Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza

NPC Pansy Greenbottom

Continuing to try and wear through the ropes caused her to be distracted for long enough for one of Tûk's darts to hit her in the leg. She momentarily stopped wriggling and looked down with detached interest as her dress got even more wet, and this time red as well. Well now, she thought to herself in an eerily calm inner voice, that will not do. Outwardly she growled, eyes narrowing at Tûk. "This is my second best dress you pig, didn't your mother teach you manners?" she spat at him, fully aware of the irony, but not in the mood for subtlety.

She renewed her efforts to break through the ropes, growling again at Avalak when he pulled the dart from her leg. She wished she could move her leg a little more so she could kick out at him. She was quite satisfied to see that the orc who had received the thrown beer before was advancing on Tûk, and only mildly disappointed when Tûk threw one of the darts meant for her at the orc instead. One less for me, said the cool inner voice while she continued wriggling her metal buttons against the ropes.

NPC Dodo Proudfoot

Shot through the heart
It's all part of the game we call darts

Would you be content to see me crying
After all those little darts you put through me
After all I've asked from you you're tossing
Wouldn't it be nice to give some food

Didn't somebody somewhere say
You're gonna take a fall
I gave you pleading cries
Now here's the curtain call

And I'm shot through the heart as I lay there stricken
On the wall through the heart
It's all part of this game that we call darts

Now you've come back here to take your aim
I just don't know why you're stalking me
It could be the hobbit I always was, Gwai
I've grown out and now I'm hanging up
Drooping there just a fat hobbit
With nowhere left to turn
You were gonna give the hobbit food
But you never learn

That I'm shot through the heart as I hang there alone
In the pub through the heart
It's all part of this game that we call darts

Hanging there just a pierced lump
With nowhere left to turn
You were gonna give the hobbit food
But you never learn?
Now Dodo's shot

Rohir does what Rohir please
And hobbit must have food he sees
But not this time, the tables turned
And hobbit, you just got burned

Shot through the heart as I hang there alone
In the pub through the heart
It's all part of this game that we call
Shot through the heart as I hang there alone
In the pub through the heart
It's all part of this game that we call
Shot through the heart as I hang there alone
In the pub through the heart
It's all part of this game that we call darts
Shot, shot, shot
Shot, shot, shot
Shot, shot, shot

OOC: Thanks Bon Jovi

That last round hadn’t gone terribly, but it hadn’t exactly gone well, either. Írimë shrugged and had just been about to go retrieve her darts when a hissing sound caught her attention. She looked over to the door of the pub, and saw a hand beckoning furiously. Intrigued, she trotted over and was immediately seized about the arm and dragged through the door.

“Is that him?!” multiple voices hissed excitedly, and Írimë found herself in the midst of a gaggle of female orcs, each fighting to get a look through the nearby window into the interior of the pub.

“Who?” the Pubmistress asked, nonplussed.

“Himmmmmm!” the hearest orc sighed dramatically, “Your new bartender! The sexy one.” she mimed a poledance.

“Oh, him!” Írimë peered through the window, noting Frost hard at work, passing out drinks and passing judgements like it was his job. Which it was. “Yes, but don’t you go getting any funny ideas, he’s mine. If I can ever get him away from everyone else who seems to be after him. Especially that Taethowen,” it was Írimë’s turn to sigh, “Though I may be fighting a losing battle there. Ah well, I never wanted a commitment anyway. How boring.”

Cheers and groaned rang out, and Írimë whirled on the group of peeping-orcs. “Now look what you’ve done, I’ve missed a round! What are you lurking out here for, anyway? Why not come inside and ogle him there like everyone else?”

An embarrassed silence greeted these words, followed by the smack of Írimë’s palm as it connected with her forehead.

“You are ridiculous. Alright, tell you what, if each of you ponies up.. two silver, I’ll try to convince him to.. toooo…. take off his shirt! How about that?”

She was answered with a rattling shower of coins.

Smirking, Írimë strode back into the pub, tucking away the silver into her belt pouch. She retrieved her darts, returned to the link, and flung them with a hitherto unseens focus- though that focus was perhaps concentrated on her scheme, rather than the throwing itself.

Caladlethril blushed as she realized her musings had led her to completely miss a round. She'd always been told she got too into her own head, but this was downright embarrassing. Luckily, as if yo save her from the shame, one of the other women (Taeth came over looking about as unsettled as Caladlethril felt herself. "You're right, I am new here. It's nice to meet you, I'm called Caladlethril around these parts, though as you might guess a wizard has many names."

Calad turned and looked at the bartender, happily flirting with the patrons and handing out drinks. "How did you become involved with an innkeeper of Mordor when you are from Rohan?" She asked Taethowen. "It must be quite the tale! And as for your apprentice," Caladlethril replied, a wry grin beginning to split her face, "that would be telling."

Deciding the moment for drama was at hand, she took her darts and threw them in quick succession.

Taethowen, human, she/her

Taeth's head had steadied, a bit, since she'd skipped the third shot of Nazgul Essence the last round. Steadied as in... hadn't become more drunk yet. Not that she was sobering up. But it meant that she was still able to respond mostly coherently when the Istari (Caladlethril) introduced herself.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Caladladle." No, that wasn't right. "Calad-ethel. Candle-ether." Dammit Taeth. "Can I call you Cala?" she asked apologetically.

"Ah, yes, quite the tale indeed." Taeth couldn't help but throw a fond glance back at the bar, watching Frost in what was definitely one of his elements. "We actually met, briefly, in Umbar several years ago. I was looking for Haradrim silk, and made some... foolish mistakes. Frost intervened on my behalf, for whatever reason. And... there was a certain attraction even then. But I was married at the time.

"Recently, well... he was actually in Rohan for something, and it turned out we had a mutual friend. She reintroduced us and... well. Neither of us wanted to leave things undone this time."

Taeth pulled her gaze away from the bar then. She could easily get lost in thought, just watching Frost, for a while, whether she'd downed zero shots of Nazgul Essence, or five. But that would be rude.

"To be honest, I have no idea how we'll make any of this work out. But... I think, if I didn't try, I would regret it to my dying breath."

After a moment of silence, Taeth shook her head, then had to steady herself as she felt a little dizzy.

"Goodness, I'm babbling," she apologized. "I tend to do that with alcohol. I'm so sorry."

And then, through the slight alcohol haze, Taeth realized exactly what the dwarf said at the bar earlier.

"Excuse me again," she said to Caladlethril, and strode over to Balfur. Mostly without stumbling. He'd just finished tossing his next set of darts. Unfortunately, it was in those moments that the effects of the second Nazgul Essence really began to set in.

"Hey! You shed earlier that you had no intenshun of taking Frost home either," she only slurred a little. "But I feel the need to clar-iffy. I'm not taking him home." And that was when she started giggling. "He's taking me home. It's where I shlept last night too."

The giggling had really set in then, though, and Taeth made her way back to the bar, where she noticed that the Nazgul Essence and shot glasses still sat, and poured herself a third one. It may have spilled a little, but she somehow managed to not pour the whole thing into her lap--decanter or shot--and by now she didn't even noticed the burn in her throat anymore when she tossed it back.

Then, as songs broke out in background, she retrieved her darts, and returned to the line to toss them again. She... attempted to aim, but everything was looking a little blurry and a little doubled, and she honestly wasn't sure she was aiming in the right direction at all, but she did her best to throw those three darts.

Once the final dart left her hand, she sighed, and tried not to fall over.


(OOC @Balfur mostly ignoring the beer spray because I don't want to go back and retcon that far right now LOL.)

Now that the contestants are settling in, and drink far, far too much, the real fun is beginning, at least in Frost’s eyes. Watching the darters getting uproariously drunk is better entertainment for the Númenórean than dinner at the Black Pits. More than darts are flying and Frost is glad he’s not the one that has to clean up, that’s what snagas are for after all.

@Dwim Tûk
Your rage is fiery and pure. It consumes your being and allows you to reach new heights of aim… just not at Pansy. While you’re beer mugs are flying with the truest of accuracies, your darts have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing.
Round 4: 34 points

@Gwai
Oh dear! Dodo may have been able to distract you temporarily from your ultimate goal, but even his pathetic whining can only go on for so long. A final dart flies from your finger and… strikes him in the head. You’ve killed your first hoppit! Congratulations! Come have a free drink at the bar because... well you killed your target and you have nothing but time now. You’re disqualified from continuing but your impressive score will stand.
Round 4: 158 points

@ Silmarë Zôrzimril
Those two targets can be confusing, Frost is very sympathetic, however, you don’t have two targets, you still only have one. You don’t manage to hit your hoppit this round, possibly because you’re in awe of Gwai’s cold blooded murder, but you still manage a decent score
Round 4: 74 points

@ Dimcairien Luiniel Zarâm
You did it! You finally hit your hoppit! Howl with triumph and wild abandon! Your hoppit bleeds from his chest, a marker of your awesome brutality. These new darts are definitely better.
Round 4: 93 points

@Taethowen
The drunker you get, the more wonderful you are. Your fierce jealousy mixed with your slurring words ends up giving you a slight advantage over your rivals in this round. Would another shot be pushing it too far?
Round 4: 88 points

@Balfur
Your dedication to good beer is commendable! Frost is only sorry that you tried to drink one of his failed experiments. Ask for the good stuff next time and he’ll go out back and grab the isbock. Your concern for Grobby is touching as well, Frost makes sure to have the snagas bring them a whole roasted chicken. What they’ll do with said chicken in anyone’s guess though.
Round 4: 99 points

@Moriel Írimë
Well now! This is fun. A cavalcade of lovely orc ladies enter the bar and… ask him to remove his shirt? Well… anything for the customer, he does see you smiling in the background though. While the removal is nowhere near as scandalous and sensational as it was in Rohan, Frost knows how to put on a show. Everyone seems happy. You had better share those profits though, or you might not get a private show.
Round 4: 95 points

@SilverDragon Caladlethril
Moral qualms? What moral qualms? You know exactly what you have do and you’re not afraid to dart through a few measly hoppits to get it. Drama at the pub? Ha! Nothing can distract you now.
Round 4: 126 points


@KingODuckingham even though you sang your gross little heart out, it did not save you in the end. However, because of the songs power, you have the ability to come back as a ghost (we already have one running around after all, why not more) and give disadvantage (or advantage) to any thrower you’d like!

@Shivased Oh magnificent ghost horse! Your presence here in the Black Lands, while surprising, is not unwelcomed. However, you’ve thrown off the remaining Rohir, and now Taethowen has disadvantage on 2 of her next 3 darts! Such disapproval, much unhappy.

Order your next round, if you dare, and get ready to throw so more darts! Round 5 will wrap up in 72hours.

* Gwai’s score stands, but she can no longer participate

NPC Dead-o, an extinct species of Hobbit

"Wooooo, ooohhhhoooooooooooo" he said, both his voice and form quavering. "Wait, where is the food?"

He stopped talking in shock. For one thing, wasn't he unable to talk a few moments ago? And the pain was gone. And...there was his body, lying limp but unable to fall, still strung up against the wall. At least, it sure looked like him...

He looked down at himself. He was floating several inches off the ground. That was unusual, for a start. But for another thing, he was translucent, and nobody was looking at him. Not with weird looks, not normally. They were looking through him, if anything. Dodo pondered this flood of new information.

As he did so, he realized the most shocking thing of all. He wasn't hungry. He could not remember the last time he had been free of that feeling. He was amazed. It was surprisingly comfortable. If this was death, perhaps it was not so bad!

It looked as though some other hobbits would soon be joining him. Dodo realized he felt neither happy nor sad about this. In fact, he didn't really feel any emotions, exactly. Apparently being dead caused that too. There was a whole world of discovery opening up before him.

He decided to leave with a parting word, settling in around Tûk's shoulder. He whispered,

"I know you're a hobbit, mate, and soon everyone else will too. Wooooooo" his voice faded out as he drifted over toward Gwai, and asked

"But Gwhy though?" Then he disappeared.

OOC: Disadvantage for Dwim!

Gwai should have taken Zarâm's advice and not aimed for the head again. But she had been distracted by Dodo's song, which had actually been quite clever, and she found herself even humming along on the chorus. Truly, this song could have made him famous. It was too late though. Dodo was dead. "You were right," Gwai groaned to Zarâm. "Why did I aim for the head again?" she berated herself, especially as she was now winning and had to sit out.

She had mixed feelings. Dodo had been terribly annoying. If only he had started singing before she had killed him, she had no idea he was so talented! He could have gotten onto Middle Earth Idol. Depressed, she went back to the bar, although not depressed enough not to capitalize on her free drink. "Frost, why don't you have enough hoppits to replace the one I killed, so I could keep throwing?" she asked the bartender only half jokingly, before moving on to more pressing business. "And I'll take another one, please," she added, gesturing to her mostly empty glass. "I need it," she groaned, wondering how dirty the bar counter was before she banged her head against it.

Gwai jumped as a table behind her fell, for no apparent reason. She jumped again as she could have sworn something right over her shoulder breathed her name, in a rather clever pun to boot. Were there ghosts in here? she wondered, suppressing a shiver. If there were ever going to be ghosts, Mordor would probably be the place. Hopefully it wasn't Dodo haunting her for killing him. The good news was she didn't live here, and he was welcome to haunt the pub as much as he wanted. Preferably when she left, however.

Dimcairien Luiniel wrote: ↑Mon Jul 20, 2020 5:26 am
She looked down and noticed the creature, Grobby, giving a gap-toothed grin in the direction of Balfur. "Enjoying your first round of Hoppit Darts?" Zarâm asked.

Grobby flinched instinctively as Zarâm leaned down towards it, but a moment later it realised that she meant it no harm and was instead enquiring as to whether it was enjoying itself. “Grobby like hoppit” it declared, once again licking its lips and grinning happily it’s wonky-toothed grin at the large orc woman before rushing away on its next sweeping drive-by beneath the dangling halflings, calling out “Broom Broom!” as it went.

Balfur wrote: ↑Mon Jul 20, 2020 1:31 pm ”Get me some foul beer for throwing! And do you maybe have some fowl for that, erhm... creature over there? It has helped me and deserves to be rewarded." He points at Grobby.

It’s ears perked up as it heard it’s name again, and the big round eyes opened in glee at the declaration that someone would be willingly offering the creature a plate of the food that everyone else was eating. It vibrated it’s little purring noise; it could not remember anyone offering it people food before, although that might just as easily be more due to its poor memory than any neglect on the part of its foster parents.

Silmarë wrote: ↑Wed Jul 22, 2020 1:35 amFor no apparent reason, Zôr next took a seat near Grobby and tilted her head at them. "You're a funny thing, aren't you?" she murmured. She had no idea if they heard her; they seemed preoccupied by Írimë and a hoppit earlobe. She giggled again.

It chewed on the hobbit-ear gift from Írimë and nodded eagerly, tail wagging furiously as Zôr spoke to it, all the while it’s gaze is fixated on the staff member who was bringing over a small plate of meagre fowl offcuts for the little kobold, oblivious to the woman leaving its side a moment later.

As the plate was laid before it, it cuddled its little broom to its chest in glee, licking its lips and staring in wonder, almost too excited to move. Unfortunately, it paid dearly for the delay, because a moment later the large rump it a ghost-horse (Beaducyrm) slammed into Grobby and sent him tumbling. He squawked in alarm and scuttled on all fours under the table on which his beloved meat prize lay, only for the horse to back up a moment and scatter table, broom/mop, plate of meat and frightened little kobold across the pub.

His little clawed feet make a quick-step angry patter as he retreated behind the bar. His head appeared for a moment, glaring angrily at the Ghost horse. “Grobby’s home. Only one cute thing. Mine. Get out.” It muttered to itself, vengeful against the entity that had denied it the plateful of meat and threatened to steal its place in the spotlight as ‘cutest creature of the pub’ (cuteness being, of course, in the eye of the beholder. ‘Weirdest’ might be more appropriate). It disappeared behind the bar and scuttled into the kitchen.

It was gone for only a few minutes, engaging it’s race’s keen skill for constructing clever traps and nasty devices using a few useful tools from the kitchen; a colander to hold the ammunition, a large springy, metal serving spoon, a large ceramic dish as a base, and the remnants of the nest of poisonous and non-poisonous snakes that had been disturbed only the night before. It hastily constructed its weapon behind the bar out of sight and, peeking over one last time to set its sight and aim on the offending ghost horse, dropped back behind the bar and fired.

Grobby’s wild cry of enthusiasm was the only warning some of the crowd had right before the bundle of angry snakes passed over the bar, through the air and straight through the ethereal horse, exploding across the floor.

“SNAKAPULT!”

OOC; When I approach the thread-runner for permission to potentially interrupt his little darts competition, he said:-

Frost wrote:You can certainly try! If Moriel couldn’t interrupt with a gaggle of female orcs swarming Frost, I dare you to do your worst!

For the record, this is not yet Grobby at his worst.

Zôrzimril

Zôr's darts thudded into place one after another. She squinted against the effects of her drinks to see that all three had missed her target. She scowled with disappointment at her worst round yet. The next round had better bring fresh wounds to her hoppit, she fumed. It was time for another drink - if it didn't manage to ensure her next set of darts found their mark, it'd at least take the edge off the shame of missing again.

Despite her irritation at her performance this round, she gave an involuntary cry of delight as the disgusting Dodo died, his spirit leaving his body hanging limply on the wall. Zôr ran into the Rohir who'd brutally killed him at the bar and eyed Gwai with interest. "Congratulations on permanently shutting that thing up," she said, leaning against the bar once more and catching Frost's eye, noting with mild interest that he was shirtless again. She ignored the fawning crowd of female orcs that had appeared and continued speaking to Gwai. "It's too bad his next of kin aren't on hand for you to finish off - it would be so efficient to tie off those loose ends in one night."

Nodding to her fellow Númenórean behind the bar, she requested another drink. "I'll have Sex on the Beach of Nurnen," she murmured, a suggestive grin playing on her lips and letting the double meaning of the drink's name linger on the air.

She plucked the umbrella from her drink once served and twirled it with bloody fingers while sipping the beverage. She smiled as Grobby purred and wagged with pleasure at all the attention it was receiving; she clicked her tongue at them affectionately and blew a kiss their way. The scaly denizen of the bar delighted her in ways that eluded words.

Zôr felt suddenly chilled. "Oh no," she moaned. "How did he get in here?!" The ghost horse had chilled her in Rohan and upset a table there, too. She figured she should get to throwing her next round of darts before the horse started licking her again. Yet somehow the air was even chillier here than it had been in Rohan. Were there multiple ghosts floating about the pub tonight? She shivered and stood up, turning in time to get out of the line of fire of snakes as a shrill voice screamed "SNAKAPULT!" But Zôr was focused on tormenting her hoppit some more.

Walking a bit straighter now (she supposed the cool ghostly air had sobered her a bit), she retrieved her darts from the wall and returned to the line. Drink in her left hand, she took her next three shots.

Tûk
with Avalak, his bodyguard

That was the first time Tûk had ever been called a pig before. It was enough to distract him during his first two shots. Perhaps he should not have wasted his third dart on that orc (even though it did save him from an impending fight he would not have been able to win without help). Pansy had got away with it this time! She was doing just enough wriggling and talking to stop Tûk from being completely focused. The two darts flew straight past her, with quite some velocity, but no accuracy at all.

This was so frustrating. In his younger days back in the Shire, Tûk had been such a good rock thrower. He thought that would translate effectively into dart-throwing. But he'd had two eyes back then.

"Stop your wriggling," he said as he approached Pansy while reclaiming his darts from the board. He kicked the tighter side of her rope with his oddly booted foot, hoping to make her wobble violently.

He then stepped back to the mark. With three darts this time, surely he could put in a better effort. He focused everything into making sure his darts hit their target (even making an effort to quell his frustration for now). But just as he was about to throw, something cold touched his shoulder lightly and then someone (the ghost of Dodo) began whispering in his ear, enough to throw off his aim.

"What was that?" he said, spinning his head but finding no one there. "Who said that? Who knows I'm a hobbit? Doesn't everyone?"

Avalak looked at him with confusion. "I know you're a hobbit," he replied most unhelpfully.

"HA!" Zarâm cried triumphantly as she nailed her hobbit right in the centre of its chest. As her hobbit groaned in pain, she heard sudden silence coming from where Gwai's hobbit Dodo had hung. The Rohir had nailed him in the head for a second time, and the dart had killed the blasted creature. "Glad you finally gave that little shire-face what was coming to him," said Zarâm with a grin. And she shouted across the bar to Frost, "Killing a hobbit gets you a free round, right?" Or at any rate, the Rohir deserved a free round for putting everyone in the pub out of their misery from the complaints and songs of the nasty hobbit.

As they were celebrating the death of Dodo, a chilly air filled the room. "Not again," Zarâm groaned. Her previous run-in with the ghost horse Beaducyrm hadn't exactly gone well. It turned out that flames and ghosts are not the best of combinations. Apparently the ghost horse had decided to follow its Rohir friends all the way to Mordor. Not that ghosts weren't anything new in the Black Lands, the whole area was bound to be haunted, there was enough murder and mayhem going around to guarantee a legion of ghosts, but ghost Rohir horses in the pub were a new thing. And of course, like usual, the ghost horse was capable of half-interacting with the physical realm, and thus startled several of the patrons in the bar, including the creature Grobby, who perhaps was more annoyed than startled. For some reason the creature kept some snakes in it's cupboard and Grobby promptly tossed a whole handful of them towards the ghost. Zarâm instinctively stepped away from the pile, not wanting to get bit on the ankle by yet another snake. But, then, shenanigans were always happening in the pub.

With a shake of her head, and wondering what on earth Frost and Thali were going to do with their child, Zarâm took careful aim and flung her three darts towards her hobbit, hoping her better luck would once again come through.

All Caladlethril could do was stare in wonder at the antics unfolding around her. Whatever she'd expected when she's first come to Mordor, a ghost horse and snakes were certainly NOT on the list. She briefly smiled and wondered why she'd ever been scared. In fact, she was so startled she nearly forgot about the darts in her hand. She glanced down at them, and back at the horse currently trying to bring down the bar, and flung them at her hobbit. She never imagined throwing darts at a hobbit to be the least absurd thing to have witnessed today.

Ghost horses, snakapults, and beer fights, oh my! In what can only be described as a typical night in On the Rocks, Frost simply stands back and lets the chaos wash over him. He knows that ghost horse all too well and he’s not getting in its way at all. He learned exactly what not to do with ghosts during his stay in Rohan. He did hide the honey though, better to be safe than sorry. And the snakes, why did it have to be snakes? Grobby’s favorite snack/projectile had made their way onto the game floor, this was going to make the final round something of an adventure!

@Dwim Tûk
What was that? No, wrong side. Over here. No. Over here. Wait. What’s going on? There were far too many ghosts in this bar for you tonight. You hadn’t counted on a single one, let alone two! What kind of establishment allows ghosts to just waltz in and cause mayhem? Do you want to talk to the manager?
Round 5: 54 points

@Gwai
You sit back and philosophize with Frost (hey there’s an interesting joint venture idea) about the nature of killing hoppits and why there’s not an endless supply of them in the Black Lands, perhaps you could find a lava snake that could turn into one?
Round 5: --

@ Silmarë Zôrzimril
Between thinking about sex on the beach (that really is a wonderful drink too), the return of ghost horsey, and Grobby’s insistence upon showing everyone their snake collection, you don’t manage to hit the target, but you still do better than some of your competitors. Frost’s advice, stay away from honey for the rest of the night.
Round 5: 71 points

@ Dimcairien Luiniel Zarâm
The hoppit squirms just out of reach from your darts this time, the bounds might be loosening, better have Frost check to make sure, can’t have faulty ropes be the reason you don’t kill your hoppit! Still, you manage to do quite well this round amidst all the chaos, that escapade in Rohan really helped you dart under fire!
Round 5: 106 points

@Taethowen
Alas, my poor darling, you’ve now seen the power of Nazgûl Essence. It’s not a drink that hits you all at once. Before you’re able to make your next throws you begin to feel tired. Frost, upon seeing this, manages to catch you before your fall and carries you through the doors of the kitchen to lay you down in a quiet spot. He also leaves a glass of water and a bucket, just in case you wake up and feel the urge to… pay the next round.
Round 5: 0 points

@Balfur
Are you imagining Frost with a beard right now? It would be a glorious thing wouldn’t it? Black as obsidian, wrapping in tight and intricate braid that reach down to his now bare chest and whoops, there went your turn. Frost understands though, he always does.
Round 5: 0 points

@Moriel Írimë
Wait a minute! Is that a new tattoo? You thought you’d already counted them all but there appears to be a few more, fresher ones. Where did he get those? He certainly looks good with the two bear skulls crowning his shoulders doesn’t he? Suddenly, you’re very, very thirsty but drink after drink doesn’t seem to quench it. Your bar is going mad with ghost horses and flying snakes but you can’t seem to take your eyes off that wonderful bar tender. You did a very good thing hiring him. Wait, did you just miss your turn? Who cares, Frost is here.
Round 5: 0 points

@SilverDragon Caladlethril
Even while all this madness is going on around you, is that a ghost horse?! What’s a ghost horse doing here? And why? Just why? Snakes you can understand. Wait, snakes? Holy shireballs! Mordor is both exactly what you expected and nothing like what you expected at all, at least you’re not mooning over the bar tender like all these other fools!
Round 5: 90 points

@Allafyrefleorhtlig Because of your masterful Grobby performance, you have now altered the rules for the final round!
Now, a natural 1 on the d20 means you miss your target, a d6 will be to see if you hit an opponent’s hoppit. If a 5 is rolled, you hit one of the snakes and earn an extra 15 points. If a 6 is rolled, then you hit someone else’s hoppit but they get the points. A natural 20 means you get an extra throw (the GM will throw it for you), for a possible 6 throws in the final round. This is the final round, so anything could happen!

@Shivased You’ve done what very few have managed to do, okay that’s not true you’ve actually fit in with the crowd very well, despite that strange creature throwing snakes at you now. Because you’ve done so well fitting in, you get to decide you gets 2 disadvantaged or advantaged (your choice) throws on their final turn. Use this power wisely, you could get a lot of bribes out of it.

Order your next round, if you dare, and get ready to throw so more darts! The Final Round will wrap up in 72 hours.

At least somebody understood Gwai’s consternation at having dispatched her hoppit so precipitously. “Thank you, Zôr,” Gwai responded gratefully. “I blame Frost, for finding such an annoying hoppit,” she commented, “And you’re right of course. He should have brought the whole family. We could have made this a night to remember!” she sighed wistfully, taking a sip of her drink.

Zarâm cheered her up as well, and Gwai felt a bit better, especially as Zarâm mentioned the free drinks once more. "Congratulations on your score so far, as well,” she said magnanimously, resigned to losing her position on the leader board soon. Normally she would be more upset, but she was quite enjoying Zarâm’s company, and the free drinks weren’t hurting.

Gwai leaned over the bar to speak with Frost a bit more. He was a bartender, after all, and therefore highly qualified to give advice. “Frost,” she began, about to describe her existential crisis of wanting to throw more darts at hoppits while also feeling significant moral quandaries, when she heard that small creature Grobby yell “Snakapult!”

Gwai instinctively ducked, giving a squeal of disgust she hoped no one overheard. As she looked up, she swore she saw a ghost horse, who looked quite familiar, charge through Zarâm and Zôr and rear up onto the bar, in front of Grobby.

A brief moment of disbelief followed, but Gwai was much less scared of Beaducrym and ghosts in general than she was of snakes. The snakes were already slithering about the ground, and Gwai climbed up onto the bar, looking around to make sure none had managed to land on it. She echoed the thought that others were probably thinking simultaneously. Why did it have to be snakes? Why did it always have to be snakes?

“Ghost horsie!” Gwai called out. “Go step on the snakes!” she suggested urgently, hoping if he could make the bar shake he could also do some damage to the snakes.

Zôrzimril

Zôr's next three darts all missed. Trembling, her hoppit lifted its head to look her in the eye and stuck out its tongue in a feeble taunt. She gave a snarl of anger and swept to the wall to retrieve her darts. Darts in her left hand, she pushed her right forefinger into its chest just beside the spot where she'd pierced it with a dart earlier. The little creature squirmed and squeaked with pain, and Zôr turned away, satisfied for now. A few snakes slithered around her feet, the remnants of Grobby's trick. Counting herself lucky that none had landed on her, she stepped lightly past them to fetch another drink.

Out of nowhere, it was Zôr's turn to tremble. She hugged herself for warmth as the ghost horse passed through her - she felt as if she'd been submerged in icy water. From the corner of her eye, she caught its outline shimmering on the air as it charged toward Grobby and reared up. "For Fred's sake," she moaned. It was a good thing she wasn't coated in honey this time. Zôr cupped her hands and blew onto them to warm her fingers as she approached the bar.

She sat down beside Gwai. "That hoppit was repulsive - I heard he befouled an entire community of lava snakes not too long ago. So he got what was coming to him, don't worry about that." She lowered her voice. "And did that ghost horse follow you all the way from Rohan? I think I've had enough run-ins with it by now for the rest of my life - and afterlife, I suppose." When Gwai urged the thing to step on the snakes, Zôr grinned in spite of her feelings about the horse. "You fit in well here," she mused aloud. Zôr hoped the equine ghost would affect the material world enough to squash the snakes; it'd be a shame to be poisoned by snake venom after an evening this fun.

When Frost returned from putting a passed-out Taethowen to bed, she ordered one more drink for the night. "Another Orquilla Sunset, if you please." She tossed back the drink quickly and returned her attention to darts.

Back at the line, she called out to her hoppit. "Whether you live or die tonight, I hope your final moments on this earth twist you into knots with pain." She took careful aim and threw her final three darts for the night. If she was truly lucky, she'd put out its other eye.

Tûk
with Avalak, his bodyguard

Tûk shook his head. Not only were there ghosts in the pub (he thought that was a ghost, anyway...), but now there were snakes slithering around his feet. He hadn't noticed until he heard the hissing. He'd just assumed it was the ghost making more strange noises. But then one of the snakes struck at his foot. Boy was he glad he wore boots now. It was terribly strange for a hobbit to wear boots, but they certainly were useful in Mordor. He gave a kick with one foot, which sent that snake flying. Then, encouraged by the results, he kicked his foot again to fling another snake towards Pansy.

Maybe the snake would hit her, because his darts certainly weren't.

Perhaps he needed to drink some more just to loosen up a little bit. He stalked back to the bar to make an order. The beer fight appeared to be over, so he thought it was time to get back to the grog. "Two grogs, please!" he requested, approaching Frost. "One for me, and one for him." He pointed back over his shoulder towards Avalak with his thumb. But truth was both were for Tûk. "Who runs this place anyway?" he continued. "Ghosts, snakes, loosely tied ropes... One drink is hardly enough."

He leaned on the bar, waiting for his drinks, and looked at Pansy. He could not believe he'd only managed to hit her once. That thought was infuriating. With his three new darts in hand, he didn't even bother walking back to the line. He threw them from the bar.

Grobby, a very young Kobold, they/them or he/him

An interesting thing about kobolds is that they have a strange relationship with peril. Sometimes they absolutely sense when danger is looming over them. And at other times, they are abysmally ignorant. They are not brave creatures, for the most part, just... dangerously optimistic with a healthy dose of competitiveness. So it was that when Grobby was faced with the towering figure of the spectral war-horse Beaducyrm he did not exhibit a single ounce of fear and merely glowered up at it angrily for not having fallen foul of the Snakapult.

It glances around it, spotting the bottles of drink and alcohol soaked rags used to wipe down the bar along with a flint and steel used to light the pub’s fireplace and lanterns. Its little brain swiftly calculated the design for a Smaug-breath-cocktail and it was in the process of reaching for a bottle to begin the process when another memory passed through its mind.

Írimë wrote: “Oh Grobby, you might just be my favorite person, you know that? You’re both repulsive and absolutely adorable and you do try so hard to clean things....”

It was not caution that stayed the little lizard-creature’s clawed hand, but love. Love for the beautiful bartender lady, gratitude for the attention she had sores on it and a deep desire to continue to be a recipient of her affections. “Pretty lady like clean pub. Grobby no burn it. Grobby clean. But Grobby...” it turned its gaze back to the equine neighing angrily above it and smirked. “Grobby show horsie that Grobby is better.”

The little hand continued its journey to the bottle, dug it’s little claws in to tear away the cork and grinned mischievously up at the horse. Something deep in its little brain had logicked that if the horse creature could not be hurt by snakes, then it could not enjoy the delights of the living either; food and drink may be beyond its ability to retain solidity long enough to enjoy. It took a hearty draught of the liquid, having to use both its little hands to hold the bottle (which was almost half its size) up while it did so, and then have an over-exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. “Aaaaah!” It snatched up one of the snakes wriggling past and easily bit off it’s head with a hefty crunch of its multi-layered teeth. “Yummy!” It declared, continuing in its attempts to rouse the horse’s jealously as it sucked the rest of the snake down like a length of spaghetti with a vibrating purr of pleasure. It smacked its lips and rubbed its belly in satisfaction, and then stuck out its tongue at Beaducyrm in challenge.

Despite not hitting her hobbit this time, and nearly getting run over by a ghost horse, Zarâm was quite pleased with the results, but it seemed as if her hobbit was squirming a bit too much. "Hey Frost!" she shouted above the din (what on earth was going on between Grobby and Beaducyrm?) "Think you can make certain these bonds are nice and tight? It won't do for it to get away." She gave the petrified hobbit a nasty grin as she spoke.

Meanwhile, the strange hobbit Tûk decided to throw his darts from the bar. If he managed to hit anything from that distance, Zarâm was going to be impressed. After glancing at Grobby and the ghost horse, and shaking her head at Grobby taking a drink (would they have to deal with drunk Grobby later on?) Zarâm carefully aimed and threw her final three darts, hoping to at least hit the nasty hobbit again, it not killing it this time.

At any rate, tonight had been an interesting adventure and she would never underestimate a Rohir warrior before, especially Gwai. They certainly had a delightful aim when it came to Hoppit Darts.

Taeth was having a very nice dream. Frost was cradling her in his arms, against his very bare and mouth-watering chest. Her face was tucked into his neck, and while she traced a finger over a very fresh looking bitemark on his collarbone she couldn't seem to stop giggling mine over and over.

For some reason, though, his embrace was cold and hard as rock. So Bema-damned cold that she threw her arm out to look for a blanket, except that her hand met a stone floor, and then she ran into a wooden bucket with her arm. The dreamy illusion of Frost abruptly faded away and she blinked, vision more than a little blurry and shifting back and forth.

Where am I? she thought, pushing herself up to sitting and then immediately regretting it as her head spun and her stomach churned. She gagged, quickly clamping her hand over her mouth. Right, she thought. What possessed me to drink *three shots* of Nazgûl Essence? That's going to burn if it comes back up.

Ever so slowly, she crossed her legs under her, and leaned back against the wall. When her vision became a little less doubled and a little less blurry, she noticed that there was a glass of water next to the wooden bucket. She lowered the hand at her mouth to her stomach to try and quiet its churning, and reached for the water with her other hand. Gingerly, she brought it to her lips and took slow, small sips.

Eventually, her stomach calmed, and she gave a sigh of relief. Taeth had no idea how long she'd been passed out, but she doubted Frost would have left her back here by herself if the game of Hoppit Darts had finished and the pub was closed. So it must still be going on.

"Come on, stomach," she whispered. "It's just standing up." And somehow, she managed to do it, with only a slight queasiness. A few hesitant steps seemed to prove that she wasn't about to hurl, and that she could walk without falling over, even if it was a bit wobbly.

As soon as Taeth stepped out the kitchen doors, though, she regretted it. Because the first thing her eyes landed on was a strange multi-colored lizard thing chomping the head off a living snake, and then slurping the rest of it down like a noodle. The shudder that ran through her threatened to upset the delicate truce she'd bartered with her stomach, and she had to grab the edge of the counter and take a few deep breaths, pointedly looking away from the staring and eating contest the lizard-creature seemed to be having with... nothing.

But then her gaze met Frost's, and while it was normal for him to smirk, there was a very particular gleam in his eye that made horror wash through her. Bema damn it, none of that was a dream a bit ago was it? I really did that. Fredegar. Taeth cleared her throat as her face reddened, and carefully pushed herself away from the bar, opting to just look down at the floor as she made her way around to the hoppit targets again. The floor was safe... she hoped.

She winced as she retrieved her darts from whatever round she had managed to throw last, and then silently took her place again to throw. Not even trying to aim, once more, but mostly because it was actually too difficult to get both her eyes to focus on the same spot at once at the moment, Taeth tossed her final three darts in the general direction of her target.

It has been one hell of a night here in On the Rocks! With no shortage of crazy shenanigans, bar fights, beer, bare chested bar tenders, and drunken near confessions. What does the final round of Hoppit Darts have in store for us all?

@Dwim Tûk
Finally! Even though it was in the final round of the competition, you managed to hit Pansy! Your first dart slams right into her chest! You may not have killed her, but you can go to bed (where ever it is creepy hobbits sleep) knowing that caused pain and trauma to a member of your own race! Well done, I suppose.
Final Round: 101 points

@Gwai
At least you have free drinks and a ghost horsie to play with! Right? Besides, maybe this is all a dream and you, a Marshal, didn’t in fact murder a poor defenseless (if also disgusting) hobbit.
Final Round: --

@Silmarë Zôrzimril
Your last bit of focus doesn’t quite hit your hobbit, though all three darts you send hurtling toward the sniveling thing earn you gobs of points, and gives the hobbit another piercing! You can be proud of that score, Frost certainly is!
Final Round: 90 points

@Dimcairien Luiniel Zarâm
You saved the best for last! Whether it’s the anger, the booze, the ghost horse, or the snakes, there’s something in you that explodes. Your first dart is a headshot! Take that you stupid hoppit! Your second hits their arm! Ha! And your third is good enough to earn you a fourth dart! Alright! Will it be enough to jump into the leader board? Frost certainly hopes so!
Round 5: 106 points

@Taethowen
You wake up, just slightly embarrassed about what you’ve done (I mean this is Mordor, being drunk and passed out is small potatoes) and come upon Grobby.. eating a snake? Well you shove all that strangeness aside and lazily toss your darts. Perhaps you should have done that from the get go! You give your hobbit a lovely new piercing and earn yourself a fourth dart as well! How will that play out in the final standings? Either way, you've done Frost proud
Final Round: 139 points

@Balfur
Beards. Beards are good business, fake beards are even better business! Confident in your newest business venture you let your darts fly! No hits on the hobbits but you’re too flush with your beard business idea to care.
Final Round : 98 points

@Moriel Írimë
You’re dreaming. At least you think you’re dreaming. Frost is there with you, but you’re both watching a very strange scene play out. It seems like faeries are gathered around a man with a donkey head. That’s… that’s unusual, but what’s weirder is that they seemed to be really into the man with the donkey head. Is this a midsummer night’s dream? Or a midsummer night’s mare? Either way, you could have sworn you were once the man with the donkey head. At least Frost is there to witness it with you.
Final Round: 0 points

@SilverDragon Caladlethril
Nope, this is too much. You thought you could handle it but nope. This Mordor pub business is just too damn weird to enjoy. You really, really wanted to throw your darts and kills your hobbit but the snakes and ghosts are too much to handle. That’s okay. Perhaps you can market a new game called Snakes and Ghost Horses?
Final Round: 0 points

Final tally incoming....

Congratulations to @ Silmarë for winning the inaugural game of Frosty Hoppit Darts!!!! You win…
Free drinks for the rest of the night and tomorrow and whatever the snagas can whip up in the kitchen for you!

Thank you everyone for playing, this has been a crazy wonderful blast with more chaos than I expected but I still love you all for it! My first time as game master seems to have gone well!

Now…

You’ll have a week or so to wrap up whatever madness you started (I’m looking at you @Allafyrefleorhtlig and @Shivased) or to share in the shared delusion this as all been right @Gwai? Right?

From her perch on top of the bar in an effort to escape the snakes, Gwai went ahead and helped herself to another drink. After all, she was the only one who had actually killed a hoppit. Surely Frost wouldn't mind.

Gwai nodded as Zôr described what a terrible hoppit the deceased was, killing lava snakes and who even knew what else. "I had no idea!" she exclaimed, glad she had dispatched him, although sad she had gone out of the game so early. She looked over to where the ghost horsie was stamping on snakes, with some success. "I don't think I recognize him, although it's hard to say with ghost horses. Perhaps he followed you?" Gwai suggested. Zôr soon took the lead once more in the competition. "Next time I'll aim more poorly early on and give you some better competition! Congratulations on the win!" she said, with some sincerity. Taeth came in second, and Gwai cheered for her fellow Rohir, as well as for Zaram in third.

Grobby was loudly slurping a snake down, and Gwai shuddered, making a mental note never to eat spaghetti again. Beaducrym fortunately managed to dispatch at least a few of the snakes. "Good boy, Beaducrym!" she murmured when he came over, trying to stroke his neck, but her hand passing right through. She was sad he was a ghost horsie. Was there some sort of wizard magic that could revive him? Probably not, she decided sadly, before deciding he possibly was better off since he couldn't be bitten by snakes.

Between the darts, the ghost hoppit, the ghost horsie, the snake catapult, and the snake slurping Grobby, it was probably time to wake up from this dream. Gwai jumped lightly down from the bar and tossed back the last part of her drink. "Frost, I'll see you on the flip side!" she said cheerfully, tossing down some more coins to cover her tab and tip (it doesn't do to be cheap, even in a dream sequence), and clicked her heels together three times. "There's no place like Rohan!" she said under her breath.

"HA!" shouted Zarâm triumphantly as first one dart hit the hobbit smack in its eye and another impaled its arm. The hobbit gave a shriek of pain which brought Zarâm great pleasure. Apparently she could hold her own in a game of darts. Her third dart didn't hit the hobbit, but Frost proclaimed her round solid enough to earn another dart, which Zarâm threw with gusto. It too didn't quite hit the hobbit, but over all, she was quite pleased with her aim this time. Hoppit darts wasn't exactly fun unless you managed to hit the hobbit. Otherwise it was just ordinary darts and did not end up physically maiming or killing those nasty creatures. It looked like the only hobbit that had gotten killed this time was Dodo, and he was by far the nastiest of the lot.

When Frost announced the winners of the competition, Zarâm was quite pleased to find herself in third place. It was a huge improvement from dead last, where she had spent the first few rounds. At least she could still show her face in the pub with coming in third. With a grin, she went to go and greet the winners Zôr and Taeth. "That was a delightful round. And Taeth, I hope this night has given you an appreciation for Mordorian sports."

Even with the competition over, it appeared that the excitement was just getting started, considering the ghost horse, the snakes, and whatever on Middle Earth Grobby was up to.

Zôrzimril

Zôr threw her head back and laughed when one of her darts hit the hoppit's left earlobe and hung there. She strode to fetch her bag, which she'd left on a nearby chair, and plucked from within a tarnished silver hoop she'd stolen just yesterday. She approached the pitiful creature and looked into its remaining eye. "Well, I did my best with you. Here's a parting gift." In a swift motion, she pulled the dart from the hoppit's ear and pushed the earring into the wound to complete the new piercing. She patted its cheek once more, then wandered to the bar.

"I certainly hope the ghost horse didn't follow me," Zôr remarked to Gwai, who was still on the bar. "Nice shot," she called to Zarâm, as the orc got her hoppit in the head. She was impressed that a drunken Taeth had emerged from the kitchen to fire off a few darts and hit her target, too. Even the creepy hoppit (Tûk) had managed a hit. Everyone was going out with a bang, which pleased Zôr (who never went without one).

Frost announced the final standings, and Zôr smiled warmly, flushing with both pleasure and drink. "Thanks, darling," she said to Gwai, nodding at Zarâm when her fire-starting friend approached as well. "And count me impressed, Taethowen." She arched an eyebrow at the Rohir who'd ignored her all night. "You held your own well." Zôr grinned and helped herself to another drink. It was on the house, after all.

OOC: Such a fun game! Nice job everyone, and well-done with GMing, Frost!

When the final scores were announced, Taeth was positively shocked that she came in second. She would have liked to place higher than Zor--and she did not like the looks Frost was continually throwing the other woman--but alas, she had missed a round, so that was her own fault. With a cautious sigh, since her stomach was still threatening to revolt any sudden movement, Taeth made her way back to the bar and slowly pulled herself up onto a stool.

Out of the corner of her eye, Taeth saw Gwai finish her drink, and then do an odd thing where she clicked her heels together. The Nazgul Essence must still be messing with her because Gwai disappeared. Surely it was just a trick of the light, but Taeth didn't have time to worry about it overly much before Zaram came over to congratulate her. "Thanks?" she replied hesitantly. "I... don't know that an appreciation is what I'd call it, but... it was an experience, that's for sure."

And even if Taeth had ignored Zor all evening out of principle, she wasn't one to be rude, and she smiled. "You did very well yourself," Taeth returned the compliment, but couldn't resist just a bit of spite as her eyes narrowed. "If I had to come in second, of course it would be to you. But Hoppit Darts is the only thing I'll be second to you in."

Frost's attention to Zor irked her, but to be honest part of it was because Taeth genuinely liked the woman--non-romantically--from the few interactions they'd had. Her instincts also told her that Zor would be a good ally to have if Taeth was really going to put down any roots in Umbar and Mordor, and she really wasn't sure how to sort it all out in her brain yet. And the very thought of it made her head start to pound. Or was that the Nazgul Essence still?

"Frost?" Taeth whispered, slowly reaching up to rub her forehead. "Could I have another glass of water?"

Grobby, Young Kobold, they/them or he/him

For a very long moment, Grobby didn’t move. At least that is to say its little clawed feet did not shift in such a manner as to suggest that they changed position, nor did its little fists adjust from their position still holding an open bottle. It’s eyes did not even blink, and it’s gaze simply drank in the horrid scene and then fixated on the horse’s eyes, narrowing maliciously. Therefore, lack of movement seemed in one way a fair descriptor for the long, static pause to its actions as the little brain processed the destruction with incredulity, horror and a growing, furious rage, even as the night’s festivities were drawing to a close and ignorant competitors and spectators were saying their farewells and headed to their homes.

And yet... conversely, and simultaneously, like the first shuddering of an immense earthquake, there was not an inch of the little creature that could accurately be described as ‘still’. In a manner that was oddly reminiscent to its excitable, vibrating half-purr half-strangling noise that it made when it was overcome with happiness, it uttered a low, vibrational noise. And yet this noise was much, much more sinister. There was not a single glimmer of joy or pleasure or contentedness to this being. Every inch of it was quivering with rage; lines of teeth grinding against each other, and a long inhalation of breath hissing onwards between its silently snarling lizard-lips. The glass bottle shattered in its grip, but it seemed oblivious to the shards that cut into its hand.

It’s thoughts were so unfractured and emotional that it was unable to form them into words. If it had, the creature’s inability to internalise its inner monologue of thoughts might have given some warning that in that very moment, the little creature interpreted the ghost-horse’s assault on the tavern as the worst, most heinous and hateful act that it’s little mind could fathom. It’s pub!... The lovely lady’s pub... tidy turned to wreckage... that horse!... destroying... its pub!... it seemed for a moment like the sheer power of the emotion that coarsed through its veins would overwhelm it, but after a few more seconds Beauducyrm realised that something else was happening. Something entirely unexpected.

No warning was uttered beyond the long breath in, then rumbling, growling vibration, for these masked the sudden activity within the tiny beast’s body as dormant organs were hastily roused into activity. Snake-venom mixed with alcohol, suffused together with the lizard-creatures immensely powerful digestive juices that were suddenly coated with secreted bile from a previously inert gland. The racing heart pumped once, twice, and on the third beat there was a strange sort of internal stretching and pressure between muscle groups and organs, and in the instant of force overcoming friction, a spark.

The growling became a snarl, became a roar, and suddenly the noise became physical fury. Beaducyrm had only a moment to register the glowing light in the back of the open, sharp-toothed maw before a streak of flames erupted out in a lethal line of fire, overwhelming the ghost-horse’s features and illuminating them for a moment in a raging inferno that seemed specifically targeted and focussed at only the ethereal equine and stopped a foot short of damaging any of the interior of the tavern. It might perhaps be the first time the ghost-horse would find itself grateful to be lacking physical form, because if it had been alive, it would have been burnt to a crisp.

Zôrzimril

She was surprised to be acknowledged by the jealous Taethowen. Such was her surprise, in fact, that she didn't even notice Gwai vanishing from their midst. "Oh darling," she said with a mischievous grin, "Not everything in life has to be a competition." She winked and finished off her drink, enjoying the boozy heat's slow spread through her body. This was good timing as the ghost horse was going on a fresh rampage - better to warm up with some alcohol in case it crashed through her again. When Grobby started breathing flames, Zôr decided this was her cue to leave. It really wouldn't do for her silks to catch fire. "Thanks for a lovely time, Frost, dear," she called as she slung her bag over her shoulder and left the bar.

The plan had worked a little too well. Upon Frost’s (suspiciously compliant but who was complaining) removal of his shirt, Írimë had been struck with another one of those inexplicable nosebleeds that seemed to occur now and then around her new bartender. Correlation not being equal with causation, however, she wasn’t about to fire him over it. After stepping into the back to clean herself up, the Pubmistress had sidled back out to the bar and plopped herself down on a stool, relieving her stores of another bottle of Nazgûl Essence. Everyone was too intent on the competition, and making a mess of her bar, to order drinks anyway so she might as well indulge in a few Screaming Ringwraiths. Why bother with shot glasses if you were going to drink several? Why not just fill a highball to the rim and go for it? These were Írimë’s wise and reasoned thoughts as she sloshed the clear and dangerous liquid into the large glass, and poured it down her throat, still ogling Frost as he made his rounds running the darts. Speaking of Frost… where was that fascinating whiskey he had brought with him? Not bothering to go around Írimë oozed over the bartop in a tangle of skirts, hair, and bangles, and dropped to the floor behind it. Ah yes- there!” She retrieved the large dark bottle from its “hiding” place. She had hidden it there of course, but not from herself. She slopped an equally large measure of whiskey into another glass and downed that too. Who cared about darts, really, when there were drinks to be had and fit as fred Númenoreans to ogle?

Írimë tilted her head to the side as she watched Frost move about the pub, much like a bemused warg. She was pretty sure she had catalogued all of his tattoos, but had he gotten some new ones? In celebration of the darts perhaps? Had he known the fanclub was going to show up and demand he strip? Was it all a conspiracy?? You know what was a conspiracy though? Dat ass. And those abs. And his rippling serratus anterior. And that lat spread. A thin rope of drool slid from the corner of Írimë’s mouth onto the surface of the bar and she wiped it away idly. Bear skulls on his shoulders… he could probably wrestle a bear into submission and have plenty of energy left for… other kinds of wrestling. Írimë poured herself another drink, this time mixing both Nazgûl Essence and whiskey in her glass. A few gulps later, and she noticed something rather peculiar. Little winged creatures? Or maybe tall, elf-like ones? It wasn’t clear. But they all seemed to be super intrigued by this… man? Who had a donkey head? Where had they all come from? Maybe the donkey guy was like Frost and when he got rid of the head he would be incredibly hot underneath. He seemed incredibly familiar though… wait, was this a dream? A reoccurring dream perhaps? What was in this drink anyway, had Frost done something to the whiskey? It wasn’t like she had done a background check on him or anything.

“Hmmmm lairy fights!” Írimë murmured to herself, pointing at the (probably non existent) fairies with her glass-in-hand. Completely oblivious to the antics of the ghost horse, the kobold, and everyone really, she guzzled the remainder of the drink. Her hoppit was either very lucky (avoiding death at the hands of darts ) or very unlucky (would probably be drained to replenish the hobbit blood stocks later), more probably both. But Írimë would have to leave that to the staff for the moment. Leaning back against the cabinets behind the bar, she suddenly became aware of how very not-present her legs seemed to feel. But if they weren’t there, how could they be holding her up? As it transpired, they weren’t. Even as her legs gave out and she slid to the floor with all the grace of a very large slug, Írimë caught the neck of the Nazgûl Essence bottle and brought it with her, spilling a bit in the process. Ensconsed comfortably on the floor, she heard vaguely the results being announce. “Con- cong- con- er, ‘RATS! Zorzw- Zweee- Zil- Imz- ZOR!” the Pubmistress attempted to offer her appreciation to the winner but words and especially the woman’s name were terribly complicated. She took a swig from the bottle. “Hehehe, Frosty the Snowman!” Her sing-song voice drifted up from behind the bar, half-buried in giggles.

It had been a long time since Írimë has gotten this drunk on her night off, and the hangover would no doubt be truly spectacular. With any luck, Taethowen would have some good recipes for a cure in the morning…

She thought she had seen it all, but apparently that was not the case. The little creature Grobby was clearly annoyed with the ghost horse. Zarâm too was a bit frustrated with Beaducyrm's involvement in the pub, and was still a bit chilled from being run through by a ghost. But nothing prepared her for the sight of an angry Grobby. He somehow blew a very strong, very directed flame towards the ghost. Zarâm could feel the heat from where she stood next to the bar and her eyes opened wide in a combination of admiration and horror. Admiration that the little creature was indeed so powerful and horror that she had kicked the thing! Either Grobby had been too startled to do anything in retaliation, hadn't been aware of this ability, or simply liked her.

But it clearly did not like the ghost horse, who began to make its way towards Taeth, though what it expected the Rohir turned honoree minion, was beyond her. With a shake of her head, Zarâm turned back towards Frost, batted her eyes at him, and said, "What drink do you recommend I consume to celebrate my win?

It has been great fun ladies and gentlemen, but now... THIS THREAD IS CLOSED

Be sure to be on the look out for the great Mordorian game!