There are a story I ain’t ready to tell yet, but it promises to be a horrible one, if only cos them black squirrels gives you horrible indigestion, no matter what spices you uses… or so I hears. That ain’t right. HORRIBLE.

((It’s been a while… been working on other hobbies and projects.  Render details at About Images, full-size image at deviantArt .))

We were treated with tales of the evil elf Jazlyn and the settling of the Shire, the fantastically told lore of the Dwarves, and the poignant tale of the girl and her horse.

A tailor could make a killing selling new gowns and robes at such a Faire! Nothing like the little faux pas of showing up to a party in the same dress as another woman… Oops.

Tanned hides, musical instruments, and finely crafted weapons were being sold at the faire as well… until someone attempted to “sell” Nevaros, the maker of said musical instruments and weapons, to whomever might bid upon him.   He was not the last one to be “sold”, either!  Whether the highest bidders ended up using their prizes for labor, protection while travelling in terrible places like Moria or the Ettenmoors, or companionship, was up to them.

Unfortunately, the Bounders would not permit any matches of skill to take place within the Bounds, so there were no sparring matches this time.

I am definitely looking forward to a next time!

I thought he were some sorta brigand from the South, but not the FAR South, when I first run into him… or a corsair, mebbe, since he were talkin’ about the work he did on a ship (though it din’t sound like the kinda work that were voluntary).  There were a hobbit what helped him on the ship, an’ that were what brought him to Bree-town, I guess, his lookin’ to find him for a proper thank-you.  And then he started lookin’ for answers about his parents, since at least one of them were from the North.

He cleaned up real nice, though, so it ain’t no surprise that one of them transplanted Bree-town lordlings heard a rumour about his parents and started askin’ if he were lookin to “conquer Bree.” HA!  My sides still hurts from hearin’ bout that.

((Apologies to Findaran for borrowing his character for inspiration. Render details at About Images and the full-size image in my gallery at deviantArt . Feedback welcome.))

I ain’t sayin’ what we was doin’ there.

I ain’t sayin’ what we was after, neither, ‘cos it ain’t missed!

Not yet, leastwise. But I is takin’ wagers on what we was doin’ and what we was after and whose it were.

((Render details at About Images and the full-size image in my gallery at Renderosity . Feedback welcome.))

Sinkin’ in the Lone Lands before the Bridge, there are a red swamp full of more red. Red muck in pools of red next to ruins stained red in a red fog under a red sky.  Why, even them trees gone red, prolly from sinkin’ their roots into the muck and eating up the blood of fallen fighters until their leaves are bleedin’.

It sure ain’t done them much good, since them has gone all twisted and angry on a diet of war and the Dead. There ain’t no reasonin’ with them — trees or the Dead — except with light and fire, I found.  And I got both.

I heard from an elf that it use to be a place with sweet laughin’ water which weren’t all bitter and gloomy, but I ain’t gonna drink that water now. Even settin’ foot in it is somethin’ awful.

There musta been a lot of fightin’ there for a long, long time, for there to be so much red there. Spooky… but it do make for a story to scare a body sittin round the campfire!

((Absolutely not a “canonical” elf in lore-appropriate garb, but there you have it, I wanted to see what I could do that was red and swampy.

Render details at About Images and the full-size image in my gallery at Renderosity . Feedback welcome.  <3))

Unfortunately, the birds escaped into the wilds with their trail being scratched out somewhere south of Trestlebridge, and the intrepid hunters gave up their wild goose chicken chase.

((Thanks for the fun tonight ))

If you ever seen someone fightin’ with two blades at once, you knows it ain’t good to stand too close — they makes a spinnin’ flashin’ wall of blades round them, and bits of things spatter all over anyone in range.  It are messy.

What I don’t get is how they ain’t choppin’ their own feet off when they do them wild attacks! Practice makes perfect with minstrellin’, but it seems like there ain’t much room for error if you accidentally hacks off your own limbs during practice.  I’m stickin’ with my pony-tenderizing club* and not ever juggling blades, I thinks.

((Full-size image in my gallery at Renderosity ; image details at About Images. Feedback is always welcome. <3)

*Yes, it is what it sounds like.

“…no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite…”

One hears a lot of songs from livin’ round elves; them elves got a song for everything, whether it be chores or food or merriment or ancient history or dream-tales or all of them mixed up, which is what happens when I tries to learn a new song when I is eatin’ or drinkin’ and listenin’ all at once — let me tell you, the Tale of Leland’s Lunch sounds mighty odd when it’s sung to the tune of the Lay of Luthien!

Fortunately they (well, them that don’t hides away from curious hobbits) is quite patient when it comes to teachin’ music, and they is always eager to sing a song over, and over, and over, and OVER again, hopin’ that someone else will catch all them secret nuances that they puts into their Mastery of Minstrelling.

Ain’t a half bad way to learn a few new songs, livin’ round elves.

Part of that ancient history they sings about goes into something some of them calls Ainulindalë or the Music of the Ainur, which if they is to be believed, were the beginning of everything.  Music. I ain’t sure I believes it, myself:  The stuff of Arda being spun out of the Music them Ainur learned in the Timeless Halls from Grand Ilúvatar, and battling harmonies between the Great Choirs and all? It seems a bit beyond me, even were I to live to three hundred years to get my head around that, and that ain’t likely.

Truth and ancient history or dream-tale, it still do make for a good song!

((Quote and inspiration from Ainulindalë, The Silmarillion, by J R R Tolkien.))

((Full-size image at Artzone; image details at About Images. Constructive feedback is always welcome.))

I’ll let you all decide what are goin’ on here!  Were he bein’ led into a trap? Or were I backin’ out of one?

((This scene (or one like it) was suggested by player of Nevaros, whom I owe about a dozen renders of whatever he wants for the Second Age Pony Tenderizer and instruments he has made for Lilyberry.

Most of my renders take only a few hours to complete, since Poser is pretty much just like playing with digital barbie dolls.  This one, on the other hand, has been a struggle all week, so I’ve been playing on my laptop every night while this was baking.  First the figure poses weren’t working out, then I tried other poses, then the render kept crashing at 95%, then the lighting wasn’t working the way I wanted it to and I had to re-render each figure separately.  ARGH…

Full-size (it’s HUGE) image at Artzone; image details at About Images. Constructive feedback is welcome.

• beg1un’s “Spotlight Spammers“
• harperelle’s “My.lotro etiquette refresher“
• tinrae’s “Multiple Posts on “Newest Posts” Lists“(forum post)

Thanks much!))

RALLY!

Finally!!

I dragged Nevaros and Alyesse to Angmar to help me slaughter everything in sight (except, of course, Nev and Aly).  We started with the Duvardain, but after a few hundred we’d had no luck.  Alyesse dragged us to the Ram Duath, and she worked on the orcs while Nev and I mowed down the Morroval.  No luck with the flappy ladies, either.  After a few mad rounds of orcs, it struck me with bitter certainty:

Collecting pages for Rally! was just like collecting holocrons in Star Wars:Galaxies for the Meditate/Waistpack collections.

I hated working on those collections.

Anyway, I grumbled this comparison to my little group, as I finished off an orc.

Which, of course, dropped Page 12 — the last one I needed for Rally!

This week also saw my second foray into the Ettenmoors (well, my first since hitting level 60). Aly brought me to some of the locales and tried to beat the abbreviations for each into my head.   I died a lot and so did Nevaros (motivation to get that last page for Rally!, RIGHT THERE), and as such we didn’t get to explore as much as I wanted.  Aly parked me in EC for a while and we invited the wargs, spiders and those horrible fire-arrow-shooting-barstuds in for tea…

Well, not really.  I hid behind the other Free Peoples there and healed them and screamed a lot.

It was pretty fun.

Roleplay-wise, I found quite a bit of In Character stuff going on in Bree.

Lilyberry encountered the rather solemn Sylrien Atariel of Isilondili, who introduced herself as having heard of Lily (fortunately not from the Whitfields).

I caught Pheather playing music and singing songs at the fire.

The rogues Darrla (who reportedly hates small people) and Malrex (who seemed afraid of being bitten by hobbits) were skulking about, the former actually hitting on Findaran — this was worth a few chuckles when the fat hobbit Lilyberry inserted herself at Findaran’s side as the woman he was waiting for (he was, of course, waiting for Morannun’s return).  Kadren of Armada pBand Nevaros were pretty sure that Darrla and Malrex were thieves; Hragli Evenhand of The Mithril Company confirmed some of his coins had been stolen.

As an aside, Hragli is an amazing roleplayer.

Kadren, having revealed himself to be from Gondor, grew pretty quiet when Hragli was talking about southerners with some ire.

There was an incident involving bears, which has turned into a running gag. Patrons of the Pony were led to believe Nev and Lily were eaten in a back room by a stray bear (ghost bear, anyone?) and Kadren was quite obliging in our melodrama.

Gonzalez, Gliviel and Ahebban were being eavesdropped upon, asking about problems with the Redwolds. Seems to be a lot of those kind of problems lately… particularly with poor Kadren.

There were an abundance of elves gathering in Bree on one night — Druce the lutist *cough* rogue *cough* had been speaking ill of them, according to Gillhead of Lorien. Druce went on about how he knew the elves were in league with Sauron, which of course raised the ire of the visiting elves, but he wouldn’t step outside to grant them any satisfaction.

It will be interesting to see how that conflict plays out.