPT 4: DAIN OAKENSHIELD SAVES THE DAY (50% Canon Compliant). 72 hours.

@Sil: You are to be 'maimed' by Dain. Other dwarves may or may not be ganging up on you as well.

@Lirimaer: Do what you want except for attacking Azog

@Dimcairien Luiniel: Narrate and fight in the battle. Keep in mind your brother kinda screwed you out of a leadership role. You may attack Azog but you are not to maim him.

@KingODuckingham: Your armor is "rented." But you have Oakenshield! "Maim" Azog and save the Dwarves! FOR DURIN!

@Fairy Nuff: Dain has taken Oakenshield and your place as leader of the dwarves! What will you do in this battle? (You may attack Azog but you are not to maim him).

@Aerlinn: Do what you want. Maybe even cheer for Dain Oakenshield if you wish.

@Moriel: Do what you want. Maybe even cheer for Azog if you wish.

@Laintaen: Keep in mind your brother kinda screwed you out of a leadership role. You may attack Azog but you are not to maim him.

@Loke Clogwearer: Somehow get back inside Moria if you are not there already.

@Oro: You are now carried by Dain Oakenshield. Do what you want.

@Landy: Do what you want. Maybe even cheer for Azog if you wish.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien, playing AZOG

The applause of the crowds... so fickle. Fame and fortune will soon pass away, but the glory of the stage is forever. Alas, so is tomato staining, if you don't treat it properly.

The following events happen almost all at once.

a) GASP in horror, as a tomato flies in slow-mo towards AZOG's face... ever so slowly, he raises his keen blade and SLICES the tomato right through into two halves - one whizzes past him but the other half SQUISHES onto the Pale Orc's nose. With the white make-up, this gives him the awkward effect of looking like a clown.

b) SIGH in melancholy, as a solitary maggot wriggles out of the tomato onto Silarien/AZOG's nose and onto his cheek, like a tear. It is mourning for the tip of its tail, which was cut off by AZOG's blade.

c) SCREAM along with Silarien as the NATURAL NURNEN WATER (Genuinely Ash Filtered! Do Not Use On Actors. Results May Vary. Compensation Not Available For Any Internal Injuries OR Acid Burns Caused By Natural Nurnen Water. Do Not Drink) sloshes over her pristinely applied possibly-flour make up and washes part of it away.

"Sweet slushy Elbereth, I've become a positive piebald!" shrieked Silarien, completely out of character, beckoning hastily at a Disposable Make Up Goblin to come dab more of that excellent powder up her nose. Uhhh, on her nose. Around her nose, certainly. There was no snorting of anything involved whatsoever, whywouldtherebe?

"If you just bend your elbow up like this, miss," gabbles the disposable Goblin, "I can attach the fake arm here with the spidersilk…"

"That's not an arm," stated Silarien flatly. "That is a leg. That is a Leg O' Las. You think I don't recognise one when I see one?"

"But look, we've labelled it and everything!"

"Painting the word 'URM' on it doesn't make it an arm! You haven't even spelt it correctly!" hissed Silarien under her breath, still smiling bravely for the crowd (and the white powder).

The goblin silently but eloquently gestured to the state of the stage in indication that this would be the least of the things noticeable to the audience right now. Silarien had to concede that he had a point.

[Lirimaer]

Ears - former slave/Easterling shadow dancer (on the run) - audience and aspiring actor: THRAIN

She hit the floor in front of the stalls with a hard bump (well it was a good five foot drop to the ground) but fear and stubborn cussedness kept her going, she kept rolling until she hit the first stalls, and then crawled under them, coming up in the second row of the audience. With great stealth, she peered at the stage through the gap between two seats.

The spider was still on stage at this time, apparently having forgotten her; it appeared to be doing some complicated dance to avoid the water. Maybe this was a musical ... those evil Mordorian bar stewards! She hadn't properly read her script, was Thrain supposed to sing? Did he sing a dirge about his fallen father?

No one was taking centre stage and doing anything particular, even the Oakenshield brawlers seemed to be in a state of shock, and Azog - well - looking like one side of his face had been peeled, he looked more effortlessly murderous than ever. Her eyes found the enormous form of the Ent playing Thorin, hopelessly clinging to a plank of wood while another raised the Oakenshield high in triumph!

Wondering worriedly if she had any more lines to say, or whether her departure should be heralded by a soliloquy, she knelt in her soaking wet coat and tried to rhyme.

O my son, my giant treelike boy, she composed in her head.
That oak branch shield is not a toy!
Another claims it, and here's the thing,
Now after me, HE shall be king!
A proud Father to thee I was,
I say this now, alone, because
Tis not deemed right to praise a child,
Lest he grow up wilful and wild.
But you my little Dwarven prince,
So serious and sullen since
Your mother passed, have impressed me
And all our folk, with your dignity
And fortitude which inspired us all.
Now Thorin-lad, thy grandfather's fall
Is enough to make a grown Dwarf weep,
But rest assured that Thror doth sleep
In Mahal's arms, he'll rest in peace,
A purchase we can only lease
While walking in these shadowed lands,
A monument built by ancient hands.

Where was she going with this? It was more of a lament than a dirge, and not the breakaway pop hit she was hoping for. She needed a finishing couplet or two ... but mostly, she needed to write this down! Ducking down behind the seats again, she started crawling, hoping to find some writing implement and parchment somewhere around. As she crawled she tried out a few endings.

Thorin, my tall and willowy heir,
Why are you so uncommon fair? ... no that was just weird.

Thorin, stop eyeing the ladies, you dog!
Why did you let go of your big log? ... not a good start.

Thorin, bereft of your shield of oak,
Try not to lie down and croak,
Don't let that Pale Orc live,
Poke his ass with a shiv. - It was a little crude.

Thorin, my giant treelike son,
Your hardships have only just begun,
For I am lost, somewhere dark and fell,
Someplace I can't even tell ... she grimaced; it'd have to do for now.

She'd found an old popcorn wrapper and a burnt stick - it would do in a pinch. She began writing the song down.

[Rivvy Elf]

UNLOCKED HIDDEN ACHIEVEMENTS FOR PROMPT 3:

@Sil: You have unlocked the achievement "WHERE'S THE SKIP AD BUTTON (+10 individual points)."

@Fairy Nuff: You have unlocked the achievements "NURNEN LOOPHOLE (+10 individual points)," and "EXKANSHIELD (+10 individual points)."

@Loke Clogwearer: You have unlocked the achievements "NURNEN BUG (+10 individual points)," "UNASSISTED (+10 individual points)," "BEST ENEMIES (+10 individual points)," "BAD LISTENER (+10 individual points)," "COME SAIL AWAY (+10 individual points)," "SILENT COMPANION (+10 individual points)," and "WAX ON, WAX OFF (+10 indvidual points). In the future I'll be more strict on what constitutes as a hidden achievement ;P

@Dimcairien Luiniel: You have unlocked the achievement "MITHRIL RECORDS (+10 individual points)."

@Lirimaer: You have unlocked the achievements "STOP SPOILING THE SCRIPT (+10 individual points)," "WRONG FRANCHISE II (+10 individual points)," and "NURNEN LOOPHOLE (+10 individual points)."

@Laintaen: You have unlocked the achievements "WRONG FRANCHISE II (+10 individual points)," and "DRINKING DURING THE BATTLE (+10 individual points)."

@Aerlinn: You have unlocked the achievement "WHO TURNED OFF THE SUBTITLES? (+10 individual points)."

@KingODuckingham: You have unlocked the achievements "OAKENSHIELD (+50 individual points)," and "TOUCHED BY DEITY (+20 individual points)."

[DEATH]

Playing as Loke Clogwearer, playing as Durin's Bane (a cardboard cutout)

Stage Hand #7 frantically rubs at his cardboard companion in a vain attempt to dry it off in time to return it to the stage. He is quite unsuccessful in drying the dying prop, but somewhat more successful at transferring oil from the rag he is using to the surface of cardboard Durin’s Bane (YES! IN A FIRE!!). He scowls at the Easterling-Thrain (Thrainling?) as she attempts, rather poorly, to navigate the pass. You Shall Not! He fires silently at her from his thought bow, but - perhaps wisely - decides against giving voice to the words. Also, did somebody not describe her as a “dancer in the lap of darkness”? With all those left feet? Hmpf. He contents himself with his glowering stare as she bustles through on her way to Eru knows wh… hang on? Is that a badger on her head? WAIT! A shield crudely tied to a … a BROOM HANDLE? Stage Hand #7 allows a small sigh of frustration, disappointment, and sadness escape into the world around him. His parents would roll in their graves if they knew the type of production he had got involved with. At least they would, if they were dead. He hoped desperately that this would not be the occasion they finally chose to acknowledge in person his journey on a path they had trodden so famously in days of yore.

As he returns to his task, he hears a roar. No mistaking that voice. Oreo Del Rio is recognisable by voice in every corner of the land. Did he say “BAD LOG!!?” Stage Hand #7 snickers; that fool playing the Oakenshield was about to catch it real goo … oh, no. Once again. Not bad log. “BALROG!!” Almost certainly. Sh#*muffins, he thinks. I’m for it now, old friend. Grabbing cardboard Durin’s Bane by one of his soggy, floppy legs he rushes his way back to the stage area, hoping to return Mr. Bane to his proper position inside the cave (it’s not really a cave, just a modest space behind the mountainy bit) of Khazad Dum. "Khazad DUMB more like it, amiright?", he says to himself.

Almost slipping in the wet patch, and almost scalding himself in the steamy, former fiery patch, Stage Hand #7 finally manages to wedge the now more floppy than rigid cardboard prop between a couple of cardboard rocks. Not perfectly positioned but it will have to do. My word, this isn’t one for the resume, not by a long way. He skitters off the stage, hoping nobody will notice the damage done. Ha! Who does he think he’s kidding? This whole affair has “DAMAGE DONE” pasted to its forehead in block letters, probably neon lit. With the “D” flashing on and off intermittently. In a seedy part of town that it seemed like a good idea to venture into not long ago, but which now brings to mind the phrase “I should have worn the brown pants.” Shaking his head, Stage Hand #7 retreats, thinking, is it too late to apply for that job wrangling forest spiders? That now seems wise by comparison…

Edit: script revision/punctuation

[Lúthien Tinúviel]

Lúthien Mordagnir arrived to the theatre, and spied the menu. None of the food items fancied her appetite (fortunately, she had one of her home-made pies hidden in her satchel if needed), but a Dorwinion wine sounded appealing. If the show was good, the wine was sure to add an extra edge. And if it was not good...well, at least she had some promising wine.

Lúthien went ahead and ordered a few tomatoes, too, then she found her seat.

"What in the seven bloody hells is this," she said quietly to herself, shaking her head in confusion over the ruckus before her.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien playing AZOG

AZOG observes the chaos unfold and the struggle of the Dwarves to lift the OakenShield on high, as well as ripping off each others’ “beards” and attempting to put out the flames, all whilst the shadow of Durin’s Bane grows ever longer, possibly because the cardboard is growing limp and requires an urgent wipe down.

I mean, who doesn’t at this point?

AZOG speaks a sonnet:

The stage’s aflame; and we, the players weird
Must struggle with the burden, fate revealed:
Uneasy lies the head that wears the beard;
And heavy lies the arm that bears the shield.

For oak is no light duty to raise up:
No more so than a father’s dying shame;
a weight more than the theft of brother’s name;
A grievous and a glorious bloody cup.

So, drain it to the dregs, Dain OakenShield!
No god, Vala or Maia hears thee now;
And if the bladed title thou wouldst wield
Is thine by right, the crown upon thy brow,

Then strike me down and prove thyself a King:
And revel in the chaos thou shalt bring.

[Lirimaer]

Ears - former slave/Easterling shadow dancer (on the run) - audience and aspiring] actor: THRAIN

The fear had left her now, but unfortunately the sweat and muck of fire and flood, blood and tears, and not to mention the adrenalin-high of milking a giant spider, had left her drained: wet, cold, dishevelled and hungry.

She put her poetry on the seat beside her and wriggled out of the soaking wool coat, bedraggled 'wig' and hood. Good luck killing Thrain now, balrog! She left the bearskin tied around her boots though, they hadn't been affected. It was warm enough in this place to warm her through and even dry her clothes, but a little wine would help. She signalled the refreshments troll for some more cheap wine, grabbed two bottles and sat down again in the audience.

Half a bottle of wine and a minute later she was giggling. At what, she couldn't rightly say, but it was funnnnnneeeeee! She upended the bottle again, then tossed it, eyeing the stage through half-lidded eyes.

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

Overhearing the muttering of the elf (@Lúthien Tinúviel) who'd just sat down next to her, Thalionwen shook her head.

"I'd explain it to you if I could, but I don't think even they know what's going on," she said, gesturing to the stage. "Though you missed a good bit where I hit the big white orc in the face with a tomato, and a minute or two ago everything was on fire. I expect if we wait long enough, there'll be fire again soon, though. I'm Thalionwen--do you get to the theater much? This is my first time! I'm having plenty of fun, but to be quite honest, it's not what I expected. I'd anticipated a plot. And maybe having a clearer idea of who everyone's supposed to be, though it is sometimes hard to tell dwarves apart even offstage, what with the beards."

[Laintaen]

Dwalin, the Dwarf-Orc
Onstage

The tea did little to quell the madness going on both inside and around her. Somehow, she had lost the Oakenshield, half her mud costume and probably a few years off her life. But she did have her branch, a pocket full of humbugs, and a sneaking suspicion that she was becoming as insane as everyone else around her.

That had to be the only reason she decided to face up to Azog, armed with nothing more than a branch and the words that tumbled out of her mouth.

"Your verse has nothing on mine. I shall RAP BATTLE you!

"Everybody want the key
And the secret to rap immortality
Like I have got.
Well to be truthful, the blueprint
Is simply rage and Dwarven exuberance
We're either craftsmen or a nuisance
Hit Middle earth like an asteroid,
Did nothing but shoot for Moria since (pew!)
You Orcs get taken to school with this music
'Cause I use it as a vehicle to 'bust a rhyme'
Now I lead a new school full of students.
Me? I'm a brother of Balin,
Friend to Dain, Thrain, and Thorin,
The headless Thror, we’ll miss him!
Now Azog, killing him was a sin!
Now watch us, this day, avenge the king,
Make war and be in a position,
To get back our mine, so fine,
And then get back to all the feastin’!*"

*Originally "Rap God" by Eminem

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Dimcairien, an elf, playing Balin

To say things were going well was currently the understatement of understatements. Her attempt at wrestling over the Oakenshield had turned south very quickly and had nearly resulted in the Oakenshield's incineration, not to mention the entire stage. And to top it off, that wretched Dain had somehow acquired the shield, despite the fact that he only spoke about it and didn't even bother tussling like a real dwarf. Ok that was getting too in character," Dimcairien thought. "I am an elf, playing a dwarf. Must remember that I am an elf, and not a real dwarf."

Standing at the top of the stage trying to catch her breath, Dimcairien looked out across the chaos. She was becoming more and more frustrated with this show and her wine bottle was now Eru knew where and probably empty. And to top if off, she had gotten wet in the middle of the flood. Well, at least the fire was now out, but that didn't seem to calm the chaos or the rotten smell of tomatoes everywhere. Apparently Azog and Dwalin were in the middle of a poetry or rap battle. And Thrain was nowhere to be seen, but then, that actor had panicked and run off stage. And Thorin had also panicked at the sight of the fire. She was the only dwarf (so far as she knew) who had not panicked during the fire and as such knew that she should be the one to wield the Oakenshield, but somehow the bastard Dain had gotten it. "fredegar," she groaned.

But alas, the show must go on. She stepped back into the limelight and continued her narration, with a glare at Dain that could rival the Valor. She groaned and said in a monotone, “That is when I saw him: a young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc.” As Dain began to advance on Azog, she shouted, "He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armor rent…wielding nothing but a smouldering oaken branch as a shield." She paused and shouted at Dai, "I hope it turns to ash on you! You good-for-nothing-son-of-a-gun! You don't deserve to the the Oakenshield! Have you ever even seen the Arkenstone?"

Still frustrated with the recent turn of events, Dimcairien turned back to where Bilbo still stood, confusion all over his face, and said, "Come laddie, lets go get some more wine and hopefully turn this nightmare of a show in some more favourable direction for us."

[Lirimaer]

Ears - former slave/Easterling shadow dancer (on the run) - audience and aspiring actor: THRAIN

In the second row of the audience, an empty bottle dropped to the floor and rolled in a circle.

Anyone looking would have seen a woman dressed head to toe in black (except for enormous bearskin-covered boots) draped uncomfortably over two seats, next to a large untidy pile of costume. They might also have heard the unmistakeable sound of soft snoring.

[Silky Gooseness]

AZOG does not participate in rap battles. He is awaiting his true opponent, who is apparently ... DAIN OAKENSHIELD. He summons his disposable goblin crew to face down DWALIN.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RAKHASH, waving pom-poms.

You dwarves think you’re cool but this battle you’re losing
You’ve spent all your time not on fighting, but boozing!
Your beards are in tatters, your pride’s the same way
You’ll be in the dust at the end of the day!
Ain’t no king but one here and who might that be?
The Pale Orc himself, baby, A. Z. O. G!

[Rivvy Elf]

Orco del Oro

A smile graced the face of the big-boned orc as he shook his head in pleasure.

"This is even bettah than 'King Anarion'" Orco commented as he witnessed the scramble for Oakenshield, which not only was burned but became drenched in Nurnen Water, which he commented, "oh yeah, we got rid of dat fire. Good."

He overlooked the fact that a lot of the makeup for the actors became ruined, partly because there were a few disposable dwarves and goblins who hurriedly fixed them up. As Dain won Oakenshield, however, Orco did notice something off.

"Hey, what the [redacted]? Where [redacted] is Durin's [redacted]?!" Orco yelled. Fortunately, someone had placed the cardboard cutout back in the cave representing Moria. Though it seemed that the cardboard grew bigger, even looking as if it had wings (which perhaps could be a decent add-on).

So incensed was he at looking in Moria, that he did not know notice something peculiar...

~~~

"Ruuuuu" -moaned Mordor Troll as he once again placed his hands on his face, not bearing to watch this catastrophe of a show. After he put out the fire and returned to his stand, he saw with horror that instead of Thorin earning the title of Oakenshield, Dain had earned it. Worst of all, Dain appeared to be in some sort of pipe-doom-ash trance or something! This was bordering non-canon, and going against the propaganda books taught to all trolls when they were young! Now they were using horrible poetry that went against the Mordorian professional poet canon. What was this garbage?

"RAAAAAUGHHHHH!" shouted Mordor Troll in fury. He couldn't take it anymore! He grabbed a Live Nurnen Land Oyster and chucked it at Dain Oakenshield!

~~~

@Thalionwen @Lúthien Tinúviel @Lirimaer - You have 48 hours to throw a projectile at any one of the actors. 1 projectile only please

@Sil @Dimcairien Luiniel @KingODuckingham @Fairy Nuff @Aerlinn @Laintaen @Moriel @DEATH @Oro @Landy- Welcome to the Rotten Tomato Mini-Game. You have 72 hours from this post to try to dodge projectiles thrown by the audience. Mordor Troll has thrown something at you, Ducky, btw.

Unlocked achievements will be posted later.

[Fairy Nuff]

Peachleaf, playing Thorin

Slowly as the deluge of Natural Nurnen water subsides, and she begins to dry off, Peachleaf starts to pull herself together a little bit. She stops whimpering, and starts to sit up, cradling the piece of wood she believes to be the Oakenshield. As she wipes smoke and ash from her large brown eyes she looks down for the first time at the charred piece of wood in her arms, and most un-entishly hastily she throws it away from her in anger. It is NOT the Oakenshield! Sad and hurt, Peachleaf sits in a morose reverie, water dripping from every leaf and tries to work out how her nemesis the Oakenshield brought her so low without even being there! She felt a hot fire of anger slowly building inside her - it should have been HER! It was her big debut, the first ent on stage. It was supposed to be HER big moment, not the stupid lump of wood.

Then her ears picked up the use of her character's name in Thrain's song, and she recalled that she was supposed to be playing a dwarf, not a snivelling ent..so what had happened in the story so far...she tried to recall, as she had been rather busy not being on fire for most of it...right, so, wait....what? Dain won the Oakenshield...but..but...."IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MEEEEEE" she yelled, surging to her feet and swinging wildly with branches still heavy and laden with water. She didn't care who was in her path, so a fair bit of water splashed on innocent bystanders in the process.

Then, she locked on to Azog, vaguely remembering that this character had killed her character's father character (well, that was confusing). Bellowing she lumbered towards the sound of rapping, somewhat confused but so angry that the confusion didn't really register. She swept aside a few disposable orcs with a sweep of an arm, then saw what could only be her branch clutched by Dwalin. The actor playing this particular dwarf, Laintaen, looked somewhat worse for wear.

She bent down to bring her mouth to Laintaen's ear level and whispered in a very tight voice. "That. Is. Mine."

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

Satisfied that the elf playing Azog had been taken down a peg by her last deftly-aimed projectile, Thali settled back and attempted to sort out what was happening on stage. Something something, dwarves and goblins, rap battles, etc. It was all a little pedestrian for her tastes. She'd been hoping for poetry and high drama, and fewer rhyming couplets. To distract herself, Thali admired the cardboard cutout of Durin's Bane (@DEATH). There *was* something truly arresting about it. The way the shadows flickered across the wilting surface, making it look as if it really was a creature of shade and flame. Or wait, no, was it tipping? Was that shifting shadow, or another accident in the offing?

Mesmerized by the wavering half-light, Thali became convinced that the once-glorious prop was going over yet again, and judging by the look of it, one more upset might be its last.

"Not the Balrog!!!!!!" she shouted, launching herself out of her seat. "YOU SHALL NOT FALL!"

And, in a misguided effort to save this two-dimensional reminder of the first Dark Lord's most magnificent servants, she launched herself bodily at the tattered cutout.

(No one has specified that I cannot, in fact, use myself as a projectile. Also, this is payback for implying in the pub that Thali is only going to survive for A WEEK AND A HALF in Mordor, GRIEVOUS SLANDER, SIR, THIS SHALL NOT STAND)

[Lirimaer]

Ears - former slave/Easterling shadow dancer (on the run) - audience and aspiring actor: THRAIN

It's very noisy in this flophouse, she thought dazedly, reaching for the blanket. But since no blanket was there, she opened her eyes the veriest slit to observe the epicentre of the noise [Thalionwen] hurling herself bodily over the first few rows onto the stage in defence of the Balrog: the floppy damp cardboard menace lurking wetly in the Dwarven cave set. That'll end well, she thought to herself.

But now she was awake; she creaked a little as she sat up - lying prone over wooden seats with arm rests was no picnic - and eyed the events on stage. That monologuing fool [KingODuckingham] was now Oakenshield. Dain?! she shook her head minutely, but apparently that was enough to bring a server across.

"You want more cheap vineg-wine?" the troll asked, bored.

"Eh, no," she said. "But I'll take some of those Flamin' Eyeball Delights. I've always liked spicy food."

Once the troll had gone, she hefted one in her hand, it seemed pretty weighty and aerodynamic. She stood, squinted at Dain, and hurled it at his face. With any luck it'd knock his own eye into his skull and replace it. The next one, she ate; it popped deliciously in her mouth. Mhmmm ... vitreous always tasted good with a little cayenne.

[KingODuckingham]

Ducky as DAIN

The wizard playing a dwarf was slumped near a corner of the stage for an uncharacteristically long time. He did not move at all. In fact, despite the bent posture, the wizard appeared on close inspection to have gone rigid, and his hands were clenched. The knuckles were white. His eyes were nearly, but not entirely closed. He did not blink. His skin was paler than usual.

Time stretched. The action moved on without him. Nothing. No reaction.

Then the wizard's eyes snapped open very suddenly. They were a different color than before, though nobody might notice the change--from hazel to a dull bronze. They blazed brightly. A smile, jerky and metallic crossed his face.

He opened his mouth. Was the wizard's voice different, or was he just getting into character?

"THIS HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH. LET THE RULER TAKE HIS RIGHTFUL PLACE. AND BY THE RULER," the wizard stooped and fished a log out of the wreckage surrounding him, "I MEAN ME. He hoisted the log, which was in fact the Oakenshield. In his other hand, he conjured a new flame. Then he began to walk toward Azog.

"THERE CAN BE NO YIELDING TO CREATIONS OF MORGOTH. YOU WILL FALL. I HAVE SPOKEN." the wizard said in his strange voice. The fire in his hands mirrored the light in his eyes, both of which grew stronger and brighter as he approached the massive orc.

As he reached the poetic pale monster, he said, he laughed scornfully.

"NO GOD HEARS ME NOW, YOU SAY? YOU SPEAK CORRECTLY. NONE NEED LISTEN. I SPEAK ALREADY."

He brought his arm down in an arc, the fire taking on the shape of a beam, aiming for Azog's shoulder. The air sizzled with overwhelming heat. Heavy clouds of steam arose all around the pair, obscuring the action. Whether the tomatoes and oysters would hit him would be revealed once the steam was blown away.

Behind the naturally arising curtain, the wizard's bellowing laugh began to echo.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien as AZOG watches, a little perturbed, as Ducky DAIN gets to his feet. In the other corner of the stage, a faint cry rings out and a thump of what is probably wet cardboard, but AZOG pays no heed to that. This doesn’t seem to be in the script. Silarien fumbles her Leg O’Las back into place.

AZOG whispers...

The Flame Undying, spoken in hushed tongue
The stuff of ancient myths, of fears and dread;
orc-stories in the dead of day, unsung
by any creature of our Lord, unsaid...
We beings torn out of clay and blood and pain -
Unhallowed from our sub-created birth
Have never known a life without a stain,
have never found a home upon this earth;
And now You come, to meet me face to face?
To meet the creatures you allowed to be?
Informed, unformed, from that-called state of Grace
Yet standing here my destiny I see.
Though you may strike me down, again I’ll rise,
And thou shalt rue the day of thy disguise.

AZOG falls to the ground as DAIN slices off his arm - the Leg O Las. Tomato juice blood pools across the stage. Conveniently, ducking to the ground as he does should avoid the bulk of the thrown projectiles.

[DEATH]

Playing as Loke Clogwearer, playing as Durin's Bane (a cardboard cutout)

I mean, there's not much to say about Loke's performance at this point. The Moria cave entrance has been more consistent and displayed roughly the same level of charisma. It's just the same old schtick from Cardboard Durin's Bane, continuing to give us nothing we haven't seen before. If you've seen it in "War of the Jewels" or "War of Wrath," this performance could be out of either, or indeed any of the other roles we've seen from the Faux-Balrog through the years. I'd say he's method-acting but what's the method? Doing the same thing EVERY single day of your life and hoping it somehow fits the scene? Viewers and stiff-paper Balrog fans, you can safely skip this one. It's a wet performance, in more ways than one.

For the Orco del Oro purists two words spring immediately to mind. Don't, and bother. The big guy is just phoning it in this time, and his co-director seems to spend as much time running the Concession Stand as it does performing any vaguely relevant stage direction. Orco's days as the dashing, daring darling of Hollin-Wood are far behind him and it appears he knows this. There is a rumour circulating that the script has been lost, and it certainly looks that way. More concerning though, del Oro doesn't have the least bit of control over his cast and chaos rules supreme. Fires burn in all the wrong places and the apparent remedy is an absolute flood of stanky, microbe-ridden water. Do they know the better part of their set is cardboard and rapier-mache? Many of the cast members are drunk, at minimum. Random, improvised outbursts (they can't rightly be termed monologues) pepper the dialogue. Something like a fight may have broken out at one point and the wrong actor seems to have claimed the prized central prop which, somewhat fittingly, is a lump of wood. One looks to have abandoned their role and is sprawled out sleeping in the second row. Sadly, this critic sees no path to next year's Orcscar Awards Ceremony if the current display is any true indication of this show's worth.

There are a couple of memorable moments. Unfortunately they are instigated neither by director nor actor. One of the stage hands rushes frantically on and off-stage attempting to rescue some of the more thoroughly abused props. He does a barely passable job and is almost always in the wrong place at the wrong time. However he does provide a moment of almost high comedy as, once he has removed and then replaced the cardboard Balrog, barely escaping the ire of the director, he flees the stage and we see all the carefuly hoarded hopes and dreams of a continuing career in the theee-ater fade from his eyes like poorly-applied paint from one of those highly-flammable props he carries. Truly his overt disappointment in himself and all around him is far and away the best acting we've seen for the night.

The other notable moment comes when a member of the audience, mistaking Cardboard Durin's Bane for someone (or something) that has any sort of investment in the performance, and attempts in vain to "save" it from a second inevitable fall. Launching herself violently at the sodden prop, she overshoots her mark and barrels directly into the ... at this point it's less Balrog and more BalSOG (amiright?) with a dull THWACK. Both of them topple over backwards to the rear of the stage and the head of Cardboard Durin's Bane just comes right off. Like, completely. Ladies and gentlemen, let me present "The Headless Horror!" Maybe that'll be the next performance. It couldn't be any worse than this one. As the cardboard head slides across the back of the stage and under the curtain, I swear I hear a faint cry of "A WEEK AND A HAAAAAAAAAAAAALF........". At this point, nothing surprises me.

For the entirely unintentional slapstick, one star. This performance has no other redeeming features.
Rohir Ebert.

[Laintaen]

Dwalin, the Dwarf-Orc
Onstage

Dworc had had mixed results to her rap battle. Azog was clearly too cowed by her “rap immortality” and had summoned a disposable Orc to respond. Did they really expect her to be distracted from the simplicity of the rhyming structure by the use of pom-poms? Oh look, pom-poms!

Dworc was snapped back to attention as the disposable Orc was swept from her path. What could have been an ally in the battle against Azog and his murderous horde was instead that pesky Ent Peachleaf, who just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Dworc whipped the branch behind her back. “What’s yours?” she asked, in her most innocent voice, trying to keep away from the water that dripped from every leaf. The Dwarf-Orc really couldn’t afford to lose any more mud. “Dwalin didn’t steal anything. Except those things from Orf… and like one thing from… someone else.”

Fortunately, at that moment, tomatoes started flying through the air. “Quick, look behind you!” she cried and scurried away to find something else to hide behind. Something less willing to do her harm. Although, that may have been harder said than done. She was in Mordor, after all.

Brandishing her branch like a baton, she prepared to whack away any fruit to come her way. If it was points for dodging, maybe it was extra points for sending them back.

Thinking that the cardboard cutout of Durin’s Bane provided decent cover, she crouched behind that. Then realised that she had placed herself in the path of a Thali-shaped projectile!

[Almarëa Mordollwen]

Layna

Layna arrived for the performance fashionably late - in other words, after all of the insanity was well underway. Strolling past the ushers, she walked up to one of the refreshment vendors and slipped them a few coins for a supply of tomatoes and oranges - throwing things at the most obnoxious actors was a long-standing tradition of that venerable institution known as the theatre. (Or not so venerable, on this particular day.)

She slipped into a seat at the back and attempted to parse what was going on for about two minutes before giving up. What kind of theatre company was this? Tomato juice, obviously fake limbs ...and pom-poms? The real Oakenshield had been replaced, and the company's idea of set design appeared to involve cardboard (never a good sign, especially given the quantities of various unidentifiable liquids that were splashed all over the stage.

Oh well. At least there were enough fools to make for some good target practice! She took aim at AZOG, who seemed to be doing most of the talking...

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Dimcairien, an elf, playing Balin

"Not again," groaned Dimcairien as random rotten projecticles once again found their way towards the actors. Well, not everything was rotten. One member of the audience had decided to launch herself at the stage, right towards the cardboard Durin's Bane. "Well, if she hits her target, perhaps there will be another real stage death tonight," she muttered, but then stopped herself. Since when was cardboard considered alive? She must have had more drink than she had intended.

"For the love of Eru," she groaned, "how long must the show go on for?" As if rap battles between actors wasn't enough, she dodged what might be a tomato, but by this point, she had no idea. "At least there isn't a flood this time."

This time, instead of escaping upstage, Dimcairien found herself standing near the centre of the stage and singing, "Na, na, na, na. You can't catch me!" And attempting to dance-dodge away from any flying projectiles that might come near her solo performance.

[Rivvy Elf]

ROTTEN TOMATO MINI GAME RESULTS:

@DEATH: @Thalionwen attempts to throw herself at you. You rolled a 6, above any saving throw you could have earned, which proves your prediction correct in that you are hit critically and beheaded. Don't worry though. You're cardboard. Minus 1 point to your tomato points.

@Sil: You rolled a 2, with a saving throw of 5. You duck just in time as @Almarëa Mordollwen's throw zooms over you.

@Laintaen: You willingly placed yourself behind Cardboard Durin's Bane, thus volunteering to also be hit by @Thalionwen! You rolled a 4, with a saving throw of 5. You are not harmed by the projectile.

@KingODuckingham: You rolled a 6, above any saving throw you could have earned. You are hit by the land oyster, which may or may not incapacitate you for the next prompt depending on certain real life circumstances. @Lirimaer also threw an eyeball at you. A 3 was rolled, with a saving throw of 2. You were also hit by the spicy eyeball! Minus 2 points to your tomato points.

~~~

"What the [redacted] is my wife doing here?" Orco yelled, standing, "I thought she was in [redacted]? Someone help her!"

In response, Kistrel (Kirstel?) the spider rubbed her mandibles, and Orco responded, "yeah good idea. Do it!" At once, Kistrel and a bunch of her disposable make-up artists rush to the Moria caves in order to quickly put on makeup, clay and other things to turn Thalionwen into her new role.

@Thalionwen Congratulations. You have triggered the achievement "OUTSIDE INTERFERENCE (+20 Individual Points)" and are now part of the cast. Orco has assigned you the role of "The Goblin King." Feel free to godmode the make-up artists as you turn into the Goblin King, and obey your prompts!

~~~

Mordor Troll

"RRRRRR" Mordor Troll moaned, as he realized that among the people in the crowd was Rohir Ebert. He allocated a troll to go over there and bribe him to revise that potentially harmful review. They did not want to lose to the latest production of The Merry Cats of Beruthiel.

~~~

Prompt 4 is over! PROMPT 5, THE SECOND-TO-LAST PROMPT: LAMENTATIONS. 72 hours.

@Sil "FLEEE FLEE FOR YOUR LIFEEEEEE" -Denethor

@Dimcairien Luiniel Narrate and weep at the same time.

@KingODuckingham Do not post unless RL circumstances allow you to.

@Fairy Nuff Weep. You were unable to avenge Thror and Thrain has disappeared.

@Aerlinn Weep. You lost the battle

@Moriel Weep. You lost the battle

@Laintaen Weep

@DEATH Do what you want

@Lirimaer Do what you want

@Thalionwen You are now the Goblin King. Do not weep. Seize power and lead the retreat!

@Oro Do tree branches weep?

@Landy Weep

~~~

The rest of Prompt 4 achievements will be posted by tomorrow or earlier!

[Rivvy Elf]

PROMPT 4 ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKS:

@Sil: You have unlocked "LEG O'LAS (+10 individual points)," "SHAKESBEARD II (+10 individual points)," "DISARMED (+10 individual points)."

@Lirimaer: You have unlocked "SHAKESBEARD I (+10 individual points)," "MITHRIL RECORDS (+10 individual points)," "
DRINKING DURING THE BATTLE (+10 individual points)," and "EXIT STAGE LEFT (+10 individual points)."

@DEATH: You have unlocked "YOU SHALL NOT PASS (+10 individual points)," "NICE PUN (+10 individual points)," "RED LIGHT DISTRICT (+10 individual points)," "ROTTEN TOMATOES (+20 individual points)," and "BANE OF DURIN'S BANE (+10 individual points)."

@Dimcairien Luiniel: You have unlocked "DISSENTER (+10 individual points)," and "DANCE, DANCE, REVOLUTION (+10 individual points)."

@KingODuckingham: You have unlocked "YOUR CAPS LOCK IS ON (+10 individual points)," "SERVANT OF THE SECRET FIRE (+10 individual points)," "WRONG FRANCHISE III (+10 individual points), and "DEFEATER OF AZOG (+20 individual points)."

@Fairy Nuff: You have unlocked "WEEPING EARLY (+10 individual points)," "BE HASTY (+10 individuals)," and "THORIN'S PRECIOUS (+10 individual points)."

@Laintaen: You have unlocked "MITHRIL RECORDS (+10 individual points)," "THAT'S A RAP FOLKS! (+10 individual points)," and "SECRET SERVICE (+10 individual points)."

@Thalionwen: You have unlocked "NEPOTISM (+50 individual points)."

[Lirimaer]

Ears - former slave/Easterling shadow dancer (on the run) - audience and actor: THRAIN

Excellent! Her eyeball had hit Dain and she jumped up from her seat for a delighted shimmy. "Yes, yes, YES! I gotcha goooooooooooood!" she hooted, and then glanced furtively around and sat down again.

The end of the scene was coming up, and after her little nap she was feeling refreshed and excited, especially as a concerned audience member had launched herself onto the stage (and summarily been employed on the spot - probably due to her pro-active work ethic) at that Sauron-damned cardboard monstrosity, Durin's Bane. There was a certain dark delight in watching its damp head slide off under pressure, and she thought perhaps in the interval she'd go and find it, deface it and shred it. Maybe. It was just cardboard after all.

In the meantime, she waved the concession stand over. The troll stood glumly, barely interested enough to even look at her. "I'll take a bacon sandwich and a hot cup of tea," she said, eyeing the menu with distaste.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien as AZOG lies on the floor as projectiles whizz over her head. Her tragically mangled Leg O’Las is on the ground beside her, in a heap of tomato juice blood.

AZOG staggers to his feet, clutching the stump of his arm. He does a double-take at his lost arm, pondering whether to pick it up and whack DAIN with it, but thinks better of it given the supernatural flame in DAIN’s hands.

AZOG:
O, woe is me, and unto me more woe!
My arm, my arm, it hurts! Ouch, ouchy ouch.
This boo-boo is the worst I’ve ever had.
Now how will Azog ever knit again,
Or scull a boat except in circles round??
How will I scratch my head and rub my tum?
Unscrewing jars? Impossible for me,
And skiing an ambition unfulfilled...
Piano lessons paid for: wasted now!
The harp I might as well just throw away;
My bow and arrow useless. Curse all dwarves!


EXIT, pursued by tomatoes.

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

Thalionwen, Audience/The Goblin King

"Well, that's a pity," Thalionwen said sadly, looking down at the cardboard cutout of Durin's Bane (DEATH) she'd been attempting to save and had only succeeded in beheading. Immediately beside her stood a branch-wielding...creature (Laintaen). They seemed to be portraying Dwalin in the play, but Thali couldn't be sure who anyone was underneath all the stage makeup and soot anymore. Besides the Ent, Peachleaf, it was impossible to tell elves from orcs, dwarves from hobbits.

"Were you trying to save the Balrog too?" Thali asked Dwalin, only to be interrupted by an extremely familiar bellow.

"ORCO????" she gasped, peering up into the shadowy wings. "What in Bema's fields are you doing here?"

Never much of a one to read things closely, and being mostly illiterate anyway--as Rohir farm girls generally were--she'd entirely missed the large print announcing the director on the playbill. Waving cheerfully, Thali startled as an enormous spider emerged from the shadows and chittered meaningfully at her.

"What? Go with you? Right now?" Thali asked with a frown.

The spider waved a leg impatiently.

"Oh. Alright. If you say it's a hurry." And Thalionwen followed the enormous creature to where a crew of snagas were waiting, just offstage.

"What are you--here now, that tickles!" Thali protested futilely as the snagas and Kirstel began plastering her with makeup. But when one snaga approached her waist-length golden hair with a pair of sheers she put her foot down.

"No!" Thali said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I will cut you to pieces and eat you myself if you even think of touching my hair."

Looking flustered, the snaga made motions to indicate that he'd braid it instead, and she relented. "Very well. But NO cutting."

After a few minutes, the spider and her crew had finished. They set a mirror in front of Thalionwen and lo and behold--she'd been transformed! Not into a hideous and bulging Goblin King either, as she'd heard tell of in stories, but a long-haired and fey Goblin King, in extremely tight grey breeches and a low-cut tunic foaming with lace.

"You remind me of the babe," she whispered in awe, quite taken by the spectacle of herself as this strange and androgynous goblin monarch. "The babe with the power."

And she spoke the words, power and passion surged through Thalionwen. She'd never had a desire to act before, but an incandescent need to do this monumental role justice lit her from within.

"GOBLINS TO ME!" she shouted, leaping onto the stage. "Turn back, minions of darkness! Turn back before it's too late!"

Standing center stage, waiting for the minions to rally to her and retreat to the safety of the caves, Thalionwen fixed her wild, kohl-lined eyes upon the audience. Upon the ravening dwarves, upon Orco in the wings. And she rebuked them for the tragic fate of her goblin people, who had wanted nothing more than to delve among the mountain roots in relative peace, albeit occasionally entrapping and eating innocent travelers.

"You dwarves can be so cruel," she said, feral energy radiating from her. "Just as I can be so cruel. But I asked for so little. Just that all fear me. That all love me. And if you'd done as I asked, I would have been your slave."

With that strange pronouncement, she joined her retreating forces, an elegant and tragic figure, even in retreat.

[Lúthien Tinúviel]

Lúthien Mordagnir was speechless. So speechless that she completely spazzed out when the woman near her asked the question. Before she could answer, next thing she knew, the woman, Thalionwen, was in the show.

"Holy mother of a skinned goat, what is this? Does this show even have a bloody script?" she said, shaking her head. Lúthien felt she deserved some wine...and took a very large sip from her bottle of Dorwinion's finest.

She looked at the sack of tomatoes she'd ordered. "If this gets any weirder, I'm gonna put these to good use." She sighed, leaned back in her seat, and waited for the storm that was supposedly a play to unfold its next surprise.

[DEATH]

Playing as Loke Clogwearer, playing as Stage Hand #7, playing as caretaker to Cardboard Durin's Bane

Sigh.

Stage Hand #7 trudges onto the stage, not even making the vaguest pretense at trying to stay out of the way of the "actors" and their "performance". He barely hears Silarien's "monologue" and cannot even raise a chuckle as the "Orc" staggers offstage accompanied by tomatoes in flight. He thinks very seriously about elbowing his way past Thalionwen's new Goblin King persona, as to #7 she's just new Best Enemy #1, responsible for the catastrophe now facing him. But honestly, he can't even summon up the passion to care any more. Through the haze that is now permanently his vision, he steps around, or over, or through whatever it is in his way this time.

Picking up the cardboard Balrog body in his right hand, and the severed head in his left, he turns and shuffles toward stage left. He thinks he can hear laughter bubbling from the audience as he drags the broken Balrog pieces behind him. It doesn't matter. Disappearing into the wings he thinks to himself, I might as well just chuck this thing in the bin. It just doesn't matter. Nobody's gonna care if this old, beaten and battered, soggy and oily, partially charred prop is ever seen again. Cheeses, what would me Mammy think? Would she even own up to owning me? Would me Pappy even glance sideways ... he pauses. What's that? He feels a light tap on his right shoulder. And a voice in his ear.

"Yeah, go on. Do it. Nobody cares, you're just delaying the inevitable if you put that thing back together." Turning his head, Stage Hand #7 is astonished. There is a tiny, flaming Balrog sitting on his right shoulder. Whispering in his ear, "Just do it, buddy. Bin the Balrog."

"Yeah! Can that Cardboard!" A voice in his left ear. Swivelling, he sees a second tiny, flaming Balrog on his left shoulder. "Just get rid of that bad rubbish matey! It ain't worth the trouble!"

Two devils, one on each shoulder. "Shouldn't one of you be good?" he asks. "Like, doing that Yes/No conflict thing? I've seen that before. That's how it works, right?"

"What'd be the %@$*ing point of that?" asks the Balrog on his left shoulder. "Yeah," agrees the one on his right. "Ever seen two Balrogs in disagreement? What the %#@! is wrong with you? Yer get some of that oil in your brain?"

"Actually there was supposed to be an Dwarf," mentions Leftrog "y'know, for balance. But we done 'im in. Tied up an' gagged in a little box backstage. You'll never find him, even if yer did want to look. But yer don't does ya? Yer just wants ter toss that cardboard away an' get on yer 'orse and get out of 'ere, right? Yer can't be seriously thinking about continuing this ... let's face it, charade's too generous a word, innit?"

"You got a point," Stage Hand #7 sighs. These Balrogs are making a pretty compelling argument. Not that he needed a compelling argument. They could probably have sold him on a nibble of fish cake and a cold drink. At this point, there's nothing left for him here.

Except his pride. Would his Mammy and Pappy have given up? There's a little niggle in the back of his brain, even as he stands by a garbage can, prop pieces raised above it ready to drop. The.

The Show.

The. Show. Must.

Must. Go.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON!

With yet another sigh, he shakes his head and places the pieces of cardboard on a nearby bench and, almost in the same motion violently brushes the tiny Balrogs off each shoulder. Leftrog flies off into the darkness and a satisfying Thud! echoes back. Rightrog, unfortunately, flies off in the opposite direction and catches the corner of the stage curtain. A small fire starts. "Oh no you don't. Not again," mutters #7 and quells the flame with his hand. It burns. Of course it does, but the fire in his belly burns brighter, and hotter. Born to be in the theee-ater, he was. Damned if he was going to let this be the end of him.

Dashing back and forth, he collects some flour. A little water. Something that came out of a dead horse. A smear of his own blood. All in a bowl, mixed in together. Stirred into a paste. He brushes a healthy swathe of the paste on the cardboard shoulders in his right hand. Thwack! He slaps the head on and covers the neck with more of the paste. Quick! Apply a little heat! Dry that sucker out and make it hold!

Better glues have been made, and lesser glues have been applied more effectively. But it's a long time since anyone has used the glue that holds us all together, the passion for our craft. And miraculously, it holds.

Stage Hand #7 races back to the stage, where probably not even Eru Himself can follow what's currently happening. The new Goblin King certainly seems to be riled up in her ... er, retreat. Okay, he thinks. The baddies are running away. But there's a real purpose to it. Back to the caves! Energetically! They converge on the cave props around the same time, as Stage Hand #7 attempts to stand his Cardboard Durin's Bane back in place and Thalionwen's Goblin King attempts to make a successful retreat into Moria. They pass within inches of each other, and for a moment the threat of violence hangs in the air. #7 whisks his prop to one side just in time though, and plumps it against a rock. Cardboard Durin's Bane is quite incapable of standing without assistance by now, and just kind of flops against the rock. For a moment time seems to slow to a crawl as #7 waits to see if the head will hold. One ... Two ... Three ... Hold ... Five ... Six ... Seven ... HOLD!

It doesn't hold. Cardboard Durin's Bane's head slowly, inexorably slides down the front of his body. About 10 or 11 inches. And then.

It holds. It's now a Balrog with its head in the middle of its chest. A real caricature of the abomination it is supposed to be. But it holds. Yes! It holds!

I mean, it's ripped and bent, folded and twisted. Barely recognisable. But it's there. In place. In time. Is cardboard.

Stage Hand #7 exits stage left. As he disappears from view, keen eyes might see his right hand raised high in a fist. "Don't you ..." No they won't forget Stage Hand #7 in a hurry. Not after this triumph. "Don't you ... Forget about me."

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

Dimcairien, an elf, playing Balin

Well, at least she hadn't been injured by any flying projectiles this time. But the cardboard Durin's Bane had taken a severe hit to the head and now the Bane had met its bane. And the random person who had launched herself into the performance was the director's wife? How hard had she hit her head to agree to that marriage? Well, it appeared that there was a new person in the cast as the woman, was quickly taken backstage and reappeared dressed as the Goblin King.

For a moment, Dimcairien stood centre-stage, trying to figure out what one earth was going on. Then, for some odd reason or another, everyone in the cast began to weep. "Are we supposed to be sad now?" she shouted, "why?"

Not knowing what else to do, she jumped in front of the new Goblin King and gave her a hard shove as he said her next line. "Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, no song, that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived.”

Oh, apparently that was why they were supposed to be sad, but it was very difficult to be sad when the stage was soaking wet, beginning to stink, and everyone (including yours truly) had no idea what they were doing.

But, the next line proved to be more difficult to fit in to the context of the play. If the squabble over the Oakenshield had not occured, it would have been easy enough, but she was still feeling very sore (physically and emotionally) over loosing to Dain of all people! The play had already gone far off course, so what was one more thing?

Speaking very clearly, or as clearly as one could while still tipsy, Dimcairien sneared, while pointing to herself, “And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King.”

There, hopefully that would take care of something. It was utterly unfair that Dain had gotten the Oakenshield when all he had done was give a speech and apparently have some vision with a deity. Since when did the Valar have any cares over a stupid play? She should be the Oakenshield and did not plan to actually follow this random Dain. If she needed to cause deliberate chaos to make that happen, she would.

[KingODuckingham]

DAIN

The dwarf-wizard was not, as it turned out, protected by the rising steam. He was splattered with literal eyeball, some of which got into his open mouth as he was trying to speak. It turned out to be quite spicy; he was lucky to have a high tolerance for such things, but even so he had to stop to cough. As he was doing so, the dwarf-wizard was further nailed with a huge land oyster, which staggered him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He choked a bit. If only he could have brought up the Oakenshield in time! But ironically, the mists had prevented him from seeing the incoming objects, so that he could not block or dodge. That little trick had backfired a bit.

He was enraged. After he recovered his breath, the dwarf-king raised his shield high and gave a roaring shout that echoed across the stage. He brought the shield down to earth with a crash, pounding it several times while working himself into a fury.

"YOU WILL NOT STAND BEFORE ME, PUNY MORTALS." the dwarf-king intoned. "YOUR CORPSES WILL LITTER THE GROUND. NONE SHALL STAND IN THE WAY OF THE RETURNING KING OF KHAZAD-DUM. YOUR INSOLENCE WILL BE PUNISHED. OBSERVE."

He stepped forward with purpose, not hurrying his step. He was inevitable. He casually brushed aside the smaller foes in his way, like @Uruva , barely even noticing as he crushed the life from their lungs. His advance was halted by a rallying figure: @Thalionwen

"YOUR IMPUDENCE DOES NOT IMPRESS ME, WORM. COWERING OR TOWERING, IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE. I AM A GOD. I HAVE COME." His eyes blazed now, the bronze color turned to white gold by the heat of his anger. His hand reignited. He swung another beam of fire, down her side, igniting her. Then the Oakenshield crashed into her skull.

DAIN took no interest in the body once it collapsed. He stomped onward. He appeared to be headed for the Moria direction of off-stage.

"A CORPSE, A CORPSE. MY KINGDOM FROM A CORPSE." DAIN said, chasing the next hapless victim.

[Fairy Nuff]

Peachleaf, playing Thorin

Peachleaf, despite being hasty for an ent, felt rather surprised to blink, and see that Dwalin was gone. She thought she saw her branch wave in the air behind the cardboard cut out of Durin's Bane, but then it was gone and with it all hope of her branch being restored to its rightful place. Not normally one to be emotional, Peachleaf was finding this whole acting experience rather overwhelming...or maybe it was due to spending so much time in Mordor. She was sure that even the non-orcs who were playing orcs were starting to act kind of orcish, and as for no-good, show-stealing upstarts that thought themselves better than a normal piece of wood.....well. And she was sure that one of the audience members had thrown herself onto the stage in that last scene - was that part of the script? She didn't remember reading that bit.

Peachleaf pulled a copy of the script out from a knot in her trunk and tried scanning through the scenes to find out if she had missed something. Every so often she would look up, look around her and blink in confusion - this director's vision of the material was quite different from what she was reading here! She looked up at that moment to see the bizarre sight of the head of Durin's Bane moving. What....

After a few moments the head came to a rest part way down the body. Slowly she put the script away and shook her head. She was never going to make it as an actor, if this is how a show went. How could anyone keep up with all this chaos. Her dreams were in tatters, the show stolen by a chunk of wood, cardboard cutouts getting more audience appreciation than her, flood, fire....it was all too much. Burying her head in her branches she began to sob, shoulders shaking with the weight of dreams being crushed, tears of sorrow leaking from between her charred fingers. How had it come to this?

[Uruva]

Ow I'm dead.

[Rivvy Elf]

Enter the Goblin Queen
Director Orco del Oro

"WHAT THE [redacted]?" screamed Orco as he stumbled from his seat, rushing towards the entrance to the stage of the Coliseum. There were two crises at hand: 1. The Actor who was supposed to play Tauriel (Uruva) was trisected, being trisected and dying immediately after saying "Ow I'm dead." He had no idea why the actor was even there in the first place! Perhaps she entered the wrong entrance and was several months early? Some actors tended to arrive early after all.

The death of this actor no doubt would infuriate the Troll Preservation Society, who lobbied heavily for an elf-dwarf romance. Orco, who did not like dealing with them to begin with, was not looking forward to dealing with them.

But what took priority now was the flaming body of his wife. Orco was about to use his big bones to launch into a sprint before Kistrel the Giant Spider got in his way

"SKREET!" -screamed Kistrel, as the spider threw the long stringy black wire-wig over his balding head. Orco glared, yelling, "no lipstick! Save wife, I'll... whatevuh!"

So Orco, donned in his orc attire, with a black wire-wig over his head, rumbled down in an inhumane-like speed (he was an orc, after all). He was a terror, as if he had a mode switch in his head labeled "god," which he turned on. He looked like a jilted half-cross-dressed prostitute from the Black Market; so it was that later Mordor's 50 yard dash was renamed "The Goblin Queen's Pursuit" in honor of this great achievement. as within only 30 seconds of Thalionwen's immolation there he was using his big body to smother all the fire.

"AAAARGH!" screamed Orco in a high-pitched voice. The blood pounded his head as he screamed again, a blood-curdling shrill that cracked part of the wall nearest to him, sounding not unlike one of the Nine.

"Aaargh! aargh... argh.. rgh.. h," Orco uttered, his cries decreasing each time his panicked arms and limbs covered up a new incident of fire. After each appearing tendril was exhausted, each scream became lower. His movement slowed as the blood continually pounded into his head. Orco's yells continually lowered and became quieter until all the fire was gone. At this point his forehead was drenched in sweat, his head uncontrollably swaying back and forth. He moved off of The Goblin King (Thalionwen), landing with a thud on his back and presented his front to everyone. His wire-wig's ends were still orange from the heat. His front was completely burnt off, his body lightly charred black. Orco breathed out, and coughed out blood.

"My king," Orco said, his voice somehow echoing across the chamber, "my love..."

And with that he closed his eyes and lay still.

~~~

@Lúthien Tinúviel @Lirimaer @Almarëa Mordollwen - You have 48 hours to throw a projectile at any one of the actors including the recent new additions to the cast. 1 projectile only please

@Sil @Dimcairien Luiniel @KingODuckingham @Fairy Nuff @Aerlinn @Laintaen @Moriel @DEATH @Thalionwen @Oro @Landy- Welcome to the Rotten Tomato Mini-Game. You have 72 hours from this post to try to dodge projectiles thrown by the audience. Mordor Troll is in shock and cannot throw anything.


Unlocked achievements will be posted at the end of the prompt.

[Laintaen]

Dwalin, played by Dworc the Dwarf-Orc
Onstage

By some luck, Dworc managed to survive all of her latest hazards. The flying Rohirric woman missed her and was swooped away by the makeup spider, Thali's blade had removed the cardboard Balrog's head rather than her own, and the dreadfully luckless prop was still large enough to keep her mostly hidden from the Thor-Ent (Peachleaf).

At least until the stagehand removed Durin's Bane for another repair attempt, leaving her without concealment. At least the Orcs and Goblins seemed to be in retreat before Dain Oakenshield...

WHO WAS STRAIGHT UP SLAUGHTERING ACTORS WITH FLAMES COMING FROM HIS HANDS!

No power could stop this supernaturally empowered Dwarf-zard, not an eyeball to the face or an oyster to the chest. Tomatoes sailed by him, as if as afraid of him as everyone else. Goodness me, wasn't that the Director? The Leap of Beren couldn't hold a candle to the distance Orco covered to throw himself upon his wife to beat out the flames. He may have saved the Goblin King, but the Queen was not so lucky.

The smell and smoke coming from the charred body of their "illustrious" director was so acrid, her eyes began to water. Tears streamed down Dworc's face, leaving white tracks down her mud-covered cheeks. She hoped it looked like she was weeping, as that was her latest stage direction and she found she couldn't mourn the loss of anyone yet.

But tomatoes were still flying, and she no longer had the Balrog to protect her. And someone had to do something about that crazy Dain. The power bestowed by the Oakenshield had clearly gone to his head. They had to snap him out of his trance before he killed anyone else.

She still had her branch but that was clearly too valuable to give up. Instead, she pulled out a the bag of Orf's humbugs. Dancing around to avoid the both the tomatoes hurled by the audience and the flames swirling around Dain, she waved the bag of sweets.

"Come on, Dain, eat a Snickers humbug. You're not you when you're hungry!"

[Lúthien Tinúviel]

Lúthien was done with this painful excuse of a performance. Seriously, was there a script?? She needed to have a talk with the bard behind this mess once this was over...if this [redacted] show ever ended.

Draining her bottle of Dorwinion wine, she launched it towards the stage, aiming for the bearer of the cardboard Balrog (@DEATH).

"Well, this is certainly the last time I bother to see a show in [redacted] Mordor!"

[Lirimaer]

Ears - former slave/Easterling shadow dancer (on the run) - audience and actor: THRAIN

Weirdly, she'd been given a cup of hot leaf liquid and bread roll full of chunky pork. Since neither were on the menu, this was a delightful turn-up for the books. She ate the roll quickly and settled back to watch the show with her tea. Wow! That had NOT been made with tea-leaves. It was alright though, right up until it wasn't. Her vision started to brightly effervesce, and slide sideways, much like the cup which slid out of her hand.

"What in Sauron's suppurating sick-house did you give me?" she screeched, or thought she screeched anyway. Mostly it was a low mumble punctuated with a nasal whistle. No one answered, so she panicked dopily - which involved clumsily fumbling her hand around a bunch of small purple balls attached to a plant of some kind, bursting some of them - ye gods, were they some kind of fish spawn? Was this beach filth?

Her other hand grasped the back of the seat in front after a few tries, and she heaved herself up to a swaying hunch and chucked the sea's effluence at the nearest figure on the stage, which was that creature with the speech impeppermint.

She tried to taunt Dworc. "Dwon't you dwodge my dweadful - oops!" the throw left her off-balance and inertia took her to the floor. It was only as she was lying there in the darkness of the second row, her head swimming and her eyes already closed that she suddenly had the feeling that here she was unseen and incapacitated and vulnerable. Well, she thought that with simpler words. Like, 'crap', for example, and then there was nothing.

[Thalionwen Hunigfolm]

Thalionwen, The Goblin King/Erstwhile Audience Member/Recently Deceased

A bright light swam before Thalionwen, and she felt herself pulled inexorably towards it. But it was not the soft, gentle glow of afternoon sun on the fields of the Eastfold, among which she'd grown up. No, this light was the ruddy glow of flames. It flickered before her, and from within the glow she heard the crazed cackles and howling of legions of minions. The sound ought to have filled her with horror yet somehow, to Thalionwen, it felt like home.

"I'm coming," she called out faintly, hurrying towards the light.

A WEEK AND A HALF, a hollow voice said, echoing from the tunnel Thali found herself caught within. A WEEK--A WEEK--A WEEK--A WEEK--AND A HALF--HALF--HALF.

"Well that doesn't seem fair," Thali thought to herself, stopping stubbornly on her journey towards the light. "Only a week and a half's warning? I should have had more time. I deserved more time."

And, turning on one heel, she began to make her way down the tunnel in the opposite direction, away from the homey and inviting shrieks and bellows. There was another minion coming her way, and she nodded as they passed. Even in the afterlife, manners were important.

"Oh hello," Thalionwen said. "I'm Thali. And you are...?"

A nametag appeared upon the minion's shoulder.

URUVA, appearing as Tauriel, it read. But the minion said nothing--only passed her by.

The return journey was slow going. Every footstep felt as if Thali was wading through a bog, and the darkness ahead of her was complete. But she was nothing if not determined, and for what felt like an eternity, she forged on ahead.

On an ill-fated stage, her body twitched. The synapses between Thali's three brain cells sparked once more to life. And suddenly, miraculously, she sat up, charred and ash-strewn, with blood still oozing sludgily from the back of her head.

And yet--what was this beside her? Sweet Orco, the unsightly love of her life, slain by the flames that had nearly claimed her too???

Tears slipped down Thali's face, washing away both soot and layers of stage makeup.

"What's here?" she murmured. "Ash and ruin, closed in my true love's hand?
Flame, I see, hath been his timeless end:
O churl! Burned all, and left no friendly spark
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips;
Haply some spark doth linger on thee
To make death with immolation."

Leaning forward, Thali wrinkled her nose at the sight of blood crusted around Orco's mouth.

"No, better not," she said aloud. "But thy lips are warm."

Behind her, the scurrying of eight long, many-jointed legs sounded.

"Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief," Thali exclaimed, pulling a letter-opener from Orco's belt. He'd never been the sort to carry a knife, but he did get a lot of mail. "O happy dagger, this thy OW sheath;" and Thali attempted, with little success, to stab herself with the letter opener. It was quite dull though, and she only succeeded in bruising herself. "There OW rust, and OW let me die."

Kirstel loomed above the two of them and Thali squinted up at the spider in disappointment.

"The love of my life is dead," she explained. "I'm trying to follow him but it's not going very well. Have you got anything sharp? Or are you venomous, at all?"

Kirstel rolled her many eyes.

"Not dead," the spider hissed. "I know a dead thing when I see one." And she nudged Orco rather more forcefully than necessary with one of her clawed feet.

[Silky Gooseness]

Silarien, offstage

To Duck, or not to Duck? That is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the old tomatoes of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms off - or a Leg o Las -
And use it as a shield to beat away
Those most offensive missiles.


..........................But instead
‘Tis simpler just by far to leave the stage;
My fellow actors bear the audience’s rage.

[Rivvy Elf]

ROTTEN TOMATO MINI GAME RESULTS:

@DEATH: @Lúthien Tinúviel throws the empty Dorwinion Wine Battle (finely made in T.A 10) at you! A 3 is rolled, and your saving throw unfortunately is 1. You lose 1 tomato point!

@Laintaen: @Lirimaer throws the "sea's effluence" at you! A 4 is rolled, and your saving throw unfortunately is 1. You lose 1 tomato point!

~~~

Kistrel the Spider

Trotter, the actor playing Bilbo, snuck up, picked Orco's pocket, and grabbed back his pipe. Trotter then ran away back towards Balin's direction. Kistrel then spat out and formed silk in order to cover Orco's burn wounds, leaving Orco to look almost like the legendary orc-skeleton monster, Skeletor, that haunted Gondorian children's nightmares. She also spat silk at Thalionwen's wounds, particularly the self-inflicted bruise, as well as a sort of cover to prevent infection. Then the giant spider placed Orco on the spider's back, carrying him backstage.

~~~
Mordor Troll- Regent Director

"Raugh?!" exclaimed Mordor Troll, "Ruuuu."

"RARUGHHHHH!" Mordor Troll yelled at the actors. Perhaps he was blaming them for del Orco's current state. Or perhaps he was yelling at them to wrap it up, since it was the final prompt. Or perhaps he was hungry? Only those who knew Troll knew.

~~~

[Bilbo to Balin]: (wiping his pipe with a pocket handkerchief, as if seemingly uninterested in anything) “But the pale orc? What happened to him?”

PROMPT 6 (FINAL PROMPT): AFTERMATH. 72 HOURS

@Sil Enjoy a nice quick rest backstage or do whatever you want before the curtain call

@Dimcairien Luiniel Respond to Bilbo

@KingODuckingham Do whatever you want. Go too far in your insanity however and 50 trolls will come out and try to subdue you.

@Fairy Nuff @Aerlinn @Moriel @Laintaen @Thalionwen @Oro @Landy: Go have a nice quick rest backstage or do whatever you want before the curtain call.

@DEATH: It's the last prompt. Do whatever you want. After this prompt however is the curtain call, so be prepared for that.

~~~

Achievements for Prompt 5 will be posted tomorrow (technically later today)!

[Rivvy Elf]

PROMPT 5 ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKS:

@Sil: You have unlocked the achievements "HIDDEN DEPTHS (+10 individual points)," and "INSANITY (+10 individual points)."

@Thalionwen: You have unlocked the achievements "GALADRIEL (+10 individual points)," "MOSTLY COMPREHENSIBLE KING'S SPEECH (+10 individual points)," "CHOOSE NOT TO DIE (+10 individual points)," "SHAKESBEARD (+10 individual points)," and "FAILPUKKU (+10 individual points)."

@DEATH: You have unlocked the achievements "MORAL CONFLICT? (+10 individual points)," "THE SHOW MUST GO ON (+10 individual points)," "ELDRITCH ABOMINATION (+10 individual points)," and "MITHRIL RECORDS (+10 individual points)."

@Dimcairien Luiniel: You have unlocked the achievements "NICE PUN (+10 individual points)," and "BALIN'S AMBITION (+20 individual points)."

@KingODuckingham: You have unlocked the achievements "MURDERER (+20 individual points)," and "DAIN VISITS MORIA (+20 individual points)."

@Fairy Nuff: You have unlocked the achievement "MAKE THE GM FEEL SORRY FOR YOU (+50 individual points)."

@Uruva: You have unlocked the achievement "ALAS, I AM SLAIN (+20 individual points)."

@Laintaen: You have unlocked the achievements "IT'S PIKACHU (+10 individual points)," "NICE LORE REFERENCE (+10 individual points)," and "WHERE'S THE SKIP AD BUTTON (+10 individual points)"

[DEATH]

Playing as Loke Clogwearer, playing as Stage Hand #7, playing as caretaker to Cardboard Durin's Bane

Stage Hand #7 watches alarmedly as the mostly-empty wine bottle soars across the divide betwixt audience and cast, tumbling end over end on its collision course with the (I JUST FIXED IT, DAGNABIT! YOU HEATHENS! NOOOOO!!!! MY BELOVED CDB!!!!) recently 'repaired' flexi-cardboard Durin's Bane. And the balrog isn't going to get out of the way. How could it? Why would it?

Do you remember that scene from the Simpsons? Of course you don't. How silly of me. Another world, another time. Not even in the same universe. You're, I guess, carbon-based lifeforms, and the Simpsons are ... well, crayon-based I would imagine. Anyway. Lisa gives Ralph a St. Valentine's Day card an ... what's a St. Valentine's Day? Well he's a dude who was better than everybody else so God loved him more. Anyway, not part of the story really so ... which god? Well, God. The Big Invisible. He who Shall Not be Nam- no, wait. that's Voldemort. Look, you're stepping on my narrative here. Some space to breathe, please. So Lisa gives the card and Ralph thinks she really loves him. I mean who wouldn't? It had a train on it. It said 'I Choo-Choo-Choose You! Adorable! Anyway Ralph gets all thirsty and Lisa doesn't appreciate it because she was just trying to be nice to a kid who ... No, she didn't give him a drink. It's not that kind of- listen, just shut up for a sec will ya? So anyway Bart gets the whole thing on tape and he plays it for Lisa, rocking back and forth over the "exact moment his heart breaks in two."

So that's pretty much what an onlooker would see, if they were to gaze on Stage Hand #7 as the bottle strikes the balrog. That familiar, soggy-sounding 'THWOCK'. The half-optimistic moment when you think that poor, sodden prop might actually be able to keep its 'feet'. The moment right after that when you realise there's no chance. And then THAT moment. You see a frayed, fragile shell of a man just break. You want to reach out but you realise there's nothing left to reach out to.

Stage Hand #7 stumbles onto the stage, approaching Cardboard Durin's Bane. Empty-eyed, cheeks sunken, hair bedraggled. And #7 doesn't look great either. Around him, chaos. A sobbing Ent. A Dwarf-Wizard casting sheets of flame about him, clearly gone completely mad. A Dwarf-Orc attempting to mitigate the situation with one of the more underrated jokes of the evening, straight up riffing pop-culture like a boss. A wife wailing for her charred husband, going on and on and on and on for like, a week and a half, or at least it seems that way. A giant spider. A GIANT %@#*ING SPIDER. Some weird, other-worldly soliloquy drifting forth from backstage. The slings and arrows of outrageous fort- audience members who think, after all this, that what would really fix this show is a bit of Mordorian Dodge Ball. Really?

He sees none of this. He hears none of this. He shuffles, beaten and broken across the stage to the one thing, the single genuine care in his life right now, with a seroiusly wine bottle-shaped dent right in its face. Which, as you remember, currently sits right in the middle of its chest. He slumps. For some unfathomable reason he checks the cardboard prop's pulse. Which it doesn't have but that's no real surprise. Cardboard, remember?

Tears streaming down his face, he stands and turns to the audience, mumbling something incoherent. Takes a step forward. And another. Still mumbling but slightly louder. Another step. More mumbling. And another. Another. Then he takes a step forward. The mumble becomes a mutter. And another step. Forward. The mutter evolves into whatever the word is for softer than ordinary talking but louder than a mutter. A STEP! FORWARD! He's talking. But nobody is listening. Until, and let's be honest there aren't too many more steps to take without flat out falling off the front of the stage. And so, it comes to this.

"WILL. YOU. ALL. SHUT UP!!!!! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!!

YOU'VE DONE IT. YOU'VE BUSTED MY BAL ... ROG. YOU'VE ALL JUST GONE AND BALLY WELL DONE IT. I HOPE YOU'RE ALL PROUD OF YOU'M SELVES. A POOR BLEEDING STAGE HAND WITH NOTHING TO LIVE FOR BUT THE THRILL OF THE THEEE-ATER, THE CARE OF THE CARDBOARD, THE PLACEMENT OF THE PROP. AND YOU. YOU ALL SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF. GO ON, CHUCK WHATEVER YOU'VE GOT AT ME, I DON'T CARE. HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT, FIRE AWAY. AND YOU LOT," he gestures wildly around him at the cast and whoever else happens to be on or around the stage.

"I. I JUST CAN'T EVEN. DO ANY OF YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING HERE?? LIKE, NOT BIG PICTURE 'WHY AM I HERE' STUFF, JUST LIKE. RIGHT HERE ON THE STAGE. DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING MOMENT TO MOMENT IN THIS SO-CALLED PERFORMANCE? SETTING FIRE TO STUFF, STEALING ACTUAL LIMBS FROM OTHER ACTORS. SNEAKING OFF INTO THE AUDIENCE FOR A SNOOZE. WHATEVER THE HELL THAT WIZARD THINKS HE'S DOING. DOES ANY OF THIS MAKE SENSE??? NO???"

"So have at it. Do your worst. I'm gonna sit here with my balrog and, well I dunno. I don't care any more. You can drag my name all over the place, I don't care any more. You listening? I don't care no more."

And he sits, and rocks gently back and forth, patting the cardboard cutout of a balrog nestled in his lap with its unseeing eyes fixed on the rafters above.

Being cardboard.