Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs
to JRR Tolkien. All Authors and OCs used by request with permission.
Author's Note:
Please forgive me if I got personalities of people and OCs mixed up. There are a lot of people in this story, and I'm not asking anyone out of it. I just need to get used to writing a fic with a lot of people in it. Please notify me ASAP if there's any problems and such and such. Tripod is working again for me!
Now... VERY IMPORTANT CONCERNING SITES! I created a third site which is now my "home" site. The URL is http://naheka.tripod.com/ It's called nahe&joe, and the function of the site is simply a biography and updates stuff. I didn't want to put this boring slack of text on my ff.net bio, because it would be as boring as toast without butter. To get to Dragon Eye Ryunarasu, you can check the link vault on nahe&joe, or go to the NEW URL, http://naheka.tripod.com/dragoneyeryu Legolas' Violent Death remains the same, and is currently being worked on for other torture purposes. I've collected some great ideas, and I'm ready to set 'em online!
Also... if you don't have a grudge against Harry Potter, you can also go to my insanely stupid site for Ron Weasley's favorite Quidditch team; The Chudley Cannons! It is so stupid and so insane, that it is a parody! I love parodies! Wheeee!!! The URL is http://naheka.tripod.com/thechudleycannons
Thanks for listening to me babble end on end about crud. Now tally-ho! and on with the fic!
THE FILE CABINET
"I'm not sure if Mary-Sues are against insanity," said Amarth, shifting her weight as Onikunshu gulped the last of his toast down. "But if are, they're not gonna' like dealing with us!"
Onikunshu pulled the last few seconds of his "the-world-is-so-happy-and-I-am-too!" face before his expression slouched and turned back into the pessimist's smirk that he usually wore. He raised an assertive eyebrow at the staring Authors. One did not need words to tell he was asking-- no-- demanding us that we stop gaping at him. Turning his head barely an inch toward Narcisuss' fainted figure, he snorted and got to his feet.
"Pardon me and my resentfulness," he muttered, picking Narcisuss up and walking out of the area. "...Actually, no. I hate you all. So there. Ha. Ha." In a matter of moments, he had trudged out of our sight.
"Amusing, amusing," grunted Joe. He shook his head and dusted his sleeves off. "Now, before we get back to counseling---"
"Is everyone alright? Any scratches or bruises?"
"Knock it off, Ted. We got squished by... I don't know. But it's not like we don't get flattened any other day."
"What are you talking about? Just how many times do you get run over?"
"You've lost count. We all get run over."
"Look at it again, Ember. The Authors are insane. This site is insane... in most parts. A random rampaging herd of orcs runs around. How can you not get squished?"
"I do not recall... oh yes. We've been smushed several times.... Last week Tuesday was it?"
"No, it was this morning. Some mortal kid was running away from an elf maiden."
I stopped rocking back and forth and returned to my saner stance in a standing position. Ember and Wisdom were conversing of exactly how many times they've gotten trampled by randomly rampaging parties and objects, while Jack was busy trying to fight Ted off from checking to see if that was a bruise on his left cheek. Blue was edging away from them as they walked.
"Where's Ari?" asked Kitty. "And Kallo?"
"Argh! The petnames! Why? Why did you give me a petname! What kind of elven warrior has a petname?!"
"You do, Kallo!"
"Nooo...."
Sammy shrugged. "They seem perfectly fine to me."
"Or at least as fine as they can sanely be!" I added, a hint of madness in my tone.
"Okay," exclaimed Amarth. "When did you eat the sugar?"
"...Well..." My voice evidently got smaller with every syllable I pronounced. "I kinda' stole some from the Great Cafeteria when... we... got... the ...flyer... yeah."
"...Darn. I should've gotten some too!"
"We all should have gotten some," sighed Newmoon.
"Hey!" wailed Elenmir suddenly, turning to a gold glow that just died behind them. She stepped back, hands on the hilt of her sword.
"That isn't a..." began Ember, preparing to string an arrow into his bow. All the OCs began to unsheathe weapons and shields. Simultaneously, the Authors took cautious steps towards the back of the scene.
The gold light returned and started coming closer to us.
"MARY-SUE!" screamed Hoshiko. We all prepared to run for our lives as the OCs nearly pulled their gun triggers and fired arrows.
"Hold it!" cried Jiana, making her way through the crowd of Authors and OCs. "...Everyone, stop! It's Trisha! This is one of mine."
"You own a Mary-Sue?" inquired a shocked Vana.
One of the strangest looking Mary-Sues came stepping gracefully from out behind the rocks. A red and black ringlet came down to her strong thighs, as her dark, dark green eyes scanned everyone's positions warily. Like all of the Mary-Sues, Trisha had an excellent build, but she didn't seem to want to show it all off at the moment, slouching just a bit. Well, that was something you had to count against her Mary-Sue-ishness.
"Our spy," sighed Penelope.
"Spy?" I asked, flustered and confused. Vana and Europa had the same looks. "Spy?! Since when did we have a spy?!"
"We're preparing for war, aren't we?" countered Phantom. "We've gotta' get some inside information!"
"Don't you remember?" asked Coffeegirl. "Europa and Vana were out when we counseled. You raised your hand when we voted on sending a decoy..."
"But... I..."
"Just accept it already!" cried a smaller voice. Everyone turned to Trisha... well, actually at Trisha's ankles. It was a white spirit-like sort of being, not much taller than a tree stump. "Trisha's got some info! So listen up before I miss the Double Jeopardy Marathon!"
"You are obsessed with that show, aren't you?" asked another spirit, a purple one. He sat down beside the white and took out... a pair of knitting needles. He started knitting what seemed to be a very thick mauve scarf. "You shouldn't be watching TV. You should be preparing for the coming Ice Age!"
"We shall instantly die in a blast of Mother Nature's icy coldness!" shouted a red spirit dramatically, who seemed have just popped out of nowhere. "'Tis a terrible fate, but if #3 is just being sarcastic, then he is a fool and will be strangled to death when Head Muse misses the Jeopardy Marathon."
"Double Jeopardy!" corrected the white. "And it starts in..."
"Three minutes!" hollered a fourth spirit.
This character was probably one of the most craziest characters ever to step into our presence. Though his form was very much like his fellows, this being was not wearing a solid color, but a bright yellow with pink stripes and a weird green baseball cap.
"You're attention starvation really worries me, #2," sighed #3, continuing to knit as he spoke. "Have you seen a psychologist?"
"Twelve of them, really!" exclaimed #2.
"Oh good Eru," grunted the Head Muse.
Vana grinned through a semi-embarrased chuckle. "These are my four muses... Charming little things, aren't they?"
"Incredibly," muttered Joe.
Meanwhile, Trisha was busy reporting what she saw to Jiana. Both faces looked concerned and a bit burdened.
"They have a new general," whispered Trisha. "She's... an amazing fighter. Her commanding skills are beyond anything I've ever seen in my life! I was only lucky to make it out of her grasp.... I've heard the Sue's. They call her 'The Iron Maiden'."
Upon hearing this, I suddenly choked and gasped simultaneously. It sounded like a fish swallowing a banana or something. "They call her the what?!"
"The Iron Maiden," repeated Trisha.
Silence befell the muses, and I felt everyone's gaze fall on me as my head turned in shame. My skin was titling on whether I should go a furious red, or a shocked white. In result, I turned green with sickness. "The Iron Maiden translates to 'Angawende' in Sindarin, I believe; Naurglahad's elvish name..."
I knew that realization had dawned on everyone.
"She's gone then," sighed Phantom. "She's gone to the dark side."
"...No!" I turned suddenly and looked around. There was a pathetic sloping hill of rocks in the far corner. I bounded toward this and upwards and looked out into the west. "Naurglahad never starts a war without..." I stopped short in my sentence. A white parchment envelope was peeking out at me through the rocks. My breath died. It felt like everyone's breath had died.
Only one option. I was trembling as the envelope seemed to sting my fingers, picking it up and gently brushing my finger against the delicate crease of the opening flap.
I flicked out a notecard placed inside the envelope.
"It's a treaty... a treaty of war." I turned. "We are out of time."
~*~
"Frank, what is this?"
"It's a flyer, Al. Joe and that kid came rushing in five minutes ago saying that we had to print this flyer out to every Author in all of the LOTR category."
"Huh?"
"Read it out loud, stupid."
Frank the Nazgul jammed a crumpled piece of parchment in front of Al the Nazgul's face. Al slipped a pair of reading spectacles into the darkness of his hood. Scrawled in hurried print was a sort of advertisement.
ATTENTION ALL FANFICTION AUTHOR'S OF 382
Like the Darkness of Mordor spilling into the realms of Men and Elves and Dwarves (at this part, a carrot with "hobbits" scratched on it was inserted), a new Darkness infects our once beloved home, FFNH. No, it does not concern the latest rules banning fic types and such. This... is even deadlier. The Darkness that plagues our pages is most commonly called "The Mary-Sue".
To all of those who are new and vulnerable to this specific type of fanfiction, a Mary-Sue has several definitions, although they each point to the same concept; mushy blandness. Mary-Sue can be a plot type. It is about a girl with perfect statistics (perfect, eyes, perfect hair, perfect voice, perfect body, perfect this, perfect that, and so on and so forth) who gets "transported" to Middle-earth and partakes in events that are much too bloody disgusting and fluffy to display here. Mary-Sue can also define as the character. The character is the young lady with ultimate perfection raining on her.
Mary-Sues come in the largest of quantities, and now, they are beginning to become aggressive from the creative critique that intelligent and experienced Authors will tend to offer them. Many can see that they have been blinded by their artificial passion for the good looks of the movie characters. Another fault to Mary-Sue is that they are movie-fans, and pay no homage to the origin of the movie, the book written by our fondly remembered and beloved John Ronald Reuel Tolkien...
The letter continued on and on explaining the processes of how terrible Mary-Sue's are, but Al's Nazgul "eyes" scanned through the text carelessly until they landed in bold, red print:
JOIN THE ARMY! SUPPORT REAL LOTR FANFICTION!
"Funny," chuckled Al, sitting down at the computer to type the message down. "All this trouble just for a stupid fanfiction story, eh, Frank?... Frank?"
Al looked around. Frank had disappeared, but Al did not recall anyone opening the office door to exit. He turned left, right, over his small office cubicle, and under the nearby couch. Nothing. Sighing, he shook his head and started to plead to Morgoth that Frank hadn't left the office without him... until he saw it.
A torn piece of black cloth waved in the cool air-conditioning vent on the ceiling, along with a sparkly frilly hair ribbon. Al's hearing senses immediately picked up a faint feminine cackle in the vents above him, followed by a scatter of clicking and stomping. He shuddered and shook his head, continuing to type out the message.
After some time, about forty-five minutes later to be specific, the Wraith got up and lazily made for the battered oak door. He needed his black coffee, for he was on the verge of falling straight asleep on the computer and drooling all over the screen... if Nazgul can even actually drool.
Click! went the lock of the door as Al turned the handle... and voosh! went his robes as he was also pulled up into the air vent.
I feel like I'm not writing as smoothly as I used to. I don't know. Maybe it's just me and my stupid Algebra homework assignments... argh.
But now for something that doesn't require the talent of a true writer (which I probably don't have that much of)... CONVERSATION PAGES!!! BWAHAHAHA! It's totally stupid and not even funny. Skip on out of here, or stay and read. Whichevers...
Naheka: (standing paralyzed in front of the review total) Woah...
(cue the SpaceOdyssey2001 music)
Naheka: It's HUGE!
Joe: And it's really really tall, too.
Naheka: ...It's like... a hundred!... Dang!
Joe: Remember in days when review totals meant everything to you?
Naheka: ...No... And I don't want to remember...
Joe: Why?
Naheka: Because too many reviews can get head filling...
Joe: Don't you mean inflating?
Naheka: ...Yeah...
Joe: Ai...
Naheka:... meep.
Joe: ...meep.
Author's Note:
Please forgive me if I got personalities of people and OCs mixed up. There are a lot of people in this story, and I'm not asking anyone out of it. I just need to get used to writing a fic with a lot of people in it. Please notify me ASAP if there's any problems and such and such. Tripod is working again for me!
Now... VERY IMPORTANT CONCERNING SITES! I created a third site which is now my "home" site. The URL is http://naheka.tripod.com/ It's called nahe&joe, and the function of the site is simply a biography and updates stuff. I didn't want to put this boring slack of text on my ff.net bio, because it would be as boring as toast without butter. To get to Dragon Eye Ryunarasu, you can check the link vault on nahe&joe, or go to the NEW URL, http://naheka.tripod.com/dragoneyeryu Legolas' Violent Death remains the same, and is currently being worked on for other torture purposes. I've collected some great ideas, and I'm ready to set 'em online!
Also... if you don't have a grudge against Harry Potter, you can also go to my insanely stupid site for Ron Weasley's favorite Quidditch team; The Chudley Cannons! It is so stupid and so insane, that it is a parody! I love parodies! Wheeee!!! The URL is http://naheka.tripod.com/thechudleycannons
Thanks for listening to me babble end on end about crud. Now tally-ho! and on with the fic!
THE FILE CABINET
"I'm not sure if Mary-Sues are against insanity," said Amarth, shifting her weight as Onikunshu gulped the last of his toast down. "But if are, they're not gonna' like dealing with us!"
Onikunshu pulled the last few seconds of his "the-world-is-so-happy-and-I-am-too!" face before his expression slouched and turned back into the pessimist's smirk that he usually wore. He raised an assertive eyebrow at the staring Authors. One did not need words to tell he was asking-- no-- demanding us that we stop gaping at him. Turning his head barely an inch toward Narcisuss' fainted figure, he snorted and got to his feet.
"Pardon me and my resentfulness," he muttered, picking Narcisuss up and walking out of the area. "...Actually, no. I hate you all. So there. Ha. Ha." In a matter of moments, he had trudged out of our sight.
"Amusing, amusing," grunted Joe. He shook his head and dusted his sleeves off. "Now, before we get back to counseling---"
"Is everyone alright? Any scratches or bruises?"
"Knock it off, Ted. We got squished by... I don't know. But it's not like we don't get flattened any other day."
"What are you talking about? Just how many times do you get run over?"
"You've lost count. We all get run over."
"Look at it again, Ember. The Authors are insane. This site is insane... in most parts. A random rampaging herd of orcs runs around. How can you not get squished?"
"I do not recall... oh yes. We've been smushed several times.... Last week Tuesday was it?"
"No, it was this morning. Some mortal kid was running away from an elf maiden."
I stopped rocking back and forth and returned to my saner stance in a standing position. Ember and Wisdom were conversing of exactly how many times they've gotten trampled by randomly rampaging parties and objects, while Jack was busy trying to fight Ted off from checking to see if that was a bruise on his left cheek. Blue was edging away from them as they walked.
"Where's Ari?" asked Kitty. "And Kallo?"
"Argh! The petnames! Why? Why did you give me a petname! What kind of elven warrior has a petname?!"
"You do, Kallo!"
"Nooo...."
Sammy shrugged. "They seem perfectly fine to me."
"Or at least as fine as they can sanely be!" I added, a hint of madness in my tone.
"Okay," exclaimed Amarth. "When did you eat the sugar?"
"...Well..." My voice evidently got smaller with every syllable I pronounced. "I kinda' stole some from the Great Cafeteria when... we... got... the ...flyer... yeah."
"...Darn. I should've gotten some too!"
"We all should have gotten some," sighed Newmoon.
"Hey!" wailed Elenmir suddenly, turning to a gold glow that just died behind them. She stepped back, hands on the hilt of her sword.
"That isn't a..." began Ember, preparing to string an arrow into his bow. All the OCs began to unsheathe weapons and shields. Simultaneously, the Authors took cautious steps towards the back of the scene.
The gold light returned and started coming closer to us.
"MARY-SUE!" screamed Hoshiko. We all prepared to run for our lives as the OCs nearly pulled their gun triggers and fired arrows.
"Hold it!" cried Jiana, making her way through the crowd of Authors and OCs. "...Everyone, stop! It's Trisha! This is one of mine."
"You own a Mary-Sue?" inquired a shocked Vana.
One of the strangest looking Mary-Sues came stepping gracefully from out behind the rocks. A red and black ringlet came down to her strong thighs, as her dark, dark green eyes scanned everyone's positions warily. Like all of the Mary-Sues, Trisha had an excellent build, but she didn't seem to want to show it all off at the moment, slouching just a bit. Well, that was something you had to count against her Mary-Sue-ishness.
"Our spy," sighed Penelope.
"Spy?" I asked, flustered and confused. Vana and Europa had the same looks. "Spy?! Since when did we have a spy?!"
"We're preparing for war, aren't we?" countered Phantom. "We've gotta' get some inside information!"
"Don't you remember?" asked Coffeegirl. "Europa and Vana were out when we counseled. You raised your hand when we voted on sending a decoy..."
"But... I..."
"Just accept it already!" cried a smaller voice. Everyone turned to Trisha... well, actually at Trisha's ankles. It was a white spirit-like sort of being, not much taller than a tree stump. "Trisha's got some info! So listen up before I miss the Double Jeopardy Marathon!"
"You are obsessed with that show, aren't you?" asked another spirit, a purple one. He sat down beside the white and took out... a pair of knitting needles. He started knitting what seemed to be a very thick mauve scarf. "You shouldn't be watching TV. You should be preparing for the coming Ice Age!"
"We shall instantly die in a blast of Mother Nature's icy coldness!" shouted a red spirit dramatically, who seemed have just popped out of nowhere. "'Tis a terrible fate, but if #3 is just being sarcastic, then he is a fool and will be strangled to death when Head Muse misses the Jeopardy Marathon."
"Double Jeopardy!" corrected the white. "And it starts in..."
"Three minutes!" hollered a fourth spirit.
This character was probably one of the most craziest characters ever to step into our presence. Though his form was very much like his fellows, this being was not wearing a solid color, but a bright yellow with pink stripes and a weird green baseball cap.
"You're attention starvation really worries me, #2," sighed #3, continuing to knit as he spoke. "Have you seen a psychologist?"
"Twelve of them, really!" exclaimed #2.
"Oh good Eru," grunted the Head Muse.
Vana grinned through a semi-embarrased chuckle. "These are my four muses... Charming little things, aren't they?"
"Incredibly," muttered Joe.
Meanwhile, Trisha was busy reporting what she saw to Jiana. Both faces looked concerned and a bit burdened.
"They have a new general," whispered Trisha. "She's... an amazing fighter. Her commanding skills are beyond anything I've ever seen in my life! I was only lucky to make it out of her grasp.... I've heard the Sue's. They call her 'The Iron Maiden'."
Upon hearing this, I suddenly choked and gasped simultaneously. It sounded like a fish swallowing a banana or something. "They call her the what?!"
"The Iron Maiden," repeated Trisha.
Silence befell the muses, and I felt everyone's gaze fall on me as my head turned in shame. My skin was titling on whether I should go a furious red, or a shocked white. In result, I turned green with sickness. "The Iron Maiden translates to 'Angawende' in Sindarin, I believe; Naurglahad's elvish name..."
I knew that realization had dawned on everyone.
"She's gone then," sighed Phantom. "She's gone to the dark side."
"...No!" I turned suddenly and looked around. There was a pathetic sloping hill of rocks in the far corner. I bounded toward this and upwards and looked out into the west. "Naurglahad never starts a war without..." I stopped short in my sentence. A white parchment envelope was peeking out at me through the rocks. My breath died. It felt like everyone's breath had died.
Only one option. I was trembling as the envelope seemed to sting my fingers, picking it up and gently brushing my finger against the delicate crease of the opening flap.
I flicked out a notecard placed inside the envelope.
"It's a treaty... a treaty of war." I turned. "We are out of time."
~*~
"Frank, what is this?"
"It's a flyer, Al. Joe and that kid came rushing in five minutes ago saying that we had to print this flyer out to every Author in all of the LOTR category."
"Huh?"
"Read it out loud, stupid."
Frank the Nazgul jammed a crumpled piece of parchment in front of Al the Nazgul's face. Al slipped a pair of reading spectacles into the darkness of his hood. Scrawled in hurried print was a sort of advertisement.
ATTENTION ALL FANFICTION AUTHOR'S OF 382
Like the Darkness of Mordor spilling into the realms of Men and Elves and Dwarves (at this part, a carrot with "hobbits" scratched on it was inserted), a new Darkness infects our once beloved home, FFNH. No, it does not concern the latest rules banning fic types and such. This... is even deadlier. The Darkness that plagues our pages is most commonly called "The Mary-Sue".
To all of those who are new and vulnerable to this specific type of fanfiction, a Mary-Sue has several definitions, although they each point to the same concept; mushy blandness. Mary-Sue can be a plot type. It is about a girl with perfect statistics (perfect, eyes, perfect hair, perfect voice, perfect body, perfect this, perfect that, and so on and so forth) who gets "transported" to Middle-earth and partakes in events that are much too bloody disgusting and fluffy to display here. Mary-Sue can also define as the character. The character is the young lady with ultimate perfection raining on her.
Mary-Sues come in the largest of quantities, and now, they are beginning to become aggressive from the creative critique that intelligent and experienced Authors will tend to offer them. Many can see that they have been blinded by their artificial passion for the good looks of the movie characters. Another fault to Mary-Sue is that they are movie-fans, and pay no homage to the origin of the movie, the book written by our fondly remembered and beloved John Ronald Reuel Tolkien...
The letter continued on and on explaining the processes of how terrible Mary-Sue's are, but Al's Nazgul "eyes" scanned through the text carelessly until they landed in bold, red print:
JOIN THE ARMY! SUPPORT REAL LOTR FANFICTION!
"Funny," chuckled Al, sitting down at the computer to type the message down. "All this trouble just for a stupid fanfiction story, eh, Frank?... Frank?"
Al looked around. Frank had disappeared, but Al did not recall anyone opening the office door to exit. He turned left, right, over his small office cubicle, and under the nearby couch. Nothing. Sighing, he shook his head and started to plead to Morgoth that Frank hadn't left the office without him... until he saw it.
A torn piece of black cloth waved in the cool air-conditioning vent on the ceiling, along with a sparkly frilly hair ribbon. Al's hearing senses immediately picked up a faint feminine cackle in the vents above him, followed by a scatter of clicking and stomping. He shuddered and shook his head, continuing to type out the message.
After some time, about forty-five minutes later to be specific, the Wraith got up and lazily made for the battered oak door. He needed his black coffee, for he was on the verge of falling straight asleep on the computer and drooling all over the screen... if Nazgul can even actually drool.
Click! went the lock of the door as Al turned the handle... and voosh! went his robes as he was also pulled up into the air vent.
I feel like I'm not writing as smoothly as I used to. I don't know. Maybe it's just me and my stupid Algebra homework assignments... argh.
But now for something that doesn't require the talent of a true writer (which I probably don't have that much of)... CONVERSATION PAGES!!! BWAHAHAHA! It's totally stupid and not even funny. Skip on out of here, or stay and read. Whichevers...
Naheka: (standing paralyzed in front of the review total) Woah...
(cue the SpaceOdyssey2001 music)
Naheka: It's HUGE!
Joe: And it's really really tall, too.
Naheka: ...It's like... a hundred!... Dang!
Joe: Remember in days when review totals meant everything to you?
Naheka: ...No... And I don't want to remember...
Joe: Why?
Naheka: Because too many reviews can get head filling...
Joe: Don't you mean inflating?
Naheka: ...Yeah...
Joe: Ai...
Naheka:... meep.
Joe: ...meep.