Ho, what’s this?
A letter in the mail?
From Lady Galadriel! Hmm, she wants me to join her army in the fight against the forces of darkness.
Well she could have phoned…
Nevertheless! It seems that Middle Earth is in need of my proven skills as a stout warrior of no mean accomplishment. Time is pressing: the tide of darkness encroaches ever forth, so I shall away to Lothlórien to aid them in their time of need immediately!
“Come to our lands” she calls, and I willingly answer the call!
Right after I’ve pandered to a bunch of her border guards, because apparently she’s too lazy to send them a mail to inform them that I’m on my way. I mean, how much would it take?
I’ve asked this dwarf homie over to hang out an’ kill stuff an’ shit, so don’t go killing him on sight or nuttin, yo. Chill, yeah?
Word to the allegedly wise: if you formally invite me into your lands to offer up my life to you in battle, you don’t then expect me to first be the errand-bitch of some hippy elf with an itchy bow finger on the border of your lands.
And why? Bringing some daft old bugger the missing half to their favourite socks which was lost in the nearby forest several ages of men ago, that will prove that I’m not an agent of the enemy will it? Killing some enlarged water voles and picking mushrooms will remove the centuries-long enmity of our peoples, will it?
I always knew elves were arrogant arses, but really.
So remember folks: when hosting a dinner party, always make your invited guests clear the front lawn of cat shit and weed the borders when they arrive, before letting them into the warmth of your home.
And if they don’t, set your dog on them. It’s the MMO way.
My main character is an Elf (I know, I know, with my beard I should only be allowed to play Dwarves). The character happens to be from Lorien, though. So, you can imagine how warm that homecoming was.
Me: Ah, the old stomping grounds. Let’s pop in and say “hi” to mom and dad.
GF (playing a Woman Captain): I don’t know about this. They seem a tad unfriendly.
Me: Bah! Don’t let stereotypes of elven arrogance bother you.
NPC: These are dangerous time! We won’t allow you into the Golden Wood without proving yourself!
Me: Wha… No, I’m here to visit family. My mother is a water bearer for the House of Celeborn. My father is a woodworker of some reknown, a veteran archer.
NPC: Nope, quests first. No exceptions!
Me: Wait, Elendimar? Is that you?
NPC: Er, no. As I said, I have a task for you….
Me: No, no, I know it’s you. We sat next to each other in Sindarin class in 52nd grade, remember?
NPC: (louder) I said, I have a quest for you!
GF: This isn’t going to end well.
Me: Yeah. Remember, you tried sticky sap in my hair? I drew an ink mustache on you when you fell asleep in class one time.
NPC: … (face turns red, steam comes out of ears.)
Me: Oh, how everyone laughed at you. “Look a the ugly Man!” they all taunted. Good times, good times….
(Your reputation with the Galadhrim is now Disgruntled.)
NPC: Oh, yes, I remember you. (bitch) So, about that task….
GF: I’m not with her.
NPC: Gentle Woman Captain, please fetch some flowers for me in the field over there. Maybe slay a few orcs while you’re at it.
GF: Right, I’m off!
Me: Flowers and orcs, huh?
NPC: Oh, no. See my horse over there? The one standing near the dung heap? His hooves are dirty. You’ll clean them…
Me: Ah? Well, I guess…
NPC: With your tongue. Get to work!
It was a tearful reunion, but not tears of joy. :P
No, no, I know it’s you. We sat next to each other in Sindarin class in 52nd grade, remember?
Of course it could be elitism, and they only let back in those elves who went to an Ivy Leaf college.