'Wake up, you silly man! We have to get going!'
Denethor groaned, and sat up. His head felt sore and bruised. In fact, he was sore and bruised. The plothole had spat them out against the side of an old wall. Denethor looked up, and saw the heavy rain clouds floating towards them.
'We better get going, if we don't want to get soaked!' the palantír insisted. Denethor saw the wisdom in this, but was annoyed none the less. Hé, after all, hadn't remembered making the orb the leader of this mission. He was the steward, so he should be leader!
'Stop your belly-aching, and let's get going!'
Denethor got up, and cursed the day the creator of the palantíri had given them the power to read minds.
As they progressed, the wall turned out to be part of a city. It was in ruins now, but had once been great. They found shelter in what seemed to have been a great hall once. It was amazing that the dome of that hall had stayed firmly in place, when all else was… well, ruined. The steward grinned.
'Hey, palantír, guess what? I just made a funny.'
'…No, you didn't. That wasn't funny.'
'…Yes, it was.'
'…No, it wasn't.'
'…It was!'
'…It wasn't!'
'Was!'
'Wasn't!'
'WAS!'
'WASN'T!'
'TWIT!'
'LOSER!'
Denethor grabbed the orb, and threw it against the wall. It bounced of with a clank, and rolled on the floor. If it had a face, it would be seeing serious stars right about now. Denethor was about to check on it, because he really did care, when the floor beneath them opened, and they slid down a steep slope.
'Mpfhgrgadsgp!'
'Will you stop eating the local flora, I'm sure it would upset the stomach.'
Denethor and the palantír had landed in a heap of leaves, conveniently placed at the bottom of the slope. To bad the steward had landed mouth-first into it. The palantír didn't have one, and thanked his creator for that daily. Then they looked around.
Where the hell were they?
