Return to Moria EP1 – First Descent: Cosy Co-Op Survival, Orc Raids and Mushroom Stew

Session 1 – we descend into Moria, I panic about the word “survival”, Tel becomes my dwarven handler, and we accidentally discover this game is suspiciously cosy.

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We’ve actually played three sessions of The Lord of the Rings: Return to Moria already and really enjoyed them… only to discover afterwards that we’d had a capture issue.

So we’re restarting next week.

Fresh run. Clean footage. Same dwarven enthusiasm.

But we’re keeping these first three videos as their own little sequence because they absolutely have value. There’s something very honest about first contact with a game – before you know where anything is, before you’re efficient, before you stop reacting to every noise in the dark.

This is Session 1: mild survival panic, beard discourse, mushroom dopamine, and Tel calmly explaining how not to die.

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“It’s a survival game.”

At some point Tel casually mentioned the day before that Return to Moria is a survival game.

Reader, I saw my life flash before my eyes.

Not the highlights. The bits where you’re cold, wet, under-equipped, and something with teeth has opinions about your stamina bar.

So I started the stream with low-level dread and the kind of bravery you only find in people who don’t know what’s about to happen yet.

Spoiler: it wasn’t Valheim.

Not even close.

Tel, steady:

“It’s fine… I can turn it down.”

Me:

“This is me you’re playing with, right?”

And so we descended into Moria with cautious optimism and a torch.

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Character creation – beard philosophy and copper rings

Nothing prepares you for dwarf aesthetics.

There are so many choices.

Hair. Eyes. Tattoos. Scars. Beard variations. Body sliders.

At one point I said, out loud:

“So, am I going to be a bearded female?”

Tel:

“They usually are.”

There was a moment where I considered how my grandma would feel about this.

And then I selected the beard.

Obviously.

We ended up with a dwarf who looks competent, slightly stubborn, and like she absolutely carries emergency snacks. Which feels correct.

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The cutscene – lore mode activated

The opening sequence is genuinely beautiful.

There’s drama. There’s Gimli. There are strong feelings about blowing up historically significant architecture.

Tel:

“They’re not blowing up the door.”

Me:

“They can’t blow up the door.”

Tel:

“Pay attention!”

I was paying attention. I was just paying attention emotionally.

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Tutorial phase – co-op management begins

Once we wake up in the dark, Tel becomes my handler.

• Press E.
• Press C.
• Craft the torch.
• Don’t steal all the resources from under my feet.
• Stay with me.
• Don’t run off.

I immediately ask whether the pickaxe dies.

It does.

This game understands my anxiety.

At one point Tel says:

“When I say come this way, it generally means come this way. Not in five minutes.”

Reader. I was picking up mushrooms.

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The first base – unexpectedly wholesome

We reach the West Gate and rebuild the hearth.

Bedrolls.
Mushroom stew.
A furnace crackling.
Shared resource pallets.

It’s… cosy.

The building system snaps cleanly into place. Depositing resources feels communal rather than competitive. We’re constructing something together rather than scrabbling over scraps.

Tel:

“One of many. So don’t get too attached.”

There’s something deeply comforting about being gently warned of impermanence while stirring stew underground.

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Mining and singing – unexpectedly therapeutic

Then we mined.

And we sang.

There’s a mechanic where you can chant while harvesting ore and it gives you a buff. I was not prepared for how delighted that would make me.

At one point I said:

“I feel like I am not letting my ancestors down currently.”

Tel joined in immediately. No judgement. Just harmony and iron ore.

It’s rhythmic. Repetitive. Strangely calming.

This is where I realised: this might be cosy survival.

Not stressful survival.

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Orcs – confidence unlocked (yes, Orcs)

We hear them before we see them.

I immediately say “goblins.”

(Yes, I know. Orcs. Not goblins. I was emotionally overwhelmed.)

They are not goblins.

They are Orcs.

Tel:

“Orcs.”

Me in my head:

“Right. Yes. Obviously. Orcs.”

When something is shrieking at you in the dark and attempting to eat your dwarf flesh, taxonomy becomes secondary.

Camp under siege.

Several Orcs.

Tel:

“Put your weapon on. Put your weapon on.  Put your weapon…”

Me:

I did. I was pressing it!

Tel:

“See? Not too bad.”

I may or may not have said “Die, foul beast” with unnecessary theatrical commitment.

No one was embarrassed. Yet.

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The dynamic – hobbit energy vs quest energy

A pattern is emerging.

Tel:

• Quest forward.
• Resource efficient.
• Knows what’s behind the wall.
• Says “stay with me.”

Me:

• “Ooooh what’s in that corner.”
• Collects every mushroom.
• Investigates cursed purple smoke.
• Attempts side routes at dusk.

Tel:

“You stay with me!”

Me:

“I was just picking mushrooms.”

She is correct. I wasn’t. 😊

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The dopamine loops

This session is full of small satisfactions:

• Restoring carvings.
• Unlocking build lore.
• Finding chests.
• Crafting armour.
• Repairing tools instead of endlessly remaking them.
• Depositing resources into neat little pallets.

When we crafted our first armour set, I said I felt like I was channeling God of War.

Tel agreed. Which felt like approval from management.

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End of session – organised and alive

We sleep.
We sort.
We repair.
We deposit similar first.

We look surprisingly competent.

Tel:

“We’re ready for our next session.”

And honestly?

We are.

This first session didn’t feel like survival panic. It felt like cautious exploration with stew breaks.

We’ll be restarting next week because of the capture issue, but I’m glad these first steps exist.

There’s something lovely about the moment before a game becomes efficient. Before you know the map. Before you stop reacting to every noise in the dark.

If you’d like to descend into Moria with us, the video’s above.

Bring a torch.

And probably mushrooms.