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Pulp Fiction

by Duke Drake

The saddlebag of a dark rider's horse OPENS UP, MT. WEATHERTOP looms in the background. The ring wraiths reach inside, taking out daggers of Mordor, and unsheathing them.

Nazgul #1
We should have mithril swords for this kind of deal.

Nazgul #2
How many up there?

Nazgul #1
Three or four.

Nazgul #2
Counting the human?

Nazgul #1
I'm not sure.

Nazgul #2
So there could be five guys up there?

Nazgul #1
It's possible.

Nazgul #2
We should have fuckin' mithril swords.

They CLOSE the saddlebag.