But he’ll be back on the 24th of August. I’m moving house this weekend, which unfortunately results in a nasty removal of internet access. The following weekend, I’m heading to Europe for 3 weeks, so no LOTROing until I get back.

I have a couple of drafts sitting around that haven’t been put up yet, so who knows, maybe there’ll be the odd post coming from me while I’m gone. If there’s anyone crazy enough to look forward to my ramblings, there’s fortunately a ton of actual quality stuff going around here, so you’ll survive fine.

I don’t like the new apprentice prospecting changes.

Before, to make 2 bronze ingots, you needed 2 copper ore, and 1 tin ore. Now, you need 2 copper ore and 2 tin ore. Now this extra tin ore wouldn’t bother me too much except for 3 things:

1. There doesn’t seem to be any changes to the ratio of copper deposits to tin deposits.
2. A critical success creating a tin ingot results in 3 bronze ingots, instead of 3 tin ingots.
3. They changed a lot of areas from having copper/tin deposits to having barrow-iron/silver deposits.

Now, I wouldn’t mind #1 so much if #2 and #3 didn’t exist. #2 is ridiculous. With a critical success, you turn what would have been a guaranteed 2 bronze ingots, with a 5% chance of criting for 6 bronze ingots, into 3 bronze ingots. This is not a good crit bonus, especially with the rarity of tin ore. #3 I don’t really know why they did it. I certainly never felt there was a shortage of barrow-iron or silver, and now to level the crafting skills we have to resort to farming copper and tin from low-level areas. The worst of these changed was the heavily travelled path from Bree to the Barrow Downs, which used to be a nice place to collect bronze ingredients whilst completing quests at your actual level.

Edit: 10 points for the first person to get the title reference.

So here I was at a small gathering of me kinship here, when this officer hands me a big mug o’ ale. Now I ne’er been one ter knock back a brew, but WOW this was good stuff! I’m none too sure ‘ow it ‘appened, but next I remember I was still drunk as a skunk, but I’d some’ow made me way inta Angmar itself, and was battlin a pair o’ mighty big tortoiseses! Now they look mighty tough, but I took real good care o’ em. These two watchmen wanted ter feel special too, so I let em think they was helpful.

It was a dark, dark night, and a band of robbers sat around a fire. The leader of the band got up, emptied his pipe, and said, ‘It was a dark, dark night, and a band of robbers sat around a fire. The leader of the band got up, emptied his pipe, and said, ‘It was a dark, dark night, and a band of robbers sat around a fire. The leader of the band got up, emptied his pipe, and said, ‘It was a dark, dark night, and a band of robbers sat around a fire. The leader of the band got up, emptied his pipe, and said, ‘It was a dark, dark night, and a band of robbers sat around a fire. The leader of the band got up, emptied his pipe, and had his head decapitated by Thorgulin, who proudly proclaimed himself the end condition of this recursive tale!””

Dear Turbine,

When I go to create a new character, and I select an elf, I can make it male or female. When I select a hobbit, I can make it male or female. When I select a human, I can make it male or female. But when I select a dwarf, I can only make it male.

This is preposterous! Not only are there dwarf women in the Tolkien universe (See Return of the King, Appendix A), but since they look so similar, you wouldn’t even have to create special models for them! Here is an example of what needs to be done to remedy this glaring flaw.

It’s Saturday night. Being the social extrovert I am, I am at home. I finish watching the German F1 Grand Prix (Hooray Webber got pole!) I look at the clock. 00:10, 12th July, 2009. I think of going to bed, but I’m not tired. So of course I decide to play LOTRO for an hour or two. Now I have new characters since I switched to a more Australian-friendly server, so I figure I’ll do a bit of crafting. So I log on and start playing Grimbarth, my Warden from Rohan, who has recently relocated to Bree after Hillmen murdered his wife and drove him from his land.

So, since Grimbarth is from Rohan, and can’t ride a horse, obviously he’s a farmer. What else would he be?! (Apparently a woodworker and a forester, but that’s not really to the point). And so off to Staddle I go, to give a go at farming, which I’ve never done before. After what couldn’t have been too long, young Grimbarth is up to Master Farmer status, and has grown a LOT of pipe-weed, even building up some stores of some nice cross-breed varieties! I want to continue, but unfortunately Grim has spent all of his money, and can’t afford the required water and fertiliser.

I look at the clock, to see if I have much time to earn some more coin. 04:35, 12th July, 2009. Huh? But I could’ve only been on for 45 minutes max! Where’s the other 4 hours gone?!

The moral of the story is that farming is addictive. Or time consuming. Or both. Or maybe there’s not really a moral at all, and this whole paragraph was an elaborate ruse to tell you that Webber ended up winning the race! Hooray! It’s been a long time coming.

Twas yesterday afternoon that I was tasked by a Ranger in Esteldin with terminating a cold-worm threat in the north pass into Angmar. Night had fallen by the time I reached the pass, so I made camp, knowing better than to enter that realm alone without the safety of the Sun. I awoke this morning, and broke my fast with a simple meal of auroch jerky, washed down with a pint of mead. I packed my gear, and headed into the pass. After dispatching a few of the beasts, I come upon a valley. On the far side of this valley, I notice a fellow Dwarf fighting his way in the opposite direction. He notices me too, and hails me for assistance. I enter the valley, battling my way through cold-worms in the process. When the two of us meet in the middle, my jaw drops. It’s me! Well, obviously it’s not me - I’m me! But he looks just like me, only something is different.  His eyes. Sure, the LOOK like mine, but they… feel… empty.

The fake Thorgulin laughs at my incredulous look. ‘Finally we meet, Thorgulin. Truly it is earlier than I expected - though later than I had hoped, for I have been looking forward to this moment a LONG time!’. I would have been dead, but his eyes flashed red before he attacked, giving away his intentions. As it was, I barely manage to raise my shield in time, and my sword is still locked in its sheath. While fake Thor recovered, I yank at my sword, but it won’t budge! My look-alike laughs a most evil laugh. He follows it up with a huge swing directed at my shield, shattering both it and my arm. Still I cannot get my sword unsheathed! The laughter continues as my adversary toys with me, savouring my helplessness.

Finally he tires of me though, and he lifts his sword over his left shoulder, ready to smite me down. But an idea comes to me. I reach over my shoulder and pluck an arrow from my quiver. I lunge forward. He whips his sword down. At the same instant, three things happen. I plunged my arrow into fake Thor’s right eye. Fake Thor’s sword slices into my neck. And there is a huge cracking sound, like thunder. The world goes black, but only for a moment.

When I could see again, the world seemed shrouded in mist. ‘So this is death’, I think to myself.  I feel an urge to walk, and so I walk. I’m not sure how long I wandered, but I did not tire, and eventually I found myself at a gate into a mountain. Though I had never before seen the place, I knew immediately where I was. This is where Durin slept, with his six brothers, after their creation by Aulë, waiting for the elves to be born.

I enter the gates, so that I may return to the Earth from which the Dwarves were made. Inside there is indescribable beauty. Though the hall is plain, being just a normal, unpolished, natural cave, in the centre of the hall sits none other than Aulë the creator himself! He speaks to me. ‘What is your true name?’. I give him my Khazdul name (I dare not write it here, the enemy may be reading!), and he replies calmly, ‘You are needed elsewhere, my son. Go now, and return to me when you are ready.’

And so I leave. I wander the Earth again, but this time, although I know not my destination, I know which direction I must travel. After a while I come upon lands I recognise. Only they are different to what I remember. Orcs and bandits roam where once there was relative peace. Houses lay abandoned where before they had families. Eventually I make my way up the Vale of Thrain, and into Frerin’s Court. As I approach the stairs to Throrin’s Hall, the world again goes black.

When I wake I am in front of a fire. When I notice that the dwarf sitting beside me is the Lord Dwalin, I quickly arise and bow deeply. ‘What is your name, boy?’, he demands. I am startled. Why doesn’t he recognise me, and why ‘boy’? Then I remember that this world is not quite the same as the one I died in. I look at my hands, and am pleased to see them younger. Stronger. ‘Thorgulin of the Iron Hills, my Lord Dwalin’, I reply. I sense that he suspects something strange is afoot, but he lets it go for now. ‘Well welcome to the Halls of Thorin, Thorgulin. You are welcome here, and we shall provide you with food, clothing and shelter. But you must earn your keep, lad! Come to me tomorrow morn and I shall decide what to do with you.’ I give my thanks, and am escorted to my quarters, where I promptly return to my slumber.

I was returning to Bree from the Barrow Downs one day, when I came across a small girl cowering by a stone. She was holding up a big name tag over her head, like everyone seems to do around these parts. Not sure why, but apparently her name was Lalia. Now since I’m a guardian by trade, I figured here’s someone who could do with some guarding! So up I go to her, and she rambles on somethin about Barliman Butterbur being a prince? I can’t remember I was kinda distracted by the howling coming from all directions. She then asks for my help getting back to Bree. ‘No worries’, says I, since I’m heading that way myself anyway. So I start heading off in the direction of Bree, and she says to me, ‘Hang on, I’m gonna go this way and look for my coat’. ‘Now hang on just a minute! Have you looked around lately? There are barghests prowling around. Rats the size of hobbits. The UNDEAD walk the earth! Now call me crazy, but I think it might just be a good idea to just get the hell outta here! ‘No no’, she says, ‘I’ll just go get my cloak’. So off we goes to go get her cloak. ‘It’s just over here’, she says. But no, it’s not there, and then all of a sudden three wights rise up from the ground. ‘I told you we should have gone that way’, I cry whilst desperately fending off the attack.  ‘Ok, now we’re leaving!’, I demanded, but it’s no use arguing with women. ‘But I can see my cloak just over there!’. ‘It’s just a cloak! I’ll make you a cloak. A better cloak! Just come back to Bree!’. But it was no use, so off we went. ‘Huh? You must be kidding me! Are you seriously heading smack bang into the middle of that group of five barrow-wights?!’. And of course, yes she was. Somehow we managed to get there without being noticed. ‘Hooray, we have your cloak. Now lets GO!’. ‘OK, we can go now’, she sings as she skips off. ‘THAT’S THE WRONG WAY!!!’. I catch up to her at the exact moment another three wights spring from the ground. Is this girl a wight-magnet or what?! While I’m trying desperately to not become undead, one of those hobbit-sized rats starts attacking the girl. Should have just stuffed her in my pack at the beginning. We’d be back in Bree by now! Somehow I manage to keep us both alive, and make the others re-dead. Now before she even lets me catch my breath, off she goes in a different wrong direction! I swear she must have a compass that points to ‘Here there be dragons!’. So I stagger after her, oozing a trail of blood behind me. God I hope a barghest doesn’t come across that! I hear Lalia scream ahead of me. I look up, and HOLY MOLY! That’s one nasty lookin dead guy! Fortunately he thought it best to give Lalia a little speech before he executed her (I guess that means he’s a head bad guy, the thugs never do that), which gave me time to get there and beat the stuffing out of him. No thanks from Lalia though, just a ‘Hey look, I think that’s the way out.’ No kidding! If only there had been some brave guardian to suggest going that way from the beginning! And so off we went through the pass back into the bree lands, and poof, she disappeared! Why she didn’t use this little trick of hers when she first realised heading to the Barrow Downs was a bad idea I’ll never know. What I do know though, is that the witch-king won’t have to do much if we get many more people like Lalia trying their best to get the greatest heroes of the land six feet under!

I woke up fresh this morning. The Forsaken Inn holds few comforts, but it is dry, and shelter from the wind, and for this I was grateful. I decided to pass on breakfast – I have chanced Mugwort’s cooking once, and would not make the same mistake again. Instead I head East, hoping to clear the road of the bandits that have been preying on those less prepared than I. As I pass by Amon Sul, I spot my first victim. He looks orcish, but not quite. I worry not, but instead notch an arrow. After careful aim I let it loose, and have another ready before the first reaches its target. This is fortunate, as the bandit shifted and the first arrow glanced off his helm. The second however finds its mark, tearing a hole in his throat. Death is quick. The rest of the road to Ost Guruth was empty. Doubtless I awoke too early. As I enter, I notice a dwarf firing up his forge. I give him the helm and boots I took from the bandit – the locals need it more than I do. He promises to repair and fit them to some local fighter.

After a bite to eat, I leave, intending to patrol the road back to the inn. As I turn to the West, however, I notice a distinct smell on the wind. Troll. A rage grows inside me. When my father was murdered by trolls in the Great War, I swore vengeance. There have been few to find since that day, but lately I have heard tales that their numbers are increasing. I follow my nose, heading south-east into the swamp. I sense wargs prowling, but I avoid them – they can die another day. I spot my quarry in the distance, feasting on a rotted corpse. The sky is heavily overcast – no chance of leading him into sunlight. I creep to within bow range undetected. I know that I shouldn’t engage the beast alone, but my anger overcomes my better judgment. I take a moment to gather my strength and unleash a powerful attack. It strikes the beast in the back, and hurts it. But only enough to make it mad. It lets out an awful roar and charges towards me. I have never before fought a foe so powerful. I panic as the huge mass comes hurtling towards me, and two of my next three shots miss, the other glancing harmlessly off his thick hide. About this time my judgment took over from my anger, but now it is too late. I have just enough time to fire off one more shot before he reaches me. At point blank range, the arrow penetrates a couple of inches into his face. At the same time I duck to the left, narrowly avoiding the troll’s giant club. Although the troll is strong, he is also clumsy, and I dodge his attacks. But it is no use. My weapons simply won’t penetrate enough to do serious damage. I lunge around the beast and attempt to slice the muscles in its knees to slow it enough for me to make an escape. In my haste I mistime my steps, and the beast sends me flying. As I land in the mud, I hear a crack and a searing pain in my leg. I try to stand, but I cannot. The troll approaches. I prepare for the end. There is a roar as the creature raises its club above its head to finish me. But the roar is not that of a troll, and comes from behind me. I look around, and see a stout dwarf, clad in golden chain, sword and shield drawn, charging towards me. I don’t know how, but somehow he made it to me before the club had fallen. The blow glanced off his shield and landed inches from where I lay. At the same time he stabbed with his sword. The fiery sword sliced the beast deep and with ease. The enraged troll stooped over the dwarf, and let out a deafening roar. It was his last mistake. The dwarf gathered all his strength behind his shield and pushed hard into the troll’s face. The blow crushed his face, and pushed my half protruding arrow deep into the creature’s brain. The dwarf dived out of the way just in time as the troll’s body fell with a heavy thud, limp and lifeless. He walked to where I lay, and caught his breath. ‘The name’s Thorgulin. I think you owe me a beer.’ I was speechless. He called up his horse, and laid me on its back. The next thing I remember was waking up at the healer’s in Bree. The dwarf who saved my life was nowhere to be found.

Has anyone else thought it odd that the “Forsaken” Inn seems to be the most crowded in all of Middle Earth (or at least West of the Misty Mountains)?