Chapter 1 : The Black Adder, and his Devious Plan
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The Prancing Pony.
Property of Barliman.
"Finest inn in all Middle-Earth !" "Come and delight yourselves !"
Rot.
For this "fine" inn is in actuality a pathetic excuse for a pub, with a number of common folk doing nothing but wasting away their lives with fermented plant beverages in cheap mugs, and some idle brainless chatter, and with more fermented drink, and then more chatter, and so on ad nauseam.
This is hardly the romanticized inn, where adventurers would go to brag of their exploits, when it truth, they may have just buggered off. Such inns are fictitious: no adventurer would waste his bloody time in an inn. He's rather be at some guild, honing his skills.
No, an EX-adventurer would be in an inn, drowning of his sorrows of a pathetic hunt. For, in the codes of the warrior, you either succeed, and be rich, and be more likely to be in a manor than in an inn, or end up meat fit for dogs and orcs, in the silky traps of the venomous Giant Spiders of the land, and have no chance at all to be in an inn unless some pathetic scoundrel, with obviously no taste in humour, wishes to parade around his grotesque findings in a town. If so, the inn is possibly the last place.
Apologies. There WAS one adventurer in this inn.
Or rather, three.
The first was a dim-witted imbecile, a rather tall imbecile, who always tried his best to please his master, but failed miserably in doing so.
The shorter of the trio was a bit smarter, and always coming up with ideas. Except that these ideas were half-baked and never worked. As thus, he was no better off than the former.
And finally, there was an adventurer of sorts, the heir to Gondor, Edmund Elendil, known to others as the bugg...ooops, ranger, the "Black Adder". Cunning is he ! Beware his deadly flashing blade ! Or at least his mouth ! No one can survive his blade, lest his impervious mouth !
As suited to his name, he was dressed in black. He wore a ridiculous hat, a hood of a sort. Below that was dark brown hair with dark brown eyes, a rather modest face, but a very immodest mouth, lips flaring with lethal words. He never wore armour: rather, he wore a black overcoat, perfect for lurking about and shrouding him from the nonsense surrounding him. Below that was a brown vest, covering an old, sweaty, shirt, stinking with the toil of continuous trekking. Below all that were a pair of black pants, with a black codpiece protecting his vital assets. Lastly, he did not wear black boots, but black shoes, these shoes being the shoes of the nobility.
And so, there the way, the three, Edmund, and his counterparts: Percy Percy, and Baldrick, son of Robin the Dung-gatherer. They were gathering together, for an important reason.
"Now, according to that fat old bastard Gandalf, it seems to be that the heirloom of my fam..."
"You mean the Sword that Was Broken ?"
"No, you nitwit. As I saying, the heirloom of..."
"Oh, you mean that jewel.."
"Not that either, cretin. As I was going to say..."
"Not then you Handkerchief of +1 Excellence ?"
"Shut up you blumbering bastard ! I'm talking here !"
Edmund then resumed his speech.
"As I was saying, the One Ring has been found."
"Good heavens ! I have a cunning plan !"
"Oh yes: and what may it be ?"
"We shall take the ring, and throw it into the fires of Mt. Doom !"
Edmund took one good long stare at Baldrick.
"Baldrick, as much as I hate to say this, someone has already taken the job. Well, not yet, but, unless I'm half-arsed , that dickhead by the name of Frodo Baggins, though he may be a puny cretin, is the only pathetic creature capable of tossing the one ring into the bowels of Mt. Doom. Another typical story."
"Well, if so... what are you saying, milord ?"
"I have a cunning plan."
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The three crowded round together, as they heard the plan.
" In a few days from now, there will be a meeting at Rivendell, where Elrond will dictate the fate of the ring. I can bet my arse that the hobbit known as Baggins would be taking the ring."
"So ?"
"We are going to steal it from him. And, once I have this ring, I shall install myself, rightfully, as King of Middle Earth, and vanquish Saruman and Sauron on my own !"
"That's evil, Edmund !"
"Sod it. My name will cause... TYRANNY ! HATE ! FEAR ! ANGER !"
Edmund shouted the last four words aloud, in a blooming manner, and soon, curious eyes were abound, wondering where such an embarrassingly loud voice could be heard from.
"Umm....Merry drinking to you all !"
And the crowd hailed their drinks to Edmund, though, behind their backs, they were saying, rather quietly:
"What a stupid ass."
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