MasterOfNone's (Permanent) Retirement Announced!

**MasterOfNone** · October 18, 2009, 10:26 AM

MASTEROFNONE RETIRES AFTER FIVE* YEARS OF MODDING

I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve...ah, nope, wrong speech...

Yes, it's true - I am finally fully retiring from modding. There will be no more mods, no more tutorials, no more projects, no more articles complaining about good modding practices, no more death threats aimed at noobs who have failed to read my installation instructions (correctly or at all!), no more disemboweling of those who mistype Middle-earth as "Middle-Earth" or "Middle Earth", and - of course - no more cutting witticisms (aka lame jokes)

. On the plus side, though, I may actually now have a life and earn some money - and maybe even get some of my novels finished!

It's been a fun 5 years and I've had a wonderful time taking the worlds and concepts inside my head and creating them on the RTW/BI/ALEX engines. To have had mods downloaded hundreds of thousands of times, and to have had mods featured in best-selling PC magazines probably at least half a dozen times, is something I never imagined would happen when I joined the Fourth Age Team around Halloween 2004 to advise them on regional names and borders in Middle-earth.

I've learned a ton of stuff about graphics, text manipulation, coding, audio/video editing etc. - none of which I shall probably ever use again, except perhaps to impress friends by altering their photographs in moments of boredom...

But most wonderful have been the friendships forged in the modding community across SCC, the Org and TWC. It is great to see people work on dreams and fulfil them (yes, I do like to watch the resources on the back of the DVD of a film which tell you all about the passions of the scenery, SFX people etc.). It has been a great blessing to have been a part of that.

Kindly, and quite unexpectedly, TWC have engraved and erected a fitting monument in memory of my mods in their beautiful gardens fronting the entrance to their head offices...

The Mod Stone, impossible to miss as one enters the foyer of the TWC offices (especially with pea-shooters, gum, mud, spittle and other handy projectiles).

A Big Thank You

A big thanks to all those I have worked with over the years. To Apoc (Amroth) for his undeviating attention to lore for the Fourth Age, and with whom I started my modding "career"; to Balbor for his great models and textures; to Spraehbuer for his 2D art and work on the FATW interfaces; to Teleklos Archelou and others at EB for our communications and support over the years; to Arakorn for his early audio work and teaching me how to do it for myself; to Merlin, one of the best coders and researchers out there; to Prof, for his guidance in the early days of FATW; to fatsheep for helping found the Fourth Age team in the first place; to Wlesmana of LOTR:TW for his mutual support; to Agraes (Arthurian TW) and DaVinci (Chivalry TW) for generously allowing me to use their resources; to Makanyane for her support with the Multi-Mod Sampler (and, yes, she is the best innovative coder out there too!); to Halie Satanus for his willingness to tweak models and create 2D art every time I could not find something suitable

; to Uranos who has made many unit cards for me over the years; to Aradan whose attention to detail and diligence not only took a great load off my shoulders when he took over on FATW, but who continued to support my mods with his traits and balancing and testing ever since.

Have I missed anyone? Probably! I am forgetful these days!

And a big thanks to all those who have played both my mods and the mods I have been involved with!

SOME KEY POSTS OVER THE YEARS...

Sometimes, as a modder, things can be very frustrating. I often de-stressed from these moments by posting rants in either the form of modding articles or tongue-in-cheek humour. I shall spare you the former, but here's some of the latter:

Help For Mod Leaders Trying To Recruit Modders

http://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showthread.php?t=50161

Modding Dictionary

http://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showthread.php?t=66721

I wrote this for an old Org competition. It got no votes or comments if I remember correctly. So I revamped it and inflicted it upon the EB Team after finishing the completion of the EB 1.0 modfoldering project for them. Now I would like to inflict it upon everyone

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

A Gaul To Arms
by Dol Guldur (aka MasterOfNone / Palantir)

The cold rain, sped by fierce northern squalls, pelted the cloaks of the warriors lucky enough to have them whilst the main bulk of the army, naked above the waist, had to make do with shields held high to block the inclement weather in a vain attempt to keep their hair dry. The Gallic warrior's hair, of course, was very important to him; he did not spend two hours every morning getting his braids just right to have them ruined by sudden downpours and irksome gusts of wind. And what would the enemy think if, perchance he should fall in battle, his head were to find itself upon a pole in some unsuspecting town? 'Oh, look at that!' one of the townsfolk might say, 'his braid is undone!' or another, 'Ah, here is one with split ends! Surely such an one shall not have honour in the halls of the afterlife to have fallen with his hair in such a state!'
So on they marched in the deluge with shields held above their heads unaware of the future* existence of umbrellas and the advantage of their significantly lighter weight; though blessed, even without the knowledge, that their shields would not fold and break in the wind and go blowing down the street thus precipitating (if you'll excuse the pun) the need to buy a new one in great haste the next time it rained.
This was of course the perfect timing for an aerial attack by the enemy, but fortunately for the Gauls such tactics had not yet been devised, though the Greek Icarus had come pretty close (in more ways than one); his example, however, was not altogether lost as it would one day inspire the Wright brothers to invent the aeroplane thus enabling Greek air-travel companies to fly people to exotic Hellenic shores where they might catch the sun in an entirely different way to that of Icarus.
'So, are you looking forward to the battle?' one of the young bare-chested Gauls asked an older warrior marching by his side. The latter was drenched through but did not seem to mind; he paid the rain as little attention as he did the young man's question.
Unperturbed, the young warrior continued his attempt to make conversation. 'I'm Heerforkix,' he said as he put forth his hand to the other.
'Many are,' replied the other, making no attempt to extend his own hand.
'No, my name is Heerforkix, son of Bagatrix.'
'Warriors do not speak their names,' the other replied brusquely.
'They don't?' The young man had a frown upon his face which quickly disappeared as he narrowly avoided stepping in a rabbit hole. 'Ooh, I nearly put my foot in it.'
'Yes, you neary did,' the other replied.
'Why's that then? I mean why not speak our names to each other?' the young warrior asked.
'Better the fallen remain unknown. If you don't know a man's name he cannot become a friend,' the older man replied.
'And what is your name?' said Heerforkix.
'Sordfulanix,' the other replied before he could think. 'By all four foot of my great grandfather's braided beard, must you ask such direct questions when a man is not ready for them?'
'Sorry,' Heerforkix apologised.
Sordfulanix remained silent for a moment. Heerforkix thought he seemed agitated, almost angry. But it was hard to tell in the gloom the rain clouds brought.
'It is my first battle,' Heerforkix said after he was sure the older man was not going to impale him on the spot. 'I was recruited at the last city about a week ago.'
'Six months,' Sordfulanix said.
'Six months?' Heerforkix asked, not quite understanding the statement.
'Yes, we left the city six months ago,' Sordfulanix elaborated.
'That was never six months. We've only come two hundred miles and we've made good time!' Heerforkix said.
'Nevertheless, six months it was. Time passes quickly when you're out in the field, believe me,' the veteran explained. 'So why did you join the army? No, let me guess. The glory of battle? The thought of bearing arms for one's country? The prospect of serving under a great commander perhaps, or becoming one yourself some day?'
'Well, no, not exactly. You see, I've always liked these striped trousers,' Heerforkix said as he brushed some rain of his thigh so that he could better admire the colourful green stripes. 'Ever since I was a boy and first saw our warriors pass through my town, I knew that I simply had to have a pair.'
Sordfulanix made no reply although Heerforkix thought he might, as his mouth appeared to be open but no words were coming out. When his mouth shut again it was set hard and he was looking straight ahead.
'I loved the training,' Heerforkix said eventually, uncomfortable with the silence.
'What?' the veteran said. The rain had begun to disperse and shields were lowered once more.
'At the city,' Heerforkix added.
'Ah, yes. A well-trained warrior now then, eh?' said Sordfulanix.
'Yes, I've learnt all of the moves for close combat! My trainer said I picked them up quickly - just six months!' the young warrior explained enthusiastically.
'Well,' said Sordfulanix, 'it is indeed a feat deserving of praise to have learned both moves so swiftly!'
'Thank you,' Heerforkix said, a broad smile on his face.

The smile was short-lived. As they topped a small rise they found themselves facing an army of Romans, their serried ranks formed up across the grassy field in a manner that Heerforkix had never seen before. It seemed to the young warrior that he was staring at a field of metal squares, each sprinkled in bright red blood - a machine of war as cold as the metal from which it was constructed.
'Those are some interesting formations,' the young man commented, trying to sound confident but doing a very bad job.
'Yes, a creative assembly,' said Sordfulanix absently. He seemed little impressed. No doubt he had seen such a sight many times before.
The entire Gallic army had now come to a halt. It was clear from the Roman lines that they had been expected. Perhaps the enormous bright bobbing green Gallic banners hoisted forty feet into the air had given them away?
'Battles are grim things, son,' Sordfulanix said as he checked his spear. 'Those who command them are grim, those who fight them are grim; heck, even the horses are grim - though not, admittedly, quite as grim as their breath should you happen to get too close to one in the heat of battle.'
'Yes, a bloody affair I'm sure,' said Heerforkix looking somewhat nervously at the opposing army arrayed against them.
'Blood? Why would there be blood?' Sordfulanix asked, looking surprised at the younger warrior's comment.
'Well I-'
'I've not seen blood in all my years as a warrior,' Sordfulanix interrupted. 'We aren't barbarians you know, well we are but we are not those sort of barbarians!'
'I see. So no blood then?' Heerfakix said.
'Nope,' the other confirmed.
'But when you hit another-'
'Hit?' Sordfulanix interrupted again. 'We don't hit anyone. Arm's distance at all times! It is one of the Rules of Engagement, well of Near-engagement to be exact.'
'I don't understand. How do we win then?' Heerforkix asked.
'Scare them!' the veteran said.
'Scare them?' Heerforkix responded. 'How?'
Sordfulanix looked at the young recruit impatiently. 'Taunts, war cries but – and most importantly – standing at arm's distance and shaking and pointing sharp things at them. They don't like it you know.'
'No, I can see they wouldn't. And what happens next?' Heerforkix asked.
'Do they not teach you anything in training theory these days? Ah, it's not like it was when I was a lad!' the veteran mumbled. 'Let me quote from the Gallic Army Training Manual, Edition 1, Patch 1.6. I memorised it in my first year: Once near-engagement has been initiated and the prescribed moves are in operation, it is possible to defeat the enemy in one of two ways: firstly, by scaring him so that he flees the battlefield; secondly, by causing him to trip over. This latter method sometimes leads to unconsciousness or serious injury which will be indicated by the subject not getting up again for the duration of the battle. However, sometimes a fallen enemy will arise again in which case the process must begin again. It is therefore of some helpfulness to try to get your opponent standing near a large stone or otherwise hard terrain in the hope he will be knocked senseless should he fall. Of course, this will also have the same chance of doing the same to your own forces. A useful tip in such a situation is to try and scare the enemy general into running away or tripping over; this makes him look very silly and in the eyes of his army he will lose a lot of 'field cred' thus making the battle a lot easier to win.'
'I see,' said Heerforkix. 'Thank you.'
'No problem, son, if you listen you may be blessed to hear the Voice of the gods,' Sordfulanix said.
'The Voice of the Gods?' the young Gaul questioned.
'Yes, it is the voice of the war gods that all true warriors hear during battle if they are brave and strong - and have good hearing,' he explained as he hefted his spear in anticipation of the battle.
'I can hear something,' Heerforkix said suddenly. 'Not a voice, it...it is music!'
'Ah, yes. It always comes at this time, just before a battle. It is the Music of the Gods, carried down from the hallowed halls of our forefathers above to inspire, uplift and grant us courage!' Sordfulanix explained.
'The gods are busy! But I don't much like it. I think the melody could be improved though the base is OK I guess, but I think overall it could...' – Heerforkix's voice tailed off as the sound of many heavy hooves approached – 'What is that?'
'It is the General! He has come to give us his pre-battle speech!'
'Is he good? I have not heard him speak before,' said Heerforkix.
'Yes, he gives a fine old skull session. We are fortunate to have a general who has three speeches. Many have only one you know,' explained Sordfulanix.
'No, I didn't know-'
'Quiet!' Sordfulanix interrupted the recruit. 'General Inafix is about to begin his speech.'
Before them now was the General, a man about ten years older than Heerforkix. He was bearded and his armour looked quite resplendent, as if he had spent the previous night polishing it. Perhaps he had. His fine grey steed bore him with lordly poise as he began his address to those whom he commanded.
'Friends, Gauls, countrymen! Lend me your spears! You sons of the wolf and the beard! Er...I mean the bear! Can you smell that? It is the smell of fear! That is what unbraided hair does to a Roman!
'Now, there is enough wine in camp to sink a boat, so let us remember that our forefathers look upon us from the mead halls of the hereafter - let us not shame them!
'I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Gaul fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day!
'An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of the Gallic peoples comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of Gaul!
'I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
'We are met on a great battle-field of this war. We have come to dedicate a portion of this field as a final resting place for those who give their lives that our people might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.
'Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword day, a red day, 'ere the sun rises! Ride now! Ride for ruin. And the world's ending! Remember, what we do in life echoes in eternity!'
When Inafix had shouted the final word, drawing his sword as he did so, shouting erupted across the army, from the great chiefs to the lowliest warbands. 'For Gaul!' said many whilst others shouted 'This day we fight!' and still others, 'Can you all be quiet I've got a headache!'
'Another great speech,' said Sordfulanix, nodding approvingly.
'Yes indeed,' began Heerforkix, 'but it sounded a little familiar.'
'Well, he's been known to borrow a bit from here and there but then again who hasn't?' the veteran said as he watched General Inafix move back into the front of the ranks, into the middle ranks and then to a position about fifty yards behind the rear of the army at which point he was surrounded by a bodyguard that had more armour and weaponry than the entire Gallic army combined.
'Ha! At last, I think we are about to move!'
Sure enough, no sooner had Sordfulanix said the words than the order was given to 'near-engage' the enemy.
'Have you ever heard this Voice of the gods of which you spoke?' Heerforkix asked. His heart was beating hard now. I must not trip over, I must not trip over he kept on telling himself in his head.
'Oh yes!' the other replied grimly.
'And what did it say?' the young recruit pressed, anxious for some word of hope to cling to.
'Ah, something about bird food but I am sure it has some deeper meaning I have not yet discovered. But enough of talk! The time has come for war!'
Heerforkix marched nervously forward hoping that this day he would be able to scare lots of Romans. But they didn't look like they would be easily scared. They had better armour, better equipment, and strong, disciplined formations and troops. No, the Gauls' only hope lay in the fact that they outnumbered their enemy twenty to one - oh, and perhaps in their finely-braided hair and striped trousers. After all, you know what fear does to a man...

* The author is of course aware that the concept of an umbrella pre-dated the Gauls, but these devices were not (as far as we can tell) used to protect from the rain but to shoo birds away from local fields after the planting of seeds. The most well-known evidence of this is the so-called 'Brolly Bog Man' discovered by the English archaeologist, J.C.B. Delver, in Paris in 1953. The find, now displayed in the British Museum, shows the remarkably well-preserved remains of a Gallic farmer clasping an umbrella-like object at the end of which is impaled a large crow; it was Delver's contention that the object was not normally used as a weapon but that this particular farmer just 'got lucky'.

And A Final Warning To Modders & Would-be Modders

I wish the Community farewell.

I hereby bequeath all my worldly mods upon Aradan to do with as he so pleases...

Readers may sign the Book of Remembrance below

(i.e. make a post!)

I regret to announce that - though, as I said, five years is far too short a time to spend among you - this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW. GOOD-BYE!

* MasterOfNone (Dol Guldur at the Org and Palantir or Palantirion elsewhere) actually stuck around until the end of 2014 to help out Aradan with the modding and release of The Fourth Age: Total War - The Dominion of Men - making TEN YEARS of modding!

**Mega Tortas de Bodemloze** · October 18, 2009, 10:46 AM

Peaceful journey great one....We are forever in your debt....

**florin80** · October 18, 2009, 11:01 AM

I hope you saved the base of your first picture because if you need to retire again in the future you wouldn`t need to start doing the template from scratch, but just change a number(and add the name of another mod or two).

But of course I wish you good luck in kicking the habit and moving on to enjoy all your work by playing it!

**Kabudhan** · October 18, 2009, 11:33 AM

old modders never retire...they just.....fade away

**Killerbee** · October 18, 2009, 11:39 AM

I give you 2 weeks

And i like the gollum parody ^^

And you forgot me in the special thanks

**Augustus Lucifer** · October 18, 2009, 11:42 AM

Retired, adjective. The state of being permanently removed from one's work; provided that permanently be invoked figuratively, and removed be applied leniently. <MasterOfNone is now retired>
---new·years·re·so·lu·tion, noun