(Warning: Not for children under 13 years of age. Heavy violence and abuse of cake. If you have a liking for cake, please avoid at all costs. You have been forewarned.
You do not need a character to join this so-called roleplay, nor does your character need to be in the normal version of Amon Lanc. The only requirement is that you have some degree of insanity in you. Heh, we all do ^__^
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In the wide, brown baked (the icing was unforgivably forgotten about, but whipped cream was hastily substituted by the ever righteous Valar during the formation of the world) lands of Arda in the year 3018 of the Third Age, dire catastophe strikes...
[Rumbling voices heard in the distant trees]
[A minute later... a man runs out from under the shadowy eaves of Mirkwood, white with terror]
Man: The shadow in Mirkwood has awakened!
[An elf comes out behind him.]
Elf: What terror is that you speak of?
Man: I heard it in the night, the whispering in the woods that spoke of dread. A great evil troubles the stronghold of Amon Lanc.
Elf: The horror! My hair stands on end at the thought.
Man: Surely not! I cannot imagine the terrible sight that--
Elf (gets angry and stamps on the man's feet): It is but a figure of speech, ignorant mortal.
[Dark, uncomfortable silence. Storm clouds gather threateningly. Wind howls and thunder roars.]
Man: How dare you speak to me as though I were inferior?!!!
[Both draw weapons]
[The loud clash of swords is heard]
[A moment later... there is nothing more but the drip of rain and the munching sound of people eating fruitcake.]
[A small, pink rabbit scuttles away through the trees in the direction of Amon Lanc.]
Singing heard: The beautiful night is nice and cool,
So perfect for dining on Middle-earth's greatest delicacy...
The richness and tenderness,
So juicy sweet...
...The dark terror that now reigns the land has spelt danger to all, having even influenced the minds of both mortal and immortal alike.
***
[In the cool shade a trees near the great city of Orelinde, a figure with light, golden hair walks the woods at night]
Tîwele (speaks softly to her horse as she walks): A night full of stars, Laeren. It has been long since I have set eyes to a sight such as this.
Laeren: Is that not so, because your father has locked you up in that castle of his for so many years, that you only see starlight when you walk the woods at night, seeking for your long lost love…
Tîwele: I think you overdramatise it slightly.
Laeren: Ah, but I speak the truth.
Tîwele: Hmmm. I only wish that Prince Charming would rescue me from this accursed land.
Laeren: That really does sound like a fairytale.
(Tîwele smiles at the thought)
Tîwele: Do not speak so loud, my friend. We do not know whether any strangers are travelling abroad, though that is highly unlikely. We would not want to risk them thinking that I am suffering from a case of madness when they hear me talking to myself.
Laeren: Whatever you ask, mistress. I will attempt to quieten down.
Tîwele: Do not call me that, Laeren. I do not own you. Remember that you serve me of your own free will.
Laeren: But I find ‘mistress’ much less a tongue twister than your name.
Tîwele: It is Tew-well-lay.
Laeren: Chew elfay?
Tîwele: I can see horses are not particularly skilled at pronouncing names.
Laeren: You know, Chew elfay sounds like a candy. Chew-o’s. Mmmm. Do they serves candy as delicacies over at the castle?
Tîwele: You never know. They may. Come, let us head home.
(She starts back the way they came)
Laeren: It reminds me of a song.
(Sings all the way home…)
…Horses go wack-o for chew-o’s…!
Tîwele: I shall curse Túrelië for adding so much sugar to your grain…
[I haven't written these things for so long, heh.]