Interests:Elf-maidens, lembas, the throne of Gondor, trees, she-Elves, broken heirlooms, forests, mountains, Elves of the female variety, Old Toby, two-handed swords, massive and intimidating rock sculptures of my long-dead ancestors, females of the Elvish variety Expertise:trudging through nasty bogs, scrounging for athelas, singing obscure Elvish ballads, cleaving orc-necks, wisecracking at Sauron's expense, brooding in dark corners of taverns, making suggestive comments about my "Sword of Elendil," mud-wrestling, inflating my own ego, tracking anyone or anything anywhere
Absolutely ridiculous amount of snow dumped on Bree in past two days. Had to shovel noble steed out twice. Gave me a look that said sure as Shiretalk "Make me traipse about in snowstorm again and I'll toss you beard-first into Crack of Doom."
Note to self: steed getting uppity. Must not let him spend any more time with poncy Elf-princes.
Since when are there blizzards in Bree, anyway? Saruman probably to blame. Has had it in for Bree-folk ever since old Barliman rocked his clock in beer-brewing contest. All his wizardry and it still tasted like moldy bread.
Now I think of it, probably explains a lot. Hired help at Isengard always so unreasonably cross. Although could be due to fact that they're all orcs.
Also, still miffed about being left out on Saruman's switch-hitting. Went to return shoddy pair of boots at Gap of Rohan only to find it staffed by grumbling Uruk-hai and shady unwashed men (no relation). How am I to defend Shire from Black Riders and such while getting lip about "malcontent" from greasy Ozzy Osbourne look-alikes?
Saruman the White. Pff. More like Saruman the Bleach-haired Corporate Wanker. Will shut him down one of these days. Orthanc belongs to me anyway, godammit.
Caught in Bree during nasty blizzard. V. irritating. Dispirited manly trudging imminent.
Not because of snow, but because of Bree-folk. Love them dearly, but can also be most aggravating eejits in North-realm.
Also, noble steed getting a little grumpy in old age. Will be small miracle to make it past South-gate tonight without him tipping me over into snowbank.
Stubble update: short and neatly trimmed. Rare enough, I'd say.
Many happy returns, diary. Much has happened since last post, too much to recount. Most important news:
Have finally had it with poncy Elves in Rivendell. Have decided to feck off to Wilderness indefinitely so as to avoid any further frustration with insufferable conceitedness and bad fashion sense.
Really for the best. Even with ages to get it right they still make a rotten cup of coffee. Not to mention worst excuse for beer this side of orc-draught.
Have taken to educating hobbits and Bree-folk in spare time. At least, those who don't immediately assume me the shady vagrant type who might relieve them of valuables at any moment. Precious small number, indeed, but they do seem fascinated by tales of terrible dragons and sunken ships and such.
Orcs killed: countless thousands. Never rains but it pours, as they say in Bree.
Starting to get hot in North-realm. V. exciting and depressing at same time.
Heir of Isildur in mild funk today. Not sure why. Perhaps have been gazing into palantír too much lately. Oddly enough, though, no awkward eavesdropping on angsty Sauron has occurred in recent memory. Maybe giant flamer finally got over himself. Not likely, but one can hope. Orcs killed: 4. Still rather dull, all things considered.
Stubble update: long and... scraggly. Should look up new words for stubble. Getting a little repetitive.
