Once again, the fat, happy dwarf fins himself in Bree. I’m only a handful of points away from getting Journeyman Metalsmith completed, so I head to the Barrow Downs to find some Barrow Iron Ore. Which, ironically, can be found in abundance in the Barrow Downs. Huh….
Gonzorond logs on and tries to find me, but bless his soul, that boy can get lost! He’s as bad as a Hobbit in a wheat field. He eventually catches up to me as I run wildly through the downs screaming “Ore!” ever six seconds. He still needs the Evils Final Chapter quest (see last post) but we decide to head to the Forsaken Inn to partake in a quest we both share, the Dwarf’s Duty quest.
We head back to Bree where I finish my Journeyman Metalsmith and get the quest for the completing the Journeyman tier to get the Expert tier. Ok, talk to Glasi in Thorin’s Hall. No pro……gah…what? Thorin’s Hall? As in that place on the far end of Ered Luin? Past the ENTIRE Shire? In the north-west corner of the known world? What? I thought my horse ride from the Forsaken Inn to Bree was bad. My dwarf will shed thirty pounds before he sees Bag End, let alone Thorin’s Hall. Which begs the question: When will physical health be an aspect of MMORPGs? When will I need to be aware that my hefty, overweight dwarf might have high blood-pressure and could suffer a debilitating stroke on one of these cross-country jaunts. If you see a dwarf lying and twitching by the side of the road, that might be me.
I decide that now is not the time for such a vacation. We head East.
I map to the Forsaken Inn and he rides a horse. He suffers so much lag that he sees none of the countryside between Bree and the Forsaken Inn. It just froze when he got on the horse in South Bree and un-froze when he dismounted at the Forsaken Inn. Having taken that ride before, I told him to thank whatever computer gods there are for saving him the tedium. Needless to say, he wasn’t amused.
I’d like to point something out now. Something vile and repulsive. Totally repugnant in every regard and, in my opinion, evidence of an evolutionary back-track in humanity. I was literally standing on a vein of Silver Ore. As I switched to my pick (hot-keyed, mind you) someone, and you know exactly who you are, came up and mined it from directly under my feet! My dwarf fell the four feet to the ground after it dissipated. I was totally in shock. I had always had good experiences on Meneldor. This was, by far, the most atrocious single act of selfishness and cowardice I had ever seen. I imagined my dwarf’s face flushed red in anger and disgust. His dirty cheeks taking on a very dark hue of what could easily be called ‘wrath’.
Putting this offense behind me, we made the trek to the ruins south-west of Ost Guruth. Apparently home to some Dourhand dwarf. A race, and I can only assume this on behalf of my pure-blooded dwarvish avatar, that I revile and hate. So, they would provide a good outlet as I mumble “thief”, “scoundrel” and other insulting epithets under my breath. Good thing the kids were in bed.
If anyone were to tell you that these dwarves were a push-over, punch them in the head. Everyone of those short, fat little buggers (and I’m entitled to say that), was marked an “Elite” and had a sturdy 2,000 hitpoints. Our “assault” became more of a “selective assassination” mission. And one that was wholly unfair. See, the quest requires you to acquire 24 dwarf axes off the still-warm bodies of these pale dwarf facsimiles. However, as I discovered, these axes are neither guaranteed nor is their dispersal equal. We, Gonzorond the Minstrel and myself, would dispatch a dourhand. I would click to loot it. Nothing, or maybe some small treasure, but no axe. After killing about 5 or 6 of these, I had acquired 1 of the 24 required axes. At which point, I said to my companion, “This is going to take forever! We’ve only got 1 of the 24 we need!” And his response? “What? I’ve got 6.” I paused. Stood still for several moments as I read the chat window again. “What?” was all I could muster. “Yeah, I’ve got six.” I decided not to argue the point and turned my angst from the d-bag who had stolen my ore to the programmers at Turbine who, I can only assume, are laughing in a room somewhere filled overflowing with money. Some of which is mine. I hope the bugger who came up with this quest didn’t get a promotion or anything. Heck, I’d be disgusted if he got a cupcake on launch day. Regardless, we figured it would take far to long to get the 24 we needed. Gonzorond decided to call it a night. I agreed.
We got back to Ost Guruth and I entertained the idea of making the journey to Thorin’s Hall for my crafter’s quest. I entertained the idea for a while 3 seconds. Maybe next time.
Finished Journeyman Tier for Metalsmith
Didn’t have to ride a horse to the Forsaken Inn
That dirty, low-down, sniveling, putrescent, motherless, coward who mined that ore out from under my legs. Death is too good for him.