This being my first entry into the Ring Game, and the first time in recent memory that a warg has taken an active part in the game, I was asked to jot down my recollections of the action as witnessed by myself and the Master, Saruman.
Our day began just like any other—well, except for the whole "up at 4:15 and drive two-and-a-half hours before breakfast" thing. Master S. met up with the WHH (White Hand Horde) in Madison for breakfast, while I enjoyed a nice bowl of kibble in the grass and scared the spit out of an elderly couple just getting out of their car.
After that, it was on to the meeting area, where I got a chance to become familiar with the rest of the characters. Introductions consisted of about a solid hour of gratuitous hand licking and crotch sniffing. I must say that some of you (and I think you know who you are) were smelling particularly nice that morning. On the other hand… some of you need help. For Gollum's sake, I thought orcs smelled bad! Some of the rangers smelled like they had spent too many nights in the wilderness without the comforts of a bath or bar of soap. I honestly don't know why there was such a fuss about getting to the "Cracks of Doom" by 5:00. I had those bad boys sniffed out by 10:15!
After the team introductions and rules, it was off to Isengard for the start of the battle. At noon, five squads of WHO's set out in different directions to take up their pre-determined scout posts according to Saruman's excellent plan. I remained in Isengard with Master S., the WHO standard-bearer and a couple of his posse, to greet the witches and vampires who were quickly dispatched under the control of WHO Parsons. Then we set off down the road toward Bree.
Quite a long way into our journey (say, about 12 steps) the Menace came crashing out of the trees and engaged us. The conversation that followed went something like this:
Menace: "Ha ha! I bounce thee!"
Saruman: "Nay, I sacrifice to thee. Sit thine ass down."
Menace: "Me thinkest only Sauron and Gandalf may virtuously sacrifice to my wanton destructiveness."
Saruman: "Think again, Babe-rog."
Menace: (Consulting rule book) "Oh, bummer."
Saruman: "Nice day, though, isn't it? (Pause) So, do you come here often?"
So, two minutes into the game, we had to send the posse away to linger by the other dead WHO's the Menace bounced ahead of us on the way to Bree, and I got to sit some more. Wow, I'm thinking to myself, this is a great game. And just think, if I weren't here I'd be home chasin' the cat.
Finally (after the alotted time had passed), Saruman was reborn. We collected our posse and headed off back through Isengard to the hills above the crossroads. Unfortunately, despite the Balrog's departure, the "Menace" continued to pursue us every step of the way in the form of two ten-year-old WHO's who had mysteriously been dropped at the Game by their aunt. Their dialogue was non-stop, dealing with such burning issues as; “Does one have to be 18 to play a hobbit, because I could run real fast and could probably win the game next time?” or “Would it be helpful if I climbed a tree, because I’m is real good at climbing?” or “How do we know that the hobbits aren't in the car that just went down the road, because wouldn't it be funny if we were all out looking for them in the woods and they were driving instead?” Of course all of this went on while Saruman was trying to remain hidden and quiet. So, if it's called fragging when a subordinate kills his commanding officer, what is the term for when a wizard slaughters his own underlings just to get them to shut up? Not that Saruman did—but he should have.
Hidden in a grove of trees above the crossroads we watched several clusters of REO's amble by, and flashed signs to our elite Uruk-hai squad high on the rocks above Rivendell (a well-executed maneuver I must say). But, alas, no hobbits were delivered to that point so we made our way toward the next rendez-vous point. It was here that one of the mini-menaces spied a figure in the bushes and started to chase it.
Mini-Menace: "Look, a hobbit!"
Saruman: "Nay, that is no hobbit."
MM: "But she's wearing a hat!"
Saruman: "Not everything that wears a hat is a hobbit my young orc. That is the Bard. Do not chase her, lest you seek a quick death."
MM: "So, she can kill me?"
Saruman: "Quite easily, yes."
MM: "Can she kill you?"
Saruman: "No, she cannot."
MM: "Then why don't you kill her?"
Saruman: "Because it doesn't serve me right now."
Oh, how I wished Master would let me eat him and be done with it. This exchange was interrupted by the appearance of Mugwart Anderson, WHO captain, at the next designated meeting spot. Saruman sent the standard bearer to make sure there was no trap to fall into before approaching.
Mugwart: "Saruman, you're going to kill me but…" (Now, I may be new at this game, but I'm pretty sure you don't ever want to start a report to your wizard with "you're probably going to kill me but…") "but we were where you told us to be, and sure enough, two hobbits came that way—only they got by us and probably made it to Lothlorien."
Saruman: **Expletive deleted**
Mugwart: "Yup, then the entire good army marched by. I think they're all in Lothlorien by now."
Later I heard mention that the "friggin' Ring" had indeed passed that way.
After a short break (during which Saruman fed me a portion of Mugwart's entrails), we headed up the road where we ran into WHO Parsons. He confirmed that all of the anti-ring activists were holed up at Lothlorien, while Madame Sauron and her group of pro-ring supporters were off "dicking around" by Gondor and Rohan. Parsons recommended that the best strategy was to make haste for Barad-Dur, as that was Gandalf's favorite rallying point, and hope the rest of the Evil Warlords' Rights lobby would show up to make a stand.
We set out down the road, gathering up a few straggling Dunlenders and wild men as we went. Then, from the east came the call, "Hobbits down by the lake!" Off went the Dunlenders. Off went Mini-Menace 1 and Mini-Menace 2. Off went Master S. and I to cut off the northern flank, until we came face to face with a friggin' elf, closely pursued by Mini-Menace and cohorts. I swear to Smaug, what is wrong with these evil players? An elf! Not a hobbit! No vest. No hat. No goofy pipe. Just a green cloak. ("Oooh, good player traveling solo—it must be a hobbit!") I mean, I only see in black and white, and I could tell this guy wasn't a hobbit! Parsons caught him. Saruman questioned him. He didn't know squat. So we released him and set off again for Barad-Dur, only a few moments ahead of the good army moving as one. Saruman sent the Mini-Menaces off to take a message to the rest of the WHO's to meet us, directing them to the road where Gandalf's forces were marching toward us. It was a kinder fate than they deserved.
At the base of Barad-Dur, we had a strategy meeting. Only ten of us (with about four hundred points between us) versus the good army's 1,800 points. What to do? Parsons elected to scale Barad-Dur and "do as much damage as we can". Well, gee, considering the amount of damage they could do in a winner-take-all Ring Game combat was exactly zero, that seemed like a rather silly thing to do, which is saying a lot coming from someone who goes out of my way to eat another animal's droppings. So while everyone else climbed the short-cut to Barad-Dur, Master S. and I and the standard bearer sauntered up the road a few yards. Not really wanting to go all that way just to be slaughtered, Saruman stopped on the road as the good army approached and did the only thing he could do—he planted his staff in the middle of the road and glared at them in a very mean sort of way. Good paused. One wizard, an orc with a flag and all eight points of me looking disinterestedly at the clouds? He must be up to something. The trick worked. Good decided to take the steep path rather than the road, with a few soldiers lingering back to block our escape. I suppose one good bluff deserves another. Saruman started whistling and motioning into the trees, then ran down the road directly toward Good with me. It worked. The stragglers high-tailed it up the hill to conquer Barad-Dur and we escaped. But it did not escape Saruman that only three hobbits went up with the army. There were two unaccounted for. Saruman searched the base of Barad-Dur for commando hobbits before moving on to defend Doom. Later, we were told that the hobbits were nearby, watching us search for them and wishing we would just leave.
At the bottom of Mount Doom, we met up with Sauron, who looked pretty ticked off. We entered her service and headed up to the Saddle to make a last stand. Some of the conversation went like this:
Saruman: "All of the good army and three of the hobbits are on top of Barad-Dur."
Dark Mama: "@#%*&! Where is the rest of my army?"
Saruman: "Beats me. The WHO's should be marching from Isengard right now. Hey, I see you have the Wind Lord token…"
Dark Mama: "I'm keeping it from Gandalf. You can't have it."
Saruman: "So what do you suppose Good is up to? Why would they go to Barad-Dur so early? Besides, you can't use Wind Lord, you know."
Dark Mama: "You can't have it. You stay here with me."
Saruman: "Of course, I am here to serve you. Then again, it seems like a waste…"
Dark Mama: "YOU CAN'T HAVE IT!"
Saruman: "I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you with all of the noise from the entire good army approaching over there. Oh, look, here they are now."
Dark Mama: "@^*$#!"
Saruman: "Looks like Gandalf has come to kill you before you become worth infinite points. That sucks… So, how 'bout that Wind Lord token?"
Dark Mama: "Fine, here, take it. If you win for Evil that's good enough for me."
But, alas, Master S. did not win, though I must say it was fun. For those of you who missed it, here's how the final moments went. Saruman and I and a handful of Nazgul and vampires withdrew 26 paces from Sauron. Gandalf miracled the entire evil army. Dark Mama stands alone. Good army swarmed over Dark Mama at 3:25 and bounced her.
At 3:30, Good charged the mountain. We rushed in from below and made a tag. Saruman called a freeze. Jeff approached and was amused by the small number of evil Saruman managed to attack with.
Saruman played the Wind Lord token and whisked a Nazgul away from the battle to ascend further up the mountain during the head start. The rest of Saruman's squadron was shredded. Good charged up the mountain again behind Saruman, the Nazgul and I.
We reached the Cracks of Doom together, and the hobbits began their hobbit party, producing the Ring. Saruman, Nazgul and I just stood there. Nobody made a tag. Saruman checked his watch. He still needed nine minutes for Sauron's 15-minute bounce to be over and for her to become worth infinite points and wipe Good off the mountain.
Hobbits posed for photos and got ready to end the game. Sauron still had seven minutes left and probably another several seconds needed to get within 25 paces before Saruman could make the tag. The Ring went into the fire with Sauron and the rest of the evil army still dead.
People were roundly amazed that my furry black butt was up on top of the mountain at the end of the day. They didn't realize that I slept all the way back to Green Bay and most of Sunday as well.
All that being said, I must say that it was a fun and interesting way to spend a fine spring Saturday. I appreciate you all allowing me to join you, and I hope that next time there will be more four-legged friends for me to consort with. I will be back in October—bigger, blacker and meaner than ever.
Sincerely yours,
Pudding, Obedient Warg of Isengard
©2004 Steve Brada. All Rights Reserved. Used with Permission.