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Concerning Gooners

This scroll is largely concerned with Gooners, and from these words a reader may learn much about their character and a little about their history. Many here may wish to learn more about these remarkable people from the outset, and thus I will point to some excellent references in closing.

Gooners are an oft-eventful but very ancient people, more numerous and diverse now than ever before; for they love naught greater than supporting The Arsenal. They bear no love for the orcs and goblins of Middlesex, the brigands of Scousedor or the cave-heathens North of the Iron Hills. Even in ancient times, the Rohirrim charged fearlessly against the Witch-realm of Manczad-din and filled their cabinets with gleaming silmarils. They are fiercely passionate and, sometimes, sharp-witted. They are inclined to promote their own through the ranks of the Rohirrim, wary of the bloated musings and near-sightedness of other kingdoms. They are possessed of the art of trolling swiftly and brazenly, such that to others it may seem magical.

For they are a merry people, more spirited than the plastic banner-bearing halfwits of Chavsengard and cleverer than the orc-hordes lining the walls of St. James' Keep. They bear less silmarils now than in years and decades gone past, but in ancient days they stood taller. Even the very wise cannot see all ends, but one would have to imagine that they will return to their former heights, proud and numerous as they remain.

As for the Gooners of Edoras, of whom these tales are primarily concerned, in their days of victory they are a merry folk. They dress in bright colors, being notably fond of red and white or yellow and blue depending on the field of battle and banners borne by the opposition. They are hospitable and delighted to drink, sing and converse with one another; bound by their shared love of all things red and white.

The beginning of Gooners lies far back in the Elder days in the Woods of Woolwich. It is clear that Gooners lived in Middle-Earth for some time before other kingdoms began to take notice. By the time the 'Old Bullroarer' Bergkamp was charging and slicing through enemy ranks, Gooners were well-renowned throughout the land and on distant shores.

Their own records began only after Lord Chapman's settlement of Edoras, and their most ancient legends hardly looked back further than their Woolwich Days. Their peculiar habits and proclivities were evident however, even in ancient times. Thus began the Arse-reckoning, for the year of the crossing of the Great River became the dawn of a Goon-era the likes of which are not likely to be witnessed again by Men, Elves, Dwarves or Halflings.

Incredible highs and lows had left these people curiously tough. Gooners' spirits are difficult to daunt or deflate; and they were, perhaps, so unwearyingly fond of good football not least because they could, when put to it, do without it, and could survive rugby or some other droll occasion by grief, foe, or weather in a way that astonished those who did not know them well. They were prone either to falling back a bit physically in the latter portions of battle or, sometimes, failing to truly "arrive" until all appeared lost. Yet they prevailed, most often, because of tremendous mental fortitude and a swift attacking fervor.

I find it comforting that, in times where lesser persons might toss and turn about their keyboards in utter despair, Gooners have slowly reclaimed the belief in our kingdom that raised The Arsenkeep to her greatest heights. When the Real Haradrim find themselves lacking silmarils for a fortnight, their ranks burst forth in chaotic rumblings that Gooners managed to overcome over eight years of emptiness. We will not despair, for despair is for those who are certain beyond any doubt that all hope is forgone. As I often say, even the very wise cannot see all ends, and thus only the very dumb would proclaim otherwise.

In my last scroll, I spoke of many meetings and a dark, swift stream that Lord Wengermir must navigate. While we have been left wanting thus far, I suspect that our Liege and his small council have been bustling about Middle-Earth, sending and receiving word from other castles and kings. Given just a bit more time, we may see our fellowship bolstered enough to capture a few of our long-forgotten silmarils. 

For Wengermir's Bane has awoken. He has heard his master's call: 


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