Blithe the Days of Summer – Part Three

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part 3

The breakfast that Aubergine Took had provided was a tasty and welcome start to the morning, and went a long way towards piquing Llythne’s curiosity towards the Summerday’s Festival, which she knew about, but was not actually really celebrated in Evendim. Brassica had been fortunate in borrowing ‘Bergine’s dress instead of Primmy’s–Primmy was stout even as hobbits went, and Brassica was closer in build to ‘Bergine, who was trim and perky. Once everyone had eaten, the tarts and the jammy bread having been washed down with fizzy sweet cider, Brassica retreated to the privacy of a bush, and wiggled into the soft yellow dress. It fit like a glove, and she spun and twirled girlishly, wishing for a mirror.

Now endowed with the capacity to flounce about, Brassica did so emphatically, her dress swirling about her every movement in a thoroughly pleasing fashion, as they tidied the camp and prepared to ride for the festival grounds. It had taken some cajoling to convince Beldrieth that they could spare a day for some relaxation and merriment, and that supplies could be just as easily purchased at the festival ground as they could in Bree Town, and probably with less fuss and bother. Once she had consented–and not unkindly, for she knew the value of a day of fun to the young hobbit–her charges had begun to prepare in earnest for the excursion.

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Blithe the Days of Summer – Part Two

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part 2

There was a strange fluidity between the pair of them–the mare and the elf. Brassica had noticed that Celebarad seemed to have a soft spot where the horses were concerned, especially his own Miriel. If Brassica hadn’t been clinging quite as tightly as she was, she might not have glimpsed the pure, unbridled joy that they both seemed to get from simply running free.

Brassica, tragically, didn’t quite manage any emotion other than stark terror until Miriel was urged to the crest of a hill and then slowed to a stop with a word from the elf. From this vantage point, Brassica could see the Festival Grounds, and see that they were indeed a place of great merriment, and there were certain to be more fireworks to come. “There!” she cried, and pried her fingers free long enough to point, and thump the elf on the shoulder. “Go slowly!” she scolded. “I feel about to fly off the back of your silly horse, for whatever the two of you think you’re flying on the ground.”

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Blithe the Days of Summer – Part One

Blithe the Days of Summer – Part 1

It had taken an entire day to calm Brassica down after they had left Trestlebridge.

Never mind that the town was half in ruins. Never mind that the guard were hard pressed to fend off from the Orcish camps that filled the canyon of Cirth Nur, and that Brassica and company had been fortunate to pass through Trestlebridge in a rare lull in the increasingly vicious assaults by the Tarkrip Orcs. Never mind that they were lucky that the inn was even still standing. And certainly never mind that it had been Llythne’s first time in a building less than a century old. Brassica had been shocked at the notion of what the big people allowed to pass for an inn.

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And the Echoes all Around

And the Echoes All Around

Author’s Note: To be read with this playing on repeat: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKQwgpaLR6o

Brassica didn’t know what she’d expected the Fields of Fornost to be. The dream she’d had of the great battle was fading, bare scraps of memory clinging around the edges of her mind, like a tapestry torn away. Not that it would have been a good reference anyway, what she did remember of it seemed plainly absurd to her waking-mind, in the way that dreams do.

Her expectations entirely aside, the only word for the place was creepy. Brassica had shivered when they’d approached the Evendim Gate; when they’d passed beneath it, she’d felt as though someone had walked over her grave.

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By the Road Abandoned – Part Six

By the Road Abandoned – Part 6

If Brassica noticed, when she came bounding down from the watchtower, that Llythne seemed sleepy and yawned rather a lot, she had no particular comment. Speaking for herself, she was quite refreshed. The tower had been a wonderful place to sleep, and her thoughts coloured by the stories Celebarad had read her, she’d dreamed of Fornost and the great battle there. She would never have imagined that a dream of a battle could be anything but terrifying, but hers had been exhilarating and triumphant, and she’d woken all eagerness and excitement when Celebarad had gently shaken her shoulder.

“Good not-quite-morning!” Brassica called cheerfully, after fairly skipping down the no-longer daunting stairs of the watchtower. It was still dark out, though there was the faintest suggestion of the inky blackness of night beginning to pale towards dark grey in the eastern sky.

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By the Road Abandoned – Part Five

By the Road Abandoned – Part 5

“Well!” Brassica broke the silence that had fallen in the wake of Beldrieth’s departure, getting up with a stretch and a yawn. “I think I could do with some sleep.” She leaned over the kettle simmering above the fire, sniffing at the rabbit stew bubbling inside it. “That’ll come along nicely, I think,” she declared, pleased. “And you can keep it going a good long while, too, you know, just keep dumping carrots and onions in, top it up with water, some salt now and again…more coneys, if you catch them. Game hen, too, if there’s any around here.”

“You seem to have given me a gift that will continue giving!” Torogethir leaned over the kettle, to peer inside and inhale the fragrant steam rising from inside. “Ahh, the halflings are a kind folk, little mistress, it’s too long since I had anyone but myself to give a care for what I eat.”

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By the Road Abandoned – Part Four

By the Road Abandoned – Part 4

 

Whatever her opinions were about waybread, Brassica proved to be more than familiar with the way around rabbits, and had expertly dressed them with salt, honey, and some peculiar blend of herbs she’d acquired from the Ranger’s stores. She had eyed Beldrieth’s quiver of arrows speculatively, before thinking better of it and assigning Celebarad to go and cut her some stout sticks, which she had then directed Llythne to sharpen them into spits. When this was accomplished, she had skewered the rabbits expertly, propped them over the fire, and then proceeded to fuss and cluck about them as they roasted, until she deemed them worthy to be served, and they were dished out to the party, with chunks of tough dark bread, and a flask of pale, fiery wine that Torogethir had been saving for just such an occasion.

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By the Road Abandoned – Part Three

By the Road Abandoned – Part 3

 

Only a hobbit, Llythne had concluded, could go on at such lengths on the merits of waybread, as it was made by the elves as compared to the Dunedain. By this point, the burglar had forgotten how they’d actually came to be on this particular topic, but it was shocking just how much Brassica had to say on the subject. Further to the point, only a hobbit could find flaws with the elvish preparation, and been staunchly certain that she could improve on it, if given the opportunity.

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I Am Incapable of Being Responsible With Medallions

Being the leisurely, lore and quest-oriented type player that I am, I’ve only recently (and at 75, no less! for shame!) discovered the whole “In Their Absence” series of instances. I’ve done all of them now, even managed to wangle my way into an Ost Dunhoth run, despite not being a person of the raiding persuasion, having fairly abysmal virtues, and DYING A LOT when I got inside, completely oblivious and unprepared. The mini who bullies me into going along with her on these things should be slapped. Oh, but who am I kidding, I’ve always had fun.

Anyway, the upshot is, for the first time, I found myself with a disproportionate number of Medallions on the Northmen, and, because Bel and Llythne are both capped at this point, and the Guard has already been more or less committed to the set out of Mirkwood, I went a little bit hog wild with the unexpected surfeit of Medallions.

A kinny of mine was bit by a similar bug, and geared his champ in the full OD set, exclusively for cosmetic purposes. And I got jealous. Because he looks fantastic. Originally I was only after the burglar chest piece for Llythne.

This would be an appropriate time to employ the phrase "DA-YAAM, GURL."

This achieved, I felt quite justified, because at the time, the Burg was only just pushing 71, and could actually wear and benefit from said chest piece! If I recall rightly, she wore it right up to 74. I had judiciously meted out 120 meds from my growing store, and still had a very satisfying pile left to sit on.

Then the Great River dropped.

Now, the problem with the Great River is that it has pretty quest rewards. I don’t know where they all come from. But, as Hymne of Cosmetic Lotro noted in this post, they’re breathing new life into old PvMP gear. And that suits me just fine and dandy, because I am entirely too big a coward to ever venture out into the Moors. So, the hood featured in the above post became an object of some obsession for me. And wouldn’t you know it, that pale gold accent colour goes just perfectly with the stunning pale gold that’s sort of the colour theme of the Ost Dunhoth set.

goddammit.

In my defense, I did go to my little pile of Medallions of the Northmen, and I did the math. And I said, “you know what, I can send the Guard out to Harndirion, and he can pick up the chest piece for his set. That way he can have some options. And I can pester a friend of mine, and I can make him haul his cappy out that way, and summon the RK over there, and Celaeglas can get the legs for his set. Because, you know, some day, maybe he’ll see 65, and boy, he’ll sure be glad he has those pants then. And hey! You know what, I even have enough left over for some of those nice legacies of agility an–OHMYGOD THE CAPPY SHOULDERS ARE AMAZING.”

There was no justifying the cappy shoulders. I haven’t got a cappy. I didn’t even go and half-heartedly roll one to try and give myself an excuse. I just sat, and I agonized for about a minute, and then I dumped the last of my sad little pile of medallions onto a pair of heavy shoulders, which will now sit in Llythne’s vault (along with the Warden chest piece from Helegrod, my last piece of “omg HAVE TO HAVE IT” cross-class armour), and be a reminder of the fact that I am not a responsible person.

But, anwyay, this was the result.

She even matches the REEDS. I'm getting better at screenshots!

Eh? I’m really proud of how good she looks! The gloves need tweaking, but isn’t she just lovely? I can’t even be modest about it, I’m so pleased with the way it came together. The guard received the same treatment, in a fit of regret, brought on by the spot formerly occupied by the nice big pile of medallions.

You know, I didn't think I'd like giving the guard a big ol' hammer. He only has this one because it's a 2nd ager that dropped in GS. But actually, I kind of like it.

Some slight variations in his case, featuring the heavy gloves rewarded by another quest out of the Great River, and the RoI preorder boots, which I have just been absolutely in love with for just about forever. He’s also gone a bit broader on the shoulders, with the Pauldrons of the Swift Arrow out of Ost Galadh, because he can wear them without drowning in them like Bel does. He’s pictured here sans cloak, but he’s wearing the hood-down version of the Cloak of the Galadhrim, again, via the Great River.

So there, now you’re all privy to my very bad decision making. But hey, my toons are pretty, anyway.

By the Road Abandoned – Part Two

By the Road Abandoned – Part 2

The sun had reached its zenith when Brassica began to suspect, with growing horror, that Beldrieth didn’t intend to stop for lunch. In point of fact, Brassica was beginning to realize that she’d never really made any proper observation of what the elves ate. There had been food in Tinnudir, certainly, and the Duendain had shared it around most generously, and if the fare was simple, it was still hearty and Brassica had greatly enjoyed it. But now that she really thought about it, she didn’t recall that she’d particularly noticed either of the elves eat anything. Celebarad, of course, had been making himself scarce, but Brassica couldn’t call to mind any memory of having seen Beldrieth eat anything. They must eat…surely they must, because the elf Lithuinin on the island of Rantost had given her several of his little cakes. And besides which, they had been at the breakfast feast in Dwaling, and surely they would have tucked in to an excellent and marvelously prepared spread, such as the one her kinfolk had provided. And yet…so far the only notion of food that had crossed anyone’s mind had been when Celebarad’s mount had strayed from the trail behind Beldrieth and wandered into a stand of blackberry bushes, because the elf had gotten it in his head to pull out his book, and try to read while riding. Brassica found herself glaring enviously at the elf’s horse, jealous of her few munched mouthfuls of berry bush.

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