Servants of the Secret F***

A few days ago was the birthday, or some such thing, of yet another group of servants. BBB doesn't seem to get hired to do the big paying gigs, you know, like Elrond's son's Bar Mitzvah or Saruman's Famous Square Dance Hoedowns. Instead we get the servants. The lower classes. The Servant Girls of Dol Amroth was one, and the latest was the Domestic Staff of the Secret Thingy, as they call themselves.

Apparently they can't admit it's a Secret F*** or they have to kill you because then it wouldn't be a secret any more. Well, doh. They need a new kinship name, if you ask my opinion. It's hard to keep the F*** a secret when your kinship name blazons to the entire world that you're a Bedwarmer of the Secret Four-Letter Word Beginning With F.

I'm not sure we should be calling them servants, either, in this modern day and age. But they are definitely non-unionised, underpaid, and poorly dressed.

Still, despite these manifold disadvantages, they know how to throw a party. The location was a little out of the way, being in the bloody middle of a bloody lake in bloody Everswim, but hey, it kept out the rabble. And, for a bunch of servants, they were a blast.

If I could remember their names I'd tell you all, but I don't, so I can't. I do remember a bobbit called something like Tuke, whose specialty was extemporising naughty poetry. We need her in BBB, for sure. Then there was the Noble Lady Jen, with a title that advertised her Hot Spot. Boy, do we have a gig for YOU, Lady Jen. BBB is always in need of extroverted ladies with Hot Spots. The Crowd Goes Wild! And no problem if you want to keep your Hot Spot a secret. We can always provide privacy screens and a blur filter for when we shoot the moving picture.

Then there was a dwarf with a name beginning with G, and the lovely lady Jorath, or Porath, or Joelene, or something like that. That was all a little embarrassing, that was. It's very lucky that Wrenaya does actually mean Jorath or Joreth or something like that, in Elvish. It really does. I did some research.

So, all in all, very many happy returns of the day to the Scrubbers of the Secret F***. Thanks for inviting BBB along. Good times were had by all.

In other news, my Fool is off on his travels again, and so I will have to miss the next few weeks of BBB shows. Oh, woe is me, say all the ladies. I know, I know. But I will return in time, somewhat exhausted from a protracted holiday at Madame Celestine's, but still (with luck) intact.

Master Tailoring

There is always more to learn, it seems. No sooner do I finish one long and boring task then another pops right up in its place. Deed this, deed that, skin this, skin that, not just once, but 10,00000000000 times.

I had no idea that I could actually make little seal things for my fancy schmancy weapon, and it appears I need to in order to be allowed to ride a nice warhorse. Apparently these nice horses are coming soon, but only people with fancy decorated weapons are allowed to ride them, and so I have to work on some weapon decorations. These decorations are called seals, and they don't do anything at all except look good.

But looking good is very important, especially for a Minstrel of my reputation and standing. I must look my best, not just for Madame Celestine and her girls (they also have a reputation to maintain), but also for my many many fans who have come to expect a certain level of class, elegance and sophistication. From me, that is, not from anybody else in BBB, lest there be any confusion on this matter. So I now must spend my days and nights turning hides into leather, and leather into shoes. And not even I need that many shoes. If I could turn the leather into useful Bat Fur items then they would at least be useful. For me and Madame's girls. But shoes?

The worst of it is, you all know the process by which hides are turned into leather. You all know that this requires the liberal use of certain bodily fluids. Given the amount I drink, producing these fluids is not a problem, but oh my word, the stench! After a week or so of making leather I'm beginning to smell like Beorbrand.

Well, OK, not quite that bad, but I'm getting close. I certainly smell like a Dunland privy.

As for other boring tasks, turning Aegthil piss into shoes isn't the half of it. I've also been forced to go around being nice to all kinds of people to make them like me. As if they didn't already, mind you, they are all my huge fans, I know this, but apparently I have to get to be related to them. Kindred.

Why on earth, I hear you ask, why on earth do you want to be related to bunch of fur-clad savages who live in the snow? That's a bloody good question.

Well, I don't really, but my Fool did want a horse with a flag up its bum. They run faster.

So would you if you had a flag up your bum.

Aegthil's Guide to the Ettenmoors

Hullo little boys and girls, today it's time for Aegthil's Official Ettenmoors Guide. Buckle up and block your ears, because there might be some rude words which you probably don't want to hear.

Let's start with the basics.

What are the Ettenmoors?

The Ettenmoors is a large area, full of rather bare fields with not many trees which is why it's called the Moors. It's called the Etten Moors because the word "Etten" is dwarfish for "Place of Yellow Waters".  Local legend has it that the "Yellow Waters" is a reference to the natural loosening of the bladder that occurs when you are about to be pounded into a pulp by 50 ugly orcs. I have so far been unable to confirm this etymology from independent sources, but it certainly sounds plausible.

The most interesting thing about the Ettenmoors is that it is home to lots of nasties, like orcs and wargs and spiders, and suchlike things. Of course, this isn't all that different from, say Moria. Hower, the reason people go to the Ettenmoors and not to Moria is because Moria is actually a five-dimensional discontinuous Hausdorff-topological manifold bundle in space-time, and so nobody can ever find their way around it. (Aegthil's Guide to Moria coming soon to all good bookstores near you.)

Basic geography of the Ettenmoors

All new visitors to the Ettenmoors need quickly to learn their way around so they don't get eaten by wargs.

At the north is a snowy region called Isendeep. No idea why. This is where there are some dragons who will eat you, and a bunch of huge trolls, so it's best just not to go there at all. If you disregard this advice, then, as the great bard once sang, "Don't you eat that yellow snow".

At the south is the Lumber Camp which is an orc place where orcs chop up orc wood for orc business. Although there is also a hobbit camp nearby, the hobbits are there essentially as a fast-food service for the orc camp. Again, best not to go there, especially if you're a hobbit.

There are some other towers and camps scattered around the map, like Glen Vraig and Tor Aspartate and Glenfiddich and Garm. These are all orc outposts so it's best to avoid all these places, too. In fact, all the camps and towers belong to the orcs, so just don't go near any artificial structure at all. Trees are sometimes safe.

Language of the Ettenmoors

The Ettenmoors have their own unique language, which can be a little difficult to follow.

Person 1: hi guyz sup lol
Person 2: creeps at ta 7 rk 5 mini warg lol
Person 3: LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG oh crap i got bad lag lol
Person 2: thats why ur a loser lol
Person 3: fuck u lol
Person 4: ha ha ha i just raped 4 spiders lol
Person 5: u suck man ur gear is total shit lol
Person 6: were is the action lol im going to kick ur ass lol

It's not always easy to understand these cryptic communications, but diligent scientists have managed to decode the meaning of "lol". It's now known to be a traditional Elvish expression meaning "I am a total moron, with absolutely no language skills at all, and with a brain the size of a pea. I am probably also 15 years old".

Myths of the Ettenmoors

One of the most persistent myths surrounding the Ettenmoors is that the baddies there (orcs, spiders, wolves, bears, etc) are all actually wereanimals. In the day they seem to be perfectly normal (if rather dim) people, but when the sun goes down out come the claws, and they let their true nature run riot, turning into weredragons or whatever.

Oh puh-leeze! How stupid do you think I am? This is clearly nothing but ridiculous anthropomorphising. Relax, boys and girls, get a grip. There are no such things as werewolves or werebears. These are just normal monsters, like you see in Moria and other places. Scary? Yes. People in disguise? No.

Strategies

This depends on who is attacking you, and what class you are. If you're a Loremaster all you ever have to do is stand there and shoot lightning bolts out of your arse until everything drops dead. If you're a minstrel, probably best to emulate the brave Sir Robin, and run away. This can be very effective as long as you run away before any monster notices you. Otherwise it can be dicey.


Well, that's all from Aunty Aegthil today, boys and girls. Remember, if you do go to the Ettenmoors, go with a bunch of friends who all run slower than you.

Happy hunting! Bye now!

Lol.

Sadness

Sarasti is gone. After almost a year of spreading joy and light (and viciously funny extemporised lyrics) she is gone from our lives. This is not a good thing.

We can always hope she will return. These kinds of critical psychoses can cure, in time, and it may well be that Sarasti will be able to return to society as an active contributing member. But it will take time for the men in white coats to let her out. All that we can do is stand on the sidelines and cheer for her, cheer in our hearts and in our minds, cheer for her swift recovery, and hope that she will eventually prevail over the burglar pants in the fight for control of her sanity.

It is, needless to say, entirely false that her psychotic breakdown occurred as a result of my lovely new outfit, so lovingly detailed below. It is purely a coincidence. However, in homage to the lovely Sarasti I donned my new HawtSx® Outfit, and penned her a ditty.

It's called Sarasti's Song. It was meant to be a sad, sad, sad, sad, sad, folk song. Sad. I think I said that already. But it didn't really turn out that way. Happy melodies kept intruding, and although I tried to keep them out, they would not be denied. So eventually I just let them have their way, and they played around a little before departing in a blaze of major brass. Ah well, it could have been worse. I think.

But my Fool insists that he be allowed to be serious. He will miss Sarasti. He hopes to see her again when other far realms let her go. And he'll be thinking of her at every single BBB concert.