~Linhalaith's The Lord of the Rings Online Picture Diary~

The Lord of the Rings Online is a well-established MMORPG set in Middle-earth, the richly detailed European fantasy world immortalised in J.R.R. Tolkien's literary works. I decided to make an SSLP in it.

What you're about to read is the picture diary of Linhalaith, a kind and courageous Elvish warrior with a camera and a very full scrapbook. I aim to cover everything from the tutorial lands of Thorin's Gate, to the unknown place where I'll probably get bored of The Lord of the Rings Online in a few months.

Chapter 8: Of Fickle Weather and the Restless Dead

Bree had come under attack. Linhalaith wasn't sure of why, or from whom, but Second Watcher Heathstraw seemed very insistent when he shook her out of bed. She rushed out to help defend the town, too full of adrenaline to shiver in the winter snow.

Linhalaith, assisted by Some Bloke, in combat with a bloke less savoury.

A few minutes into the battle, Linhalaith noticed the chap with blonde hair. She tried to strike up a conversation during a lull in the combat, but he was reticent about who he was, why he was helping, and how he knew her.

Heathstraw stepped in and rescued her from confusion. The man was a Skirmish Soldier, one of many from the Skirmish Camps that had been springing up across the world. While not quite the hero (or player character) that Linhalaith and many of her fellows were, he would gladly pit his strength against the ruffians, Orcs and other fell creatures menacing the lands.

"Wish I got to be a player character..." --Second Watcher Heathstraw

Linhalaith understood, and with the silent, fair-headed man's aid she drove the last few brigands out of Bree-town.

It still wasn't clear who those ruffians had been, nor what they wanted with Bree. Money, perhaps? Power and influence? Bree, with her tall hedge and sturdy gates and muddy ditch outside, was far from an easy target. Perhaps the brigands had felt that, after the Black Riders came through, the town would make for a soft target...

Or perhaps the riders and the brigands hadn't been two separate incidents.

Hasn't the weather been a lot nicer recently?

"...Which brings me here," Linhalaith said, "to this Skirmish Camp of yours. 'Tis an ill fate indeed, when you have need of Skirmish Camps even here in the Shire, but I hail your courage in leading this band. Now tell me, Captain Burrows, is there anything I might do?"

"Well." Gabby, who was not at all self-conscious about his name, thought for a moment. "It might be nothing, but I did hear of some folks getting chased into the Barrow-Downs quite recently. Do you think you could go and have a look?"

"The burial grounds of, er, Beleriand, as in those Edain people? I could indeed." Linhalaith's nose wrinkled. "Although I was closer to them in Bree."

"Oh," said Gabby, "didn't you know there was a Skirmish Camp right outside Bree?"

"Well, I know NOW, don't I? Literally a stone's throw from the gate..." --Linhalaith

The Barrow-Downs had a bad reputation, since the Edain men long-buried had a nasty habit of getting up and walking around. Before going there, Linhalaith decided to visit a wise man, or perhaps wizard... A being, at any rate, if not a god of some description, who dwelt undisturbed in the Old Forest.

"Ho, derry doll and merry moll, come in and rest your knees-o! Old Tom's had many guests of late, 'tmust be a busy season," Tom Bombadil greeted Linhalaith. "Now, what's your game, o Elvish lass, brave-hearted, tall and gangly? What brings you here with shield and blade, with sleeves so cold and jangly?"

"Um, the Barrow-Downs..." Linhalaith cleared her throat. "If it pleases you, Sir, I'm looking into some rumours about them. That some Hobbits may have been chased into that dread land, and if so, what might have chased them there."

"Is that so?" Tom's bushy eyebrows rose. "Old Tom might have seen a Hobbit or four, and taller folks at that, a-venturing among those hills. No doubt you'll find something among them, although you may come to wish you hadn't."

"Don't you mean 'kren sosaal'?" --Linhalaith

Linhalaith did come to wish she hadn't found all those Barrow-Wights, but she could handle them. She had followed a trail of old, weathered pieces of paper, apparently pages from the Journal of Cardolan. They were a real page-turner, and they'd led her to Othrongroth, the Great Barrow.

The Barrow-Wights were quite chipper that afternoon, as if they had been roused by something earlier. As Linhalaith fought her way through the barrow, she found out why.

At the sight of those figures down below, Linhalaith's heart was gripped by fear. Skorgrim Dourhand, a strange lanky man, and that figure dressed all in black... A wraith, bound perhaps to some greater evil. Ai Ilúvatar, just to look at him felt like a funeral bell, ringing coldly in her memory...

No, get a hold of yourself, Linhalaith! She couldn't let fear take her heart, especially not in a crypt. She may not have been a match for three such sowers of evil, but with a flaming torch or a song of Lothlorien, she could at least leave them scars to remember her by.

Linhalaith crept downstairs in pursuit of those three weirdoes, but it was not they who awaited her.

"Er, sorry, who are you?" asked Linhalaith, her blade whistling through the air, striking sparks from Sambrog's rusted armour.

"You mean you don't know? Then why did you come here, you buffoon?!" scoffed Sambrog, bearing down on Linhalaith with strikes that shook her bones.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea!" protested Linhalaith, her shield glowing with the same light that shone inside her heart as she batted aside billowing balls of dark magic. "But no, I suppose I'm still to early in the main quest to find a proper, satisfying conclusion."

"How right you are!" shouted Tom Bombadil, kicking down the door.

Mr Bombadil led Linhalaith from the Great Barrow, singing in his usual way. As they wandered back into the Old Forest, a heavy silence came over Linhalaith, and rather than joining Tom for supper she wandered out along the path. Eventually, she came to a wide pool where white lilies grew along the shore.

"You seem troubled, daughter of the Golden Wood. May I offer a copper piece for your thoughts?"

"If you would hear them, River-maiden, they shall be yours for free. Alas, in these days, it is clear to me..." Linhalaith took a breath. "Well, it's all kicking off, isn't it? Goblins, brigands and even spiders, all have been stirred by something even more foul."

"Kicking off?" Goldberry giggled. "I'm sure that's one way of putting it."

"In the Great Barrow, I saw a wraith dressed in black. There was an overpowering sense of Evil upon him, and even Skorgrim and the lanky one seemed to answer to him..." Linhalaith shivered. "That was a Ringwraith, Goldberry. I know not what else he might have been."

"I see." Goldberry paused for a second. "You may be right. A Ringwraith is abroad, and somebody will surely have to confront him some day. I can't promise you otherwise."

Linhalaith nodded slowly. "Some fates, we cannot avoid..."

Her mind wandered back to Bree, and how Blondie and the Second Watcher had joined her to defend the town. To that one farmer, who had raised a sword alongside her against the united Blackwold and Southerner gangs. To Langlas and brave Avorthal, who'd stood against the Dourhand clan, and Jon Brackenbrook, who'd fought in defence of Archet even though the town had turned its back on him once.

"...But we may choose how we meet those fates, mayn't we?" Linhalaith stood a little straighter, the sadness lifting from her lightning-blue eyes. "Alone, weeping under the covers? No, side by side with shields raised, as the Last Alliance once fought."

Linhalaith smiled. "Not that there's a risk of him coming back to life again! Whatever Skorgrim may have in mind, Middle-earth is plum out of Dark Lords."

"Um." Goldberry's expression was fixed. "Y-yeeeees, let's go with that! Definitely, definitely plum out of them."