~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 9: Trestlebridge and Tribulations

Middle-earth was beset by a growing evil, and the time would soon come for great heroes to raise their shining blades against the Shadow. The world was far bigger than a company of heroes, however, and most people's part was to hold back smaller evils wherever they popped up.

North of Bree lay Trestlebridge, a town beset by wandering gangs of orcs from Angmar. The townspeople had put out classified ads asking for help, and in answer came Linhalaith upon her good horse Bilberry. She arrived (without Bilberry, who'd trodden on a sharp stone) to find the town in a dreadful state.

Linhalaith, going to check the pie on her fireplace after an unplanned six-hour-long nap

A saboteur had snuck into the town and set off bags of gunpowder, with predictable results. The surviving people of Trestlebridge were barely holding on. Linhalaith was determined to help them as best she could, and got to talking with Aggy Digweed, one of the guards who held the Trestlespan.

"I have heard about these gangs of orcs," Linhalaith began.

"'Gangs' would be a break for us, I'm afraid. There's an ARMY of orcs," Aggy said gravely. "With camps and everything!"

The idea is usually to shoot one enemy, who'll come over to you and start a one-on-one fight they can't hope to win. Sadly, this orc had a bow of his own - and Linhalaith, not being a hunter, would surely have lost that DPS race.

Linhalaith sallied forth to scout the orcs' camps and everything. They turned out to be the Tarkrip clan, massing behind wooden stockades along the hills north-east of Trestlebridge.

Wielding the power of the Light, and the eggs and onions she'd had for brunch, Linhalaith barged into the orcish camps. Each time, she'd find bags of black powder, piled up against the wall or in a rickety shed somewhere. And each time, she struck a match on her shield, set light to the heavy sacks, and allowed the despairing orcs to taste their own bitter medicine.

In triumph, our heroine went back to give Aggy the good news.

"All those orcs, put to their own accursed fire? You are a marvel indeed, Linhalaith!" cried Aggy. "Now, would you mind going to Nan Wathren, and killing 15 Tarkrip Renders, 10 Tarkrip Shooters, 15 Crebain, 12 Raging Tarkrips, 12 Tarkrip Marksmen, 5 Tarkrip Fight-masters, 5 Wargs, 10 Tarkrip Brawlers, 10 Tarkrip Shankers, and the Tarkrip Defiler, please?"

"Guhh...?" Linhalaith's mouth hung open for a second.

Aggy laughed nervously. "I'm only thinking you could use some more experience points before you carry on with the main quest," she said sheepishly. "And Nan Wathren is practically next door, isn't it?"

"You... DO have a point," Linhalaith sighed.

Linhalaith tried her best to conquer Nan Wathren, but the infamous Tarkrip Defiler was too much. Time and time again, he defiled her upside the head with the back of his fist, and let the people of Trestlebridge fish her out of the river when she came floating blearily by. Linhalaith was forced to put out a classified ad, asking for a partner to conquer Nan Wathren, and a huntress by the name of Athimil answered.

Athimil and Linhalaith, crossing the Trestlespan

Athimil had to be a hitherto-unknown Maia, or failing that, a player who'd got to level 150 and accrued a lifetime's worth of legendary equipment. She could practically scythe down a Tarkrip horde by sneezing at them. Linhalaith ran to keep up with her as Nan Wathren was turned into a bloodbath.

All too soon, they found the Tarkrip Defiler, flanked by fearsome warriors outside his cursed altar. Athimil gave them a friendly wave. The fearsome warriors dropped their axes and fled into the valley, crying for their mummies, leaving the Defiler to fall down from a sudden heart attack.

"I... hardly know what to say," Linhalaith said quietly, stealing a sprig of mugwort from the Defiler's trousers. "Only that someday, I hope I too will have the strength to carry such n00bs as are in need of it..."

A fond farewell. If you happen to be reading this, Athimil, thanks again for the help.

In recounting this escapade, I would be remiss not to mention Matyson, who wasn't Athimil, but also lent a hand with my Tarkrip Defiler problems. The dwarvish warrior, hearing of Linhalaith's plight, took it upon himself to craft her an entire suit of armour; a suit the Valar have forbidden her from wearing until she reaches level 32. If you're also reading this, Matyson, thank you; I'll definitely make use of it.