There and Hopefully Back Again: An LOTRO LP

We're in game. Send a /tell to Ansa and I'll give you a kinvite.

Three days later I crossed the bridge into Hobbiton, once again home amongst me own kind. Well, mostly me own kind. The stuck up gits from Hobbiton could sod off. Still, I was glad to put the horror of Archet behind. Things was too exciting outside the Shire, for a simple hobbit like me.





With all the fighting and all the traveling I was positively famished. Men folk just don't eat properly. It's a bloody feat they gets to be as tall as they do. Back in the Shire and not two bits to me name. I needed work. I was lounging on the stoop of a hole, trying to puzzle out me dilemma when a shrill hobbit shouted after me. Holly Hornblower she was, uppity Hobbiton. Said I should stop loafin' about and take this pie to Farmer Sandson. She said she was overwhelmed with something or other. Being a clever hobbit, I haggled her into a piece and then was off. It was Raspberry, not me favorite, but pie is pie.





Down the road, up the hill west of Waymeet I found me way to Sandson's farm. The pie, you'll be happy to know, was unharmed, but don't think I didn't think about it.





I asked the good farmer if he had any chores. He's always offering work to hungry and hearty hobbits. Before I could get to proper work, I had to change out of me fancy threads what Gran gave me and into some proper Hobbit clothes. Don't tell her I said anything, but I never much liked them fancy clothes. Give me something I can crawl through the underbrush without worry of staining or tearing and I'm a happy lass. Farmer Sandson asked me to deliver some eggs. Easy enough, but always remember: a clever Hobbit knows how to sweeten the pot. I haggled for some bacon to keep up me strength with the promise of second breakfast on me return. See? Clever.





Upon me return, I discovered Farmer Sandson curled up on the ground rubbing his knee. Said he had a run in with his rooster and that something's been troubling his chickens. I'm a hunter. I know nothing about chickens nor any other barnyard critter, less you think skinning them is something. For the promise of tea and biscuits, I offered to speak with the chickens. He looked happy. I think he might be a touch loony. Long story short, you can't talk to chickens, but I got a good meal out of it, and that's all that matters.





Chicken Play

Earlier I talked about LOTRO's reverence for the lore. It takes its game world serious. It's not without humor, but that humor comes out of the lore or a meta reference is so obscure you have to be a real Tolkien geek to get it.

For example, there is a later quest out of Oatbarton to inform a certain hobbit's, Ronald Dwale, (Dwale is an analogue for the professor himself who was called Ronald by his family) book club that he will be unable to attend. The book club meets in the Bird and Baby Inn and the names of the members (Owen Farfield, Jack Lewisdown, Carlo Williams) are tributes to the members of Tolkien's Inklings book club, in this case: Owen Barfield, CS Lewis, and Charles Williams, respectively.

On the sillier side of the spectrum there are a series of quests, originating our of Sandson's Farm in the Shire, known as Chicken Play. In chicken play, you control a chicken who must achieve certain goals to complete the quest. For the most part, the goal is to simply stay alive, but each quest gets progressively harder. As a chicken you are unable to fight, but depending on the quest you have access to various abilities, like a speed burst, dodge, feign death, or stealth.

To enter Chicken play, you must first run the intro quests for Farmer Sandson. Afterward, you are given the option to talk to the rooster.





Talking to the rooster launches Session play, in which you directly control an npc. As your journey progresses, session play will become a more important to Turbine's storytelling. At various points you will control Dwarves, Elves, Rangers, even members of the Fellowship itself. The first chicken play quest is fairly simple. Eat worms and avoid predators.





For some reason, certain woodland creatures which probably should be dangerous to chickens, aren't.



Why no, Mr. Fox. I haven't seen Ash or Kristofferson.


The latter quests have you travel the Shire and beyond to visit chicken coops and talk to certain chickens. There is no quick travel involved, so each leg must be travelled on foot. Though you earn better avoidance abilities each journey is fraught with danger.

My first attempt didn't go so well:




Eventually, I got the hang of it and made some friends at the Cotton Farm.



I know somebody who likes you! I know somebody who likes you!


Then I posed for some pictures:







I'm the King of the World! (That joke's not old, is it?)

And finally made my way to Bamfurlong to cluck with the hens there.





All told, the quests aren't that difficult. They are more time consuming than anything, but they're relaxing and sometimes it's just fun to run around without fighting. If there is a game for just running around and exploring the game world, it's LOTRO. Finish all of the chicken play quests and you earn a cloak and the Crosser of Roads title.

Next:
Ansa gets into trouble...again as danger comes to the Shire, but first...



Dwarf a la mode

I created a Kinship group in the social groups section.

http://brokenforum.com/index.php?social-forums/company-of-the-broken-forge.33/

Feel free to use it as you please for any and all kin coordination and discussion.

A full belly later and I was on me way. Farmer Sandson asked me for a last favor as if I was heading toward Tookborough. I told him I wasn’t, but he insisted, even offered me a honeycomb. Who could say no to a honeycomb? Basket of eggs in hand I took to the dusty road once more. The Shire ain’t a large place, but Hobbits are mostly stuck in their own ways. They don’t travel far, especially if they can help it. Me? I’m a rambler. I know most of the deer cuts and ancient paths. I don’t venture out of the Shire but Stock to South Farthing nothin gets past me.





Case in bleedin’ point about lazy Hobbits. Outside the Great Smails I’m pestered by a hobbit who wants me to take lunch to her son in Scary. Lunch. It’ll take me two days to get there, but why the bloody hell not? I negotiate a juicy cut of pork belly and some taters for me self. I also stop by the Shire Post. If I’m heading up there, why get two birds in one throw. Lucky for me the Postmaster has a satchel and a bit of silver for me troubles. What did I say earlier about lazy hobbits? Stay lazy. More for Ansa!




Two mostly uneventful days later I arrived in scary. (I could talk at some length about the pork.) Scary is known for one thing, the quarry. It’s a massive pit of despair where the lowest of hobbit kind toil for a few pieces of copper and maybe a sandwich.





I’d later learn those hobbits had it pretty good. The slave mines of Isengard have that effect. Finding the Hobbit was easy enough. Work had stopped. The Quarry was over-run with Spiders. The miners were gathered around the lip of the pit, peering in, whisipering to one another about the problem. The foreman was leaning against the wall of the mine office, feet up, feathered cap pulled over his eyes. I don’t usually volunteer for things, but I hate spiders. Hate them. I collered a couple of the bigger hobbits and off we went, spider squishing.We fought our way deep into the mine, stomping and squishing as we went. Those miners was stout and we was fierce.




In the deepest part of the mine, we encountered a queen. It took the lot of us but we did her in. Damn odd thing about the whole mess. In the cavern behind her, we found a skull. It was bloody weird shape. Couldn’t have been from an hobbit. Maybe it would fetch a few bits from the Mathom society.





We came up from the mines to great cheers. Feeling good with ourselves, the boys and me decided to celebrate. We walked across the fields, holding the skull on high. “Behold the herald of the Spider Squishers.” We said. The Hobbits of Brockenborings just stared at us as we was piled into the Plough & Stars. A couple old gaffers in the corner gave us the stink eye.





One drink lead to another, and another, and another. Someone had the idea, what seemed good at the time, that the herald should see the Shire. Onward we went to Stock.





then, Frogmorton,




then Bywater. We drank through the night, and all the next day. Others Hobbits joined us. I don’t remember much. I was a bit blotto. Each pub was hazier than the last. Somewhere along the way I got a goat. She knew the way when I did not.





I named her Daisy. It made sense at the time. When me head finally cleared it was two days later. I had a skull and a goat and not a bit of silver to me name.


Moment of Zen