A/N - For the purposes of humour, I have given a few of the Nazgul rather childish (or hobbitish) personalities - well, actually, most of them have been given that. *smiles sheepishly* Ah well, they're so much cuter that way. So this chapter is about the little Nazgul continuing their journey through the perilous land of Ithilien, in search of new steeds to carry them in search of their master's Ring...
Disclaimer - I still own nothing. The prison even owns my clothes. But I'm gonna get out soon. I'm due for parole pretty quickly, which is why they will let me use this computer, which, for those who don't remember, I also do not own.
Chapter 3 - Evil Hungry Robins of Doom
The little Nazgul wandered, slowly, out of Mordor, leaving #1 through 11 behind, as being squooshed by a horse is not exactly conducive to good health. They wandered down, farther south, into the land of Ithilien, searching for new steeds, as obviously horses would not work at all, and the evil birdies that Sauron had been saving for them when they were still 9 could eat them all in a single bite.
The 88 Nazgul remaining camped down in the hollow of a very large tree's roots for the night, and they had a miniature bonfire going. They squabbled a bit over who would get the last of the marshmallows, and then slowly they drifted off to sleep. Soon little Nazgul snores could be heard echoing throughout the forest.
Nazgul #65 awoke with a start to find himself eye to eye with the very large, feathery face of a robin. His screech woke everyone else up, and in moments the entire encampment of miniature Nazgul was milling around in a panic.
"Hey!" squealed #34, who, if you remember, sounded like Chip the Rescue Ranger. "It's a robin!"
"No duh!" snapped #45. "I thought it was an Oliphaunt."
"You did?"
"No you nitwit! Sarcasm! S-A-R-C-A-S-M!"
"Oh. Well," continued #34, unperturbed, "These could be our new steeds! They're nice, and pretty, and friendly. They don't eat much-"
At that inopportune moment, the robin hopped past #65 and picked up Nazgul #13 in its beak, apparently mistaking him for a worm. "EEEEEK!" squealed poor #13. The bird ignored the fact that #13 had drawn his Morgul blade and was currently stabbing it. In fact, the robin thought it actually felt rather nice, kind of like a primitive form of acupuncture, if there ever was such a thing as acupuncture for robins. Gulp. The robin opened its beak wider and swallowed Nazgul #13 whole.
Dead silence reigned in the clearing.
"So, they don't eat much, do they?" #78 said sardonically.
"Oops," said #34 meekly.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N - I know, I know. Short chapter. Sorry. Ah well, the madness will continue soon. And the Nazgul keep diminishing - in number, not size. "99 miniature Nazgul in Mordor, 99 miniature Nazgul, you take one out, give him a hug, 98 miniature Nazgul in Mordor." Ah the joys of boredom. Yeah, so, ignore that little outburst of song and dance. But don't YOU want to hug a miniature Nazgul? Admit it...
