It was not uncommon to hear arguments erupting in the Halls of Thorin, for Dwarves are boisterous by nature, but there was something different this night. The argument had intent, and it was not simply Dwarves who could be heard in the echoes of the halls.

Snow fell heavily in Ered Luin, whipping relentlessly against the large stone doors outside. Gorhin pulled his cloak tighter around his face, rapping his axe once more upon the giant door. Slowly, the doors opened, and he slipped inside. His chills were almost immediately dismissed as he felt the roaring warmth of the brazier fires. He stomped his boots and handed his cloak to Alhin, Guard of the Great Door.

‘Alhin my friend, too long have we been parted. Are we all arrived?’ Gorhin asked. Alhin shook his head.

‘Not yet, my friend. Lord Dáin has yet to arrive. As do the Emissaries from Gondor.’ Gorhin nodded slowly.

‘The Men of Gondor have their own strife to endure. I do not think they will come, nor would I expect them to. What of the Elves?’ he asked. Alhin shook his head once more. Gorhin sighed softly.

‘Thorin never sent word to them, I suppose,’ Gorhin said. Alhin nodded.

‘None.’

‘Then this is truly our burden alone,’ Gorhin said, his eyes denoting an air of sadness. He smiled softly at Ahlin, despite his grief. ‘It is good to see you again, Ahlin.’ Ahlin placed his hand on Gorhin’s shoulder.

‘Be well, Gorhin. May we live to see brighter days.’

It had been years since Gorhin had set foot in Thorin’s Hall, for Gorhin had his own charge. It had been nigh on twenty years that Gorhin stood as Lord and Guardian of Ered Mithren. Few settlements remained in the Grey Mountains after the departure of Durin’s Folk, but the preservation of the mountains were essential if the Dwarves were ever to reclaim their glory.

The summons from Thorin had led Gorhin to assume that he was not alone in this mindset, and so came himself to the Council under the Mountain. If anyone was to lead the Dwarves back into Ered Mithren and reclaim Mount Gundabad, it would be Gorhin.

He walked briskly through the halls, stopping at another giant door. He ran his gloved fingers over the carvings on the door – A large mountain, enveloped by curling winds. Erebor had never left Thorin’s mind, nor had it left any Dwarves, but in Gorhin’s mind it was a lost cause. Too long had the Dwarves been driven off by the Dragon Smaug. Still, Gorhin held hope for the Dwarves – That one day they would be Lords of their Realms once more, from Erebor to the Misty Mountains, all the way to Ered Mithren.

The time of the Dwarves was not over.

Gorhin pushed open the heavy door, entering into Thorin’s Inner hall. The air was thicker in here, full with the smell of roasted Boar and Aurochs. A large party of Dwarves were gathered around a large granite table. Gorhin recognized many, if not all of the faces seated. Thorin was seated at the head of the table, to his left was Gloin, Oin, Dori, Nori, Dwalin and Balin. To Thorin’s right was Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Fili and Kili. Standing in the back was a man, clad in a dark grey robe. His hat was pulled low as he listened to the Dwarves bickering back and forth to one another. He moved only once, to Thorin’s side, whispering something in his ear. Thorin’s head turned from the man to Gorhin. His face was exactly the same as Gorhin remembered it to be, only with a great deal more grey than before. Thorin stood from his chair, causing the other Dwarves to hush themselves. Their eyes followed Thorin’s and soon they were all aware of Gorhin’s presence.

‘Gorhin Thunderbeard,’ Thorin began, ‘We are honoured to have the Guardian of Ered Mithrin in our midst. Rise, my fellow Dwarves, and honour him.’ The Dwarves all stood to attention, and even the man straightened a little. Gorhin raised his hand.

‘My Lord, Thorin. You do me great honour already by asking me to your Great Halls.’ Gorhin said. Thorin bowed slightly.

‘Then please, join us in the feast, for we are discussing our plans of reclamation,’ Thorin said proudly. Gorhin walked over to an empty chair, and soon all the Dwarves were once again seated. A large goblet of beer was placed in front of Gorhin, along with a large Boar haunch, which Gorhin bit into immediately. He had not realized how hungry he actually was until the smells of Dwarven fare was upon him. He gulped down his beer and relished the hardy taste with its sweet honey finish. The only things Dwarves loved nearly as much as their riches was their beer, and the kegs of Thorin’s Hall were never ending. Dark amber brews poured from the cask and keg like water from the Great River Anduin. It was often joked that while Durin’s Bane lurked in Moria, Thorin’s Bane lurked in the Goblets, waiting to attack you when you wake the next morning by means of a deathly hangover.

Thorin took a large swig of beer and wiped his mouth along his sleeve before banging his goblet on the table.

‘Now then. Let us begin where once we started. That is to say, let us discuss our reclamation,’ he said loudly. The Dwarves raised their mugs and steins, and goblets, uttering a large cheer.

‘Too long have the Dwarves been overrun. By Dragon, by Goblin, or by Orc, we have found ourselves on the losing end of battle.’ There was a mumbled agreement amongst the group. ‘Which is why the Dwarves must no longer hide in our caves! We are Durin’s Folk! We are Longbeards! We will take back what is ours!’

Gorhin cheered along with the group. He could already see the Grey Mountains in his head, flying the banners of the Dwarves once more. Thorin took another drink.

‘Gorhin, my friend and cousin, you will lead the Dwarves into greatness. You will carry the Banner of Durin and light the fires of Erebor once more!’ The Dwarves cheered loudly, slapping each other’s shoulders, toasting Thorin. Gorhin did not cheer, however.

‘Erebor?’ asked Gorhin. Thorin nodded.

‘Yes, my friend. The Lonely Mountain will be ours once more.’ Gorhin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was madness. It would take more than a mere party of Dwarves to reclaim the mountain, and what of Ered Mithren? Gorhin shook his head.

‘But what of Gundabad? Ered Mithren? What of the Grey Mountains?’ Gorhin’s voice was shaking in a combination of shock and anger, ‘What of my charge?’ Thorin’s face changed from joy to solemnity.

‘I have not forgotten your charge,’ Thorin said, ‘Nor have I forgotten our lands, but we stand a better chance in Erebor than we ever would in Ered Mithren. You know this to be true.’ Gorhin shook his head and rose to his feet.

‘I do not know this to be true, Thorin. If the tales of Smaug are true, he is far worse than any drake we would encounter in the Grey Mountains. He is cunning, and wise, and knows of our kind well. We would not stand a hope against him. Not alone. Not without allies.’ Thorin paced slowly.

‘What allies to you think we have?’ Thorin said, ‘Men? Hmph. Men can barely hold their own lands, let alone help with ours. Even the Elves will not hold dealings with us – Not since Durin’s Bane.’

‘Did you even send word to the Elves? Did you even ask?’ Gorhin asked. Thorin turned away from the Dwarves, he faced the hearth fires behind him. There was no answer. For once, there was silence in the Hall of Thorin. The silence was broken by the man standing in the corner.

‘The Dwarves are not alone in this undertaking. I know of people who will be sympathetic to this cause,’ he said. Thorin nodded.

‘Thank you, Gandalf,’ Thorin said. Gorhin’s eyes widened slightly. Did he hear correctly? This stranger was Gandalf the Grey? Gorhin had never seen a wizard before, and was most surprised that one had taken interest in the affairs of Dwarves. Regardless, Gorhin felt this was not the right path for the Dwarves to take. Even if there were allies in the future, there certainly weren’t any now.

‘If you go to Erebor, you will find only defeat,’ Gorhin said sternly, ‘Let us take the road to Ered Mithren instead.’ Thorin shook his head.

‘Ered Mithren is all but mined out. It is a husk now, filled only with death and remnants of a history long forgotten.’

Mined out. Now it all made sense. As with everything about Dwarves, it all came down to treasure. Gorhin’s head sank.

‘So Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain seeks only to line his pockets,’ Gorhin said. The other Dwarves gasped and looked to Thorin who still had yet to turn around. Slowly Thorin lifted his head and turned around. His face was determined, his eyes sparkled in the surrounding fires. Gorhin knew he had crossed the line, but was in no mood to apologize.

‘I have seen the face of the evil of Erebor, Gorhin Thunderbeard of the Grey Mountains. I was driven from my home by this Dragon of the North, and I will not rest until I see our land restored to us. You have no right to question my motives!’ Thorin was yelling now, and had walked over to Gorhin. The Dwarves were now standing face to face. The other Dwarves did not utter a single word, instead they watched intently as Gorhin and Thorin argued back and forth. Even Gandalf had no words of counsel, for he felt both Dwarves were right.

‘You are leading your kin into a slaughter,’ Gorhin said.

‘I am leading us into a new age,’ Thorin retorted.

‘I will lead you both headfirst into a river if you do not stop this infernal arguing!’ said a familiar voice. Both Dwarves looked at the door and saw Dáin standing in the Hall. His face was red with the cold from outside, and his brow was ferrelled, giving both Gorhin and Thorin a look of impatience as he threw his cloak onto a chair. Gorhin and Thorin fell silent as Dáin approached the table, pulling a strip of meat off the slab of Aurochs.

‘We have earned the contempt of the Elves, and the apathy of Men. Let us not distance Dwarf from Dwarf.’ Dáin began pacing the room, addressing everybody. ‘Ever constant is the threat of evil in these lands, not just for Dwarves, but for all who believe in that which is good. Men from the East, Creatures from below, even the Dourhands seek a world of flame. We are Dwarves. We have lived since the First Age, and we will endure many more.’ The Dwarves stood and cheered. Thorin may have been King under the Mountain, but nobody could rouse spirits as well as Dáin. It was not often heard of, but Dáin was possibly the most charismatic of Dwarves, a rival to Durin himself. He walked over to Thorin and Gorhin and clasped both their shoulders.

‘We will see the Grey Mountains restored, Gorhin, and you will be its King, but there is more to Erebor than meets the eye, and if we are to become great once more, it will be from there that we must march. We will be Kings of the Mountains once more, but only if we work together will we see this day.’ Gorhin nodded and looked to Thorin. A moment of silence passed before they embraced each other and apologized.

‘Now then, we drink!’ yelled Dáin. The Dwarves cheered and ale poured once more. Everyone took a seat at the table, and merriment filled the halls.

After the laughter and noise died down in the small hours of the morning, Thorin and Gorhin spoke once more of the things to come, their tempers now soothed by Dáin’s words of wisdom. Their voices were low, for many, if not all of the Dwarves, were now passed out. Even Gandalf had joined in the celebration and was now leaning against his staff, snoring loudly.

‘Well, my cousin. Gandalf has given us word of one we must seek out if we are to succeed. Are you familiar with the Shire?’ Thorin asked. Gorhin pondered a moment.

‘The Shire… I’ve not been there in many a year, but aye, I know where it is,’ he said. Thorin smiled.

‘You will do well on this quest,’ Thorin began, ‘I would trust no other with this. There is a man who must be sought out. A Halfling by the name of Baggins.’ Gorhin shook his head slowly.

‘Thorin, my friend, I cannot do this.’ Gorhin said. Thorin frowned.

‘Why not?’

‘The Dwarves need their King in these times. They need the hope that you will inspire in them. This is your legacy, cousin.’ Gorhin said, smiling warmly. ‘The days of Thorin Oakenshield are upon us.’ Thorin grinned, nodding in agreement.

‘And the days of Gorhin Thunderbeard are not long behind.’

Okay, so once in a while, I get a crazy idea about LotRO. I used to just jot them down on a slip of paper, but then the paper would be lost shortly after the idea fell out of my head, so I decided I’ll share them here. Who knows? Maybe the Turbine Gods will read this humble player’s blog and apply some of my wacky ideas.

There’s one idea in particular that’s been rumbling around in my head, and the more I think about it, the more I like it. I call it… *drumroll*

EPIC THREATS

Imagine, you’re running along in the fields when a global message pops up and says, “WARNING: A LARGE BAND OF URUK-HAI WARRIORS ARE HEADED WESTWARD TO BREE” or “RIVENDELL IS UNDER ATTACK BY CAVE TROLLS”. Even dragons and lord knows what could be thrown into the mix. Random events of a great amount of evil that focus on one spot, making the need for all the races of Middle-Earth to band together and fight the threat.

How much fun would that be? Unprovoked, completely random occurrences that can get everyone to work together. It would certainly add a new element of uncertainty for all those playing. We’re talking EPIC though, not something that two level 60s could come in and help with. You’d need all you could get, and if it couldn’t be stopped, the NPCs in the area get killed and disappear for something like five minutes.

Anyway, something to think about, and possibly even discuss.

Cheers.

Am I getting better at LotRO, or is it getting easier?

The first time I came through LotRO, I was a mess. I was dying left, right, center, and about twelve other directions. I didn’t know anything about deeds and the other various methods of self-enhancement. I came from World of Warcraft to LotRO, which in all honesty is like going from Elementary school to High School. Here, most people play in a semi-professional way, willing to help you along with the minimal amount of ridicule, unlike WoW players who feel content to yell “NOOB” as they stand and watch you die. Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked.

It feels like it took me forever to get my Guardian Dwarf (Gorhin) to level 45. The fights have been tough, but being a Guardian means you can take on a great deal more solo than most, so I managed well enough. However, I had recently (within the last fortnight, I think) started a new character (Muira [Pronounced MOOR-ah]), a female Champion from the Race of Men, and she’s already 35. It just leaves me wondering if my skill for the game has improved, or if through patches and updates, the game is just getting easier. I sincerely hope it’s skill — Not that I hope I’m a good player, I’m happy with being decent — I just don’t want LotRO to become an easy game.

Although, where do you draw the line? It’s a fact known through all of Middle-Earth that Garth Agarwen and Fornost were birthed straight from Satan’s behind, and you’ll be lucky to find people who just love to go in there. Now I would never suggest making those places easier, but perhaps there should be more initiative. I fought Ivar (about ten times before a win) and The Red Maid, and I couldn’t tell you what I came away with from the quests, except for shiny keys to unlock gates. I was happy to notice that it seems like more solo quests have popped up in the North Downs, and there’s reports that the Lone-Lands are getting a revamp too. Somewhere that’s cool enough to have Weathertop needs some more incentive.

At least there’s always Evendim… ah ha.. ahahaha… AHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, I peed.