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Fellowship of the Ring Empire Thread
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| I do this for fun rather than points. |
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Then you have no right to score more than me! 
Dread Lord
“Next! Ah, yes. Now, what’s your name?”
“Shagrat,” said the orc.
Downie snickered. He was wearing a helmet made from a troll’s skull. It was a good, scary helmet with the sole disadvantage that, if exposed to sunlight, it would turn to stone and pin his head to the floor.
“I’m told that you questioned my right to rule. Well, I won’t offend local custom by giving you a fair trial, so it remains only for me to pass sentence upon you. Now, I could send you to The Pit...” The Pit was what remained the Crack of Doom. Orcs were being sent there to hack their way towards the flaming magma beneath the solid shell. Anyone standing too close when they succeeded would have the life expectancy of a hobbit in an orcish restaurant.
“Yes, oh Dark Lord! Please, The Pit!” said Shagrat, dreading the alternative.
“But I shall take pity on you. Perhaps you are not beyond all hope of damnation. You just need to get in touch with your inner orcling. I shall sign you up for a course of poetry classes.”
“Noooo!”
“And I prefer ‘Dread Lord’ to ‘Dark Lord’. Remember that in the future.”
Orcs sat round in a circle. One of them stood up and spoke.
scent of flaming huts
screams of children soothe my soul
winter warms my heart
The others applauded.
“Appalling!” said Milady. They were in a throne room, decorated with skulls and chains and more skulls.
“What are you complaining about? You make a great evil minion. You’re a spy and a thief and you’ve got black hair and a sinister name and everything!” said Downie.
“I don’t want to be evil! And if I did want to be evil, I’d want a better job than ‘minion’.”
“Somebody has to be evil.”
“Do they?”
“Well, someone always seems to. I think it must be part of the balance of nature. There was too much of a vacuum on this side, so Ray started to go evil to restore the equilibrium. But now that I’m fulfilling that role, he can go back to normal.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Well, I could always send in my army to defeat him.”
“Wouldn’t that lead to the destruction of most of Middle-Earth?”
“All the better! Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Hmm... This maniacal laughter isn’t as easy as it sounds.”
“May I remind you that you’re a poet and a pacifist?”
“So? Did you ever hear of Sauron actually killing anyone? He was just a frustrated poet who fell in with the wrong crowd.”
“Seriously, what are you up to?”
“Look, it’s very hard for an adventurer to actually make the world a better place. By the time you’ve avenged the destruction of a village, some other problem just as bad will have cropped up elsewhere. But if we are the forces of evil, we can make the world a better place just by taking the day off!”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it...”
“Now, would you stop distracting me? I’ve got a hard day of work ahead.”
The various races of Mordor had come to Barad-Dur to pledge allegiance to their new lord.
The orcs had been first. It was typical of the species, always first on the bandwagon, eager to get mixed up in some whacky new scheme to take over the world.
A troll had sworn loyalty, very slowly, with some help and encouragement on the difficult words.
A Shadow had slipped in through a crack in the walls, to say that the lifeless things of The Forgotten Places would stand by him.
“Thank you,” said Downie, “Though I take what you say with a pinch of salt; your kind are famously dishonest.” He looked around to see if anyone had got the reference, but apparently they hadn’t.
Most surprisingly, a human was there, a Man of the South. He had ridden to Mordor on an Oliphaunt at the first news of the return of The Ring.
“What are you doing here?” said Downie. “Isn’t this country full of creatures that despise your kind utterly?”
“I might ask you the same,” said the Southron. “I myself am here to annoy the Men of the West. Smug heathens. I brought my Oliphaunt all the way from Harad, to aid you in your cause, whatever it may be.”
“Oh yes, my cause. I’ll think of one soon. The destruction of all life, something like that.”
“Tell me, why do you wear The Ring on a chain around your neck, instead of your finger?”
“Oh, I only actually put it on for wars, massacres, birthdays, and other special occasions. I must say, your Oliphaunt smells a bit funny.”
“Humble apologies. He trod on several orcs on the way here.”
“That’s appalling! You must train him better! I will not permit Oliphaunts in my army unless they can learn to wipe their feet on their way in.”
“Sorry, oh Dark Lord.”
“Dread Lord.”
“Right.”
“Anyway,” said Downie, addressing all his visitors. “I have decided on what measures are needed before we can take on the might of the Fellowship. Firstly, unity. If there are any who oppose my rule, you must seek them out and crush them. Secondly, greater numbers. We have a lot of orcs, I admit. But are you numberless as flies? I think not! So, before a breeding program can be introduced, we must increase food production. The problem, as I see it, is the poor soil quality in Mordor. We must send raiding parties out to isolated villages just beyond the border. Demand that they pay us tribute in acorns. Don’t actually kill anyone; we must avoid war for now. Then, come back here and plant the acorns. A few good tree roots should help stop our topsoil being washed away. If plant enough trees, we may even be able to recruit the ents to our side. After that, we must institute some more modern farming practises. Trolls will be harnessed to ploughs. The fields will be fertilised – more Oliphaunts should be a big help in that regard...”
Theoden approached his master with the usual trepidation. Today, his dread would prove fully justified.
“Lord Ray, one of my undercover reporters tells me that a cloud is gathering in The East.”
“You bother me for that? What am I, a meteorologist?”
“No, I mean, the orcs are getting uppity.”
“Ah. That is grave news indeed. We must take urgent measures to protect ourselves from this threat. Impose a state of emergency. Arrest anyone who criticises anything, and impose a special tax to pay for the war on evil.”
“Is that strictly necessary? I mean, we do have overwhelming air superiority, and at the moment, we’re only faced with the theft of acorns, so maybe...”
“That sounds like criticism to me!”
“Oh no, Lord Ray. I merely meant, it might be wise to gather more information.”
“If you say so. Go down to Mordor, find whoever’s in charge, and demand he tells you what he’s up to.”
“You wish me to raise an army?”
“No. Go alone.”
“Alone! To Mordor?”
“Is that criticism?”
“No, Lord Ray. I shall go.”
“What news from the forestry commission?” asked Downie, shifting his weight uneasily on the chill ebony throne. He wondered if it was OK for a Dread Lord to ask for a cushion.
“Mixed results. We have acquired a certain quantity of acorns. However, half the orcs sent out to retrieve them were slain,” said Milady, who had reluctantly accepted the job title, ‘enforcer’.
“Slain? By whom?”
“Dwarves, elves, heroes. The usual suspects.”
“They weren’t hurting anyone!”
“Yeah, but orcs? It’s a reflex reaction. You see them, you kill them. You would have probably done the same.”
“Alas. Why can’t everyone just be friends and get along?”
“We’re not doing too well in that regard either. A civil war has broken out.”
“Good thing we’re the forces of evil, or I’d get upset about that. What’s the source of the problem?”
“Many orcs are resisting the idea of planting forests. They say it will encourage elves to visit. Actually, I’m surprised by how easily the rest of them accepted an elf as their leader. I thought they hated elves?”
“Orcs prefer to be led by someone who isn’t an orc. They don’t mind being sergeants, and pushing each other around, but when it comes to admin and economics, they’re hopeless. Anyway, it’s not as simple as orcs hating elves. They are elves.”
“They are?”
“In origin. Elves twisted with hatred. They were created by Melkor.”
“Who?”
“I believe your people call him Morgoth. You know, the Vala who rebelled against Illúvatar, the Father of All,” said Downie, who had, in the days when he was young and all things seemed possible, read the whole way through The Silmarillion, and didn’t care who knew it.
“Oh, him? I thought he was just a legendary source of all evil.”
“Yeah, well, I spoke to him recently, and he doesn’t think he’s just a legend.”
“You SPOKE to the Original Evil?”
“Yeah. His main contribution to world affairs these days is in whispering advice to the Lord of Mordor, who is, currently, me.”
“What does he have to say?”
“Oh, just things like, ‘I like evil’. He’s not a great conversationalist.”
“I’m sure this isn’t important, but something’s been nagging at me. Why did you tell that horrible Shadow thing that you didn’t trust him? It seemed very rude to me.”
“It was a play on words. Don’t you remember Sauron’s famous poem? ‘One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them, in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.’”
“I’ve heard of that! Wasn’t it supposed to appear when you got The Ring very hot?”
“In Elvish runes, yes. Come, let’s try it!”
Downie took ‘The Ring’, and threw it into the fire. He waited a moment or two, and then retrieved it with an enormous pair of toasting prongs. “Take it,” he said. “It will be quite cool.”
He dropped it into her palm. “Ow!” she cried, and dropped it to the floor.
They got on their hands and knees, and watched intensely, as letters formed across the plain metal, a legend bold and clear. “Novelty cursed invisibility ring. Another fine ‘Alchemist Al’ product. Made in Gondor.”
To be continued...
           
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Theoden,
You credited the "Downie's Eleven" chapter to me instead of Downie in WOTW.
Downie,
Keep those stories coming! 
   
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2 days before the release of GCX. Any of you attending the chat?
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I might, Ray. I hope I can.
I just submitted an anomalous score...I resubmitted but it didn't change. I've emailed Stardock, so hopefully it can get fixed.
G'nite
 
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I'll probably be at the chat before 8pm and leave for work shortly after it begins.
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I doubt if I'll be there - it's at an unearthly hour of the morning here!
Alex
   
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Completed my Maso Large game. Very fun. The Torians were super dominant and were crushing all the AIs. All AIs surrendered to the Arceans after massive attacks by Tor Dreads and finally the Arceans surrendered to me. Spent rest of the game appeasing the Torians until I converted their planets and liquidated them with Terror Stars.
Topped the Large board. 
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I've got a Huge/Tough going now, but I don't know if I'll get it submitted before I go on vacation. I hope it doesn't come out Anomalous! 
Congrats on topping yet one more thing, Ray! I think it would be fun to see how a head-to-head competition between you and Brad would come out! Best Metaverse player vs. Game Developer! 
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I have 2 scores that wont submit for some reason  . I submitted another one 4 times before it showed up . Dont know what the problem is but its ticking me off. I have a huge/painful thats going well and should be done before the weeks out. Hopefully, it will let me submit it.
  
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The Fraud
“Thaurmeler!” swore Downie, in Elvish. “Rochwing!” he added.
“The ring’s a fake? I thought you said you’d swapped a fake ring for the real one?” said Milady.
“Apparently, I swapped a fake ring for another fake.”
“And you didn’t check?”
“No, I didn’t check. The fault is mine. Can we change the subject?”
“Fine. What now? I thought our purpose in staying at Barad-Dur was to get the Crack of Doom reopened, destroy The Ring, and get out.”
“It was?”
“It wasn’t?”
“No, you’re right, I think that is what I originally had in mind. I just got so caught up in the logistics of being a Dread Lord... It was a lot of fun.”
“We should make a run for it.”
“They’d pursue us anywhere to get the ring back.”
“Then we leave the ring.”
“That would look incredibly suspicious. We can’t risk them finding out it’s a fake. Anyway, I still think I can achieve something good here, heal this land. I wonder if I could get hold of some of that quick-grow formula they make in Lothlórien?”
“Wake up! This isn’t going to end well! Even if you succeeded, all it would do is make the orcs powerful enough to kill everyone else.”
“Maybe if things were pleasant enough here, they wouldn’t want to kill people any more...”
Shadows flickered in the firelight. Under the cover of a poetry evening, a conspiracy was being formed.
“Gar!” said Shagrat, son of Shagrat. “This is the worst Dark Lord we ever had! I asked him for permission to steal food from a human village, and you know what he said? ‘Why don’t we just grow our own food? Then we’d all have enough to eat!’”
“I failed him!” said another orc. “He ordered me to sail to Rómendor to get him some ‘tea’, and I returned empty-handed, the expedition’s sole survivor. And you know what he said to me? ‘Never mind. I’m sure you tried your best.’ He’s useless! Any real Dark Lord would have had me tortured to death as an example to others.”
There were general nods of agreement.
“On the other hand, he does have The Ring,” said a third orc. “Mordor needs The Ring! When was the last time we won a major battle? And all the while, the Fellowship waxes stronger.”
“There is another choice,” said the Man of the South, whose presence was tolerated by all those who didn’t want to get trodden on by a massive Oliphaunt.
“What are you suggesting?”
“I think we should steal The Ring.”
“You’re not serious!” said an orc. The Oliphaunt stepped on him.
“Any other objections?”
There was silence, save for an eerie whine from above.
Theoden’s craft hummed at a high pitch as it drifted over the mountains of Ephel Dúath. He slumped in the pilot’s seat, uneasy at heart. He was a warrior, not a mage, and it took magic to work the ship’s weapons. He could only hope that The Enemy was unaware of this fact.
He saw signs of purposeful activity beneath him. Orcs were planting things in neat rows, or sitting round in circles applauding each other. He also saw Mount Doom, where the orcs were digging for something. No doubt some great and terrible evil was in progress, if he could but see the pattern.
As he drew nearer to Barad-Dur, he saw an Oliphaunt heading in the same direction, leading a gang of orcs. He would arrive not long ahead of them.
The doors of Barad-Dur were wide open, and huge enough to admit such a beast, so he was able to fly straight through them. Inside was a huge meeting room. He landed there, and stepped out.
In front of him loomed a mighty throne of smooth ebony. On it, a figure in a dark cloak, his face obscured by a skull-white helmet. Still a little more afraid of Ray than of this stranger, Theoden inched forwards, and drew his great silver broadsword.
“I come in peace,” he said, uncertainly.
“Do you now?” said the Dread Lord, in a strangely contorted voice. “It seems to me that you bring not peace, but a sword.”
“I come on behalf of The Fellowship! We demand that you explain yourself!”
“Demand now, is it? What did your Fellowship ever do for us that gives it the right to demand things now?”
“For the second time of asking, what is your plan? Do not make me ask a third time!”
“Have I ever made you do anything? All I’m trying to do is rebuild this land, a land shattered at the hands of your people.”
“The time of orcish power is at an end!”
“We shall see. But must we be at each others throats? Perhaps you’d care to make a deal; give us the secret of flight, and we shall repay you well.”
“Never! I must ask you, in the name of The Fellowship, to surrender yourself to my authority, to hand over any articles of power that you possess, and to accompany me back to the western lands.”
“Yeah, OK.”
“If that is your final word, then you leave me no alternative but to return to my... What did you say?”
“You win. I surrender.”
“You do? Why?”
“Well,” said the Dread Lord, his voice changing, “I think I can answer that best in the form of a song.”
You never get bored
When you’re a Dread Lord
And everyone praises your name.
But there’s a high price to pay
For messing with Ray
Just for the sake of infamous fame...
The Oliphaunt burst in on them. Finding a huge ring shaped craft blocking its way, it began to shovel it aside.
The problem with sin
Is that you never win
Against heroes brave and true.
Though evil things hail you
Minons fail you
And leave you in a stew!
To Theoden’s increasing horror, his shadow, or what he had thought was his shadow, detached itself, and said, “My Lord! I bring news of treachery!”
A man in red walked across it, leading an orc mob. “We wish to register a complaint!” he cried.
So when you’re assailed
And your courage has failed
Because the orcs have broken through,
Know that the other side
Has nowhere to hide
And they’re just as frightened as you!
“Join in, everybody!” shouted Downie, steeling himself for the difficult chord structure in the final verse.
The man in red spied out the ring, placed carelessly on the arm of the throne, and grasped it for himself. “Mine! At last, The Ring is mine!”
The song was drowned out by a terrible rumble. The earth shook. A new Crack was forming in Mount Doom. Downie, improvising deftly, altered the words of the last verse to fit the course of events.
So when the earth quakes
And your tower shakes
And things don’t go as they should,
Just take my advice
Stick to being nice:
Because nothing’s better than being good!
The man in red slipped the ring on to his finger. He disappeared. “Come to me, my pretty!” he called. The Oliphaunt, alert to its master, came running, trumpeting and trampling orcs as it did.
A humming noise rose over the confusion. Theoden turned, to see his ship rising up off the ground. “Come on!” shouted Milady, through the speaker system. “Get on board!”
Theoden and Downie leapt for the entry hatch, struggling over each other.
“How do you make this thing work?” complained the man in red. The Oliphaunt, hearing its master’s voice, but not seeing him, came closer, and closer, and closer, and...
Splat.
“How do make this thing work?” shouted Milady, struggling with the controls. Theoden and Downie got inside and shut the entryway behind them. It was just in time. The ship missed Barad-Dur’s huge doorway, and punched a new hole in the wall.
The pinnacle of Mount Doom exploded, sending a cloud of hot ash across Mordor. The sun was blotted out, and night fell across the land once more.
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I could submit them for you if you want, vincible. I don't think the game will flag if you submit from a comp without the mods but rather if the mods were unbalanced during the course of play.
If you want me to do it, send your serial number and savegames to me at  Email,
Why can't you play the Xpack? Is your PC down? Thought it was your modem.
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Let's see how big is the Xpack. It may be possible to span it onto a few diskettes.
No CD-RW at work? Get the IT guys to do you a favour, I'm sure someone has to have one.
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Welcome to the Fellowship, monty muller!
Glad to have you join us. 
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FotR members,
I know with the release of the xpack today, the fan fiction will take a backseat, but I want to encourage you all to think of how we can get the awesome fiction in this thread organized, and posted on the wotw site  Link
I will create new subcategories for you guys should you want them and whatever else you need.
Think about it and please email me if you have any questions
idle Email
   
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I've just updated to GCX.
vincible, you'll have to wait a week for the stand-alone version.
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For those hoping to resubmit their anomalous games under GCX, too bad.
The old savegames don't load.
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Just a reminder to all that you should finish up your old games before updating to GCX.
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