Disclaimer - I still own nothing, and I am still stuck in this cramped, dark, and damp jail cell. With no food. Please send food. The more I get, the better I will feel, and the more I will write so I can get more food. And maybe if you send me food I won't mind the cold so much...
Chapter 2- Chipmunks, Helium, and Munchkins
"You nimrods," Sauron fumed, pacing around in front of where his Nazgul stood, hands clasped behind their backs, staring sheepishly at the floor. "Now what am I going to do with you? You've gone and got yourself spliched!* How many times have I told you to never touch my stuff?! How dumb can you get?!"
The Nazgul stood, looking as guilty as undead men with no faces can. Sauron glared down at them.
Glared down at all 99, miniature, 4-inch-tall of them.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Sauron groaned, flopping down into a chair. He sprang back up immediately, however, removed the hedgetrimmer he'd just sat on, and flopped back down. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Weren't you gonna send us out to find the Ring?" Nazgul #67 asked in a high-pitched, rather Munchkin-ish voice.
"Not now," Sauron sulked. "Idiots."
"We can still go after it!" enthused another little voice, this time reminding Sauron more of Chip from the Rescue Rangers. Sauron thought it sounded like Nazgul #34 had spoken this time.
"Yeah, and how are you going to do that?" The Lord of Doom snapped.
"We've got the advantage of numbers," #89 offered.
"And not much else. None of you have any brains at all, and your weapons will be useless!"
"How do you know that?"
"Because I'm the boss that's why. Oh, what the hell, this is all useless. Go, go after my Ring. Just don't kill yourselves off into the bargain."
"Thank you!" all the Nazgul chorused. "We won't fail you. We promise!!" They sounded, Sauron realized, like Alvin and the Chipmunks, Chip the Rescue Ranger, someone on helium, and Munchkins, all combined. He was getting a headache. "Remember, don't get yourselves killed. I still need your help, even if you are miniature undead freaks," he told them.
The Miniature Nazgul scattered, running for their horses. Sauron's head dropped into his hands. "Why did I say that? Undead men can't die. That was stupid."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Unbeknownst to Sauron at that time, he would shortly realize that sending them out as the Black Riders was also rather stupid. For starters, there were only nine horses. For another, the horses were each bigger than all of the 99 combined.
The Nazgul approached the stables cautiously, running and hiding whenever they thought they heard Orcs approaching. Understandably, none of them wanted Orcs to see them, their superiors, in this undignified state.
"Shhh," #1 cautioned.
"Shhhhh," went everyone else down the long line of little Nazgul that stretched down the corridor.
#1 rolled his eyes. "We don't want to spook the horses," he said. "Ok, men. Forward. Choose your horse. Go!"
The Nazgul divided into groups of 11 and slipped under the stall doors, and climbed over some of the lower bars, or through larger knotholes.
Nazgul #22 was wondering vaguely what time it was, and whether it was Time To Eat, when he heard a scream from the adjacent stall.
His group of 11 raced out, little Morgul blades drawn and gleaming like new pins in the torchlight, and into the next stall. Behind them, the others were milling confusedly around the corridor, wondering what on Middle-Earth was going on and whether it was nearly Breakfast Time.
The screams had come from #1's group, whose horse had spooked and was prancing up and down, trampling the little Nazgul in the process.
"Stay back!" squeaked #20, backing away. All that could be seen of #1's group was a smushed wad of little black robes. Slowly, the horse calmed down.
Very carefully, and with cries of pain, #1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 and 10 unstuck themselves from the floor. Nazgul #11 was stuck on the horse's left hind hoof, and all they could see of him was his tiny hand waving feebly.
"Get back to Sauron," ordered #19. "He'll do first-aid. And get him to send an Orc captain to scrape up #11."
The shaken group of ten scrambled to do as he said.
#'s 12 through 22 stood collecting their wits a moment longer, in silence. Finally, Nazgul # 14 said timidly, "I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*Spliched - to take a large organism and make smaller, exact copies of it, usually through process of a refraberting beam, which scatters the molecules and rearranges them into a new form.
