E-text Book V Chapter 1: MINAS TIRITH(TM)
Steuard Jensen
apologies for the delay; I held off on writing it until the discussion
over IV.13 was mostly settled, and then found that Real Life(TM) had
begun to make increasingly pressing demands on my time. Those demands
are still there, but I've held things up already, so here goes
nothing. I hope you enjoy it. If anyone finds contradictions between
this chapter and what has gone before (or if you can correct the one
tiny bit of Elvish that I've used), please let me know! Oh, and as a
final note, there's one detail about Gandalf in this chapter that
might be seen as conflicting with some earlier statements and agreeing
with others; I've got a way of reconciling the two in mind, if anyone
believes it to be necessary, but there's no place for it in the
chapter.
Now that nearly a full Book has passed, incidentally, I'm very curious
to know if anyone recognized a part of my last chapter as being
inspired by one of Mark Twain's less familiar writings (I doubt it,
but I thought I'd ask). For those who didn't, I'm curious to know if
anyone actually pieced together exactly how the Two Watchers were
sitting. (For those with even more free time, I'm also curious about
how many of my references to various stories in that chapter were
recognized at all.) I'd love to see people's replies to these
queries, but I won't be crushed if I'm the only person with any
interest in them at all. :)
Steuard Jensen
------------------------------------------------------------
Book V, Chapter 1
MINAS TIRITH(TM)
Pipsqueak looked out from the shadow of Gandalf's bulk. He wondered
if he was awake or still sleeping, still in the hazy somnambulant
state in which he had spent most of the time since their hasty
departure from Edoras. He blinked a few times, and tried to recall
the events that had led to their journey.
The camp had been returning to sleep after Aragon had claimed the
Palantarium as his own, when a brief musical ringing sound suddenly
emanated from the artifact. Gandalf leapt up, rigid with fear, his
hands clenched. "The Instant Messenger of Mordor!" he cried. "The
configuration files are still there!" Aragon, who had stooped to
investigate the noise, stood and looked at Gandalf questioningly.
Drawn by the commotion, others in the camp gathered round as well.
Gathering his wits, Gandalf ventured, "Aruman must have planted
incriminating evidence in the Palantarium when he held me captive, and
given Sauron himself the means to reach me at will." Observing the
dubious looks of those around him, he rushed on. "Clearly, the plots
of the traitor Aruman and his dark master run even deeper than we
feared. Only haste will serve us now! Wait not for the dawn! Let
the swift not wait for the slow! Act now, think later! Run!"
As the startled riders and companions hastily broke camp in a rout of
confusion and began to speed off singly and in pairs toward Deem's
Help, Gandalf grabbed Pipsqueak and tossed him onto Slimshade's back.
"You looked into the stone, you're coming with me," he said, and then
to himself, "Good insurance, too." After a grunt as Gandalf settled
on his back, Slimshade trotted off into the night.
All that had been many long days ago, and Pipsqueak was now even more
tired and sore than after his run across Edoras with Cedric and
Clarence. As he woke more fully, he heard Gandalf muttering angrily
at himself, and caught a few scattered phrases: "didn't even clear the
browser history... buddy list... oh Eru, the bookmarks, too..." The
wizard seemed thoroughly cross, and he wasn't making a bit of sense.
"What are you saying, Gandalf?" asked Pipsqueak.
"Eh, never you mind. Now that you're awake, though, it's time to
continue your education." Pipsqueak groaned: early on their journey,
Gandalf had become frustrated with his frequent questions, and
demanded, "What more do you want to know?" Laughing, he had
answered, "The names and numbers of all the girls in the Shire, and
cheap sources for every popular drug, and the entire history of
Middle-earth and Atlantis and the Far West. What less?"
Gandalf had taken this as an invitation, and had entertained himself
on their long ride by boring Pipsqueak to tears with history lessons.
"Where did we leave off?" he now asked. "I believe that I had just
told you of the rise of the Stewards in Gondor(TM), of Mardil(TM) and
the founding of the University, and of his consolidation of the
copyrights of the Magic Kingdom(TM), but I have not yet told you that
Mardil(TM) was also known for his crusade against the rampant sexism
of his time. He it was who insisted on including a strong female
character in every script to come out of Disgiliath(TM), but perhaps
his most lasting contribution to the status of women in Gondor(TM) was
the unique system of matrilineal patrimony that he instituted within
his own House. Whereas the kingship had always passed from father to
eldest son, Mardil(TM) declared that the Steward's eldest daughter
should select her own husband, who would then become the heir to the
Stewardship. While not perfect, this system has succeeded in
providing Gondor(TM) with rulers who were able both to lead her armies
in battle and to cry during romantic dramas. Of course, the system
reverts back to the old patrilineal arrangement in cases where the
wife of the Steward produces no female offspring, as is for example
the case with the children of Denethor(TM)'s wife Lossiel(TM). A more
complicated situation arose in the days of Turin(TM) I, whose wife
died childless..."
Unable to deal with Gandalf's constant drone, Pipsqueak became drowsy
again and paid little attention to Gandalf telling him of the customs
of Gondor(TM), and how the Lord of the City had replaced the aging
monorail loop through Edoras with a system of horse-drawn carriages to
build ambiance and save on upkeep costs. The wizard had once again
driven the hobbit's conscious mind into complete withdrawal. As he
fell slowly back into his zombie-like state, Pipsqueak had a strange
feeling: he stood still like a great boulder by the sea, while
Gandalf's words crashed over him like waves driven by a violent wind.
Later, whether one day or many he could not tell, Pipsqueak woke to
find himself surrounded by chill grey mists in the twilit hour before
dawn. Still sitting behind him, Gandalf guided Slimshade along a well
built wall of stone that loomed, barely visible, out of the mist to
their right. Sensing that he had awakened, Gandalf said, "This is the
Wall of Lammas Ichor(TM), the outer wall of Minas Tirith(TM) that was
built after a goblin raid razed a harvest festival over a century ago.
It was once quite ruinous and passable in some places, but it appears
that the masons of Gondor(TM) have been busy since last I came this
way." They pressed on, for Gandalf was in haste to find a section of
the wall that was still in disrepair before the concealment of the
morning mists was burned away.
After they had followed the wall for some time, the sound of hurried
labor could be heard: beat of hammers, clink of trowels, and the
curses of those who were nearly run down by carts rushing through the
mist. As they had hoped, the workers had not yet finished their
repairs of the great wall, and a small section remained that was both
unwatched and tumbled down. Slimshade climbed over the piles of
rubble, and his hoofbeats were lost in the sounds of construction.
They passed now into the wide land beyond the Lammas Ichor(TM), where
they saw wide tilth, oasts, garners, folds, byres, a whole mess of
rills, and many other common sights of the countryside described in
obscure, obsolete language. After riding through the fields for over
half an hour, a brisk wind from the river swept aside the mist, and
Pipsqueak beheld the polished walls and tall spires of Minas
Tirith(TM) for the first time.
For the fashion of Gondor(TM)'s greatest city was such that it was
surrounded by seven walls, each of them higher and sturdier than the
last, and soldiers patrolled the narrow aisles between them. Its
streets and boulevards were built into the very slope of Mount
Minnie(TM), easternmost outpost of the Off-White Mountains, and
property values rose with every foot of elevation. Turnstiles
innumerable guarded the road into the city, and in each of the seven
walls was hung a great gate of stone: the only opening in those tall
battlements save where the abandoned monorail track passed through the
walls high above the ground. As they watched, the first light of dawn
shone forth and fell upon the peak of Mount Minnie(TM), bathing it in
gold, and glittered on the brightly painted towers that rose so high
above the Castle of Lornavaniwen(TM) that was carved out of the
mountain itself at the city's peak. Everywhere Pipsqueak looked,
Minas Tirith(TM) was immaculately clean, with every wall and window
sparkling in the new light of day. A flowing trumpet call rang out
from the distant castle, and at that signal, the seven gates of the
city swung open, welcoming visitors with the promise of Magic(TM) and
Wonder(TM).
As sunlight illuminated the plain, Gandalf spurred Slimshade to his
greatest burst of speed of the entire journey. In a truly surprising
display of dexterity and strength, the horse managed to leap full
across the turnstiles despite the great weight of Gandalf on his back.
As they charged on toward the great gates, men cried, "Mesprendeur!
Mesprendeur!" The gates, so newly opened for the day, began to swing
closed.
"Let me pass!" cried Gandalf. "I must come to your Lord Denethor(TM),
to bring him council in this dark hour! Vile rumors must be squelched
before they reach his ears! Let me pass!" The movers of the gates
paid no heed to his demanding voice, and the great stones swung closed
with resounding booms, but with a final burst of energy, Slimshade
proved the swifter, and Pipsqueak found himself gazing upon the heart
of the Magic Kingdom of Gondor(TM) for the first time.
Slimshade's hooves echoed hollowly on the broad stone-paved path, laid
out in enormous flat cobbles, all of them bright clean white and laced
with cheerful red veins; it was bordered by thin strips of well-
trimmed grass. Beyond them were stone pathways where lines could have
formed, and beyond them in turn were stone houses and attractions and
souvenir shops. Stone flowerpots stood beside stone doorways and on
stone windowsills. Painted stone statues of giant, smiling animals
stood along the walkways. Minas Tirith(TM) had an air of great
antiquity and permanence, yet in truth it was year by year falling
into decay. In every street they passed, some great entertainment
hall or gift shop was silent: empty, or even closed. Over one great
gate, Pipsqueak read in strange and ancient characters the name "Ye
Hynted Mynsion", but although the wide stone entrance spoke of great
crowds and popularity, the courtyard was silent: there was no line.
"Is there _no_ wood?" asked Pipsqueak. "Nothing but stone?" He
looked up at the roofs and walls and statues mounting up the hillside
behind the gates: tiers of stone, painted or naturally multi-colored.
"There is wood here, and some metal," said Gandalf, "but there is more
stone. The Atlanteans liked stone."
They rode on, drawing stares from the residents of the city, who were
unaccustomed to horses. Indeed, a cleaning crew began to follow them
up the street, pausing occasionally to scrub away any hoof marks and
carrying buckets and shovels in case of emergencies. At first, the
mountainside loomed up far above the buildings that they passed, but
as they went farther up the slope, the buildings grew taller and
taller and seemed to be part of the mountain themselves. Finally,
another gate rose up before them, the wall around it bending away to
either side until it joined seamlessly into the bedrock. They went
through this gate, too, and entered a wide flat courtyard of polished
stone. It was mirror white, and it blazed up fiercely in the early
sunlight. Before them stood the Castle of Lornavaniwen(TM). The
sharp points of its turrets, brilliant as sapphires, pierced the sky
far above their heads, and tallest of all stood the Tower of Commerce
itself, from which the Lord of the City could chart the course of his
full domain.
As they gazed upon the castle, half a dozen guards appeared out of
hidden corners in the courtyard. Their leader stepped forward, and in
a cheerful but firm voice said, "No horses in the Citadel." Pipsqueak
and Gandalf were bundled to the ground, and before they knew what was
happening, Slimshade had been led away. Pipsqueak finally lowered his
eyes from the shining walls before him and beheld the ancient raiment
of the Guards of the Citadel(TM).
With its great age, Gondor(TM) had a keen sense of its own history,
and a few customs were preserved that dated back to the Atlanteans
themselves. The Guards of the Citadel(TM) traced their elite
tradition back to the sailors of the famed Atlantean navy, and alone
among the men of Gondor(TM) they continued to proudly wear the ancient
uniform of their forebears. That classic uniform of the Sea-Kings,
worn by Anarchion himself, consisted in its entirety of a helm in the
fashion of a blue sailor's cap adorned with a flowing black ribbon,
and a bright blue sailor's shirt.
Gandalf strode quickly across the white-paved court, pushing Pipsqueak
ahead of him. As they passed, Pipsqueak saw a high fountain off to
the side, splashing up against a great artificial tree covered with
ladders, platforms, and ropes. It seemed to be abandoned now, but he
could make out old signs sitting next to it: in cracking paint, one of
them read "Tarzan's Treehouse," while an almost entirely faded sign
set off to the side seemed to read, "Thy Swyss Fymily Rybinson". It
looked mournful, and quite dull, and as he ran before Gandalf he
wondered why it was left in this place, where everything else was well
tended. He had absolutely no idea.
They walked down a long passage paved with marble, and as they went
Gandalf spoke softly to Pipsqueak. "Be careful of your words, Master
Paragraph! Denethor(TM) is a kind old man, if preoccupied with rules
and order. I am of another sort, and I will not have your hobbit
pertness spoiling my designs. He will speak most to you, because of
what you can tell him of the fate of his beloved son Boromir(TM), but
under cover of this he will seek to make you reveal more of my doings
than I can afford. Tell him no more than you must, and say nothing
about Aragon if you value your life."
At those words, Pipsqueak felt the cold point of a dagger press into
his lower back. "Why not?" he asked. "Wasn't Strider planning to
come here himself? I thought he and HeyHoDen were just a few days
behind us."
"Maybe, maybe," said Gandalf. "Though if my messengers get through in
time, he may go off in a direction that no one expects. It will be
better so. And if he does come, I want to herald his arrival myself."
Gandalf halted before a tall door of carven stone, and he gave a cruel
chuckle. "See, Master Pipsqueak, I have already instructed you in the
history of Gondor(TM), and if you'd been paying attention you would
understand the need for silence. Do as I bid!"
With that, the door opened, and although none could be seen to open
it, its motion was accompanied by a great squeaking sound that bore
little resemblance to the noise of ungreased hinges. Pipsqueak looked
into a great hall, lit by deep windows cut into the stone of the
walls, beyond the broad black marble pillars that upheld the high
stone ceiling, carven in many forms dimly visible to those below. No
hangings nor storied webs, nor any things of woven stuff or wood, were
to be seen in that long solemn hall; but between the pillars there
stood a silent company of images graven in cold stone: figures clad in
the ancient mode of the kings, dressed as all manner of ducks, dogs,
rodents, and caricatured humans of every description.
Suddenly, Pipsqueak recalled the great stone figures of the Argonath.
"Boy," he whispered back to Gandalf, "these statues sure don't hold a
candle to the great stone figures of the Argonath!" Gandalf said
nothing, and simply pushed him forward. At the far end of the hall
upon a dais of many steps was set a stone chair, black and unadorned,
and on it sat an old man gazing at his nearby desk. At the foot of
the dais, tucked back in a shadowed corner, was a high throne set with
jewels and inlaid with finest gold, all of which seemed to be in need
of polishing. As they approached, the old man did not look up. In
his hand was a small white rod with a golden tip that he was tapping
on the table in frustration.
"Hail, Denethor(TM), Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith(TM)," said
Gandalf. "In this dark hour, I am come with..."
"With poor timing as usual," interrupted Denethor(TM). "When
preparing for war, the Stewards have spent the period from eight to
eight thirty in the morning composing intelligence orders for time out
of mind. Walk-in audiences are not available until eleven. But you
were never one to pay heed to courtesy."
Gandalf sighed quietly, and continued, "...with council and tidings of
war. Is it naught to you that HeyHoDen has fought a great battle, and
that I have broken the back of Aruman? Is it naught to you that
slanderous rumors about me may already be spreading, rumors that have
absolutely no basis in truth? Is it naught to you that Isengard has
been overthrown and burned?"
"The burning that comes to _my_ mind occurred the last time that you
visited Minas Tirith(TM)," said Denethor(TM). "You have not been
welcome here since then, and you are not welcome here now: if the
Guard at the city gates had been following the established protocols
properly, you would never have been able to enter my city in the first
place. As for your news, I know already enough regarding these deeds
for my own council. Yea, for though the Stones be lost, or so they
say, still the lords of Gondor(TM) have better vision than lesser men.
But as you have already interrupted my work, and as you have brought a
guest whose news does interest me, we may as well push my breakfast
back by thirty-five minutes. Sit now!"
Pipsqueak settled onto the stool that was brought to him, but never
took his eyes from the old lord. Was it so, or had he only imagined
it, that Denethor(TM) had given him a big wink when he spoke of the
Stones? Gandalf sat on the chair provided for him as well, but close
enough that Pipsqueak still felt the dagger poised and ready at his
back.
Turning to Pipsqueak, Denethor(TM) smiled sadly. "Now, Paragraph son
of Palatine, tell me of my son! When did you last see him, and what
was his fate?"
"How did you know my name?" Pipsqueak exclaimed, but Denethor(TM) did
not answer. After a moment, Pipsqueak began, "Boromir(TM) fell under
heavy assault by goblins and critics when our company was scattered:
he was surrounded alone, and my kinsman Moribund and I were captured
when we tried to come to his aid."
"Tell me more! Why was he alone, and how could such a great warrior
and musician fall, with only goblins to withstand him?"
"The mightiest man may be slain by a knife in the gut," Pipsqueak
said, "and Boromir(TM) had already received one from our mad cousin
Frodo. Perhaps if Aragon had stopped to help Boromir(TM) instead of
dashing off into the woods, things would have been..."
"AHEM," hacked Gandalf, pretending to cough violently while pressing
his dirk firmly against Pipsqueak's back. Pipsqueak froze, and made a
horrible swallowing noise in his throat: "_gollum_". He fell silent.
Denethor(TM) gave Gandalf a stern look, and turning back to Pipsqueak
said, "Please, go on. You have nothing to fear from me. If it is
easier, tell me your full tale, from your first meeting with
Boromir(TM) until his untimely death. One who has risked his life for
my son will always be a friend of Gondor(TM)."
Comforted, Pipsqueak told Denethor(TM) of their journey from Riven-
dell, always inflating Boromir(TM)'s role to better please the old
man. As he described their flight from the house of Moira, he found
himself explaining the conflict over the leadership of their company:
"...and the contract clearly said that Aragon son of Arathon, the guy
with the broken-reforged sword, was to..."
At that, Gandalf sprang up in fury. "Why you little rat-sized
turncoat!" he cried, and he came at Pipsqueak with his blade bare.
Pipsqueak squeaked in terror, and leaping up the dais threw himself at
Denethor(TM)'s feet.
"Little service, no doubt, will a great Lord of Men find in a hobbit,
but what skills I have I offer now if you can save me from this
madman!" Pipsqueak was quite impressed that he had managed to
extemporize such a good speech, and he whipped out his sword and
handed it hilt-first to Denethor(TM).
As the Steward took the weapon, he thrust it forward and faced Gandalf
in anger. Gandalf stood at the base of the steps and stared intently
into Denethor(TM)'s eyes. "What is this," asked Denethor(TM), shaking
his head in disgust, "some kind of juvenile staring contest? I had
planned to house you and your companion somewhere that I could have
you watched, but after this outrage in my own chambers I think I shall
have you taken to a cell instead. The time of your audience is up,
and the schedule of Gondor(TM) is mine to set, unless the king should
come again, along with a full set of authenticated proofs of ancestry
and the appropriate forms filled out in triplicate."
"Unless the king should come again?" said Gandalf. "Well, my lord
Steward, I'll see what I can do about that. The rule of no realm is
mine, neither Gondor(TM) nor any other, but all things great or small
are within the realm that I consider my concern. And if you think me
juvenile and no true man, I shall say only this. By some chance, the
blood of Atlantis runs nearly true in you, as it did in your son
Boromir(TM), and yet does not in your other son, Dr. Faramir. For I
also am a Steward. Did you not know?" And with that he turned and
strode swiftly forth from the hall, while Denethor(TM) stood rigid in
shock with his face white and his mouth agape. Pipsqueak's dagger
fell from the Steward's trembling hand and clattered to the floor, and
he slowly sank back onto his lofty chair.
Minutes passed, and Denethor(TM) regained at least some of his
composure. Finally recalling the presence of Pipsqueak, he said, "I
am sorry that you had to witness that, and I hope that it shall be
long before you find yourself in such a tight corner between two such
terrible old men." At that, he laughed wryly. "I accept your offer
of service, for the sake of my son, for your own protection, and
because generous deeds should not be checked by cold companions.
However, the proper paperwork must be filled out at once, and in any
case the time I had allotted for your morning audience has ended. You
shall return to me soon to tell me of this Aragon and the rest of your
journey, though after this morning's interruption it may prove
difficult to find space in my schedule. Now," he said, raising his
voice and looking toward the alcoves about the hall, "who is the Guard
on errand duty today?"
A man, clad in the blue sailor's cap and shirt of the Guard of the
Citadel(TM), stepped to the foot of the dais and bowed. "I am, my
lord. Bererond son of Bararor, at your service." Pipsqueak politely
tried to avoid glancing below his waist.
Denethor(TM) nodded. "This is Paragraph son of Palatine, whom I have
taken into my service. Escort him to the Registrar to complete the
necessary documents and to be measured for his uniform, and teach him
the Grade II, III, V, and VIII.B. passwords. You may then introduce
him to our fair city, answer his questions, and show him to his
barracks; be sure that he returns by the ninth hour of the evening.
The Registrar will issue him temporary meal vouchers for use until his
forms are processed and his existing trademarks are assumed." He then
turned to Pipsqueak, and returning to him his sword, said, "Farewell,
my liege, and I hope to soon hear your tale in full."
Bererond led Pipsqueak to the quarters of the Guard, and after they
completed the lengthy application and registration process they had a
late lunch in one of the private "cast members only" cafeterias that
looked out over the great stone gates of the city. Pipsqueak learned
much from Bererond about Minas Tirith(TM)'s culture, its nightlife,
and its people, and Bererond was pleased to learn that Pipsqueak had
connections that might be able to supply much of the Guard's need for
black market drugs and alcohol. Beyond the stone roofs of the city,
they gazed out over the tilth within the Lammas Ichor(TM), upon the
pitifully small crowd gathered to watch the cowboys performing their
twice-daily rodeo at the Pelennor Fields, and along the long, dusty
road that led from the great gates into the south.
"That is the road to the potato vales of Tubeladen and Lotstarch, and
the mountain hollows, and then on to Lebanon and the fields of the
south," explained Bererond. Then, in a darker tone, he went on, "From
Lebanon yestereve came evil tidings of a great fleet approaching the
mouths of Anduin, manned by the Tampalas Bay Corsairs. Our great fear
is that this attack will inspire local riots and draw off much of the
help that we looked to have from Lebanon and Belfast, where folk are
swarthy and expendable. All the more are we troubled by the conflict
in Edoras, and the tidings of inexplicable battle that you bring."
"I am no warrior," said Pipsqueak, "and I dislike any thought of
battle or its causes. No stroke would have been struck in Rohan, I
think, but for Gandalf. But look! What is that dust that I see in
the distance, far down the road?"
"Rightly said!" cried Bererond once he had spied the distant cloud
himself. "The Captains of the Outlands are expected up the South Road
ere sundown. Come, let us make our way to the great gate before the
crowd forms."
Before long, they found themselves in a throng going toward the
entrance to the city, filled with worried citizens of Minas Tirith(TM)
who deeply needed this boost to their morale. When they reached the
gates, Pipsqueak and Bererond spoke their names and various Grade III
passwords, and they were given stamps on their wrists and allowed to
find a better vantage point in the great stone-paved space beyond the
turnstiles into which all the ways to Minas Tirith(TM) ran. All eyes
were turned southwards, and soon a murmur rose as the dust kicked up
by the approaching reinforcements drew nearer.
"Forlong! Forlong!" Pipsqueak heard men calling. "What does it
mean?" he asked.
"Forlong has come," Bererond answered, "old Forlong the Fat, the Lord
of Lotstarch, home of my father. Hurrah! Here he is. Good old
Forlong!"
Out of the dust, there came walking a big, thick-limbed horse, and on
it sat a big, thick-limbed man of huge girth. He was clad in mail and
wore a black helm, and he bore a long, heavy spear. "Forlong!" men
shouted. "True heart, true friend! Forlong!"
Behind him, the dust settled.
The onlookers stood silent for a while. The wind had died, and the
evening was heavy, and for some this made the shock of disappointment
too much to bear: first one, and then another of the onlookers sat
down where he was and began to cry quietly. Eventually, the crowd
began to wander listlessly back into the city, though it seemed that
some crept instead away toward Minas Minnie(TM) and the hills.
Pipsqueak thought he heard one of these men mutter, "Gondor shall not
perish yet! Hope and memory shall live still in some hidden valley
where the grass is green... and I'm gonna get there while the gettin's
good."
As they trudged back up to the barracks, Pipsqueak and Bererond were
silent, each lost in his own thoughts. Bererond showed him to his
newly assigned bunk. "It is a black night," he said, "and the end of
a black day. We can only hope that things will look brighter in the
morning. Wake early, for you will be summoned before the second hour
to the Lord Denethor(TM) to receive your permanent assignment with the
Guard. Farewell, and sleep in peace!"
The barracks were dark as Pipsqueak climbed into his bed to settle in
for the evening. Gloom settled still more heavily on him, for he was
alone in a strange city and was soon to be thrust into the terrible
heat of war. For a while he lay and listened to the sounds of the
other Guards breathing and tossing in their sleep, and then he joined
them in their uneasy slumber.
In the night he was wakened by a dim light above him: Gandalf had come
and was leaning over the bed with a pillow poised above Pipsqueak's
face. "I have come for you here," said the wizard in an almost
inaudible whisper, "for I must have a little peace to work in this
city, alone. I cannot leave you to do any more damage than you have
already done. I hope you have enjoyed this night, Paragraph Took!
There will be no dawn."
Raven
news:%TEb7.89$O4....@news.uchicago.edu...
> A man, clad in the blue sailor's cap and shirt of the Guard of the
> Citadel(TM), stepped to the foot of the dais and bowed. "I am, my
> lord. Bererond son of Bararor, at your service." Pipsqueak politely
> tried to avoid glancing below his waist.
Didn't know you could be dirty. Michael O'Neill ought to enjoy this
detail. Or are they at least covered in feathers around the pelvis, in
a family-friendly theme park? I have been to Disneyworld in Florida
twice, in 1973 and 1993, and I recall no bare asses and leg ties.
> In the night he was wakened by a dim light above him: Gandalf had come
> and was leaning over the bed with a pillow poised above Pipsqueak's
> face. "I have come for you here," said the wizard in an almost
> inaudible whisper, "for I must have a little peace to work in this
> city, alone. I cannot leave you to do any more damage than you have
> already done. I hope you have enjoyed this night, Paragraph Took!
> There will be no dawn."
So first Frodo is killed and revived thrice. Now you leave Pipsqueak
about to die, in one cliffhanger of an ending. If Pipsqueak survives
this, Hobbits will be established as truly difficult to kill. Are we
about to make a point of killing or almost killing and then returning to
life and safety one hobbit in every other chapter?
Well, I've already done a partial draft on my chapter 10, named "The
Back Orifice Opens" because the army of the West will try to hack their
way through - with their swords, of course. I'll leave two cliffhangers
there for the folks who will write Book VI. Not cliffhangers that will
be difficult for the next writers to find a way out of, though. I
shan't kill of any main characters this time. Perhaps I can put in some
of what I had in mind for chapter 2 of Book VI, which is out of my claws
now.
By establishing Gandalf as quite capable of murdering Pipsqueak you
have done me a service. In my draft of chapter 10 he will not have a
better character than you have portrayed here - rather the opposite,
made even worse by Vala dust. *Don't* try that insidious narcotic at
home, kids - I hope, though, that during the course of Book V the race
of the Orcs is not established as irredeemably evil, save perhaps in the
prejudiced minds of the Gondorians(tm); and likewise the Southrons and
the Easterlings. I also hope that Aragon is not established as utterly
evil. Greedy, scheming and lustful of power, perhaps, but quailing at
massacres at least, and with the decency to shun the murder of the
innocent. Or at least to regret such murders when he has to commit
them. With what I've written so far I can live with whatever character
Sauron turns out to have --- evil, ambiguous or basically good with a
tacky taste in arts.
And, oh, could someone establish Pipsqueak as an Ursula Le Guin fan,
please? If chapter 10 comes out as I've written the draft so far, this
will be an important plot point. I hope I haven't requested too much,
this early before my chapter comes up. :-)
Kákam.
Aris Katsaris
Raven <jonlenn...@get2net.dk> wrote in message
news:ooWb7.287$UY....@news.get2net.dk...
>
> Well, I've already done a partial draft on my chapter 10, named "The
> Back Orifice Opens" because the army of the West will try to hack their
> way through - with their swords, of course.
I have to say that you are writing this way too early...
> And, oh, could someone establish Pipsqueak as an Ursula Le Guin fan,
> please? If chapter 10 comes out as I've written the draft so far, this
> will be an important plot point. I hope I haven't requested too much,
> this early before my chapter comes up. :-)
Well, I don't have a chapter in Book V so it's not really my place to talk,
but
IMHO you really oughtn't ask this much out of eight authors whose work
precedes your own. Or atleast you have to promise not to complain
if they completely disregard your wishes. It's you who has to make your
chapter consistent with theirs, not they with yours...
Aris Katsaris
Steuard Jensen
<ooWb7.287$UY....@news.get2net.dk>:
> "Steuard Jensen" <sbje...@midway.uchicago.edu> skrev:
> > A man, clad in the blue sailor's cap and shirt of the Guard of the
> > Citadel(TM), stepped to the foot of the dais and bowed. "I am, my
> > lord. Bererond son of Bararor, at your service." Pipsqueak politely
> > tried to avoid glancing below his waist.
> Didn't know you could be dirty.
Credit where credit's due: this detail was suggested by Ojevind,
though I wouldn't have included it if I didn't think it would be
funny. (I'm looking forward to the point when Pipsqueak gets his
_own_ uniform.) But dirty? What's wrong with the human body, anyway?
It's not like they're having sex or something.
> > In the night he was wakened by a dim light above him: Gandalf had
> > come and was leaning over the bed with a pillow poised above
> > Pipsqueak's face. "I have come for you here," said the wizard in
> > an almost inaudible whisper, "for I must have a little peace to
> > work in this city, alone. I cannot leave you to do any more
> > damage than you have already done. I hope you have enjoyed this
> > night, Paragraph Took! There will be no dawn."
> So first Frodo is killed and revived thrice. Now you leave
> Pipsqueak about to die, in one cliffhanger of an ending. If
> Pipsqueak survives this, Hobbits will be established as truly
> difficult to kill.
Hey, don't forget, I had Morrie shove Pipsqueak down a well in Moira,
and brought him back myself (that's still my favorite among my
chapters). I fully expect Pipsqueak to escape this one... I just
couldn't resist making the final line in my chapter the same as the
final line in the original. :) In fact, a good bit of the
construction of this chapter was aimed at preserving the lines "There
will be no dawn" and "I also am a Steward", albeit with vastly altered
meanings.
> Well, I've already done a partial draft on my chapter 10, named
> "The Back Orifice Opens"...
Do be careful with that sort of thing: it's all too easy to get overly
fond of your plans ahead of time, and then be unhappy (or unwilling)
to change them when they end up being inconsistent with what's gone
before. On the other hand, having at least a bit of an outline ahead
of time would be very helpful in avoiding delays like the one I just
caused. :P Maybe it's a good idea after all. :)
Steuard Jensen
Raven
news:9kpj1c$pou$1...@usenet.otenet.gr...
> Well, I don't have a chapter in Book V so it's not really my place
> to talk, but IMHO you really oughtn't ask this much out of eight
> authors whose work precedes your own. Or atleast you have to
> promise not to complain if they completely disregard your
> wishes. It's you who has to make your chapter consistent with
> theirs, not they with yours...
Of course. I attempt no demands. But it has been seen before in the
meandering path of this etext that one author has asked another to lay a
little groundwork for his later chapter. And if Chinablue hadn't
withdrawn again, it seems to me that he would have been permitted to
keep the three last chapters of Book IV that he wrote when Book III was
not yet finished. Granted that they were quite good.
I have not fleshed out the entire draft of chapter 10. I have
written down some passages, which I hope to be able to keep more or less
intact when chapter 9 has been finished, and I write the whole of
chapter 10. If I have to throw the bits I've written so far down the
bit bucket, I'll complain only inwardly.
Kirina.
Raven
> But dirty? What's wrong with the human body, anyway?
> It's not like they're having sex or something.
No. But I would certainly gape a bit if I saw a lot of men and women
walking around naked waist down in Disney World. :-) As well as protest
if, say, I were sitting down at dinner and some bloke were dangling his
dick right next to my ear. For that matter, what's dirty about sex? :-)
> > So first Frodo is killed and revived thrice. Now you leave
> > Pipsqueak about to die, in one cliffhanger of an ending. If
> > Pipsqueak survives this, Hobbits will be established as truly
> > difficult to kill.
> Hey, don't forget, I had Morrie shove Pipsqueak down a well in Moira,
> and brought him back myself (that's still my favorite among my
> chapters).
True. I feel less and less regret that I transfixed Frodo. Though
if I had done a tenth of what was done with the last chapter in Book IV,
I *would* have established Frodo as alive after all, using the draft
that I offered on the NGs as a suggestion. You know, the one with Frodo
being carried out of the swamp by a gigantic version of Lucy in
Watership Down in a scene like to when she rescues Hazel-rah from the
cat. But most people didn't want me to, preferring to have the later
authors deal with the corpse.
All praise to Bill Hsu, but he seems to have overlooked that Boromir
took the Ring from the presumably dead Frodo before tossing him to the
litigators. In Bill's chapter, Frodo used it to escape them and then to
sneak up on Boromir and scare him out of his wits.
> > Well, I've already done a partial draft on my chapter 10, named
> > "The Back Orifice Opens"...
> Do be careful with that sort of thing: it's all too easy to get overly
> fond of your plans ahead of time, and then be unhappy (or unwilling)
> to change them when they end up being inconsistent with what's gone
> before. On the other hand, having at least a bit of an outline ahead
> of time would be very helpful in avoiding delays like the one I just
> caused. :P Maybe it's a good idea after all. :)
I'm adaptive. I was disappointed that I shan't get chapter 2 in Book
VI, but I'm not anymore. I've gotten over it. Since I get to do four
chapters, much more than most of the other contributors, I know full
well that I have no cause for complaint. I got my jollies back writing
the bits I did of "The Back Orifice Opens". If I have to scrap those,
I'll write something else and get my jollies again.
Besides, if I have to scrap those draft pieces from the etext proper,
I know precisely what I can use them for, my own discarded bits and
those of other contributors. I think that you are perfectly able to
guess what I'm hinting at.
Copypasting from a posting I made to the NGs on the 27. of December
last year at 22:44:
=================================================
I can make a small amendment to my chapter, if the other participants
want me to. Something like the following, in cursive and inserted just
before the last section of the chapter:
On a small islet in a mere in the Marshes sat a small forlorn figure.
He was bleeding from many puncture wounds, and his face was streaked
with tears; but they were dry now. Around him in the water he was
surrounded by many litigators. They were gloating and menacing him with
wide open jaws studded with teeth, and their lawbooks and sharp pencils
were poised for assault.
The largest and meanest litigator decided that the play had lasted
long enough. It rushed forward and grabbed the figure in its jaws. It
squeezed. The little figure squealed, and then squealed again but
weaker.
Suddenly a large figure in a nightgown came wading swiftly through
the marshes. She was easily twenty feet tall. She called out sharply:
"Lit! Lit! Wha' you got?"
At the sound of her voice the litigators looked up for a moment and
then immediately looked back at their prey. 'T'weren't no rat, though;
't'was a humanoid figger of smaller size, layin' between the horrible
teeth of the biggest litigator. It looked proper bad. Kicking out an'
all. Then it squealed again.
She waded closer. "Git out, you rascal!" she said. "Crool thing!
Let'n alone!"
She cuffed the litigator, which tried to hit her with its briefcase.
She raised her hand again and it objected, but dropped its prey and ran
a few feet and stopped, looking back in sulky rage. The tall figure in
the nightgown picked up the bleeding figure. It struggled a moment and
then held itself tense in her firm grip.
"'Old still!" said she. "I ain't goin' 'urthcer!"
Then she began wading southwards. The little figure relaxed, sensing
possibly that for the first time in its life, someone strong and
powerful genuinely cared for it.
==========================================
Of course, I'd have revised it quite a bit before inserting it into
the chapter. Rectifying the spelling of " 'urthcer" for starters ---
Jon L. Beck.
Count Menelvagor
>If anyone finds contradictions between
> this chapter and what has gone before (or if you can correct the one
> tiny bit of Elvish that I've used), please let me know!
Weell, it doesn't much matter, but in IV.12, Denethor's wife is named
Clarabella (to go with the Disney theme ...)
>
> Now that nearly a full Book has passed, incidentally, I'm very curious
> to know if anyone recognized a part of my last chapter as being
> inspired by one of Mark Twain's less familiar writings (I doubt it,
> but I thought I'd ask).
/The Mysterious Stranger/???
> Book V, Chapter 1
> MINAS TIRITH(TM)
>As they watched, the first light of dawn
> shone forth and fell upon the peak of Mount Minnie(TM), bathing it in
> gold, and glittered on the brightly painted towers that rose so high
> above the Castle of Lornavaniwen(TM) that was carved out of the
> mountain itself at the city's peak.
Sleeping Beauty?
> With its great age, Gondor(TM) had a keen sense of its own history,
> and a few customs were preserved that dated back to the Atlanteans
> themselves. The Guards of the Citadel(TM) traced their elite
> tradition back to the sailors of the famed Atlantean navy, and alone
> among the men of Gondor(TM) they continued to proudly wear the ancient
> uniform of their forebears. That classic uniform of the Sea-Kings,
> worn by Anarchion himself, consisted in its entirety of a helm in the
> fashion of a blue sailor's cap adorned with a flowing black ribbon,
> and a bright blue sailor's shirt.
LOL! If I had any plans to visit Gondor, I'd have cancelled them by
now ... Ughgghgh!
>
>
> Gandalf strode quickly across the white-paved court, pushing Pipsqueak
> ahead of him. As they passed, Pipsqueak saw a high fountain off to
> the side, splashing up against a great artificial tree covered with
> ladders, platforms, and ropes. It seemed to be abandoned now, but he
> could make out old signs sitting next to it: in cracking paint, one of
> them read "Tarzan's Treehouse," while an almost entirely faded sign
> set off to the side seemed to read, "Thy Swyss Fymily Rybinson". It
> looked mournful, and quite dull, and as he ran before Gandalf he
> wondered why it was left in this place, where everything else was well
> tended. He had absolutely no idea.
>
LOL ...
> They walked down a long passage paved with marble, and as they went
> Gandalf spoke softly to Pipsqueak. "Be careful of your words, Master
> Paragraph! Denethor(TM) is a kind old man, if preoccupied with rules
> and order. I am of another sort, and I will not have your hobbit
> pertness spoiling my designs. He will speak most to you, because of
> what you can tell him of the fate of his beloved son Boromir(TM), but
> under cover of this he will seek to make you reveal more of my doings
> than I can afford. Tell him no more than you must, and say nothing
> about Aragon if you value your life."
> > At those words, Pipsqueak felt the cold point of a dagger press into
> his lower back.
Love the evil Gandalf struff ...
> "Unless the king should come again?" said Gandalf. "Well, my lord
> Steward, I'll see what I can do about that. The rule of no realm is
> mine, neither Gondor(TM) nor any other, but all things great or small
> are within the realm that I consider my concern. And if you think me
> juvenile and no true man, I shall say only this. By some chance, the
> blood of Atlantis runs nearly true in you, as it did in your son
> Boromir(TM), and yet does not in your other son, Dr. Faramir. For I
> also am a Steward. Did you not know?"
LOL
> "Forlong! Forlong!" Pipsqueak heard men calling. "What does it
> mean?" he asked.
>
> "Forlong has come," Bererond answered, "old Forlong the Fat, the Lord
> of Lotstarch, home of my father. Hurrah! Here he is. Good old
> Forlong!"
>
> Out of the dust, there came walking a big, thick-limbed horse, and on
> it sat a big, thick-limbed man of huge girth. He was clad in mail and
> wore a black helm, and he bore a long, heavy spear. "Forlong!" men
> shouted. "True heart, true friend! Forlong!"
Things look pretty bleak. Poor Gondor ...
> In the night he was wakened by a dim light above him: Gandalf had come
> and was leaning over the bed with a pillow poised above Pipsqueak's
> face. "I have come for you here," said the wizard in an almost
> inaudible whisper, "for I must have a little peace to work in this
> city, alone. I cannot leave you to do any more damage than you have
> already done. I hope you have enjoyed this night, Paragraph Took!
> There will be no dawn."
Great ending! And the best part is that we won't know how Pipsqueak
escapes for two chapters ... Love it!
Count Menelvagor
> Well, I've already done a partial draft on my chapter 10, named "The
> Back Orifice Opens" because the army of the West will try to hack their
> way through - with their swords, of course. I'll leave two cliffhangers
> there for the folks who will write Book VI. Not cliffhangers that will
> be difficult for the next writers to find a way out of, though. I
> shan't kill of any main characters this time. Perhaps I can put in some
> of what I had in mind for chapter 2 of Book VI, which is out of my claws
> now.
Weeell, before when I thought you were getting VI.2, I did put a
couple of narcoterrorist references into IV.5 (where Morgil and I have
Gondor[tm] involved in an attempt to demoralize the Orcs with drugs)
and IV.12. Maybe those will come in handy ...
*Don't* try that insidious narcotic at
> home, kids - I hope, though, that during the course of Book V the race
> of the Orcs is not established as irredeemably evil, save perhaps in the
> prejudiced minds of the Gondorians(tm); and likewise the Southrons and
> the Easterlings. I also hope that Aragon is not established as utterly
> evil. Greedy, scheming and lustful of power, perhaps, but quailing at
> massacres at least, and with the decency to shun the murder of the
> innocent. Or at least to regret such murders when he has to commit
> them. With what I've written so far I can live with whatever character
> Sauron turns out to have --- evil, ambiguous or basically good with a
> tacky taste in arts.
Or evil with an exquisite taste in the arts? I'm thinking of throwing
some deconstructionist struff in ... Personally, I'm voting for the
ambiguous thing my elf, but probably won't have the determining vote
... :-]
> And, oh, could someone establish Pipsqueak as an Ursula Le Guin fan,
> please? If chapter 10 comes out as I've written the draft so far, this
> will be an important plot point. I hope I haven't requested too much,
> this early before my chapter comes up. :-)
Weell, don't you have a Roke referenece in III.4?
Things look like getting interesting ...
Steuard Jensen
<6bfb27a8.01080...@posting.google.com>:
> >If anyone finds contradictions between this chapter and what has
> >gone before (or if you can correct the one tiny bit of Elvish that
> >I've used), please let me know!
> Weell, it doesn't much matter, but in IV.12, Denethor's wife is
> named Clarabella (to go with the Disney theme ...)
Did I end up naming her? (I thought I decided not to.) Or was the
implication that she was still alive?
> > ...I'm very curious to know if anyone recognized a part of my last
> > chapter as being inspired by one of Mark Twain's less familiar
> > writings (I doubt it, but I thought I'd ask).
> /The Mysterious Stranger/???
Nope... it's actually a very short story of his (a newspaper story,
actually, that he says made it into papers all over the world).
> > ...the Castle of Lornavaniwen(TM)...
> Sleeping Beauty?
That's what I was aiming for, at least. I'll wait to see if any
Elvish Experts mention how it could be improved.
> > ...consisted in its entirety of a helm in the fashion of a blue
> > sailor's cap adorned with a flowing black ribbon, and a bright
> > blue sailor's shirt.
> LOL! If I had any plans to visit Gondor, I'd have cancelled them by
> now ... Ughgghgh!
You should be fine... as long as you avoid the Castle of
Lornavaniwen(TM). :)
> > "...Tell him no more than you must, and say nothing about Aragon
> > if you value your life."
> Love the evil Gandalf struff ...
I don't think he intended to be quite as overtly nasty as he ended up
being, but he was stressed out about his blunder with the Palantarium,
and Denethor(TM)'s attitude didn't help matters.
> > "Forlong!" men shouted. "True heart, true friend! Forlong!"
> Things look pretty bleak. Poor Gondor ...
Gondor(TM)! As I read through that scene to figure out how to parody
it, I was struck by the fact that Forlong, was the first one to show
up, and was described alone before his men were mentioned at all.
Should make things interesting for Gondor in the actual battle. (I
have visions of poor Forlong being sent to do all the various things
that the different Captains of the Outlands did in the actual
story... but mostly I was just leaving an interesting setup for later
writers to work from.)
> > "...I hope you have enjoyed this night, Paragraph Took! There
> > will be no dawn."
> Great ending! And the best part is that we won't know how Pipsqueak
> escapes for two chapters ... Love it!
That was the hope. :) The cliffhanger seemed very natural, given
Gandalf's evil tendencies and his final words in the actual text.
Steuard Jensen
Morgil Blackhope
Steuard Jensen kirjoitti viestissä
>
>Book V, Chapter 1
>MINAS TIRITH(TM)
>
>All that had been many long days ago, and Pipsqueak was now even more
>tired and sore than after his run across Edoras with Cedric and
>Clarence. As he woke more fully, he heard Gandalf muttering angrily
>at himself, and caught a few scattered phrases: "didn't even clear the
>browser history... buddy list... oh Eru, the bookmarks, too..." The
>wizard seemed thoroughly cross, and he wasn't making a bit of sense.
It seems Gandalf has never heard of that wonderful inventon:
The Evidence Eliminator. That´s what comes for not reading your spam...
>
>"What are you saying, Gandalf?" asked Pipsqueak.
>
>"Eh, never you mind. Now that you're awake, though, it's time to
>continue your education." Pipsqueak groaned: early on their journey,
>Gandalf had become frustrated with his frequent questions, and
>demanded, "What more do you want to know?" Laughing, he had
>answered, "The names and numbers of all the girls in the Shire, and
>cheap sources for every popular drug, and the entire history of
>Middle-earth and Atlantis and the Far West. What less?"
>
>Gandalf had taken this as an invitation, and had entertained himself
>on their long ride by boring Pipsqueak to tears with history lessons.
LOL this is a good one...
>Comforted, Pipsqueak told Denethor(TM) of their journey from Riven-
>
>dell, always inflating Boromir(TM)'s role to better please the old
>man. As he described their flight from the house of Moira, he found
>himself explaining the conflict over the leadership of their company:
>"...and the contract clearly said that Aragon son of Arathon, the guy
>with the broken-reforged sword, was to..."
>
>At that, Gandalf sprang up in fury. "Why you little rat-sized
>turncoat!" he cried, and he came at Pipsqueak with his blade bare.
>Pipsqueak squeaked in terror, and leaping up the dais threw himself at
>Denethor(TM)'s feet.
>
LOL This is great stuff. Seems that all hobbits have big mouths, save
maybe those who work on criminal organisations or on revolutional tasks.
>
>A man, clad in the blue sailor's cap and shirt of the Guard of the
>Citadel(TM), stepped to the foot of the dais and bowed. "I am, my
>lord. Bererond son of Bararor, at your service." Pipsqueak politely
>tried to avoid glancing below his waist.
Undoubtedly Pipsqueak will develop some kind of neck injury
during his stay in Minas Tirith, concidering how short he is...
>
>In the night he was wakened by a dim light above him: Gandalf had come
>and was leaning over the bed with a pillow poised above Pipsqueak's
>face. "I have come for you here," said the wizard in an almost
>inaudible whisper, "for I must have a little peace to work in this
>city, alone. I cannot leave you to do any more damage than you have
>already done. I hope you have enjoyed this night, Paragraph Took!
>There will be no dawn."
Aaagghh! What a cliffhanger! Another Hobbit bites the dust!
All and all, exellent chapter. Bravo!
Morgil
David Sulger
>In fact, a good bit of the construction of
>this chapter was aimed at preserving the
>lines "There will be no dawn" and "I also
>am a Steward", albeit with vastly altered
>meanings.
I've done much of the same thing in my e-text contributions. I usually
find the chapters which more closely parallel the original and have more
subtle humor to be more humorous myself. The stuff that makes more
radical changes seems more jarring and difficult to follow.
--Dave
ds50.geo @ yahoo.com
Assorted Tolkien stuff: http://www.geocities.com/ds50.geo/tolkien
David Sulger
>Now you leave Pipsqueak about to die,
>in one cliffhanger of an ending. If
>Pipsqueak survives this, Hobbits will be
>established as truly difficult to kill.
He'd better survive. I need him for my chapter.
[snip]
> By establishing Gandalf as quite
>capable of murdering Pipsqueak you
>have done me a service.
Don't worry -- I plan to put even more blood on his hands. <evil grin>
>I also hope that Aragon is not
>established as utterly evil.
Well, I hope that whatever happens with Aragon, he ends up as the king
of Gondor(tm), since I mention him as the king in the prologue section I
wrote.
David Sulger
>>Love the evil Gandalf struff ...
>I don't think he intended to be quite as
>overtly nasty as he ended up being, but
>he was stressed out about his blunder
>with the Palantarium, and
>Denethor(TM)'s attitude didn't help
>matters.
Well, I'm definitely doing an evil Gandalf in my next chapter.
And his stress about the Palantarium is nothing compared to what he's
going to face in my chapter. I noticed that wink Denethor gave to
Pipsqueak...works well with my plans; a slight change, but one that
works in my favor. Just as long as the other writers follow the
original (more or less) and don't reveal the Palantarium too early.
David Sulger
>>Well, I've already done a partial draft on
>>my chapter 10,
>I have to say that you are writing this
>way too early...
So what?
If someone writes something that is incompatible with what he's writing
he'll have to rewrite it. No big deal.
Raven
news:3B73...@MailAndNews.com...
> > Besides, if I have to scrap those draft pieces from the etext
> >proper, I know precisely what I can use them for, my own
> >discarded bits and those of other contributors. I think that
> >you are perfectly able to guess what I'm hinting at.
> The History of the E-Text (HOET) in 12 volumes?
Either that or Unswished Tails.
Voron.
Raven
news:6bfb27a8.01080...@posting.google.com...
> > And, oh, could someone establish Pipsqueak as an Ursula Le Guin
> > fan please? If chapter 10 comes out as I've written the draft so
> > far, this will be an important plot point. I hope I haven't
> > requested too much, this early before my chapter comes up. :-)
> Weell, don't you have a Roke referenece in III.4?
I do. But it's not enough. Of course, if we learn that Pipsqueak is
a Le Guin fan only in chapter 10, that won't spoil my plans. It will
just look better if there is precedent, especially if he is mocked for
it.
"Whatcher reading that feminist bitch for," scowled Morrie, "what's
wrong with Ian Fleming?"
Havran.
Raven
news:19378-3B7...@storefull-254.iap.bryant.webtv.net...
> >If Pipsqueak survives this, Hobbits will be
> >established as truly difficult to kill.
> He'd better survive. I need him for my chapter.
As I do for mine. None other will serve. I might, perhaps, use a
partly repenting Morrie, but I think that Pipsqueak is far more
redeemable than his morose cousin. Just as Aragon certainly is far more
redeemable than Gandalf at this stage.
One thing I don't want is to portray all the characters in the etext
as ultimately evil.
> >By establishing Gandalf as quite
> >capable of murdering Pipsqueak you
> >have done me a service.
> Don't worry -- I plan to put even more blood on his
> hands. <evil grin>
Excellent. It seems that Gandalf is taking over Sauron's role as the
supreme evil in the story. I'll give him his comeuppance in V.10 if my
plans carry, though it will be up to the writers of Book VI to decide
whether that comeuppance was lethal - V.10 will not say.
Raaf.
David Sulger
>>Don't worry -- I plan to put even more
>>blood on his hands. <evil grin>
> Excellent. It seems that Gandalf is
>taking over Sauron's role as the supreme
>evil in the story.
And I think I played a major part in that. Originally Gandalf was a
meddler and pain in the ass, all the way back to Steuard's first
chapter. Then I made up his plot with Aragon in III. 8, and O. Sharp
took it and ran with it, making Gandalf a total baddie. Hehehe.
What I really liked was how Gandalf's dialogue got switched with the
antagonist -- first with Saruman and now with Denethor.
> I'll give him his comeuppance in V.10 if
>my plans carry, though it will be up to
>the writers of Book VI to decide whether
>that comeuppance was lethal - V.10 will
>not say.
I hope not. I'd like to see the scene at the Grey Havens to be not a
sorrowful parting, but rather everyone's way of kicking Gandalf out of
Middle-earth for all the problems he caused -- a good riddance sort of
thing.
Count Menelvagor
> Don't worry -- I plan to put even more blood on his hands. <evil grin>
You have the Pyre chapter, don't yoyu? ...
Count Menelvagor
Sounds rather tilde ...
Count Menelvagor
> One thing I don't want is to portray all the characters in the etext
> as ultimately evil.
Yes; if everyone's evil, no one's anything ... Besides, then it ceases
to be anusing, except in the most noir way ...
> Excellent. It seems that Gandalf is taking over Sauron's role as the
> supreme evil in the story. I'll give him his comeuppance in V.10 if my
> plans carry, though it will be up to the writers of Book VI to decide
> whether that comeuppance was lethal - V.10 will not say.
I have a feeling that Cormallen will be a much scarier and more
exciting chapter than in the original. The Ring was been destroyed,
giving Gandalf absolute dominion (cf. III.10, IV.6, IV.12). Will the
goodguys be able to overthrow him? How can Tildya, the evil Ring of
Whatever, be resisted? Sort of thing ...
Count Menelvagor
> Quoth Menel...@mailandnews.com (Count Menelvagor) in article
> <6bfb27a8.01080...@posting.google.com>:
> > sbje...@midway.uchicago.edu (Steuard Jensen) wrote:
> > >If anyone finds contradictions between this chapter and what has
> > >gone before (or if you can correct the one tiny bit of Elvish that
> > >I've used), please let me know!
>
> > Weell, it doesn't much matter, but in IV.12, Denethor's wife is
> > named Clarabella (to go with the Disney theme ...)
>
> Did I end up naming her? (I thought I decided not to.) Or was the
> implication that she was still alive?
>
You have her as Lossiel(TM) (Snow White?:-]) In IV.12, FWIW, Sauron
calls her Clarabella "rather rudely called 'the Cow'" and says that
Gandalf performed genetic experiments on her. It doesn't say anywhere
whether she's alive or dead, AFAIK ...
> > /The Mysterious Stranger/???
>
> Nope... it's actually a very short story of his (a newspaper story,
> actually, that he says made it into papers all over the world).
The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County? (Getting colder, I'm
sure ...)
> > > ...consisted in its entirety of a helm in the fashion of a blue
> > > sailor's cap adorned with a flowing black ribbon, and a bright
> > > blue sailor's shirt.
>
> > LOL! If I had any plans to visit Gondor, I'd have cancelled them by
> > now ... Ughgghgh!
>
> You should be fine... as long as you avoid the Castle of
> Lornavaniwen(TM). :)
I'll keep that in mind ...:-] Just a thought: Maybe when Aragon comes
to power, he can change the uniform to a pair of red shorts with
suspenders and yellow buttons ...
> I don't think he intended to be quite as overtly nasty as he ended up
> being, but he was stressed out about his blunder with the Palantarium,
> and Denethor(TM)'s attitude didn't help matters.
Well, O. Sharp did have him murder Aruman, so we already know he ain't
Mr. Rogers ...:-]
(I
> have visions of poor Forlong being sent to do all the various things
> that the different Captains of the Outlands did in the actual
> story... but mostly I was just leaving an interesting setup for later
> writers to work from.)
Forlong as Gofer ... "Get me my coffee now, Forly!" yelled Gandalf.
"And make sure it's black!" "But, Gandalf, I have my hands full with
these Trolls!" Sort of thing ...
Raven
news:6bfb27a8.01080...@posting.google.com...
> > Either that or Unswished Tails.
> Sounds rather tilde ...
It has that added benefit, yes.
Brân.
Steuard Jensen
> > > Weell, it doesn't much matter, but in IV.12, Denethor's wife is
> > > named Clarabella (to go with the Disney theme ...)
> > Did I end up naming her? (I thought I decided not to.)
> You have her as Lossiel(TM) (Snow White?:-]) In IV.12, FWIW, Sauron
> calls her Clarabella...
That can easily be changed, then. I'd forgotten completely that she'd
been mentioned before, I felt a need for a proper name in Gandalf's
history lesson, and making reference to Tolkien Crackpot Theories is
always a good thing... particularly when it fits so well. :)
(Lossiel(TM) should probably be someone more famous, anyway.)
> > Nope... it's actually a very short story of his (a newspaper
> > story, actually, that he says made it into papers all over the
> > world).
> The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County? (Getting colder,
> I'm sure ...)
The story was actually "The Petrified Man"... and if you haven't
worked out how the Two Watchers are sitting, you should. :)
Steuard Jensen
David Sulger
>>Don't worry -- I plan to put even more
>>blood on his hands. <evil grin>
>You have the Pyre chapter, don't yoyu?
::laughs evilly::
Yup.
Count Menelvagor
> Quoth Menel...@mailandnews.com (Count Menelvagor) in article
> <6bfb27a8.0108...@posting.google.com>:
> > sbje...@midway.uchicago.edu (Steuard Jensen) wrote:
> > > > Weell, it doesn't much matter, but in IV.12, Denethor's wife is
> > > > named Clarabella (to go with the Disney theme ...)
> > You have her as Lossiel(TM) (Snow White?:-]) In IV.12, FWIW, Sauron
> > calls her Clarabella...
>
> That can easily be changed, then. I'd forgotten completely that she'd
> been mentioned before, I felt a need for a proper name in Gandalf's
> history lesson, and making reference to Tolkien Crackpot Theories is
> always a good thing... particularly when it fits so well. :)
> (Lossiel(TM) should probably be someone more famous, anyway.)
That's one of the funnier Crackpot Theories ... Maybe she can be some
famous queen or something ... (Appendix Alert!!)
> The story was actually "The Petrified Man"... and if you haven't
> worked out how the Two Watchers are sitting, you should. :)
I think I'll have to wait till after the heat wave is over ...:-] All
I recall now is that thye seemed to be into a peculiarly nasty form of
sado-massochism ...
Count Menelvagor
> Count Menelvagor wrote:
>
> >>Don't worry -- I plan to put even more
> >>blood on his hands. <evil grin>
>
> >You have the Pyre chapter, don't yoyu?
>
> ::laughs evilly::
>
> Yup.
Ah, say no more ... ;-]