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Fellowship of the Ring Empire Thread
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I'm really enjoying your stories, Downie. 
And a big welcome to our newest member, Gordeleth! 
Gordeleth, really glad that you have decided to journey with us. 
Feel free to join in our discussions, whether it be asking questions about the game, writing tales or just enjoying the company of fellow travellers.
         
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Josh,
I recall you joined the Fellowship to fight the pirates ( seems like it's becoming a common theme for new Fellowship recruits  ) and you have certainly contributed to us staying on top for quite a while. Would miss racing with you for the honor of being the most evil Fellowship member. :EVILGRIN:
I would personally recommend either the Jedis, ANZACs or the Evils for empires.
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Seems like I still have quite a bit of buffer before any alignment change.
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Your modem still not up, vincible?
Noticed your last submission is a month ago. Your next submission will give you a good kick up the rankings.
[Message Edited]
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Completed a Crippling Gigantic under 1.092.
The score is still slightly lower than that which I have gotten under 1.05. Looking at other players' games, it would seem that 1.092 does not increase scores for difficulties under Maso.
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Admit it: it was my special recruitment song that won you over!
| Well, I still dont see the point of empires |
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One good thing about being in an empire is that you don't feel so much of a sense of let down in the closing stages as you do in some civ-games, when your victory is inevitable. You know that your score will benefit the alliance.
     
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| it would seem that 1.092 does not increase scores for difficulties under Maso. |
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My Medium-Crippling 1.092 games have definitely seen an increase, so this point is in question.
To all, sorry I've been scarce this week. I had a major ear-ache knock me out of commission. Spent most of this week doped up and babbling incoherently while shivering through fever dreams, but this morning I'm feeling much improved. The wonders of antibiotics.
I see FriendJosh has departed, good luck to you in your travels sir! Welcome to all the new recruits and I'm happy to see the Fellowship is still on top. Maybe I'll feel up to a game this weekend to contribute to the cause.
  
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And what's this about Hobbit Tossing? Have the Pirates sunk so low?
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From the prolific pen of master storyteller Matthew Downie, the man who believes quality and quantity to be one and the same, comes the latest chapter in the Epic Tale of Downie, Poet of the Eastern Shores.
Old Flame
Mirkwood. The name promised gloom, and the forest delivered upon that word. The leaves formed a thick canopy above them that was glittering and green; but only from above. From below, only the shadows they cast were evident.
In the time they had travelled, no-one had attacked them, but despite this (or, perhaps, because of it) their spirits were at low ebb.
“How long can this quest continue without fresh food?” asked Milady. She was anxious. She kept seeing movements in the corner of her eye, as though they were watched by an unseen presence.
“An interesting hypothetical question,” said Downie. “Let’s see... At the absolute maximum, about six months.”
“As much as that? How?”
“Well, elves can go with only the tiniest morsels of food if they conserve their energies.”
“But I can’t.”
“Yes, that estimate supposes I murder you, cut you up, preserve you with salt, and ration you carefully.”
“That’s cannibalism, you freak!”
“Not so; we’re different species. It would, however, be a violation of my pacifist vows, so you are safe for now.”
”Has The Ring darkened you so much already?”
“It was only a joke.”
“You have a funny sense of humour. Wouldn’t it make more sense if we took turns with The Ring?”
“This burden is mine alone.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Why do you want to take it so much? Is it calling to you? Tempting you?”
“No. I just don’t trust you with it,” she said.
“I trust you even less.”
“After all we’ve been through together? Why not?”
“Well, you did leave me nailed into a coffin with no air, and then you pierced me with several throwing blades. I think you’ve got quite enough immoral tendencies already without a Ring of Power to corrupt you further.”
“Why, you...” She found herself involuntarily reaching for a blade. She stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The Ring must be setting us against each other. I just need some food, to help me think more clearly.”
“You’re hungry?”
“Of course!”
“Oh. In that case, could we have a menu or something?” said Downie, quite loudly.
Three or four elves appeared, from behind tree trunks or up in the branches.
“Hello! What can we get you?” said one.
“Just a snack for me,” said Downie.
“How about some elf-bread?”
“Yes, all right. Could I have it toasted?”
“I don’t see why not. And for you?” said the elf to Milady.
“You were watching us all the time?”
“Indeed, we were, but it didn’t seem polite to interrupt! So, what can we get you? Honey cakes? Venison jerky? Lembas waffles?”
They were led to a glade, where carved stones were set out as a table, and they feasted well beneath the treetops, and everyone drank wine, save for Downie, and the elves sang a song of welcome:
Hey! Whence are you staying? And whither you going?
The squirrels are playing! The river is flowing!
Sing fal de lal lorest! Here in the forest!
And so forth. Downie was quietly contemptuous. “‘Lorest’? Call that a rhyme?” he muttered to himself, “And where’s the air of tragedy? Where are the maidens fair?”
Milady enjoyed it more; the musical accompaniment showed an expertise she had never previously heard.
A small bonfire stood in the centre of the glade. It had been burning a thousand years, fed constantly on scraps of dead wood, symbolising the eternal dominion of the elvish folk. The king of the forest, an elf with a golden robe, spoke to them, stroking his pet giant spider as he did so. “So, cousin...”
“You’re cousins?” said Milady.
“Probably,” said Downie. “We’re a long-lived people, and very inbred.”
“...where are you headed?” continued the king, who was unaccustomed to interruption.
“Oh, we’re taking a little jaunt to the blighted lands of the east,” said Downie.
“Funny route you’re taking. You’ve been headed south.”
“We’re going via the Misty Mountains.”
“Well, I suppose you know your business best. Is there anything we can do to speed you on your way?”
“A couple of ponies might be handy, and a few supplies.”
“I suppose I can spare you that much.”
“A pony?” said Milady, delighted. “I get my own pony? I always wanted a pony!”
“I’m going to call him Snowball, and I’m going to brush his mane every day, and...”
Downie sighed. “I wouldn’t get too attached,” he said. “Ponies on perilous quests have a low life expectancy.”
Milady put her hands over Snowball’s ears. “Don’t say such things!”
They stopped at an inn called ‘The Last Homely House’, and tied up the ponies outside.
“That’s a familiar name,” said Milady.
“It’s a big chain,” said Downie. “A brewery bought up and renamed all the taverns along the borders with the orcish territories a few years back. It was called The Eagles Sight when I was here last.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“I’ve been everywhere before. But this place, more than most. I wonder if...”
They entered. A very old woman stood behind the bar. When she saw them, she said, “Put the kettle on, Elanor.”
“Ah,” said Downie.
“Well, Downie, aren’t you going to introduce us?” she said.
“Very well. Dora, this is Milady, my current love-interest. Milady, this is Dora, my... wife.”
Milady was shocked. “You never told me you were married!”
“I didn’t think I still was. I assumed this old crone would have popped her clogs years ago.”
“He left me,” said Dora. “He got bored of me and wandered away.”
“Dora, Dora, Dora. That simply isn’t true. I never got bored of you. You just got too old and wrinkled for my delicate sensibilities. It was painful, to watch the beautiful woman I fell in love with fall into decay and ruin, so I decided not to watch any more.”
Sandra emerged from the kitchen, a woman of fifty years or so. “We had some jasmine tea put aside, just in case, dad.”
“Oh, thanks,” he said, taking the proffered cup and sipping it out of politeness. The leaves had gone stale, and it wasn’t really very good.
“‘Dad’?” said Milady. “I thought you couldn’t have children?”
“Ah, yes. It’s time we had a talk, Sandra. I’m not your real father.”
“Never thought you were,” she said.
“He chewed me up and spat me out,” said Dora to Milady, “And he’ll do the same to you.”
“I did not!” protested Downie.
“Remember how I was when we first met? And look at me now!”
“It was time that did that to you. Do you think if you hadn’t met me, you would have stayed eternally young?”
“You left me!”
“I stayed with you until you were sixty-four! How many other handsome young men are willing to date sixty year old human women? And I helped you raise two children, even though they were proof you’d been unfaithful to me!”
“We had an understanding about that!” shouted Dora.
“Actually, speaking of the children, what happened to Glorfindel?”
“Died last year, a stroke or something,” she said, quieting down.
“Alas. So many lives turned to dust. And people wonder why I’m a melancholic.”
“He never quite forgave you for naming him Glorfindel.”
“It’s a damn good name! I’d have loved to have been a Glorfindel. At least people can pronounce it.”
They both sighed. “Anyway,” said Dora, businesslike. “What can we do for you?”
“We need a room for the night.”
“Two rooms,” said Milady.
“...and stabling for our ponies, assuming they haven’t been eaten by goblins in the time we’ve been talking.”
“Goblins?” said Milady, and she ran outside to check up on Snowball.
“She's a pretty young thing,” said Dora. “Have the two of you...?”
“Not yet,” said Downie, “but I’m working on it.”
Snowball was fine. A startlingly big black stallion stood next to him, tied to the same bar. She wondered whose it was; the beast had not been there when they went in.
Something pricked the back of her neck. She wondered what it was, but turning round seemed to be too much of an effort, so instead she simply fell to the ground.
“Come on,” Dora was saying. “Just once, for old times’ sake.”
“Mum!” complained Sandra. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“Oh, very well,” said Downie. “Though I worry about what Milady will say.” He took a deep breath.
Upon a time, I met a maid
Her eyes were blue, her hair was gold,
A beauty that could never fade,
A love like ours would not grow old.
I swore to love her evermore
Until the mountains turned to dust,
But changed my mind, and so foreswore
My fleeting evanescent lust.
I thought our love transcended time
But I was wrong as wrong can be,
So learn this from my humble rhyme:
Get out when they hit sixty-three!
“That’s it?” said Dora. “Three verses, in a comic vein? That’s all I merited, after we adventured together for four years and then settled down for forty? There were girls you knew for a week who got at least fifteen stanzas!”
“Your tale was insufficiently tragic for my muse. Let’s face it, you’ve led a pretty good life for the most part,” said Downie, and he collapsed in a heap, a dart in the back of the neck. In the doorway stood a man in black. His face was covered with a feathered mask.
Sandra screamed.
“What have you done to him?” said Dora.
“Do not fret, old woman,” said the man, in a surprisingly gentle tone. “It is a kind poison, called lifebane. They will sleep. Then, they will die.”
He turned to go, but turned back.
“Oh,” he said, reaching for the long sharp knife in his belt. “I almost forgot. The Wanderer said it was unprofessional to leave witnesses.”
“Wake up, dear,” said Dora. “You’ve been having a bad dream.”
Downie sat up. “Where am I?” he said.
Dora chuckled. “You’ve lived here with me for all these years, and you still don’t know it?”
“Huh? Where’s Milady?”
“Who? What a strange dream you must have had. Come on, now. The inn needs sweeping.”
“What? But... I left you... didn’t I?”
Dora laughed again. “I’m just messing with your head, dear. Your little strumpet is in the next room. She’s fine. Had to put her to bed in her armour; Sandra got a nasty cut when we tried to take it off.”
“What happened to us?”
“Oh, it was just some dreary little assassin. We dealt with him, and then brewed up an antidote for the poison.”
“The two of you beat a Nighthawk?”
“Battling the forces of evil is like riding an Oliphaunt; you never forget. Sandra did most of the work, duelling him with the poker. My only contribution was to wait until his back was turned and then bury my cleaver in it. I’ll say one thing in your favour; living with you is an education!”
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| My Medium-Crippling 1.092 games have definitely seen an increase, so this point is in question. |
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H50, your 1.092 games score better than 1.091.
That's true for me as well.
However, I'm noting that 1.092 generally don't score higher than the 1.05 version other than Masos.
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| Time to go play if my wrists and hands will allow me |
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I got a wrist support specially for Galciv and it's a life saver. Was having aches and pains on my wrist and forearm months ago playing so I decided to do something about it before the game disabled me.
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| However, I'm noting that 1.092 generally don't score higher than the 1.05 version other than Masos. |
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Ahh, I misunderstood. Sorry about that.
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Just caught up on your last 4 pages.
Congrats on breaking 200,000 Ray. I had to laugh when I read you use a wrist support to play! Is laugh the right word? Maybe I cried, I can't remember.
Matthew 'Downie': great stories. Shouldn't they be keeping you from actually playing Galciv? But I note you still get a regular game in! Well done, on all counts.
I have to say, Evil Ray has really got the creative juices flowing for every writer. Isn't being evil just so good!
   
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| I had to laugh when I read you use a wrist support to play! |
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RSIs are no joke, Killa. Especially when I'm also clicking away at work most of the time.
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Finally I get a chance to say hiho . . . belated congrats on the 200k Ray! I saw a sneak trailor for 'Return of the King' movie today . . . looks awesome! Good for recruiting. Also saw a trailor for that new Pirate Movie 'Curse of the Something or rather' . . . hehe, also good for recruiting (for the Pirates that is).
Saw that 'Finding Nemo' movie . . . very funny/sweet, highly recomended . . . bye y'all.
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Alright, I cried then. It's just that I had this mental image of you playing, in agony, and yet overcoming the pain barrier to post gigantic maso after gigantic maso game. Having done my back in and then not being able to sit in a chair for long, brings to mind how many of us take our health for granted. If I had to suffer RSI I don't think I could play PC games. Do you play consoles, and if so, do you have RSI with the controller?
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