Authors' note: The Lord of the Rings. We don't own it. How can you tell? My name doesn't end in Tolkien, genius :P I don't get any money for this. Don't sue me.
My friend and I thought of this one night at around 1 am so be prepared for derangedness etc. Whee! Give me comments!
Chapter 1
The dark lord Sauron sat, brooding on his high throne. His mind was troubled, although he knew not why. At long last he decided to consult the palantir.
"Palantir, palantir, on the... pedestal... Who is the fairest of them all?"
"That doesn't rhyme, you fool!" Cried the palantir in reply.
Sauron's anger flared and dark power swirled around him as he shouted, "TELL ME LEST I KICK YOU INTO THE STRATOSPHERE! I PITY THE FOO!"
The palantir shrunk back in surprise, "Whoa! Chillax man. Lets see... Ah here we go: Hair of gold and eyes of blue. The hottest elf, you know who." The palantir winked.
Sauron frowned. "No I don't!"
"Dude, you are SO out of the loop. He's on the cover of EQ, and was voted Sexiest Sentient Being in Middle Earth? And, he was the centrefold of this month's Playelf Magazine? Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil??"
"...Guh?"
The palantir sighed, exasperated, and showed an image of the elf in question on its surface. "The one with the hair."
"HIM?! Well, he is quite handsome... I mean no! It cannot be!"
Sauron pondered this sulkily for a while. HE had never been in a magazine, except for that one time with Ring Makers Monthly, but that was back in the Second Age!
"I must find this... Leg of Lass... Then I will destroy him, so that *I* will be the most BEAUTIFUL SENTIENT BEING! MUAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAAAA!" Sauron threw his head back and laughed heartily for a long period of time, until the leaning caused his throne to fall over. He got up hastily and dusted off his armour.
"Ahem, well I can't go after this... what's his name?"
"Legolas."
Sauron shrugged. "Yeah, what's his face. I can't go after him now; I have an appointment at the spa in half an hour. I'll send the orcs."
"Errr, Sauron..."
"What?" Demanded Sauron testily.
"The orcs went on strike last week. They're demanding a 20% pay raise over the next 3 years, and want increased health benefits being that they work under such stressful and dangerous conditions."
"Well shit. What about the Nazgul?"
"They're still angry about the time you laughed at them after they got washed down the river. The Witch King of Angmar is especially miffed since his favourite horse died and you fed it to the orcs. Which reminds me, the orcs are also demanding quality man-flesh instead of that imitation stuff you keep giving them."
Sauron grumbled. Who the hell was he going to send? He couldn't put off his appointment; he had had to book it MONTHS in advance. But clearly, the matter of... of... What's his face needed attending to immediately. Suddenly, it occurred to him. An evil grin spread across his face as he began to laugh again, this time more diabolically. He knew *exactly* who to send.
My friend and I thought of this one night at around 1 am so be prepared for derangedness etc. Whee! Give me comments!
Chapter 1
The dark lord Sauron sat, brooding on his high throne. His mind was troubled, although he knew not why. At long last he decided to consult the palantir.
"Palantir, palantir, on the... pedestal... Who is the fairest of them all?"
"That doesn't rhyme, you fool!" Cried the palantir in reply.
Sauron's anger flared and dark power swirled around him as he shouted, "TELL ME LEST I KICK YOU INTO THE STRATOSPHERE! I PITY THE FOO!"
The palantir shrunk back in surprise, "Whoa! Chillax man. Lets see... Ah here we go: Hair of gold and eyes of blue. The hottest elf, you know who." The palantir winked.
Sauron frowned. "No I don't!"
"Dude, you are SO out of the loop. He's on the cover of EQ, and was voted Sexiest Sentient Being in Middle Earth? And, he was the centrefold of this month's Playelf Magazine? Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil??"
"...Guh?"
The palantir sighed, exasperated, and showed an image of the elf in question on its surface. "The one with the hair."
"HIM?! Well, he is quite handsome... I mean no! It cannot be!"
Sauron pondered this sulkily for a while. HE had never been in a magazine, except for that one time with Ring Makers Monthly, but that was back in the Second Age!
"I must find this... Leg of Lass... Then I will destroy him, so that *I* will be the most BEAUTIFUL SENTIENT BEING! MUAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAAAA!" Sauron threw his head back and laughed heartily for a long period of time, until the leaning caused his throne to fall over. He got up hastily and dusted off his armour.
"Ahem, well I can't go after this... what's his name?"
"Legolas."
Sauron shrugged. "Yeah, what's his face. I can't go after him now; I have an appointment at the spa in half an hour. I'll send the orcs."
"Errr, Sauron..."
"What?" Demanded Sauron testily.
"The orcs went on strike last week. They're demanding a 20% pay raise over the next 3 years, and want increased health benefits being that they work under such stressful and dangerous conditions."
"Well shit. What about the Nazgul?"
"They're still angry about the time you laughed at them after they got washed down the river. The Witch King of Angmar is especially miffed since his favourite horse died and you fed it to the orcs. Which reminds me, the orcs are also demanding quality man-flesh instead of that imitation stuff you keep giving them."
Sauron grumbled. Who the hell was he going to send? He couldn't put off his appointment; he had had to book it MONTHS in advance. But clearly, the matter of... of... What's his face needed attending to immediately. Suddenly, it occurred to him. An evil grin spread across his face as he began to laugh again, this time more diabolically. He knew *exactly* who to send.