A/N: Well hello again! I'm surprised you're reading this at all. Did you
like the last chapter, hm???
Disclaimer : Anyone who thinks I own LOTR can go to the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith for a REALITY CHECK!
And now, chappie #2! I'm amazed I've made it this far! Yay!
The Massacre of Moria By hyper squirrel
Moria. Land of the dwarves. Well, it was, until what became known as...The Massacre of Moria...
Our story begins on a cold, rainy Tuesday. Well, it might have been warm and sunny, or warm and rainy, or cold and sunny, or warm and snowing, but it was definitely a Tuesday. No, a Thursday. Wait a minute- Saturday. No- Oh, I don't know. Let's start this over.
Our story begins on a day. Or was it a night? Argh! Ok, well, anyways, Gloín and his son Gimli were mining mithril, singing, "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go," and then whistling, and then repeating it. Over and over and over. It got very annoying.
Suddenly Joe, the lookout at the Great Gate of Moria, ran in.
"Sirs," he said, bowing quickly. "Men approach. And they are in a foul mood!"
Tears filled Gimli's eyes. "I wish Leggy were still alive," he sniffed. "We could have played a game to see who could kill the most men." He broke down crying.
The lookout went and hugged Gimli to comfort him. Suddenly he was aware of Gloín staring.
"What?" asked the lookout.
Gloín replied, "Do you realize how gay that looks?"
Gimli stood up tall (which didn't do much seeing as he was only four feet tall, being a dwarf and all) and said, "Father, we've something to tell you. Joe and I are-"
Just then Eldarion burst in, followed by about a hundred men, and ran his sword through Gimli.
"-homosexual," Gimli finished. He toppled forwards.
The lookout dropped to his knees and burst into tears. "Why? Why?" he screamed at the sky. (A/N: Hey, I'm a poet and don't I know it!)
Eldarion sighed. "Not another whiny idiot. You're just like that pathetic Elf I killed in Mirkwood." He ran his sword through the lookout.
"Why?" Joe croaked one last time, then croaked. (literally and figuratively)
A whole bunch of other dwarves came running. The men sliced their heads off, until every dwarf in Moria was dead.
Eldarion turned to his men. "Great work, team!" he said, giving them all high fives. "Now on to Rivendell!"
"But sir," spoke up one of the men in the back with a pathetic, high- pitched, squeaky voice. "You promised."
A murmur of assent passed through the army. Eldarion sighed.
"Fine," he said. "Pizza first, then on to Rivendell for some regicide!"
"Yay!" yelled all the men.
They all went for pizza, and Moria lies empty to this day.
THE END
A/N: Not bad, eh? I wrote this yesterday when I was sick in bed. Yep, poor me... but I got to stay home from school and sleep, so therefore it wasn't all that bad. And NO, I was not skipping.
In case you're wondering, regicide is the killing of a king or ruler. Does that give you some hint of who's next? Hm?
So as always R&R, please and thankyou (or peas and corn, whichever you prefer)
Guess what's in my pants! I'd rather not. Ketchup! It's probably the only thing in your pants. What was that? Nothing, nothing... sorry thats from my friend I like black stuff's story called Camp Magick... i suggest you read it and figure out why Ron is asking Hermione to guess what's in his pants and then telling her its ketchup....
FLAMES ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!
Disclaimer : Anyone who thinks I own LOTR can go to the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith for a REALITY CHECK!
And now, chappie #2! I'm amazed I've made it this far! Yay!
The Massacre of Moria By hyper squirrel
Moria. Land of the dwarves. Well, it was, until what became known as...The Massacre of Moria...
Our story begins on a cold, rainy Tuesday. Well, it might have been warm and sunny, or warm and rainy, or cold and sunny, or warm and snowing, but it was definitely a Tuesday. No, a Thursday. Wait a minute- Saturday. No- Oh, I don't know. Let's start this over.
Our story begins on a day. Or was it a night? Argh! Ok, well, anyways, Gloín and his son Gimli were mining mithril, singing, "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go," and then whistling, and then repeating it. Over and over and over. It got very annoying.
Suddenly Joe, the lookout at the Great Gate of Moria, ran in.
"Sirs," he said, bowing quickly. "Men approach. And they are in a foul mood!"
Tears filled Gimli's eyes. "I wish Leggy were still alive," he sniffed. "We could have played a game to see who could kill the most men." He broke down crying.
The lookout went and hugged Gimli to comfort him. Suddenly he was aware of Gloín staring.
"What?" asked the lookout.
Gloín replied, "Do you realize how gay that looks?"
Gimli stood up tall (which didn't do much seeing as he was only four feet tall, being a dwarf and all) and said, "Father, we've something to tell you. Joe and I are-"
Just then Eldarion burst in, followed by about a hundred men, and ran his sword through Gimli.
"-homosexual," Gimli finished. He toppled forwards.
The lookout dropped to his knees and burst into tears. "Why? Why?" he screamed at the sky. (A/N: Hey, I'm a poet and don't I know it!)
Eldarion sighed. "Not another whiny idiot. You're just like that pathetic Elf I killed in Mirkwood." He ran his sword through the lookout.
"Why?" Joe croaked one last time, then croaked. (literally and figuratively)
A whole bunch of other dwarves came running. The men sliced their heads off, until every dwarf in Moria was dead.
Eldarion turned to his men. "Great work, team!" he said, giving them all high fives. "Now on to Rivendell!"
"But sir," spoke up one of the men in the back with a pathetic, high- pitched, squeaky voice. "You promised."
A murmur of assent passed through the army. Eldarion sighed.
"Fine," he said. "Pizza first, then on to Rivendell for some regicide!"
"Yay!" yelled all the men.
They all went for pizza, and Moria lies empty to this day.
THE END
A/N: Not bad, eh? I wrote this yesterday when I was sick in bed. Yep, poor me... but I got to stay home from school and sleep, so therefore it wasn't all that bad. And NO, I was not skipping.
In case you're wondering, regicide is the killing of a king or ruler. Does that give you some hint of who's next? Hm?
So as always R&R, please and thankyou (or peas and corn, whichever you prefer)
Guess what's in my pants! I'd rather not. Ketchup! It's probably the only thing in your pants. What was that? Nothing, nothing... sorry thats from my friend I like black stuff's story called Camp Magick... i suggest you read it and figure out why Ron is asking Hermione to guess what's in his pants and then telling her its ketchup....
FLAMES ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!