Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza

Traps

The thief was obviously very crafty, for they have left a few traps for the unsuspecting. A maximum of three of each of the following traps will be in play each round. Which ones? Who knows!

Covered Pit of Stakes: Enter this place and you will immediately fall into the dug out pit to your untimely doom and cannot play for the remainder of this round (until the thief has been found and we start again)! You are free however to describe your torment or/and death and haunting of other players.

Variety of Snakes: In one place, the thief has left a variety of poisonous and non-poisonous snakes to attack whoever enters. If you are unlucky enough to cross these snakes, you are bitten and must RP your way out of the situation before hunting again.

Tar Pit: Here the thief has cunningly concealed a deep, wide tar pit beneath the floor and you must swim or otherwise make your way out of the hot, sticky morass before hunting again.

Murder Hornets: The thief has managed to relocate a nest of enormous, deadly, ANGRY hornets from the far east into this place. You must figure out a way to escape with your life before hunting again.

Fell Beast’s Lair: The thief has been clever enough to abduct a fellbeast and you waste a great deal of time running from the hungry, angry creature. You must RP your way out of the situation before hunting again.

IMPORTANT: With the exception of the Pit of Stakes, just because a location has a trap, does NOT mean it is not the correct location. You might just have to try more than once to get the right combination...


The Rules of The Game

1. All posts 300+ characters and IC
2. You must post name of thief, place where the thief is hiding, and item that they stole in bold and the according color somewhere in your post
3. You may post the same combination as another player
4. All are welcome

SERIES RANKING
If you win a Thief Hunt, you will become a Minion 1st Rank Hunter. Nothing special happens.

If you win another, you will become a Minion 2nd Rank Hunter. When you reach this rank, you may choose to specialize in Thieves, Places, or Items, and will be able to guess two possible Thieves, Places, or Items, according to which specialization you choose, in each post.

If you win again, you become a Minion 3rd Rank Hunter, and will not be affected by any traps, in addition to the 2nd Rank abilities. If you stumble on a trap, you may redirect it to the player of your choice.

The next rank is Minion 4th Rank Hunter, where you again choose your specialization and post two Thieves, Places, or Items, according to which specialization you choose, in addition to the 3rd Rank abilities.

The final rank is Minion 5th Rank Hunter. When someone attains this rank, they are declared the Series Winner and a new series begins.

The list of series ranks will be edited into the OP as the series progresses.

Akrag felt like how Gollum felt when he bit Frodo's finger off and finally reclaimed the One Ring. Finally... FINALLY Akrag was thief hunt champion! Except unlike Gollum, Akrag was going to be sure not to lose his prize and die. He stood at the top of Barad-dûr with his arms up in the air victoriously, ready to claim his prize. What was that prize? Well it was nothing that great, really. Nothing like the glory and splendour of the One Ring. His prize was just the universal loathing and disdain from the other thief hunters, and many minions in general. People like Krumhûr, who didn't even know him, but would probably still hate him nonetheless.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. That was the advice that Reikon had once given him. Ducky didn't think it was very good advice. Wouldn't it be better to try something else, like Írimë’s Wine Stash? And honestly, how could you not be considered as having success if you were trying out a fancy bottle of wine? Even if the taste was horrid (unlikely), just drink enough and you would forget that it was bad. Hang on, he thought. Perhaps that was just another way of applying the same advice? If the first drink doesn't taste good, drink, drink some more? Put like that, it was hard to argue. Time to head back to the Towers of No Return (lol) and steal another book! All on Reikon's advice, to be clear.

Regdûsh shouldered his way into On the Rocks. He was furious. That blasted lava snake, Blinky, had taken off at the conclusion of the lava snake race, and he'd seen neither hide nor . . . scale? of him since. How could the bleeding thing have abandoned him like this? He'd given him a moderately comfortable home in his pocket, he'd only chucked him across several rooms, and he'd never fed him poison (though he'd never fed him, period, now he thought on it). Reg wondered if maybe a hobbit, like Dwim, had scampered off with his lava snake during the recent tussle on Mount Doom. If so, he'd make him pay. Reg needed a drink to calm his nerves. And fast.

It was night, and Grobby woke from his sleep and peered out from beneath the broken-sharp of eggshell balanced upon its head in the manner of a hat, whose position was intended to make Grobby feel like they were safely tucked back in their egg where it had been warm and cozy.

The creature uncurled its tail-tip out of its mouth - it was a little crooked from being sucked ministrations but otherwise none the worst for wear - and carefully squeezed through the gap between the aga and the wall, stealthily avoiding any movements that might clink the stack of glasses and plates, before wriggling into the little gap underneath the cupboard to shuffle along the tiles towards the open kitchen floor.

It hesitated on its belly, lizard eyes peering out from the underneath the cupboard like something from a horror movie, and peered warily at the slumbering form of Frost on his hastily compiled floor-bed, where he was supposed to be keeping watch to make sure the little kobold did not get into any mischief during the night. Grobby was entirely twice as old now as it had been when it first met its Pop-Pop, however, and with age came wisdom. It waited, poised, until such a time as Pop-pop rolled over in his sleep, and used the cover of the Black Numenorian’s one noisy shifting to cover its extraction from under the kitchen cabinet and gentle pit-pattering as it crept out of the kitchen door.

It eyed the interior of the On the Rocks pub with a gleam in its eye akin to a hungry kobold at a Hoppit Darts competition, licking its lips at the promise of meaty treats being proffered in abundance. “Broom Broom” it whispered mischievously to itself.

(OOC @Frostbite I know these things are normally solo stories, but I invite you to join me so you can attempt to reduce any mischief Grobby gets up to during his nightly excursion)

It was time for Gwai to get more serious about thief hunting. That guy Dwim was ridiculous with how many thieves he was catching. She was still wondering what sort of reward was offered for capture of said thieves. Was it worth going to Barad-Dur to ask and find out? Probably not, but she could at least keep an eye open for Grond, reported missing the last few hours. She had a feeling Tarawen might be responsible, especially since they had been looking particularly thief-like lately. Glad to have a plan, Gwai set out for the dark tower.

"Broom Broom!" Frost rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Had he just heard what he thought he heard? No. There was no way Grobby was awake already. It had taken him nearly three hours just to calm to little kobold down enough to get them to sleep in the little cupboard they found among the turnips. Why Grobby had chosen that place was beyond Frost but he was not about to question it, he was far too exhausted by that point. He had offered to stay behind at On the Rocks, allowing Thalionwen a night with her husband. Drowsily, Frost sat up from his very uncomfortable position on the floor and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Broom Broom!"

It wasn't a dream.

A new, but now familiar, sensation spread through Frost's chest. He raced the few steps to Grobby's Cupboard and opened it. The little miscreant was missing. He held his breath, listening for the telltale signs of Grobby's clawed feet on the stone floor. He waited just a few seconds before the familiar pitter-patter could be heard out in the main room. Relief flooded Frost, his kobold child hadn't gone far.

Wait. They were in the main room of the pub after hours, with no supervision. Frost bounded through the doors of the kitchen, nearly knocking over some of Írimë's Wine Stash in the process.

"Grobby! You're supposed to be asleep! You know you're not supposed to play in here. Írimë is going to be upset if she finds out that you were playing in her pub late at night, and you know scary she is when she's angry."

Well, it turned out that the Dwim character was better than she had given him credit and had apprehended yet another thief! Despite that fact, thievery continued to occur and only moments later, another announcement about another thief occured. With a shake of her head Zarâm marched towards On the Rocks. A drink was in order and perhaps the thief had decided to hide himself in the pub, especially as it was likely the thief was that cute creature Grobby, who, in it's childish fashion, had likely made off with the pink tricycle.

(I am thoroughly amused that parts of RP stories are actually making their way into here.)

Taethowen had been having a lot of strange dreams lately. First was that repeating dream in Khazad-Dum with the statues and the candies. And now... she was in some thief hunt? It was all very confusing, but she might as well go along with it.

It all became a bit derailed, though, when she found herself in some surreal place called the Ringwraith Review where people kept randomly asking and answering short interviews, but she was ready for the dream to end when One Huge Barrel Full of Hobbits rolled through and nearly ran her over.

This really was a bizarre dream. Just as the Barrel Full of Hobbits nearly smashed her, Taethowen found the scene... shifting. The odd appearance of the Ringwraith Review shifted and morphed into a kitchen, and Taeth's forehead wrinkled as she saw someone hurriedly back out of a cupboard (something whispered in her head that it was called Grobby's Cupboard but she had no idea how she knew this, or what a Grobby was) and trip over a pink tricycle. She finally saw their face and realized it was Frost, and that a bunch of snakes were scurrying after him from the cupboard. But before she could open her mouth to shout a warning, the dream shifted again.

As Zarâm entered the pub, she saw Frost and a variety of snakes within the cupboard. Thankfully she hadn't decided to search that area, as yet more snakes would be too much to deal with. Still suspecting the little Grobby, Zarâm decided to continue to look around On the Rocks, hoping to find where the creature had hidden Írimë’s Wine Stash and hoped that the little guy hadn't gotten too drunk, yet.

A hairy orc fist slammed the bar with fury, much as Regdûsh imagined that Grond had struck that snobby elven king all those ages ago. He kicked back the last of his drink and wiped his lips. Leering around the place, he saw all kinds of people in the pub, including some burly man who had been crying out for someone named Taethowen in his sleep and was now being attacked by snakes. Not one for helping, he grabbed another bottle of spirits from behind the bar and uncorked it. Maybe Blinky had sought renown at the Towers of No Return and been devoured by a warg. Reg enjoyed that thought as he chugged the liquor.

What on Sauron's black earth were snakes doing in Grobby's Cupboard?! Frost could only think of two reasons, okay maybe three, or four. With Grobby there could be a hundred reasons why something was happening and there was never going to be any warning whatsoever. It was only by sheer happenstance that Frost even had the time to jump back from the pile of coiling reptiles in time not to get bit half a hundred times. However, as Melkor's own luck would have it, there was one snake that bit him. He couldn't tell which snake it was amidst the seething cauldron of hissing but suddenly he began to feel very woozy. Why... why did Grobby have to keep snakes in their cupboard? Frost was sure it was some kobold thing, a memory passed on from his ancestors or something, but that was of no help to him now. His hand hurt. Apparently Frost was never going to not be injured. Through foggy vision, he could see his hand swelling to ugly proportions.

Ow. Ow. Ow. OW!!

If Frost didn't do something quickly he was going to be in very bad shape. Thali was a haeland, but she had night off from Grobby with Orco. Where was that kobold? "Grobby! Grobby where are you? Pop-Pop," he was getting very dizzy now. Perhaps he should sit dow-- no not there there are still snakes there, here's a good spot. "Pop-pop needs some help." He wasn't sure how loud he actually was at that moment, or if Gobby was anywhere near enough to hear him. He hoped so, otherwise Írimë was going to have a nasty surprise on her floor in the morning.

Barad-Dur was most definitely the place to be, Gwai thought to herself. So many thieves, and all she had to do was catch one in the act. Or at least present convincing evidence. Perhaps stage convincing evidence? Mordor was having a bad influence on her, she thought to herself. Reikon was probably the person to ask about that, seeing as they had first hand knowledge of catching thieves, and may know a way around the system. All she to do was look for the old Pink Tricycle, and she would probably find him.

Ducky stared up at the Towers of No Return, wishing he had brought Reikon with him to see this abomination. He would throttle that minion with all of his force if he could right now, shoving his face in the direction of the Towers and asking "DO YOU SEE THIS? Do you REALLY want me to attempt to steal from THIS place again, you with your crummy advice?" It would be a rhetorical question. Ducky didn't need Reikon here to answer the question, just to sort of be throttled, an object of anger, if you will. Ducky would have to settle for throttling a Lava Snake, if he could get his hands on one. Without, you know, burning his hands off. Now where had he put his fire-proof dragon-skin gloves?

Akrag had most recently been at On The Rocks, and he'd had a good time watching the hobbit darts competition. It had been a good mixture of humour and violence. When the night was finishing up, he'd snuck around the back where Túk and some of the others were enjoying a smoke of pipeweed which had been stolen from some of the hobbit victims. One thing he'd seen as the pub staff were cleaning up for the night was One Huge Barrel Full of Hobbits being wheeled out the back on a cart. It looked like Frost was disposing of the victims of the dart competition. Standing in the shadows quietly, Akrag edged forward to hear what they were saying. It seemed as if they were taking the barrel to Barad-dûr to feed the minions.

Well, it was unlikely for the thief to be hiding around On the Rocks, Zarâm finally discovered, as she heard more yelps from yet another person who had discovered the snakes in the cupboard. It was probably best to get away from the snakes for while. She made her way down the path towards the Towers of No Return. Surely Thalionwen would be hiding out there trying to avoid being caught with Grobby, though why she would want to steal her own child was beyond Zarâm's comprehension.

Regdûsh watched as Grobby emerged slowly from the kitchen, whispering about brooms. The great orc had no idea what to make of the creature, only he recognized it as something weirdly endearing when he saw it (despite his typical instincts to slaughter everything in sight). Sighing, he chugged the last of his latest bottle of spirits and slammed it down on the bar top. It shattered. Reg wandered behind the bar to get another and noticed the darts reserved for throwing at hoppits on special occasions at On the Rocks. He'd like to throw one or two at that Dwim if the nasty fellow had absconded with Blinky, he knew that much.

Akrag kind of wanted to claim the barrel of hobbits for himself, so he stalked after the servant in charge of taking the barrel to Barad-dûr. It was a slow trip, as it seemed like the servant was having some kind of trouble with a strange little creature (Grobby) who he was also trying to smuggle along in the cart. This commotion was enough to put Akrag off of accosting the servant and stealing the barrel. He continued to lurk in the shadows, but then suddenly had the thought it was about time he accused Thalionwen of committing thievery. She'd flown under the radar for too long. "Thali!" he yelled suddenly. "Is that you with the cart? Get here now, what are you doing with that barrel?"

Grobby was still paralysed with indecision about what exactly to do with his liberty in the surprisingly in-empty pub - at least two orcs had entered, one of them (Regdûsh) was helping himself to the drinks behind the bar, another was searching for something. Grobby recognised the later one ( Zarâm) as the patron who had relieved Grobby of his front teeth only earlier that night - when he heard Frost’s voice. There was something about his strained, pleading tone that stopped Grobby from running for cover to avoid a disciplinary engagement. Instead, his little feet made a patter patter across the floor as he made his way back towards the doorway to peer back into the kitchen. He spotted Frost collapsing slowly on the floor, and went to stand over him, uncertain exactly what to do.

Very young Kobolds, known to hatch in lethal environments and with very little experience of their own, rely almost entirely on their innate racial memory; they inherit the vague recollections of their ancestors which lie dormant in their tiny little brains until such a time as they become relevant. This racial memory has been known to save young Kobolds from lethal error, but also on occasion can exacerbate the risks they take through over-confidence and mistaken context.

Unfortunately, such a reliance also has a detrimental impact on a young kobold’s ability to respond to completely original circumstances such as these.

That said, the race would have died out long ago if it were impossible for youngsters to engage in at least some original thought. So it was that each immature kobold yet to achieve the age of adulthood held within them the tiniest mote of imagination and inspiration. Perhaps once, maybe twice, during their childhood could a young kobold draw upon this finite resource of original thought to overcome a challenge laid before them. This limitation of initiative did much to explain the still somewhat primitive nature of the race despite it having existed hidden away in the deep recesses of the world for many generations, and why so few of its species had ever survived long enough to be discovered by the more multitudinous peoples of Middle-Earth.

That said, given the limited use of this potentially once-ever ability, young kobolds were often exceedingly wary of using it at the wrong time. For the most part, it was reserved for moments like when the kobold’s own life was in danger, to hopefully enable the youngster to escape peril with its scaly behind still in tact. Sometimes, a young kobold would even then be reticent about expending this resource, on occasion leading to its grisly demise without ever having tapped its full potential. Never before had it been recorded for a kobold to use this limited skill to aid another; it was very much a dog-eat-dog eat world out there, or as would be more appropriately put in this case, everything-eat-kobold world; so putting another’s survival ahead of your own would be somewhat akin to signing your own death warrant.

So it was that Grobby, barely a day out of his egg, young by comparison to most kobolds but surprisingly old for his own ancestral line, stared at the deteriorating form of Frost and made an historical decision. With all the gravitas and solemnity required of this momentous occasion, it carefully lifted the broken shard of egg dome from off of its head, and with the grandeur and ceremony of a dignitary crowning a Prince, placed it on the still-barely conscious Frost’s noggin and gave a slow, wise nod.

Just because young kobold’s were capable of original thought on occasion, that did not mean they always had good ideas, as had been demonstrated by the fate of the illustrious Spurt, legend among Kobolds. Once again, there was a reason Grobby’s people were not a dominant force in middle earth. This was perhaps the last thought that crossed Frost’s mind before he swooned and closed his eyes.

Grobby blinked. The egg-shell has not quite had the effect that the little creature had been hoping for. It frowned, and glanced for a moment at the snakes that were still escaping from Grobby’s cupboard. The young kobold had, of course, been aware of the presence of the snake nest. Indeed, it was one of the reasons it had chosen that particular spot to sleep in, just in case on waking it had fancied a little midnight snack. But another of the reasons it had felt there was no issue with sleeping amid such a surprisingly large number of wriggling serpents was because, as limited as Grobby’s ancestor’s memories were, they were definitive in one regard; this particular breed of poisonous snakes were only lethal if someone lacking the impressively robust constitution of a kobold decided to eat them. It’s bites were, beyond the usual business of blood and bruising, completely harmless. Otherwise they would be described as venomous, not poisonous.

Grobby turned back to Frost, this time with annoyance at having so pointlessly dug deep of its inner limited resources only to waste them pointlessly for its apparently over-reacting and melodramatic adopted-father. “Pop-pop. Get up. Momma not silly as you. Wish she stay with Grobby next night.” it declared in annoyance, poking Frost with a sharp claw and on reflection dearly wishing that it had been Thalionwen who had taken the first night’s watch.

(OOC @Taethowen Perhaps it is through the medium of dreams that Taeth first encounters Grobby, and thus witnesses the young kobold saving/failing to save Frost’s life. I have no idea if this would make her more inclined to approve of the creature when they would at last meet at the Panama party, which I suspect I is only the night after these events; I guess we’ll find out soon enough!

I am also making detailed notes about @Dwim’s posts because Thalionwen pushing Grobby in a cart towards Barad-dûr is so absolutely perfect and I LOVE it!!!! So I have decided these stories are clearly canon for Grobby’s story of his second night in Mordor, after the Hoppit Darts and Pyjama Party, given Frost and I are currently roleplaying Grobby’s first night in Mordor in this same thread currently! I am so grateful for your ideas and contributions, thank you thank you thank you. Also, I feel NO remorse for hijacking this game for character development)

There seemed to be more traffic than usual around Barad-Dur, and Gwai wondered if she should start stopping random people to frisk them. Was this kobold creature Grobby, who's cupboard of snakes people seemed to keep falling into, kidnapped? Stolen? What was the right verb in situations like this? Tarawen would most like know, if she wasn't actually the thief/kidnapper. If she was, then Gwai would have an easy time of it, and hopefully easy access to any possible reward money. Not to be greedy, but let's face it, she wasn't thief hunting out of the goodness of her heart.

Frost blinked and felt the stab of a tiny kobold claw in his side. What was… oh right! He was staying with Grobby tonight, helping them get used to having—oh Witch-King there were snakes everywhere! Frost jumped up, narrowly avoiding crashing into Grobby, and… what had Grobby just said? Something broke in Frost’s heart. He knew was hilariously ill equipped to be a father, let alone a kobold Pop-Pop, but hearing that his child, wanted to stay with their mother because “Momma not silly as you” hurt. Vaguely, flexing his hand as the swelling started to go down, Frost wondered if he could convey in any fashion that he was, in fact, doing the best he could and any help Grobby could offer into learning about kobolds would be appreciated. There was likely no way to say something like that, and it was very unlikely Grobby would understand to begin with, as intelligent as the little lizard was, they did not seem to grasp that humans did not have the same genetic memory kobolds did.

Then something happened. Perhaps it was leaning of the fourth wall, perhaps it was fatherly instinct kicking it, but when Grobby stepped too near the snakes he scooped up the little kobold, knowing doing such a thing would likely earn him a few scratches but elves be damned if he was going to let something horrible happen, as this fourth wall lean on his mind seemed to suggest. Perhaps it was best, after all, if they stayed with Thalionwen, both of them, for the evening. It wasn’t safe for either of them in On the Rocks tonight. Would Grobby resist? Likely, but sometimes a Pop-Pop just has to take charge and do what they think is best for their child.

Ducky had successfully snuck (not sneaked) back into the Towers of No Return, no thanks to Reikon. Or rather, partial thanks to Reikon for being his fall man. Ducky had waited for someone else to be entering at the same time, as a distraction, and who had it happened to be but the advice-giver himself. Reikon hadn't even known Ducky was there, and for that matter, neither had the tower guard, Krumhûr. Ducky hadn't even needed the One Ring, just some specific timing and enough other stuff going on to keep the guard occupied, and boom! He was in. Now he just needed to find that book. And by that book, we just mean another book, because Reikon hadn't given any special advice on WHICH book to steal the second time. Just the first one off the shelf, or...?

[OOC: Nice work Frost! I knew I was close!]

When Akrag called out to Thali, it had proved to be enough of a distraction for Grobby to make a dash for it. Leaving a small Cloud of Ash behind, the creature made a quick getaway back to On The Rocks, where Frost snapped it up to claim thief-hunt victory. Gah, so close! thought the orc to himself. This was no time for slip-ups! He had a championship crown to defend. Punishing himself, Akrag pulled the Cat O’ Nine Tails out of his pack and began lashing himself. He would not let himself get away with such complacency again.

Reg had now consumed multiple bottles of potent spirits and was beginning to feel a bit woozy. He stood and the room swirled before him. He rested a hand on One Huge Barrel Full of Hobbits and took a few moments to steady himself. What had he come here for, again? Right, a drink to calm his nerves. Which had emerged from . . . ? Ah yes, his fredegaring lava snake. He wouldn't put it past Blinky to be hiding Beneath a Rock nearby, so he slowly, with much wobbling, went to the door. "By the screams of Winddancer's victims, I'll get you yet, Blinky!" he cried.

Ducky slid silently through the shelves, on the prowl for a new book to snatch. It had to be something worthy of stealing, not just any old book. The reward needed to justify the risk, as it were. Just like you wouldn't waste your time stealing something as worthless as One Rotting Leg O’ Las, so Ducky wouldn't want to be caught leaving the Towers of No Return with something as silly as "10 ways to spritz up your hair, Troll style!" magazine covers or something. Only someone as vain and empty-headed as Tzu would waste their time reading something like that. Wait, had he said that out loud? He looked over his shoulder. It sounded like someone was coming. Was there any way to take cover in these long book-lined hallways?

Well, at least that was going well. Frost had been able to keep Grobby from the snakes but there was something else itching at the back of his mind. He heard Sil say something about Thali trying to kidnap Grobby, but Frost knew that was all wrong. There was not way Thali would try to do something like that. Right? She wouldn't try to take Grobby, even though the little kobold and just declared that they'd rather be with their Momma than their Pop-Pop. Maybe, then, it was time to let Thali take care of Grobby, since the child didn't seem to want him around the begin with. It would be a simple trip over Cirith Ungol, avoiding spiders because there was no telling what Grobby might try to do because of their affection for Írimë, and Grobby could be riding a pink tricycle to their heart's content.

[OOC: it's about time I won one of these things!]

The last dream had ended terribly, and Taeth hoped that this one would go better. This time, she found herself on a strange, dry plain, looking up at the looming gate of The Morannon. Her eyes widened, quite unsure of why she was here, in a nightgown* no less. And then Taeth's jaw dropped as she Gwai sneaking through the gate with the Mouth of Sauron's Toothbrush.

"Oh, he's going to miss that," Taeth muttered.

*Inspired by @Thalionwen Hunigfolm. I give credit where credit is due.

Gwai couldn't believe if when someone not name Dwim or Moriel ended up catching the thief. Did this mean there was a chance for her after all? Probably not unless she stopped drinking so much, immediately taking another sip from Írimë’s Wine Stash, stumbling her way to That Dark Corner. Was there a chance she would catch a thief there, and finally be award the riches that was the reward she so much deserved? Meh, probably not, but maybe people wouldn't try to take her wine, and that would at least put her in a good move.

Perhaps inspired by Akrag's extreme form of self-punishment, suddenly a harsh form of music could be heard. Where the music was coming from was unclear, but it seemed to be from somewhere near that cloud of ash. Entranced by the heavy, metallic sound (which was mostly filled with doom, a bit of rage, and not too much melody), Akrag walked towards the source of the sound to investigate. As the ash cleared, suddenly an angry looking group of Easterlings could be seen feverishly playing their instruments while they sneered in Akrag's direction. Why, it was one of Mordor's most famous bands, the Murder Hornets!

The band was known mostly for the violence of their sound and, for most, if you listened to it for too long your ears began to ache and you suddenly felt like you were being stung by a hundred hornets. Stick around too long, or forget to plug your ears, and you'd probably fall dead from the sheer trauma of it. Akrag's eyes widened with horror as his enjoyment of the music faded, and the pain suddenly hit him. He dived to the ground, rolling around with his fingers stuck in his ears. The sound was dreadful! He desperately crawled away from the band as they marched closer towards him, still playing their instruments with severe enthusiasm.

"Aaaaahh!!!" he cried as he finally managed to get to his feet and found the strength to run as fast as he could, far far away from that horrifying music. What a disappointment! He was going to ask for their autographs and everything, but now he dearly hoped to never see them again.

Before he could totter out the door, Reg turned and grabbed a bottle from Írimë’s Wine Stash. He slammed the door behind him, the draft from which kicked up A Cloud of Ash from the dry, broken ground. Reg coughed and spluttered and waved his hands in the air to dissipate the dust. But it was no use. He ran to escape the cloud, still coughing as he went. "What a day," he griped as he emerged into slightly cleaner (but still foul, because Mordor) air. He uncorked the bottle of wine and chugged for a few moments to clear his mouth of the burned remnants. He wondered if the ash had come from Orodruin itself (likely), or perhaps was the result of a particularly explosive mishap involving Toasty (also likely).

And suddenly, just like that Frost was all alone again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being alone now. In days gone by, he loved being on his own, but with the advent of Grobby and Taethowen (not the mention Zôrzimril) Frost found he did not relish the idea of a unending hallways of echoing silence. SO what was he going to do? Well for one, he was not going to pout and whine to himself. Wine sounded very nice right now though. Where was Zôr anyways? Maybe she’d be down to steal some of Írimë’s Wine Stash and have a bit of a party in the Pub. He’d have to clear out the snakes of course, maybe he could catch them and grill them? It had been a while since he had grilled snake, perhaps he could throw in some green chili with it. They could go off in The Shadows and reminisce about oil.

Was this the same fell beast, or a different one? It looked the same to Gwai, although perhaps slightly more angry, if that was possible, much as if it had not yet forgiven her for hypnotizing it not too long ago. She had a feeling that little trick wouldn't work a second time. Fighting it seemed too easy (for the fell beast), so she instead decided to try to lose it in the maze that was Cirith Ungol. "Fell beasty! Yoo-hoo!" she called. "What do you say to that rotting leg o'las? I know exactly where it is, and it's all yours! Nice and rotting, just how you like it! Perfectly aged!" she cajoled. It's ears (metaphorically) perked up, and it (literally) licked it's chops. Gwai hurried down the gentle slope out of there, and over toward Cirith Ungol tunnels. Much as she had hoped, the fell beast got stuck. She felt a bit bad, but then figured he would at least have company.

When the dream shifted away from the Morannon, and Taethowen found herself standing instead in a cool, dark tunnel. She was somewhere underground, and the sound of moans and screams echoed in the distance, sending a chill through her. Vaguely, she recalled hearing of a place... whether from Frost or someone else, she wasn't quite certain. Dreams were like that. But Taeth suspected she had somehow stumbled into Dhâd Bûrz. She began to walk, uncertain of where to go, and realized there was a heavy weight in her hand. Looking down, Taeth realized she held a Cat O' Nine Tails.

"I would really like to wake up now," she whispered.

Apparently Frost had caught the thief last time, and considering his luck when it came to traps, it was about time he did so. However, that didn't prevent Zarâm from wanting to capture a thief again. Perhaps Tarawen had finally decided to make off with Írimë’s Wine Stash. But why the wine would need to be a part of the smuggling ring was beyond her. Anyway, Frost surely would've told her if the smuggling ring was now involving the pub wine. With a shake of her head, Zarâm headed for the Ringwraith Review. Wine and news often mixed in rather delightful ways.

@Moriel , love the inclusion of the Murder Hornets. So 2020.

Things had not gotten off to a good start for Akrag. But now that he'd escaped the Murder Hornets, he could get back to concentrating on catching thieves. The orc had a feeling that Túrin had been up to no good lately. Akrag had been following his tracks, and they led him on a shifty and suspicious path. A report had been sent down to the Thief Hunt headquarters that the Mouth of Sauron's Toothbrush had been stolen once again, and seeing as there were suspiciously Túrin-looking footprints around, Akrag knew he was on the right track to catching the nasty villain.

Reg had just swished a mouthful of wine through his teeth to get rid of the ash aftertaste when he heard a violent humming sound. Three hornets as large as his fist had risen from their hiding place among the ash and followed him through the cloud. "Arrgh, you filthy blighters!" Regdûsh yelled. "You don't scare me. Come and have at me, if you dare!" The hornets buzzed angrily and began to circle him, considering their prey with tiny eyes. The orc stepped closer to the decrepit building next to him and hoisted a torch from a sconce next to the door. He drained the wine bottle, smashed it against the wall behind him, and inhaled deep into his orcish belly. Then he let out a belch, directed at the torch's flame. As his belly was full of at least three bottles' worth of liquor, his breath was basically vaporized alcohol. His powerful burp ignited and created a blowtorch effect. He swung the flaming breath this way and that, incinerating each of the hornets as they descended upon him. When the ashes of his foes had drifted slowly to the ground, Reg shut his mouth and beamed proudly.

Wait huh? Ducky had lost track of time. He had found a book so good that once he buried his nose in it he completely vanished from the outside world, mentally. Unfortunately the disappearance was not physical, which was why he was being stared down by Turin. No doubt that fellow wanted to check him out, intent on a Thief Hunt. Well, if he thought he could catch Ducky so easily, he had another thought coming. That thought would be riding in on a Pink Tricycle, shining in all its glory. And it would turn to that thief hunter and say, majestically,

"You can't do it." And before Turin would be able to ask what "it" was, the thought would pedal back out of the scene, equally majestically. Maybe pedal straight up into the heavens, where thoughts come from. Right?

The fell beast wasn't chasing her, meaning he was either stuck, or plotting with Shelob how best to take revenge. Gwai decided to head as far as possible away from him, and ended up in Grobby's Corner. It was missing exactly one Grobby, and Gwai assumed he was out sweeping with his broom or doing something productive. She should take lessons. Thief hunting may not be her forte. Still, it was worth it, if she could recover the Mouth of Sauron's Toothbrush. Goodness knew he needed it. It seemed something Narv would steal, but where to find Narv was the question of the day.

They say DEATH comes in many shapes and sizes, and for the most part Frost thought that that must be true but never gave much thought to what that could entail, however, upon his awakening that cold morning in the pub after a rousing night with Zôr (where was she by the way?), he learned that some of those shapes and sizes look remarkably like his angry kobold coparent. On her shoulder sat Grobby, impish triumph on their little red face, and in her hand was the Pink Tricycle, wheels chewed off. Had Frost already slept through the week? Maybe that’s why Zôr wasn’t here. No. No, it couldn’t have been a week. Frost could occasionally lose a day or two to his drinking habits (especially with friends) but never a whole week.

No. No it had not been a week, Thali explained with pure exasperation. Honestly, did he pay attention to the outside world at all? No, she was here because Grobby had decided to rip the tricycle apart and now they needed to sit in That Dark Corner, near Írimë’s office and be in time out. Why Grobby needed to be here for that punishment, Frost had no clue. When he asked, all he got was a withering glare and a pair of rolled eyes.

Taethowen was infinitely relieved when the dream shifted again, long before she'd had to discover the source of those screams in Dhâd Bûrz. She found herself in a somewhat familiar setting, On The Rocks, though she was still mildly uncertain about what had actually happened in that game of Hoppit Darts. Too much drinking, for one.

She grimaced as she realized the item in her hand had turned into the Mouth of Sauron's Toothbrush, though. It was disgusting. No wonder the poor guy's gums were in such a bad state. And for some reason Taeth had an irresistible urge to start calling out the name Dwim...

Hmm, well it was obvious that she was not hunting in the right places at the moment. Zarâm paused and thought for awhile. Perhaps the troll Narv had finally gotten the brains to do some thievery. It was likely that such a creature would attempt to make off with the pink tricycle as only a troll would have the lack of brains to take such an offending object. Zarâm began to heads towards the pub in the hope that she would find the culprit trying to hide in Grobby's Cupboard.

Túrin's tracks led Akrag around in circles. He had clearly just been out for a wander. Akrag had a deep think about who else could have taken the Mouth of Sauron's Toothbrush. Lately it seemed to be the thief hunters themselves who were responsible for all the thieving. It was a strange thing that, but quite cunning to do it under the guise of an investigator. One thief hunter in particular had been flying under the radar lately... Dimcairien. Surely she couldn't be more innocent than the rest of them? It was her, he knew it! Why she wanted that toothbrush, he had no idea. But one thing was for certain, this Thief Hunt would be over once he found her.

What in the flying hells!? How did a fell beast get into his, no Írimë's, pub? How did it fit in such a tiny space? What was he going to do about it? Did this fell beast have something to do with Zôr's sudden disappearance? Such questions poured through Frost's mind, but only for a moment. He regained himself quickly. There was a fell beast in the pub! And so were Grobby and Thali! There was no way this thing was getting anywhere near either of them. He thought quickly. What to do, what to do. There! There was a violin sitting on the bar. Music to soothe the savage beast (who was going to get butchered very quickly hereafter) indeed. He began to draw the bow across the strings to make a heavy, droning foundation of music. He warbled back and forth, going from high to low notes and back to high. He disoriented the fell beast, the thing waivered back and forth, its movements sluggish and tired. Frost played faster and faster, his fingers flying across the cat gut until finally the monster fell over.

" I think it's time we take a trip out of this pub," he said as nonchalantly as he could. He needed to find Zôr too, but right now, he needed to get Grobby and Thali away from the fell beast.