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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.