Inklets for the Dark Places of Middle-earth
Learn a lot from a rat you can.
Take that big black one over there. Been workin' his way through that
door for a while now. He knows.
Gorbag knew too. “They can make mistakes. Even the Top Ones,” he said.
Shoulda listened. Weren’t much real chance of us slipping off on our
own, not if He was watchin'. But it woulda been a sight better than
windin' up like that maggot Ufthak.
Saving that pretty shirt shoulda earned me a choice assignment in the
Tower, but no. What does I get for doin' my duty? Grrr, a knife in the
gut would have been better than to be left hangin' on a hook in the
Ain’t even gonna have the rats to keep company with soon. See, they
know. That’s why they’re leavin'.
Disaster’s got a stench to it. Rats can smell it. Old Gorbag could too.
Shoulda listened to him.
The streets faded in darkening haze, a grey mist
rose from the ground,
crept out along the stones beneath him. He could barely see. Tendrils
brushed across him; cobwebs of ice. It was so very cold. He knew he
should be weary, but numbness filled his sight, his hearing, his soul.
The funeral procession lights ahead flickered and went out; ghostly
specters danced on the edge of his failing sight. He was no longer
following the procession, he was a part of it. It was for him.
Within the mist, one face he knew: Pippin.
"Are you going to bury me?"
Cold it was, and dark, not with the natural cold of winter. Many were
the treasures there, many were the bones of men who had borne them in
battle and in fealty. Gold there was, chains, brooches, rings. Ever it
brooded under the earth, ever recalling betrayals and deaths of old.
Deaths gloriously terrible; fear at treachery had been like meat
and drink to behold, but it had been so very long ago. Blood gone to
dust. The arm pulled itself along by its fingers toward the waiting
sword. Again, to be slaked in eternal repetition of that moment...
Michel Delving's white chalk earth was packed, cold and hard. Fatty
knew no matter how he shifted he would sit in water that dripped down
the walls with nowhere to go. It was no wonder that his cell, little
more than a storage closet, had been abandoned long ago. The darkness
was unbearable, the food scarce. He sat with bowed head, listening to
the weeping of other prisoners, newer ones. There was a movement from
the cell next to his. Something poked him; something hard, pointy, like
the end of an umbrella.
"Don't worry, youngster. They'll soon get theirs."
"Come on Pip, we've got to go in there. I'll be with you the whole
Pippin shuddered as the stale air seeped from the dark, cavernous
"I don't know Merry. There's probably spiders and dust, and who know's
what creeping around down there. I've even heard it's haunted."
"Nonsense," replied Merry. "Besides, Frodo would do the same for you
and we are definately well armed."
And with that, Merry grabbed up his mop and pail and marched down
the steps into the cellar at Bag End to begin spring cleaning. Pippin
reluctantly followed behind.
The Tale of the Garlic – A Drabble
While the Fellowship was making their way through Moria Gandalf’s staff
suddenly went out plunging them all into inky darkness.
“Darn batteries!” the Wizard mumbled irritably under his breath while
he fumbled to put new ones in.
Suddenly there came the sound of a brief scuffle which was followed by
someone being punched.
“Keep your hands off of the Ring Bearer Boromir!” Legolas then said
“What right do you have to haul off and slug me Elf when it could have
been anyone of us in this darkness?”
“Every right! Only you had the garlic bread at lunch today.”