Thread: The Barad-Dûrish Inn
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"Get in 'ere" Arthion shouted, walking back into the bar.
"I am from Helms Deep, not Ch’sor. Do not remind me of that place." Arthion murmured, throwing a knife at the wooden wall chart, knocking the Far-Harad kit onto the floor.
"The Shire are still in it, which is surprising with a goalie that size. Who will win out of the remaining 6 teams?" Arthion asked.
"My money is on Gondor or Mordor." Arthion muttered, putting the Gondor V The Shire match on their telly. Moments later, the Shire blasted a goal in from the halfway line, and a spike on the ball killed the goalie, and let the ball in.
"Dang!" Arthion muttered, slamming his fists again.
He turned to the newcomer, now more than slightly drunk.
'Wha're you doin' 'ere?' he slurred. 'Stupid Rohi- Rohirrr... Ro- horse people. Don' know wha's good fir 'em.'
He slumped against a table.
'Here's one fir the good ol' times,' he said, grinning at everyone. He took another gulp of beer, spilling most of it over his face, then stumbled over to Arthion.
'I lov' you, man,' he said, holding Arthion's shoulder for support and breathing right in his face. 'Bes' friend I ever 'ad. No one... 's nobody better 'n you. I think-'
But he never got to finish that sentence, because at that moment he fell to the floor, rolled over, and began to snore.
"...And its penalties! Gondor are in trouble." The Scottish Sounding Dwarf commentator announced, and Arthion kicked the table. The referee, another Dwarf, flipped a coin. Gondor went second.
Arthion winced, remembering that the hobbits had taken 3 minutes to kill the Gondorian goalkeeper.
"Diothor Mardon has brought on a substitute goal-keeper, with Stethor Githarn, the Captain and main defender for Gondor being brought off." The Dwarf announced, Arthion grinning. The first hobbit charged at the ball, and smacked it wide, and most of the bar cheered.
"Gondor are back in it!" The annoying Dwarf shouted. Moments later, Warn Roothir smacked the ball into the goalkeeper for the Shire's stomach, knocking him other before the ball rolled into the net.
"The Hobbit goal-keeper is injured, and the Shire have no substitute goalie!" the Dwarf shouted, as a stretcher pulled off the goalie. Mardon, the Gondorian manager pulled out a crossbow, and fired it at the ball, just as it was about to enter the Gondorian net.
"The Shire has missed Again!" The Dwarf shouted, as the Gondorian Mid-fielder Firdir took a shot, whacking it into the goal-less net.
"It is all over for the Shire!" The Dwarf roared, and Arthion punched the air. Mardon ran onto the pitch, and did the Macarena with Roothir, Firdir and Girtharn.
"Gondor are in the Semi-finals, against either Rohan or Umbar." The Dwarf muttered. Arthion punched the air again, and pulled the Paper version of the Shire's kit down from the wall-chart, and ripped it to shreds.
Arthion climbed up from the floor. They had spent the last few weeks Hallucinating in weird Comas after a Nazgul had raided in the Inn and drugged the water supply. Arthion flicked on the telly. It was the Final. Rohan had beat Gondor in the Semis, and were now against Mordor. "Money in the pot of Gold that Leprechaun left here yesterday!" Arthion shouted, before remembering he was in a Coma yesterday. "Money in the dead drunks hat, the person who guesses the guy who scores the winning goal wins the hat!" Arthion announced, not mentioning that they only win the hat and the Money goes towards making the dungeons safer. The Referee started the match, and the Dwarf began mumbling about the previous final, where Ziathor from the Gondorian team head-butted some other guy.