By: Dan Nockels
For my character bio for Ramboing my Hobbit Burglar I decided to write a short narrative piece. I like the idea showing people what Ramboing is like rather than just telling them. Needless to say I can’t include all of this in the measly 3 sentences allowed on LotRO there I will have to tell about him. This story is from Ramboing’s perspective it is a little bit stream of consciousness and begins in a dream so without further ado Ramboing:
Heaven if one could ever be found. The Shire, I love it beyond measure there is no word to describe my devotion to it. The soft short lines of the hills described in front of verdant farmland. In those hills good houses, the only good house, and good folk, the only good folk. Good people who like good things, good things like this piece of hot flaky mushroom pie. Oh, how I adore the green dragon and this multihued brown masterpiece. Its almost a shame to eat it, but then again it is a shame not to as well. Who would ever leave this place, with its perfect food, perfect calm and perfect women? Oh and how perfect women, never has there been a muse so wondrous found in the entirety of Other Places that could match the most homely of Hobbit maidens. Not that there are many homely at all, most of them are shining goddesses and provoke thoughts, oh such thoughts, that they best go unmentioned. So much better than the Other women foul and sickening lot, distended, gangly, vile, EVIL. And Other food, putrid filth, I would sooner eat good Shire dirt. Not that that’s necessary with this delicious piece of mushroom pie steaming right in front of me. Mmm lifting the folk to my mouth is a torturous wait. The anticipation is …
Wake up small one
The hard ground greets my arousal. The oaf wakens me. I can see him looking at me with his huge porous face and greasy hair and watery eyes the sight of him makes me run a hand over my dagger.
I am trying to be nice I really am, I try not to let on how disgusting and wrong he is. Big people all alike in their vile ways even this one who guides me to the real threat. Well, imminent threat anyway as long as big people exist the paradise of the Shire will never be safe. To protect the shire is the only reason to leave it. I love the shire. I give my life to it.
Over the ridge, orcs.
Others, the threat, they must be stopped before they can harm the Shire. I am up sprinting toward the ridge. I feel the connection of the earth to the Shire I am gone. I barely stir the wind as I approach. This is fitting for I am nothing. I don’t matter, except the protection I can give to the Shire. As nothing I approach the first orc, I can smell it, taste its Otherness. I don’t know how strong it is, I don’t care. It must be destroyed. Carefully aim as myself, as nothingness. Now I strike with the fury of heaven as the scion of the Shire. I can feel its putrid lifeblood spilling out and its strength ebbing. As it dies I can see home.