AhhhhAH. Rant no.2 and I’m frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. All I say here is totally inadmissible as material to judge my character or personality as I’m totally non-rational at the moment. Take a drunk viking berserker and cross him with …. charles manson and that crack head from Welland and you have my frame of mind…if you add some fermented cheese cabbage pie.

I’ve been locked up for months in a sunless, dank, inhospitable dungeon, built by a bunch of tree stumps called dwarves who build stuff WAYY to big for them to really use…like they really need all that head room or are they trying to compensate for some sort of inferiority complex? After breathing on orc feces for months I finally get to the golden wood of lothlorien. Fresh air, sunlight. Good times right? WRONG.

It’s seems the whinging and whining of the shortstops has rubbed off on the tall and lithe. Here I am, an adventurer born for battle. A warrior who daily dives into quests that all the NPC’s are too chicken to do themselves or tied up doing something else ‘more important’, more like their false sense of grandeur.

“Oh brave warrior, please pick some flowers”…’sure, do you mind if I get a pedicure while I’m at it? These steel boots are chafing.’ “Oh bloodthirsty butcher of ‘that orc encampment’, could you sing to the trees, they are sad”…. …. ….. …………………………………………….(gun, head, boom)

So here I am, trying to get the future king of gondor to remember his love…OH COMON GET WITH THE PROGRAM. THERE IS A FRIGGEN WAR TO WIN.

These @#$@#% elves are too busy smelling each others flowers, planting arrows of fallen loved ones beside trees, looking out over the Aundin hoping Elasser (sp. whatever) returns, and all the while dem orcs are making out….I mean off with the elf maidens. GOOD.

Anyway…the hair that broke the proverbial camels back was “A revel too far”.

Sure.

These blasted sissies couldn’t revel if you froze em in liquid nitrogen and spun em in a blender. “Please admonish the drunken revelers” SURE WHEN I CAN FIND ONE. They are more rare that a 1st age weapon of your choice and with tier 6 legacies that you WANT. Admonish a drunken reveler, pfft. More like give him a friggen MEDAL. It’s a party and you actually got drunk, wow, hold me back. This is like telling off the racing driver for driving too fast.

I think the inn league needs to move their base of operations, because either 1. the elves can REALLY hold their liquor or 2. their booze is so watered down it would drive the orcs away, and I’m totally thinking the latter.

So the Elves are moving out? To the west? GOOOOD. I won’t have to listen to their pathetic romantic/tragic stories. I’m gonna need to see a shrink if these elves keep it up. New item in the Auction House. EARPLUGS.

Ahh, I feel better

The great doors of the ancient cairn creaked open, the musty smell of ancient evil and death wafted forth, making the party of warriors screw their faces at the putrid smell.

Hesitantly he asked, are we sure about this? “Of course, it must be done or the free peoples will never truely be free”, “ok then, I’m just glad my will is all made out”

Into the gloomy depths of the delving of fror the party went. Evil spirits and beasts blocked their path, but their goal was clear, their determination strong. They faltered not. All the minions of the great beasts fell before their combined might.

Then the party, more felt rather than heard the great evil presence of Grodris, the great blue drake. The party threw themselves into the fray….

A bead of sweat ran down his sun tanned cheek. He stood, arching his back backward. A good stretch. Looking around him he smiled. Life had been good to him. His small plot of land just outside of Estildin gave him peace and rest. His wife and young son gave him joy. He was content and it felt good to simply plant and harvest crops. To take his son fishing, to enjoy his wife’s cooking…and bed. He cherished these moments as they now became less and less frequent.

More and more often the rangers needed him to accompany them on their patrols of East Namalug even up sometimes into southern Angmar. Their patrols becoming more time consuming and dangerous. Encounters with Orcs and hillmen becoming more frequent. He didn’t mind the fighting. He was a man of Gondor. He had been born and raised in conflict, ever under the shadow of Mordor. His father had sent him north, to learn of and from their northern brethren. Perhaps his father had the foresight, or hope, that the two kingdoms would one day become one.

Yet his fathers plan for his son to return well trained and with good relations with the northern dunedain didn’t quite come to fulfillment. Fayadorn met his wife and the thought of returning to Gondor became but a pipe dream.

“Father” the young cry rang out, breaking him from his thoughts of contentedness, ‘Mother says dinner is ready” “Ok son, I’ll be right in”

Dinner was delicious, as always. Vegetables from the farm and Auroch steak from Bill’s ranch just across the way.

“Father, tell me another story of the White City’s fight with Mordor”. Fayadorn’s wife, rolls her eyes. “He sure is your son, can’t stay in the place you were born!” Fayadorn laughed heartily, “Just as well for you, my dear”.

Around the hearth, Fayadorn told his son of his grandfathers exploits, until, his sons eyes grew heavy and he slipped into a peaceful sleep. Picking his son up in his strong arms, he carried him to his bed and then went to his own, to find his wife awaiting him.

“A messenger came today” his wife spoke. “Ahh” Fayadorns reply also indicating he knew what it meant. “Well, if we don’t defend this land, who will?” “I know dear, but you’ve only been back a few days, your son misses you greatly, as do I” “Such is this age. War is coming, we must prepare. I trust you are teaching our son the sword, after all, you are very good at it” “I am, he is getting stronger, you will be proud of him” “I am, and of you” Their conversation ending with a kiss.

Before first light Fayadorn arose, kissing his still sleeping wife and son, he left his humble home. Mounted his horse and rode to Estildlin to meet the rangers for their patrol. If he had known it was the last time he would kiss his wife and son, he would have never left.

To be continued.

p.s. forgive the spelling errors

Ah the dreaded word, the infamous but sometimes inescapable PEE YOU GEE. Ever since I started a MMO gaming career/life/addiction I heard of this PuG phenomena. After meeting a few people I asked as any young grasshopper does, “err, what is a pug?” “Pick up group” was the exasperated reply (followed by a muffled ‘noob’ that got half way pronounced as the speaker realized the push to talk key was still depressed).

I was advised to avoid them at all costs, they’ll only get you killed, you’ll waste your gaming time, you’ll get frustrated, annoyed and log off in a real foul mood. You’ll meet the scum of the gaming world via pee you gees.

Of course being a male and as dense as the next, I had to find this out for myself. What I was advised, turned out to be horrifyingly true, and then some. To put things into perspective though, I was playing a f2p mmo at the time with a very large dominating presence of pre-pubescent males teens who would solicit my female character, even providing hotmail addresses, and with players whose native language was not English somehow had the idea that the way to say “Hello, how are you today” was “FUK MATHER!”

So of course, after being so horribly scarred, when I began to play low-tro (lotro ;)) I avoided the pee you gee like a very avoidable thing. But if your kinnies aren’t online or able to help (online at the same time is a common problem I have….long story) the fellowship quest…encourages you to, well, PuG.

But I now find myself in a very weird place. After playing on Elendilmir for 6-8 months now, almost every pug I’ve been in has either 1. Been successful, 2. Failed but nobody was p’oed and 3. Has created lasting ‘friendships’ with people whom I now regularly group with.

So why am I still scared to pug? I think it’s my own fear of messing up the instance and ruining the game for the other players. I’m no perfect player (I try not to be too noobish), never have been and basically never will, because I just don’t care THAT much about a game. If I’m having fun and others around are having fun, then that’s good enough (of course being successful in a run does add to the fun, but then so does spectacular and bizarre deaths).

After a successful hard mode run the other night and basically given the platinum coin by total strangers, I believe I’ll try the pug more often. Fingers crossed

Well, haven’t made a post here in a few months. I kinda zoned out and just put my head down to level up the captain. I gave up on the guardian, but I hear threat management is better now with book 7, but, I’ve really fallen in love with the captain. So, now that he’s 60, running instances, finishing off deeds/virtues and books, I’ll have more time to put on my creative hat and make some more stories, now starring Fayadorn rather than that knucklehead Aoeworth, haha.

Finally got to see Thorog the other day and got the chest piece, hmm, I likes, now to get the rest of the armour. With so much lvl 50 content, which never regularly gets done, would it be so difficult to up the difficulty lvl so it’s ‘end game’ content again?

Anyway, here’s a pic (armour is cosmetic, I like blue) of the new captain on the block, and his nice hally from Duma! (It’s name is elvish for ‘Defender of Men’)

The Cast

Dumathor a level 30 runekeeper, played by Dumadir (a 60 Champion)
Epidemic a level 52 Champion, played by Heim (a 60 Burglar)
Fayadorn a level 30 Captain, played by Aoeworth (a 60 Guardian)
Ficurion a level 30 Hunter, played by Vagorion (a 60 Guardian)

The Setting

After many adventures together Fayadorn and Dumathor enlist the aid of Kin, as all three have been called to investigate and free a dwarf by the name of dori, who is being held captive by the evil dourhands. As they prepare, a mighty champion with great renown offers to join them on their noble quest. With such a powerful warrior leading them into battle, dori is as good as free…or so they all thought…

Act I, scene I the outskirts of the dourhand encampment, enter everyone

Faya: Ok, what buffs do you want?
All: Crit please!

Epidemic runs wildly into the dourhands taking them all on with reckless abandonment, the rest simply try to keep up and get a shot in before the dwarves succumb to his mightly flashing blades. By the time a banner is planted, a healing sigil is rasied or a quick shot induction is over, the mob is already dead…oh yeah, this is gonna be a breeze…

Duma: Wow this is quick, lol, ok there’s Dori

Duma talks to Dori, now…the fellowship is supposed to PROTECT Dori, at least….that’s what Dori says….

Epi: Ok, FOLLOW MEEEEE

Epidemic runs off into the ruins, the rest of the party feels as if 1. we’ve done this before and 2. Epi knows what he is talking about, but Fayadorn stays back with Dori, and 3 Elite dourhands spawn in front of him and Dori, the rest are far away…..

Fayadorn does his best to keep Dori and himself alive, having to excute his glorious last stand, his fellows realize wow, Faya’s almost dead, and rush back in the nick of time…

Faya: Bleedin heck guys,
Epi: LOL that was close!
Fic: Oh yeah, we’re supposed to protect Dori!
Duma: a sound resembling hysterical laughter

Rounding the next corner, more fighting ensues, but all is taken care of.

Fic: Ooh a shiny chest let me check it!
Faya: Ooh a supply crate, I wonder what’s in it

Dori walks further into trouble, and the mighty Epidemic…can’t keep all the mobs off Dori (yeah a lvl 52 champion to boot), who knows what Duma is doing, but by the time Fayadorn is finished with the supply crate, Dori is dead!

All: OMG
Fic: Holy @#$@#$@

Fic gets defeated, and Faya rezzes.

Fic: WTH guys! COMMON
Duma: Hey, be thankful he rezzed your sorry behind
Faya: laughing his guts out
Epi: Ok n00bs, go and talk to the dwarf again

All return to Orkin, and somehow the captain, whilst leaving last, arrives first

Fic: WTF, got beaten here by a CAPTAIN! @#$@#$

All return to the dourhand ruins, and again, Fayadorn arrives first…

Fic: WHERE’S MY BUFF!
Duma: You lose it if you die, LOLOLOLOL

The party, again,  approches Dori..

Faya: Wait, don’t free him yet! Epidemic is…paralyzed or something (ie. afk)
Too late
Duma, Fic, Faya: Oh crap…

Again the party is assailed by dwarves but EPI to the rescue, and again saves the day…..
This time the party protects Dori and completes the quest with non stop laughter.

So, this is my first rant…vent whatever. Some say it’s better out than in, I dunno, but I’ve never been quite so p@##ed off in lotro.

After giving up on my Guardian (fixes coming in book 7 but…I’m enjoying the Captain too much now :P) Fayadorn has been a blast. He hasn’t been in many fellowships yet, been soloing it and been doing amazingly well, even soloing a fellowship quest 4 levels higher!…until today.

I log on (as ya do) and am immediately pm’d by a stranger “Wanna help me with x quest” I think sure, why not, I have a quest in the same area. Join up, buff up and off we go. He being a warden and same level I think he’d be tanking and keeping aggro fine and I can just heal and add a bit of dps here and there and even tank an extra mob if there are too many.

Turns out he never used his taunts and I ended up tanking all the adds, and of course we captains don’t heal ourselves anywhere as well as healing our shield brother.

I suffer my first defeat….EVER *grumble*

So, the quest I needed to get done, didn’t get done as he finished his and moved onto the next quest chain, I help him with that one so he gets the next quest which is the same as mine.

So now we’re on the same quest and head back to the same spot, and same @#$% happens and I die again…and again.

Inbetween runing back from the rez circle he completes the quest objectives and turns it in, leaving me out there to complete them myself. “Wow, I’m glad I didn’t roll a Captain, lol” and leaves the fellowship.

Now solo I quickly finish my quest with no problem…

Now seriously….WTF >:(

And that is my first rant, enjoy ^^

“Too many wargs! Please Aoeworth, attack their den and remove the threat, or else they’ll kill all our Aurochs and we’ll starve this winter!”

“Not a problem” Aoe grins, adjusting his shield straps. Wargs…again. Man, they’re almost as bad as cockroaches. It seems everywhere he goes, there are more wargs, braying, barking and soiling his armour with their pungent blood.

Off the Guardian goes, to hunt the ‘hunters’ and put an end to their ravenous appetite. One, two, each warg pretty much looks like the rest and they die like the rabbid dogs they are, a sword thrust though the heart, a shield bash that snaps their necks, or a stomp that caves in their head. Aoe smiles, another job well done!

But then…there is an ominous silence. The wind quietens, as if nature herself is holding her breath. He heard, loud ‘thuds’, a sliding sound, loud snorting. His curiosity is strongly aroused. He crouches and runs up the embankment and peers over. His eyes go wide with a sharp intake of breath “oooooh”. He has never seen anything like it, sure he’d read about such beasts in the library of Dol Amroth (yes, he can read, surprising I know) but to see one…was quite something else. His first thought, ‘that head is gonna look FANTASTIC on my wall!” and without a second thought he rises and charges at the great beast.

The beast, noticing Aoe’s movement rears it’s head, breaths in, stretches it’s massive wings wide.

Aoe hesitantly slows to a walk then stops in his tracks…’umm, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea….’ sensing some impending…trouble, Aoe dives behind a rock.

‘Rooooooooaaarrrrsssshhhhhhhh’ Flames of searing heat fly out of the massive drakes maw.

‘Ahhh, hot tater, hot tater, HOT TATER’ Aoe screams, cowering behind the rock and his shield. His armour searing hot he bolts for the nearest pool of water and dives in, promptly sinking to the bottom. Holding his breath, he struggles with the straps to release his armour, finally done he resurfaces, gasping for air. Then nervously looks around…’phew, it’s gone, but I still want that head!’ “This won’t be the last time we meet you overgrown lizard” he vows, and he was not wrong…

To be continued…

How long he had been running he had no idea. The weight of his armour became unbearable, yet he couldn’t stop. Without turning he could still hear the grunts and heavy armoured feet of his pursuers crashing into the ground.

‘How the hell did I get into this mess’ he wondered, as he slid and tumbled down a ravine. Rolling to a stop he forces himself to his knees. Up on the ridge he sees his pursuers looking down on him. Their guttural roars issuing commands “GET HIMMM”. The wargs dash down the ravine as he forces himself to his feet and sets his back against one of the trees in the bog in which he finds himself, and prepares for their onslaught. Inwardly he is at peace. Long ago he accepted his death, his only regret, it would be here, alone in a bog where none would find his corpse.

As expect the warg assault was quick and furious, yet his defensive stance was not so easily overcome. After the first blows and parries the wargs hesitated, with evil and uncanny intelligence looking for some weakness. The Orcs on the ridge were not so patient, and bellowed further orders and soon the twang of arrows could be heard. Crouching many landed around him or bounced harmlessly off his shield. One hit its mark, lodging painfully in his weapon arm.

“Arrgghhh” he roared and forced himself to rise and retreat, backing up to be out of range of the archers. No sooner had he moved the wargs attacked again, and again the twang of arrows could be heard, but this time from behind him.

Oh great, surrounded and now I get an arrow in the back

The closest warg fell. Pierced by arrows not of orcish make. The others looked beyond their prey and bayed with frustration. They then slowly sulked back into the mists of the bog. Up on the ridge the orc warmaster, roared his frustration and also stepped back out of range of the advancing bowmen.

Turning he saw his rescuers, a band of 6 men.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone!” The leader barked.
“Are you Sergeant-at-Arms Hareld?”
“No, but he’s nearby…you need to speak to him?”
“Yes, I have a message from Glan Vraig for him, that’s why I’m out here”
“Well then, lets not hang around here for too long. The enemy will soon realise they outnumber us and will be back in force. MOVE OUT!”

And so ends Aoe’s first foray into the battlegrounds known as the Ettenmoors, it would not be his last.

I know it’s wrong, but I just can’t help myself. Even though I’m rent in two, I can’t give up my love even though it is totally against the path that I now tread.

I yearn to see once more the vast ocean at Dol Amroth, to feel the sea breeze on my face again, to hear the waves crash upon the cliffs, to carry on in the ways of my fathers but it seems like another world away now, another life.

I first came across the beautiful visage in the most unfitting place. The scorched earth of Angmar. In such a place bereft of beauty, there she walked. Of course it was my sworn duty to end her life, and I did, but her visage still haunts my dreams.

My path would lead me to Eregion, and away from my weakness, I grew stronger, but then, in the depths of Moria she returned in kind. While out re-aligning mirrors I came across her again. Tall, slender and very very naughty. Of course I was immediately attracted again, and then inspired as she put up a hell of a fight, which further garnered my respect.

After completing a mission of uttermost importance a group of us, of course went out to celebrate. Let not the dwarves know of this but those Inn League Kegs pack one hell of a punch, they’d be insanely jealous if they knew that hobbits made a stronger brew than them. Now, I don’t know what happened, but when I awoke…

Now I don’t know what to do. It’s so bad, it feels right. I mean, they’re not really evil…they were born this way, so it’s not really their fault right? But I would have to say, the males are as ugly as the rear end of a warg, how can they spawn such beautiful females?

I think my only recourse is to delve into those Kegs again :s