From the Mouth of Sauron Date: 03-05-95 Issue: E-28 Note: all authors retain exclusive rights to their material. Reprinting is allowed for non-commercial game use only. The Mouth is edited by Brian Mason and Tom Walton. All correspondence can be sent to them at: Brian Mason - mason@chara.gsu.edu Tom Walton - kazandar@aol.com, kazandar@delphi.com First Word ========== Well, gang it's another issue. There seems to be a continuing problem getting submissions. While I like writing, it'd be nice to read somebody else's work so submit something. In the first incarnation of "From the Mouth of Sauron" we tried to publish on a weekly basis. When we brought it out of hiatus the plan was to stay current with the turns of game 22 (i.e. Mouth issue # = game 22 turn + 25), however, to that end, we also wanted a big enough issue to send out and fell behind. We're going to (over the next couple of issues) get caught back up again, but the issues are going to be pretty thin unless we hear from you. We'd like to hear more about encounters and other strategies for the 1650 game, and we've already been getting submissions for the 2950 game (which we will hold until issue 35). We'd also like to see some more fiction. While we've heard a little bit from one side in game 22, there are quite a few other players in that game and other games where other people can vent their creative spleen in an environment with an absolute guarantee of no rejection slips. Well, that's enough begging for now. Will see you in a week. Brian News from the Net ================= A Noldor of the first A fate uncertain had this Elf-Lord One son tortured by blade and thirst One confined in dakest pit by evil horde I first tried Finarfin then Fingolfin. Both wrong. Maybe it is an ICE based encounter. Any opinions? Try Feanor. Maedhros fits the last line, Not really sure. Or it could be Maedhros himself bt I don't know if he had a son. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I'm running a web site that has MEPBM data on it, but I'm not going to put up any data for 2950 until I feel that the playing field needs leveling again, and until there is enough data worthy of serving up collected in one place [like the Mouth of Sauron]. Right now, there is nothing to put up but the startups really, and I don't want to look at those, having just taken a place in the Mouth email game [22] of the 2950 scenario, where the agreement [I think] is to hold off on looking at such data until Turn 10. Currently I have the startup data for the nations in the old game. I've been working on putting the Mouth of Sauron on the Web, but that's not really ready for production yet [I'll be putting a link up to that soon though]. Once the Mouth is done, I'll be putting up data for artifacts, encounters and riddles for the 1650 scenario. By then, the Mouth might be up and running again. If you want to check out my web site, here's a link to it: MEPBM Page If you don't have news software that can deal with links, just copy the part in quotes and give it to your web browser. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Could someone out there please tell me who the NPC Lomelinde is. THe name isn't on any list that I have, but then again my lists are fairly old. If anyone can help me out it would be much appreciated. Thanks in advance. In the 1650 game at least, Lomelinde is not an NPC but a Dark Servant Agent, and one of the better ones at that. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I have a riddle in the Middle Earth Play by Mail game that I have no clue on...and some of you might see why...I am hoping there is somebody out there with both knowledge and kindness to help me out. The riddle is: d r o u k n n a l t a o h n i That is it. There is an ' accent above the first o and a ^ accent above the u. If anybody out there has any idea about what the answer might be, please let me know. It will be a one or two word answer. Hell, this one is hard. I can see the last seven letters forming the word "Thalion" - the title of Hurin meaning the Steadfast, and "Narn" - Lay - in the beginning - but damn my eyes if it helps at all... Maybe we take away "thalion" and play with the rest, and come up with some "Korudnan" or "Rudonnak", whatever this might mean. By the way, why two words? Certainly not one, but maybe three or four ? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Rogues Gallery ================== Wes Fortin ========== I've played in numerous games so far, but usually play a support nation so I've never placed. 1) 60: My first game - a team game. I was the Arthedain. Without going into great detail, the Free team consisted of superior players but a lack of cooperation/coordination and general lone wolf tendencies of some of the players caused the Free to loose to a well coordinated but inferior team after about a zillion agonizing turns. 2) 96: Standard game. I had a blast in this game as the Witch King. I owned half of Cardolan, Arthedain, and the Woodmen before the entire Free team ganged up and eliminated me. As a result, the Mordor nations had breathing room to rebuild and are currently stomping the Free. I was almost saved, but four successful InfOther on a MT with a loyalty under 15 (on each of the four turns) refused to fall to my emissary. So, a bit of bad luck did me in. Thanks for a great game Adam! 2) 104: Team Game. I played the Blind Sorcerer and, like 60, bad teamwork killed this game, but quickly. I found out, much to my chagrin, just as the game was getting interesting for me, the vast bulk of my team mates had dropped. I soon followed. 3) 133. Team Game. I played the Woodmen on this team and, for the first time, had a pleasant team experience. The Free were organized and unified. We crushed the DS very quickly. 4) 160. Team Game. I was so giddy at the success in 133, I got involved in another team game as the Long Rider. Again, had a blast! Good teamwork and a positive attitude on the team's part resulted in a rapid collapse of the Free. 5) 185. Standard Game - ongoing. Again, I'm the Blind Sorcerer. It's still early in the game but the Dark seem to be kicking butt. Almost all the Free positions have been dropped and picked up by standbys. I will probably place in this game because, for the first time, I'm trying to. I've always felt the Blind Sorcerer was an underated nation - and I'm trying to prove it! 6) 2950/22. Team Game - ongoing. This game started off bad. Divisive elements in key Dark Servant positions brought back ghosts of 60 and 104. I dropped as the Witch King rather than endure numerous turns of flaming and a slow death at the hands of the enemy. This snowballed into others on the team dropping. But, all the divisive elements dropped also. Dave Holt held the team together, and I rejoined as the Dragon Lord. The team picked up some other good players to fill the holes, and a team is starting to form. Kudos to Dave! We'll give the freeps a good fight now! 7) 2950/??. Team Game - yet to start. Will play the Silvan Elves with some of my favorite team mates. Should be a great game! My Strengths: I play/build well-rounded nations but am more known for my economic and character game. I like to hit enemies with agents/emmies/ and military might, all at the same time if possible - and use mages for intelligence gathering and additional troops (Conjure Hordes) if appropriate. My Weaknesses: I tend to work best when I'm paired with at least one good leader type so I can play "vizier", the guy that does the sanity check for the leader and the team. However, I will take on a leadership mantle if needed - but my lack of patience can make me a less than optimal leader. My direct style of problem solving can put off some players that prefer sugar coatings on thier pills, as opposed to a chain-mail gauntlet ramming it down thier throats (my typical style). (grin) That's why I work better as #2! Nation Preferences: None. I'll play anything! The "weak" nations are fun because I like to build them up. The "strong" nations are fun because I can pound the enemy faster. Top Ten Reasons to Join the Free Peoples ======================================== 10. Exemplary health plan & retirement benefits 9. Surfin' on the Anduin 8. Free cookbook - "1001 ways to prepare Lembas" 7. Galadriel - major babe 6. Orcs' annoying tendency to dig up yard 5. Beorn isn't just the President - he's also a client! 4. Coming soon: 900 number for Imladris 3. Otherwise Dwarves will come to your house and sing 2. Bungee jumping off Mt. Mindolluin 1. Two words: Sauron bites Top Ten Reasons to Join the Dark Servants ========================================= 10. Blind Sorcerer will let you wear his pointy hat 9. Orcish booze kicks ass 8. Excellent skiing in Morgul Vale 7. Get to meet Smokey the Bear (sorry, that's a reason to join the Park Service) 6. Get to put "Servant of Sauron" on all business cards 5. Free video - "Assassination for Fun and Profit" 4. Market for rotted, barren wasteland poised to skyrocket in '95 3. Dark Lord is really a nice guy, once you get to know him 2. Shelob connecting Mordor to World Wide Web 1. Galadriel? Closet Democrat Untitled Fiction ================ >From Dave and Rochelle Dirty orange lamplight washed over the map, muddying mountains and valleys into a mass of shadow that seemed to seep from the gates of Mordor. Not an inaccurate metaphor, thought Erkenbrand as he stared at the map. We triumphed the last time, but they keep *coming*. How are we going to stop them . . . A gust of rain-wet wind blew into the tent as Elfhelm swept inside, water dripping from his helm and his long, drooping moustache. "You look like you just swam the Anduin," Erkenbrand said, looking up. "Are the pickets set until morning?" "Yes sir," Elfhelm said. He shrugged out of his oilskin, hanging it on the centerpost to dry. "I hate this damn sea air. I can't wait 'til we're back on the plains." Dropping his helmet on a camp stool, he ran his fingers though his hair with a sigh and walked over to the table. "Hmm. This doesn't look any better than when I left." Erkenbrand looked up and sighed. "No. We destroyed two armies last week, so they send us three armies to destroy this week." He rubbed his eyes as though trying to wipe away the dark circles of exhaustion beneath them. "Sooner or later they have to run out of orcs." "Yeah, and when they run out of orcs, they'll send trolls. And when we kill all the trolls, they'll send goblins. And by the time the Anduin runs red with goblin blood, they will have grown more orcs to send." He looked at his commander. "You really should get some rest, sir." "After we finish planning the attack. Regent Adrahil is supposed to stop by in the morning to coordinate any last-minute changes, and I want to be ready." Erkenbrand turned his attention to the red, green and black pins stuck into the map. Hmm. If we could do *that*, then they'd have to . . . "Have the ents decided if they will be able to help us when the attack comes?" "They are debating that now, sir," Elfhelm said with a sigh. "It might take a while. They consider all this maneuver and engagement somewhat, ah, 'hasty' I think Fladrif said." Erkenbrand snorted. "Well, we'll take whatever allies we can g-" "Ware! Assassins!" came the cry from outside. Two dark-cloaked figures dashed into the tent, throwing daggers as they lunged forward. Elfhelm whirled, drawing his sword. As he turned, a dagger glanced off his mailed chest. He slashed out with a wild, one-handed swipe that bit into the agent's shoulder. The assassin grunted, but kept moving and rolled under the tent flap before Elfhelm could strike again. Erkenbrand turned a hair more slowly--getting old, he thought as he felt the dagger bounce off his back. But his hand closed not on a sword hilt, but on the lantern handle. He smashed it against his assailant's head, shattering the lamp globe, dousing the agent in burning oil. The agent let out an inhuman hissing sound then quelled the flames with some harsh, guttural word. "Nazgul," breathed Erkenbrand, temporarily stunned by the display of magic. He shook his head to clear it as the wraith seemed to melt into the shadows. "Eorlingas, to me!" he bellowed and launched himself at the fleeing shadow. But too late. The wraith was gone. It was all over in just a few heartbeats. A split second later, Hama staggered into the tent, one hand holding a torch, the other pressed against a bleeding wound in his side. "My lords, are you all right?" "Better than you are, brave Hama, although we might not have been if not for your warning," said Erkenbrand as he and Elfhelm eased their lieutennant onto a cot. Pounding footsteps outside heralded the arrival of other troops. They burst into the tent, swords drawn, the surgeon not far behind. "Don't just stand there, you fools!" growled Erkenbrand. "Raise the camp! 50 gold pieces to the man who brings me those agents!" The troopers sprinted off to spread the alarm and begin scouring the underbrush. Erkenbrand turned his attention back to Hama, now under the care of the surgeon. Hama looked up. "Sorry I failed you sir. Just didn't see them coming." He was about to say more but the surgeon's work on the wound made him gasp and blanch. "Ah but you did not fail me," said Erkenbrand, looking down kindly on the young commander. "Your warning saved our lives and foiled their plans. Rest now, you have done well." "Ah, good," said Old Cateleb, the surgeon. "You'll be back in the thick of things in no time, my lad. It's bloody, but it's a relatively minor wound. No sign of poison. I'll stitch it up and it'll be fine." Looking at Elfhelm, "M'lord, do you have wine or mead I could use to disinfect the wound?" "Yes, of course. I'll get it right now." Elfhelm strode out of the tent, calling to his page. Erkenbrand prodded one of the daggers with the toe of his boot. Black ichor gleamed on the blade in the shaky torchlight. So. What they cannot do by honorable combat they would do by poison, eh? He shook his head. How many more would die before the evil was driven from the land? He took the torch and carefully burned the poison off both the daggers as his page arrived with a new lamp and began to clean up the shattered one. Hama lay gasping, pale and drawn under the surgoen's gnarled hands. The new lamp lit, Erkenbrand extinguished the torch and parted the tent flap. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He toyed absently with the cuff of his tunic sleeve, now frayed and scorched by his desperate attack on the nazgul. I wish I were back on the grasslands, he thought. Behind him he could hear Old Cateleb fussing and muttering over his wounded charge, and he smiled with grim satisfaction. "Well, there, at least, is one you did not claim," he wispered to the vanished nazgul as he stood in the soft Gondorian rainfall, dreaming of home. Grudge Games, II ================ by Brian Mason Part Four: The Team Dynamic In my consideration of the most appropriate way to start a game composed of twenty-five different subscribers of "From the Mouth of Sauron" only one factor was sufficient to warrant being a player, that they were an email subscriber to the ezine (with apologies to Jeff Holzhauer and other postal mail subscribers). The exact method for determining who would play which position was outlined in the last issue. In developing a "team game" in this manner a characteristic was ignored which is possibly the single most important issue in a game, that of the dynamics of the various players. The issue of player types has been addressed by David Foreman (Free People Press, May 1993) and Tom Walton (Personalities to Play By, Whispers of the Wood, November 1993). This article does not attempt to extend or extrapolate upon this earlier work but simply to point out that all people play the game in a different manner and interact with each other in different ways not all of which can be predicted. Let me stress here that the following a suggestions for how to get a team together. As a result of the unique method for assigning positions in game 22 this was not possible. How well individuals could get along in this game is simply the luck of the draw. An axiom: Ten superior players do not a superior team make. Those of you with some following of sports may remember when my dear Atlanta Hawks were on the verge of becoming a great team they went free agent shopping for what were considered there two weakest positions drafting all-star talent. After securing Reggie Theus and Moses Malone the Hawks were picked by many if not most of the "experts" to win it all the next year. It didn't happen. Not even close. The five people on the court did not have a team mentality, and as a result the second unit was usually more productive having played together for many years despite weaker skills. The point is this. Picking out players for a game you should consider not only the skill level of people (and remember all players get better) but also their interpersonal skills. But even with this their is a hidden problem. Until you get people playing together you never will know how they play together. Every game, even if you could somehow have the same group of ten will have a new set of situations and obstacles to deal with, all of which will make each game unique. There are certain "player types" (as described in the articles cited above) which are good to avoid, but characterizing a person as a player type is often difficult: "Hi my name is Brian, I'm a role-player sage diplomat with warrior tendencies." Characterizing a player type is often difficult, subject to the biases of the person doing the characterization, and can be offensive to people. The best suggestions I think I can give for this game are to make up teams of people who do not play selfishly and who you enjoy playing with. Part Five: Comments from Wes Fortin I solicited opinions about the problems in Game 22 from the players. In addition to some insights into that game a truly exceptional player shared some general comments about team play in general. The following comments are from Wes Fortin, a fabulous player with far more gaming experience than your truly. "First and foremost... TALK TO EACH OTHER! Plan out your nations goals, strengths, and weaknesses and work with others in such a way that the teams goals are the same/similar, strengths are utilized and weaknesses covered. Suggest plans for your attacks and how others could help enhance the success. If you disagree with a plan, state your position neutrally and suggest alternatives. Be prepared to compromise and sometimes bow to the will of the team." "It is critical that battle plans are detailed. Plot out army movement, character allocation, and ensure that those nations involved get funds/supplies to accomplish their mission. Most mature players will not feel as though someone is trying to `run their nation' or `write their orders' if a plan is agreed on." "Help the newbees - try to avoid team mistakes that derail more plans than luck. How often have you seen critical characters move to the wrong hex, or armies take a really bad route - thus failing to be where they needed to be for the plans timing? I've seen more than one gold transfer fail because a newbee (or even an experienced player) didn't know or miswrote the syntax for one of the screwiest orders in the game (948)." "Well, I'm rambling on but hopefully have provided some material you would find useful in your article [ahem, yes I think so - Brian]. To close, I would say the most critical element in a good Grudge Game is the selection of players for the teams. A close second is constructive and respectful communication between team members." Part Six: On Game 22 In game 22 there are many people with whom I am playing for the first time, but there are also many people (on all three sides) whom I have played with (or against) many times. However, the way the positions were assigned led to an unfortunate and almost disastrous grouping among the Dark Servants. I've spoken with the principles about this incident and have gotten conflicting stories, but the bottom line here is not really who is at fault but that the lack of polite communication and inactivity by some of the more important player positions almost destroyed a team consisting of some of the better players in me-pbm. After the Dark Servant team almost collapsed and then climbed back into the saddle I asked the various parties on the Dark Servant side to share their thoughts about team games with me. Several of the players who are now no longer in the game made some comments which they asked me to not publish openly. This request I will keep. Others who are in the game made comments but with no such request. As a player in this game, I have personal feelings about who was at fault here. However, as the person writing this article and an editor of this ezine I think I owe some measure of responsibility to unbiased presentation of data. Not being able to present a side may lead to an unbiased slant for this article. While I could at this point either report what I have leave to say or to request submissions for all interested parties, I think this may not serve the greater good. The bad events, having passed, are best left in history. A quick summary will suffice. In all of this there was some acrimonious name calling which went so far as to sometimes suggest that the assignment of positions were not done in an equitable manner. I tried to take this with a grain of salt, and hoped it was the product of people looking for blame in the face of great adversity, rather than serious acusations which were being leveled directly at me. However, I must confess that it was these events which led me to write this multi-part article, to clarify once more exactly how fairly things were done. Some of the players (those who, according to several reports, were primarily responsible for the bad blood) decided to quit the game. At one point there were even discussions of requesting all the neutrals to join the Dark Servants to preserve play balance. Now, thanks to some heroic efforts, both the Dark Servants team and the game itself have been saved. Many thanks to Harold at GSI for communicating to us so quickly, to Phredd Groves for stepping into a difficult position at a difficult time, and to Dave Holt for keeping the whole ball of wax together. Outside of Imladris =================== By Tom Walton Er-Murazor, King of the Nazgul and dreaded Right Hand of the Dark Lord himself, watched the Great Road with keen intensity, impressing his reluctant companion, the Mouth of Sauron, with his perseverance. They'd been perched among the rocks overlooking the highway for well nigh three days now, spying for unusual activity among the Free Folk coming from Imladris. At least, that's what the Mouth thought. In fact, Murazor was bored silly and had spent most of the time daydreaming of becoming mortal again. 'Tis a hard thing, being a wraith and so unable to attract the interest of a woman. An especially hard thing when one considered that the last time one enjoyed the company of a woman was millenia in the past. 'Never should've taken that ring', Murazor thought with some bitterness, probably for the ten thousandth time. 'Father used to say "if it's too good to be true, then it is". But did I listen? Noooosiree.' Rumor had it that Eomer, nephew of Theoden, had come to Elrond's home some weeks before to ask the elf for aid. And, as Elrond's magic made Imladris difficult to find, the best the Nazgul could come up with was to wait for Eomer to reemerge and take the same path home that he used to get to Rivendell. Mayhap then they could capture the poor barbarian fool and torture useful information from him. But this waiting...it always depressed the Witch-King. What good was immortality if you couldn't enjoy the pleasures of being mortal? And that Sauron, talk about a looney-toon of the first order; painting ugly red eyes all over the palace of Barad-dur, pining over his stupid Ring day and night. The Maia had really lost it when the Elves had kicked his ass during the last Age. Murazor wished he was still lord of Angmar and as far away from his crazy overlord as he could get. Wasn't as if Murazor had a choice, though. Sauron would crush him like an ant under his bootheel if he so much as uttered a rebellious word. No way out of this contract. Murazor glanced at the still-mortal Mouth, who by reputation had a most expansive and perverse sexual appetite, something the Witch-King was bitterly jealous of. How did the Mouth get the better bargain? Why didn't Sauron force him to take a ring? But Murazor already knew the answer - the man kissed ass like there was no tomorrow. If Murazor still ate, he'd puke at the fawning adulation this creature showered upon the Dark Lord. Briefly, Murazor pondered the ramifications of inserting his Morgul- Knife between the third and fourth rib of the Mouth's chest. But only briefly; Sauron would have a fit if anything happened to his golden boy. Then a thought struck him. "Why are you called 'The Mouth'? I speak for Sauron as much as you do, and no one's ever insisted on naming me after an orifice." The Mouth's face flushed. "If you want to know how I got the name, just ask my harem." He leered evilly at the Witch-King. "As for you being an orifice, there's no doubt of that. One in particular comes to mind..." The Witch-King hissed in anger, his hand dropping to his knife. The Mouth squawked and jumped back, landing hard on his ass. "You wouldn't dare! Our Great Master would throw you to the Abyss if you harmed me!" "Master, shmaster," Murazor growled, creeping forward. The Mouth's lip started to quiver, and Murazor grinned. Being invisible had some advantages. He continued in his most threatening voice. "Insult me and I shall tear your liver out with my bare hands, little man. No, worse, I shall gouge out thine eyes and leave thee for the vultures and wolves to feast on, I shall cut off thy manhood and toss it to the crows, I shall-" Murazor was just starting to get into the swing of things, thinking that perhaps the day wasn't entirely lost after all with the Mouth cowering before him, knees shaking, when the distant sound of a galloping horse reached his ears. He swung around and ducked down behind a rock, scanning the road. "What is it?" The Mouth asked, cautiously creeping forward and keeping well out of reach of Murazor. The Mouth's ears weren't quite as sharp as the ringwraith's. "Is someone coming?" "Stuff thy tongue back in thy mouth, Mouth." He glanced in his companion's direction. "Or I'll cut that out first thing." The Mouth shut up. It was indeed a single horse and rider, coming down the road from Imladris at high speed. As the rider approached, Murazor could pick out the Rohirric dress and knew that it had to be Eomer returning; but why was he pressing his horse so hard? What was he running from? At that rate the animal would be dead before dusk. "It's him! It's him!" the Mouth cried, jumping up. "Let's get the little rat!" The Mouth started waving his hands before his face, incanting a spell, but before he could finish he found himself laying on the ground, his head ringing from a back-handed blow, the Lord of the Nazgul's face inches from his own. "Shut up, fool!" Murazor breathed. "The mortal is running from something, mayhap for good reason. Could be a dragon or balrog. You want to go down there and face off with one of those creatures?" The Mouth shook his head violently. His knees were shaking again. Murazor turned away from the Mouth and watched Eomer approach. Yes, he was pressing his horse hard, and he kept glancing back up the road as if Sauron himself were on his heels. The man was running for his life, and Murazor knew that Eomer was no coward. This could be bad, very bad; Eomer might be eaten or something before Murazor could take him. Still, the Witch-King wasn't about to go and save him if the opposition actually proved to be on the order of a dragon or balrog. Murazor had managed to command these creatures before, but at great cost and risk; no sense in looking for trouble. Besides, the Mouth would probably screw something up and get them both toasted for his troubles. A world- class sorcerer his companion was not. He watched Eomer pass by at full gallop and continue down the road, then looked up the path again to see what all the fuss was about. At first he couldn't make anything out through the rising dust, but seconds later he began to see elven figures running all out in an attempt to catch up with Eomer. About a dozen in all, he thought. The Mouth squinted at the approaching elves. "Too many to take on if they're Lords," he said. "Wonder what Eomer did to piss off Elrond? And how did he escape from Imladris in the first place?" "No matter to us," the Witch-King replied. "If his mission failed so spectacularly, all the better. We can count on the Elves sitting this one out." The elves, being elves, were moving almost as fast as Eomer's horse. As they swiftly approached the hiding pair, the details of their dress - or lack of it - became clear; as did the fact that all twelve were female. Their clothing was strange, very revealing even for elves. In fact, Murazor's eyes were bugging out of his head at the sight of the luscious babes bouncing down the path in their tiny skirts and tight halters, the clothes so form fitting that what little they were wearing might as well not be there at all. Amazing. "Ummm, ah...", the Mouth licked his lips. "Those aren't any elven lords I've ever seen before. Perhaps we should take them captive and interrogate them?" The Mouth's eyes were glazed and his breath was rasping quickly through his open lips. It was clear to Murazor that the Mouth had more than simple 'interrogation' in mind. Murazor considered it. The elves were obviously young, mere teenagers. The Mouth couldn't possibly mess this up. He looked at his companion. "You think with the wrong head," Murazor commented. He glanced back at the elven foxes, almost even with his position now, and the bitterness of being a ringwraith washed over him again. "Go ahead, capture them if you wish. Let's see the mighty Mouth in action." The Mouth leered at him. "So you shall. Eat your heart out, wraith." With that, the Mouth jumped out on the path directly before the young elven women. They came to a halt before him, giving Murazor an eye-ful from his hiding place. No wonder bloody elven men were always so cheerful. "Halt!" he cried. "In the name of Sauron submit yourselves to me or face eternal doom!" He was waving his hands again, preparing a spell. "Show-off," Murazor muttered from behind his rock. The ladies were silent for a moment before one stepped forward. "A mortal man," she observed. A mutter passed through the group, one which sounded suspiciously like appreciation...or anticipation. "Did you say you wanted us to submit?" The girl leaned forward, pushing her exposed cleavage right under the Mouth's nose. "Uh, yes, submit, right," the Mouth stammered. His spell fizzled as his concentration wavered. "You're my prisoners, yes, that's it." "Does that mean you're going to tie us up?" another maiden chimed in. "Can we tie you up?" yet another asked. "Yes, oh yes!" the others cried. The elves closed up around the Mouth, completely surrounding him. 'Not good', thought Murazor, green with envy. 'Any one of them could stick a dagger in his back right now'. He found that he was actually hoping one of them would. For perhaps the second or third time in his life, the Mouth seemed speechless, his countenance as close to bliss as was humanly possible. He fumbled around in his belt-pouch, never taking his eyes of the bosoms that pressed in from all sides. "Handcuffs," he croaked, raising the strange metal objects he'd taken from his pouch high for all to see. "Oooooh!" the elves crowed. "Me first!" one yelled. "No, me!" another cried. "Wait, him first!" a third chimed in. All of the ladies cheered their approval at the last, and for a moment the Mouth disappeared from Murazor's view, swarmed by the elves. The Witch-King was just about to go down and extract his companion from the danger when the Mouth reappeared, his hands secured firmly behind his back by the odd metal devices. "Fool!" Murazor muttered. "Captured so easily, and by teenage elven maidens no less!" The Mouth, however, didn't seem at all upset with the situation. "What...what...are these uniforms that you wear? Never have I seen their like." He groaned as the maidens giggled and began untying his jerkin. "We are cheerleaders," one replied. "We were sent to accompany the Lord Eomer to Rohan, but alas, he has a fondness for horse-racing and so we fell behind." She smiled up at the Mouth. "No matter, we can always catch up with him later." She paused. "Perhaps much later." "Urp," the Mouth said. His face had gone white at the word 'cheerleaders'. Murazor was struck dumb by the revelation. Cheerleaders? By all the dark gods, he'd heard about these sorceresses, some of the mightiest in the land. It was said that they took pleasure in killing mortals slowly, so sure they were of their powers; they used fell magic to snare the minds of men. And the Mouth was their captive. It appeared that Elrond had lent aid to the Free after all, much more than Sauron had expected. This development could have dire ramifications for the upcoming invasion; it was almost disastrous to think of what these cheerleaders could do, driving Free troopers to a frenzy in battle. 'The Dark Lord must be warned!', Murazor thought. He looked back at the Mouth, now pinned to the ground and fully disrobed. The maidens were also in various states of undress, giggling with glee at the sight of their victim. Leaving the Mouth to his fate would no doubt enrage Sauron, but there was no way that Murazor could fight twelve of these cheerleaders. He had to get away before they discovered him. Although, really, he didn't want to get away. Not at all. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what magical ritual required the ladies to shed their clothing, but the sight was something not to be missed. Even if all he could do now was watch. Forcing down his rebellious thoughts, he crept away through the brush, trying to ignore the Mouth as he began to moan from the tortures. Strangely enough, it sounded like he was enjoying himself. Murazor shuddered and broke into a run for his horse. There were some things too evil for even him to mess with. Last Word ========= >From Tom Walton Well, I originally included two articles in this issue of the Mouth to act as 'filler'. Both were long-winded and terribly dull, good stuff if you suffer from insomnia. My thinking was that if I put you, the faithful reader, through that kind of torture, you'd feel obligated to write something just to keep me from doing it again. Our lack of submissions is kind of surprising. The readership of the Mouth is larger than ever; we have something like 200 or so direct subscribers, with a guesstimated ten times that many pulling it from sites or web pages that feature it. You'd think with that many people we'd be deluged with submissions. Brian's already done the begging part, so I'll just point out that without submissions we can't publish. The revival of the Mouth will be one of the shortest in net history if we don't get stuff from you. Because believe me, we aren't about to do all the work ourselves. Aside from that, I'd like to hear what you think of the 2950 game over the 1650 game. My initial thoughts were that it would be great to be in a new scenario with a different balance, but now I'm starting to miss the flexibility of the 1650 game. In the new scenario it's proving extremely difficult to mount even a modest invasion of enemy territory, and minor losses (by 1650 standards) can put a player out. There's no room for mistakes, and because it's terribly hard for a single player to take any nation out teamwork is a much bigger factor (not good, since unless you join as a team it's pretty hard to create and sustain this kind of chemistry). So tell me what you think. You find the 2950 game refreshing? Frustrating? A marketing ploy or an honest effort? You don't have to write an article, just drop me some email with a line in it somewhere telling me I can print it. I'd definitely like to see what you all have to say. Until next time (assuming we get some submissions!), Tom