Hello, everyone!I'm sorry about not updating sooner, but my computer went loopy.Please enjoy this second helping of atrocious adventures! Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter; hopefully you all got my replies. Thanks also for the grammer help!

Disclaimer; It is not mine, I'm sad to say; it is not mine, but I hope you love it anyway!

Please read and review; if you don't have something nice to say, please say something anyway! "'Tis no excuse for not reviewing! If thou dist not read it all, tell me where thou stopethed in thy reading. If thou lovest it, sayest thou what thou loveth; if thou hatest it, what didstthou hate? If thou wert horribly offended, sayest thou what offendeth theeso I can do it again..." -Anon.

The great ship filled with the dead anchored near the shore. In the distance, near Minas Tirith, the field was a mess of orcs, Rohan soldiers, and Gondorians. Scattered throughout the armies, Oliphants crashed through allies and enemies alike.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli leapt from the deck of the ship. The ranger had his sword drawn; Gimli wielded a lethal collection of rubber bands to shoot at the enemy. Legolas stood apart with a cup of coffee in his hand and a lost expression on his face.

Despite the lack of preparation on his friends' part, Aragorn was feeling strangely optimistic. The dead had been more cooperative than he'd expected, and the battle appeared to be going well.

"Hey, Ranger!" The King of the Dead shouted, leaning over the ship railing. "Before we begin...would you care to take a survey?"

"What?" Aragorn exclaimed.

"You thought we were just going to help you because we're nice people?" The King snorted. "Here, I'll make you a deal. We'll be really extra helpful to you if you're really helpful to us and engage in a little market research."

I don't have time for this, Aragorn groaned mentally. Out loud, "Fine, but make it quick."

The Dead happily floated out of any and all openings in the ship, brandishing clipboards and pens.

"All right. First of all, what's your name? Oh, scratch that. Second...er, first...why are you seeking the service of the dead?"

"Because you're practically invincible," Aragorn snapped impatiently. There followed some appreciative nods and the scribbling of pens. Belatedly, Aragorn marked the disappearance of Legolas and Gimli.

"Next, how did you locate us?" The Dead continued.
Paths of the Dead, Palantir, messenger pigeon, e-mail, telephone, telegraph, pager, smoke signal, or our secretary, Leslie?"

"Paths of the dead," Aragorn dutifully answered.

"And how would you rate our services thus far?"

"Look, all you've done so far is read off a list of ridiculous questions. Could you go off and fight now?"

The Dead glowered at him, but the ghostly clipboards obediently vanished, replaced by steel swords. They floated off, silently eliminating all foes in their way.

Aragorn followed them onto the field. He was relieved to see that the Riders of Rohan were already in place, under the guidance of Eowyn. Theoden was there, though running in nervous circles so fast he was little more than a blur of motion.

"Die, die, we're all gonna die!" The Rohan king shouted.

"Sir," one of the Dead asked politely, "Would you be interested in taking a survey?"

"Die!" The king shouted as he did just that, collapsing on the pressed grass of the battlefield.

A small but hideous creature scampered away from the fallen King. It was jet black, with leathery wings and a long neck. Roughly three-fourths of its head were covered by two faceted eyes.

"Yuck," Eomer said, inching away form it. "What is that?"

"That," an ominous voice boomed, "Is my little friend, Smookums."

The King of the Nazgul appeared in the middle of the field, seated atop a larger version of Smookums. The creature stretched its wings, blotting out the sun over a good part of the battle.

Eomer stared at it blankly, then nobly took over the king's responsibilities and ran away screaming.

Aragorn turned to call Legolas and Gimli to him, but he saw them standing over the gigantic body of an oliphant, arguing with a shimmering white figure.

"Yo, my man!" Manwe called, waving to Aragorn. "Your Elph and Dwarph homies are a little conphused as to the rules here. Does an oliphant only count as one, or is it equal to the sum of the product of x and y added to the square of x divided by y squared, if x is the angle of the sun to the earth in Mordor at noon and y..."

"Y is the sum of imaginary number j and the cube of its square root," Legolas offered helpfully.

"Hey!" Gimli protested. "Do you mean in summer, or winter?"

"Why?" Manwe asked.

"I told you!" Legolas exclaimed. "Y is the sum of j and..."

"Not that," Gimli said, "For x! In summer, x could be anywhere from 90 to 91 degress...but in winter, it is clearly 178.992345214 degrees, which means I was right!"

Manwe glanced helplessly at Aragorn and popped out of existence.

Aragorn left the Elf and Dwarf to sort out their differences, and threw himself into the battle. Off in the distance, he saw Eowyn bravely challenging the Witch King.

"Yo momma so old, Sauron was in her graduating class!" The Witch King shrieked.

"Yo momma so fat, when she goes to Mordor, Sauron can't see nothin' else!" Eowyn answered.

"Yo momma so ugly she gets mistaken for an orc!"

"You'll never be the man yo momma was!"

And with that, Eowyn swung her sword, decapitating Big Smookums. A small, hobbit-like figure beside her flung his dagger at tiny Smookums.

"Eww..." he mumbled.

"You've killed Smookums!" The Witch King cried, jumping to the ground. "How dare you...:"

But Eowyn had had enough. She stuck her sword deep into the Witch King's helmet.

"Oh, pumpkin cringle," The Witch King sighed, and died. As his helmet fell to the ground, the hilt of Eowyn's sword twisted her mail glove, snapping her fingernail.

"No!" She cried, dropping to her knees. "I...I've chipped a nail!"

Merry caught the injured Eowyn and gestured frantically for help. Eomer abandoned his round of pessimism and helped carry his sister up to Minas Tirith in search of a manicurist.

Aragorn turned back to the battle--and was surprised to discover it was all over. The dead were chasing off the last oliphants and orcs, though perhaps unintentionally--shouts of "No, I do not want to take a bloody survey!" echoed across the field.

Aragorn sighed and started back towards the ship when the King of the Dead appeared before him, once again holding a clipboard.

"Perhaps you would care to..."

"You did fine."

The Dead clustered around Aragorn, all sighing with relief. "That's the fist time we've ever been rated satisfactory," on mumbled in awe.

"Can we go now?" Another snapped.

"Yes," Aragorn answered, and the Dead left with much rejoicing.

"Hey!" Gimli called. "Help us out over here!"

"I told you!" Legolas said, running up beside the dwarf. "On average, the sun is directly 74 degrees to the ground; I don't know what you were thinking!"

"But what about y?"

"Y?"

"Why do you think? You said that..."

And off the friends went, with considerably less rejoicing and much more angry shouting than the Dead.

Aragorn sighed again, sheathed his sword, and went on his way, wondering all the way how it was he was trapped in these atrocious adventures.