Island of Sorrow Planning/Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

This thread is open to complete the planning for an upcoming Shire Game. Only these people may post on it at present:

Anguirel
Envinyatar
Feanor of the Peredhil
Firefoot
Piosenniel
Child of the 7th Age

All other posts will be deleted.

[piosenniel]

Here is the proposal as it stands now:

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Piosenniel invites you to play in a game co-hosted with Anguirel:

Island of Sorrow

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Historical Background

The First Age was a time of constant war, the exiled Noldor against the hordes of the Dark Lord Morgoth. Though all the Princes of the Noldor showed valour, none was more courageous than Maedhros, the son of Feanor, who took the lands closest to Morgoth’s fortress at Angband so that the brunt of Morgoth’s attacks would fall on him and his brothers.

For hundreds of years Maedhros and his uncle Fingolfin besieged Morgoth in Angband, and Maedhros made his stronghold at the Chill Mountain, Himring, a castle even Morgoth could never take. But at last, at the Fourth Battle of the Sudden Flame, Morgoth, with a dragon at his side, broke the leaguer around Angband and slew Fingolfin. Maglor, Maedhros’ brother, driven from his domain, joined Maedhros upon Himring, reinforcing it further still. The road south from Himring was secure thanks to the vigilance of the Sons of Feanor, and many refugees found their escape easier. But all those Noldorin Elves who bore arms in those lands hastened to Himring; and their smithies were bright.

Alas, Maedhros marched forth upon Morgoth in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears; and after he was betrayed and the battle lost, he fled to Ossiriand, leaving Himring empty and desolate behind him, its walls and gate wrecked by Maedhros’ own catapults to stop the Dark Lord from making use of it.

But by some curious fate, when all Beleriand was sunken in the War of Wrath, Himring alone survived, as an isle, and was called Himling in later ages.

Maedhros, meanwhile, in his eagerness to recover his father’s Silmaril, carried out two Kinslayings at Doriath and Sirion. All his brothers fell in these battles, save Maglor, his comrade at Himring; and of his fate no tale tells.

[piosenniel]

Basic Storyline

It is the last year of the Third Age. Six Elves, the only survivors of Maedhros’ host, meet at the Grey Havens. They are planning to sail to the ruins of Maedhros’ old fortress at the isle of Himling, paying a final visit to their former home before they sail West. Little do they know what danger bides on this chill, grim remnant of Beleriand.

[piosenniel]

The purpose of the story is to: Sail to Himling, explore the ruins of Himring, and sail back to the Grey Havens to embark with the Ringbearers into the West.

This means we will know the story is over when: The surviving Elves are sailing to Valinor.

Starting Location: The Grey Havens

Likely destination: Cirdan’s ship

[piosenniel]

Timeframes

This game takes place in the Third Age at around year 3021.

The storyline itself or plot covers a week.

This game requires a time commitment of 8 - 10 weeks from me, the game owner and from the major players.

[piosenniel]

CHARACTERS NEEDED

-- Any number of houseless spirits (Coavalta) - Elves

-- Any number of houseless spirits (Coavalta) - Orcs

A player may control more than one should they wish. NO BIOS NECESSARY FOR THESE CHARACTERS.

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

1.) Anguirel’s character

NAME: Malris of Forlindon

AGE: 7251 years (born 1299, Age of the Trees)

RACE: Noldorin Elf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Cirlach, a blade forged by Curufin and wound about with ancient runes in Tengwar and Certh, given to Malris in the years of the Leaguer around Angband. The blade is exceedingly sharp, and the balance is well-crafted. Were Malris encountering Orcs, it would no doubt be very useful, but it is no substantial foe he is to face now...

APPEARANCE: Malris is not as tall as some of the Noldor. He is slender, but in no way effete; his face is grim and hard, and his grey eyes given to glaring. His hair is black and cut short. He is left-handed, and it was he, with Curufin, who helped to train Maedhros in swordplay after he lost his right hand. He wears the star of Feanor proudly on his tunic.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Malris brooks very little argument, and has a short temper; though he is always respectful and loyal to those who have won his regard over his long years. He is cautious, experience having taught him this vital lesson. But once he has decided to hate, his pride means he will rarely be reconciled. He is still uneasy as to how to behave to the Teleri, and as to men, he cannot forget the treachery of Uldor the Accursed at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

HISTORY: Malris was born in Tirion, in the blessed land of Valinor. As he grew he excelled physically, performing feats of athleticism far beyond his size, though Artanis, called Nerwen and Galadriel, always outdid him. Once he noticed another youth of the Noldor, flagging behind in a run, on the point of collapse. Malris ran back across the track to stop the other falling. It turned out that this was Maglor, son of Feanor, whose father had urged him to run a race he did not possess the stamina to finish.

Maglor and Malris found in each other opposite, and consequently attractive, characters, and soon befriended each other. So it was that Malris, not of noble stock, nevertheless found himself frequently at the house of Feanor, where he met Maglor’s six brothers. Maedhros admired Malris’ honesty and courage, and Curufin enjoyed teasing him, competing against him in games he would win by trickery. At first Malris was affronted by this, but Maglor persuaded him to forgive Curufin, and Curufin also won his esteem by his arts in the smithy. Only Celegorm actively disliked him, and derided his lack of breeding.

When Feanor broke the peace of Valinor, Malris would have accompanied him and his sons into exile, but his father, who took Fingolfin’s side, forbade it. After Feanor’s return and the theft of the Silmarils, Malris journeyed with Feanor’s host; without regret he joined the Kinslaying, and so fell under the full force of the Doom of Mandos. He fought in the Dagor-nan-Giliath and the Dagor Aglareb, and bore Maedhros’ standard for a time. At this time he married Giledhel of the Noldor.

When the Leaguer was broken at the Bragollach, Malris helped fortify Himring with all his skill. After the loss at the Nirnaeth, Malris helped destroy the walls he had built, to stop the Dark Lord occupying them. In the retreat his wife Giledhel was lost, and he never saw her again.

He joined Maedhros and the brothers in Ossiriand, and was one of the captains in their army on the assaults on Doriath and Sirion, though by the Third Kinslaying he felt sick to the heart. When the host of Eonwe arrived in Beleriand, Malris met his father again, but refused to sail home with him. The break was complete.

Malris travelled far to the east, seeking Maglor and Maedhros, and found only the chasm where Maedhros had fallen. He returned to Lindon, not going to Mithlond, for he knew Cirdan hated him and with good reason, but building a small hall near the Ered Luin. At last, Gil-galad summoned him to court, and he was pardoned on the instigation of Elrond, Maglor’s foster-son, who declared him of good character.

Celebrimbor called on him to join the Gwaith-i-Mirdan of Eregion, but he remained loyal to the High King, distrusting the Maia Annatar.

After the fall of Gil-galad and Sauron Elrond invited him to come to Imladris, but he refused, keeping to his abode in Forlindon, for a sea-longing was creeping upon him. Now, in the year of the Ring’s destruction, he plans to depart; but he wishes to see Himring again first, and so he has called the other five survivors of Maedhros’ army to meet him in Mithlond.

~*~*~*~

In addition to Malris, Anguirel will control the Voice of Maglor and Cirdan, as they are canon characters.

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Anguirel’s post -- FIRST FOR GAME

It is a curious thing to leave behind your house in any circumstances. A house is forged and tempered to appear, if not like its owner’s soul, then like a perception of that soul. It wrenches the spirit to abandon it.

How much odder, then, the Elf reflected, that he-who had been driven out of his last home by all the might of the Valarin Host-now countenanced leaving his small, utilitarian hall behind willingly; leaving it intact, pristine, down to the smithy, armoury, everything-but without anything but mice to dwell in it. And why was he doing this? Because of some water mixed with salt. O Sea, beloved thing, yet a stifler of hopes. The gulls were singing again as he looked out from the harbour of Mithlond.

But Malris had one last errand to attend to; half a tribute to lost friends, half, as he had to admit, self-indulgence and nostalgia. Before he set out to Tol Eressea, he would visit another domicile; the place he had lived when life still held excitement, possibilities; when the Long Defeat still looked like victory. He, and the five other survivors of Maedhros the Tall’s host, would go back to Himring.

Why else, after all, he thought, did the Valar preserve it? Surely if it alone survived the ruin of Beleriand, there is some greater purpose bound up with it. But what care I for things arranged by the uncaring Lords of the West? No; my reasons are private ones. I would look on the castle of Maedhros one more time before it is lost to me. And the others feel the same; have felt the same all this long age, or they would not have agreed to come.

“Gnome! Cease your maundering!” a harsh voice cried, scattering his thoughts. It was Cirdan’s harbour master, and like most of the Telerin Elves here, he hated Malris the moment he saw the Star of Feanor on his chest.

“Are you moving on or aren’t you?”

“I want a boat, fisherman.”

“Why don’t you kill for it? You’ve done it before.”

“And little good it did me. Silver,” Malris muttered, “is cheaper than steel. I learnt that eventually.”

“Yet you wear the murderer’s ensign.”

“I wear it for Maedhros,” Malris answered, so quietly it was almost inaudible. “For the beautiful, unmatched, fearless Prince who kept your lands safe from Orcs.”

“He proved little better than an Orc himself. I lost my wife at Sirion, blood-drinker.”

“Then,” Malris said, “we are more similar than you imagine. Find me a boat that will carry six, and then, truly, Teler, you will never have to set eyes on me again.”

There was a cough behind them. At first sight the new arrival might have been said to resemble an old bearded Man; but his eyes were too bright with starlight and wisdom.

“Malris of Forlindon. I received your missive. A vessel is provided for you and your five companions. In a week, return here, and we will take the Straight Road together.”

“I thank you, Shipwright,” Malris replied with a slight bow. “Now I will go to the boat. Tell the others where I have gone. Namarie, for better or worse.”

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

2.) Piosenniel’s character – Rivendell Elf

NAME: Endamir (known now among the Elves of Rivendell as Quettano)

AGE: Born in the Age of Trees – 1400; twin to Orëmir.

RACE: Noldor

GENDER: male

WEAPONS:

Plain bladed, short sword in leather scabbard. The scabbard bears now faint traceries put there by his father – two vines, intertwined, one bearing silvered leaves, the other bearing golden. ‘For remembrance, and for strength united,’ his mother had said when she designed them. The words * Ever may you defend one another * are all but faded from the crosspiece of the blade. A long, oaken spear, with a sharp iron tip. He is quite skilled in the use of these two weapons. A hunting knife hangs from his belt, though these many years it has served more to sharpen quills than to kill. The years in Imladris have acquainted him with the use of the long bow. His is made of yew wood and plain in the crafting. He prefers the back slung quiver. Though if truth be told the bow and quiver gather dust on the wall of his room. But then they have the good company of the sword and spear to make complaint to.

Armor: A simple, short sleeved light chain mail shirt beneath which he wears a thick soft padded shirt. Boiled leather vambraces without device, and a thick, waistlength, boiled leather vest. There is a plain and slightly dented helmet, too. But it and the other protective pieces spent their time in Imladris bearing witness to the years of long disuse, though at times they were given the honor of being paperweights.

His present weapon is the quill and ink as he battles the fading memories of the Eldar with capture on vellum.

APPEARANCE:

Grey eyed. Hair as dark as a raven’s wing, braided neatly in a single plait down his back. The old habits of keeping one’s eyes and arms free for the use of weapons have not left him. Tall, as are the Noldor; about 6’5” (1.96 m). Broad shouldered, and still well muscled. Graceful and trim, not bulky. Left-handed.

Wears soft brown breeches held up by a braided leather belt with brass buckle. Tunics in muted greys or blacks. Worn, dark brown leather boots. When needed he has a hooded, grey-green cloak woven in Imladris.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

He is a reserved person; quiet. Given more to observation and review of those about him than to interaction. He wasn’t always so. His early years found him an eager participant among the followers of Fëanor, a loyal and steadfast supporter despite the first of the Kinslayings. But long years spent reflecting on the actions that allied him with Fëanor’s Oath and its far reaching doom have tempered greatly the ardor and earnestness of his youth. He is not retiring to the point of cynicism. Nonetheless, there is a certain taste of ashes about life now for him, mingled with considered but yet unwept tears.

One facet of his life which has not changed is his fierce devotion to his brother and his brother’s well-being. Such devotion has prompted him at times to act in an ill considered manner, putting himself at risk in an effort to uphold his mother’s long ago request.

HISTORY:

Born in the Blessed Realm, in Tirion, but in an unfortunate year – The Unchaining of Melkor. His father, Maltanië was a capable metal craftsman who held Finwë, the High King, in great esteem as a leader and admired the creative skills of his son, Fëanor.

As a young Elf, Endamir in turn looked up to Fëanor’s sons, especially Maedhros; delighting in those times when the older Elf would cast a glance his way, or best yet, speak to him in passing. This admiration matured as the years passed into a deep respect for the sort of person he found Maedhros to be – brave, true to his family and friends, true to his word.

When the Silmarils were taken by Melkor and the sons of Fëanor stood by their father’s side and took his oath, Endamir was resolved to go with them. He pleaded with his father, who was loath to let him go. But in the end, his father’s respect for Fëanor, and his grief at the slaying of Finwë, won out. And Endamir was allowed to leave with the host of Fëanor. His brother, Orëmir, also begged leave to go, not wanting to be sundered from his twin.

Together, they followed in Maedhros’ van; caught up at first in the excitement of their first adult venture. They were both skilled in the use of their blades, but only in competition. And they had never ventured far from the boundaries of Tirion. Older, more seasoned Elves took the youngsters under their tutelage and brought them safely into Endore, Middle-earth.

There is no need to speak of the terrible battles fought against Melkor and his creatures. Or of the great War of Wrath which ended the bloody saga. Or of the other Kinslayings, the last of which was done only by the hands of Maedhros and Maglor against the Elves who guarded the camp of Eonwë. Endamir and his brother were not present at this last grievous act. They had been separated from Maedhros after the sinking of Beleriand. But on their hands were the blood of other Elves in Doriath and the Havens of Sirion.

Many of their companions were returning to the Blessed Realm after the defeat of Melkor, bound West from the Havens in Lindon. Endamir and Orëmir took counsel with each other, and found to their mutual agreement that they were not done yet with their taste for adventure. Albeit they hoped for one more pleasing to the eye and heart than battle and its carnage. There were new lands, to the East. And remnants of Elves, they had heard, that lingered from the First Days. And there were other folk, too, whose ways might be of interest. They became wanderers.

Neither of the brothers ever married. Melkor was gone. They were wary of bringing new life into an uneasy place. There was still a certain unease, a shadow that had crept through much of Middle-earth. Numenor, the shining star of Men, was destroyed, A new Dark Lord rose, intent on bringing Men under his submission. Long were the new battles fought against him and his minions.

Weary of battle, the two brothers did not lend their blades to the aid of the Second Born. They had come to Imladris and been welcomed without question; without reprehension. They took on new names, reflecting their choices of the roles they would assume there.

During their travels, Endamir had begun to keep a journal and to collect stories gathered from folk along the way. More precious was the rare bit of written word gleaned from dusty storage places here and there. Orëmir was more interested in the flora of the regions they passed through, and often sought out those knowledgeable of their uses. Of especial interest to him were the medicinal plants and the various combinations Men used them for the healing of their hurts. And when no healing was possible, to ease the frights and pains of death.

Long years had they spent in contentment among Lord Elrond’s folk, until the short and simple message came from a companion of their younger days.

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Piosenniel’s post ------ SHOULD FOLLOW ENVINYATAR'S

There had been a brief pause for the evening meal. Made briefer by the silence which had grown on them since they’d come down from Lake Nenuial, heading south to Mithlond. Endamir cleared away the remains of the food and drink, then settled in, cross-legged, his pack within easy reach. A battered leather journal lay open on his left knee; the pot of ink on the ground by the same thigh. His eyes seemed unfocused as he stared into the distance, gathering his thoughts to continue.

. . . So little is left of that fair land. Once we would have ridden for days, following the course of the Sirion, until we reached the great bay. And from there a ship would have borne us to the Isle of Balar. No longer. Beneath the might of the Valar, the land fell; the sea rushed in.

The sea rushed in with a will those days.

It covered the places where we fought and fell; it could not cover our deeds . . .

Endamir’s quill moved quickly over the page. His eyes narrowed at the last few sentences. His hand hesitated, the quill raised, as if he might cross off the offending thoughts. ‘Leave them,’ he thought to himself. ‘It matters not. They will be left behind with none but Men to read them. And what will they know of undying sorrow and cankerous wrongs. Their little lives are too short for such consideration.’

Tomorrow will find us at the Grey Havens. Will we see Cirdan there? I wonder what he thinks of this last of the Havens. Does he find it rude in comparison to his others? Most likely not. He seems from all accounts an accommodating and adaptable sort. I wonder, too, how he can stand to return and wait for us who have taken so long to come to the sea. Does he pity us? Is that what fuels his patience. Does he gather us in like some shepherd with his bleating flock? Or like a father, his strayed sons.

I feel like neither – sheep nor child. Nor have I want of pity.

There is only that one small flame of hope, far in the distance. By the grace of the Valar, Cirdan and his ship will bear me there . . .

And Malris, he is sure to be there. And what of the others? Will they . . .

A stream of colorful words, heated imprecations, distracted him from his thoughts. Orëmir had cut his finger and was having no luck in bandaging it. With a half smile at his brother’s predicament he helped him fix the small strip of linen that held the mossy pad to the wound.

‘Now who is the healer?’ he chided, holding the bandaged digit up for Orëmir’s inspection. ‘And nicely done, I might add. Though there are smudges of ink on the knot, I fear.’

His brother smiled and Endamir found himself returning it in kind. ‘Come, brother,’ he said, slipping the carving knife back into its sheath. ‘It grows too dark for playing with knives or quills. Let us put them away for the night and make us a small fire to drive away the growing chill.’ He laughed, drawing his cloak more tightly about him as he gathered up his journal, quill, and ink and tucked them in the front pocket of his pack. ‘It was always so cold here,’ he continued. ‘You remember, don’t you? I must say that is one thing I have not missed these long years . . .’

~*~

Day found them leaning together, backs against a tall rock, their shoulders pressed against one another. Huddled within their cloaks, talking still. They had put that final question aside for a little while, now that the sea was so near; their arrival so final. And were for each other the brothers they had been in their younger years.

With lighter hearts, the truce still unbroken, they rode through the morning and arrived before mid-day at the Havens. With a minimum of false starts they found their way to the ship someone had told them was Malris’ vessel. Dismounting from their horses, they approached the boarding plank and seeing no one on deck, Endamir called out in a loud voice.

‘Malris! Are you there?’

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

3.) Envinyatar’s character – Rivendell Elf

NAME: Orëmir (to the Elves of Rivendell known as Curuma)

AGE: Born in the Age of Trees – 1400; Endamir’s twin brother

RACE: Noldor

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Bears a sword identical to his brother’s; The scabbard also is the same. A long, oaken spear, too, with a sharp iron tip. He is skilled in the use of these two weapons. A short dagger in a dark leather holder hangs from his belt. Unlike his brother, he is not much interested in the bow. He still has a heavy oaken cudgel, well balanced so that his arm might swing it easily and with great force.

His armour consists of a short sleeved light chain mail shirt beneath which he wears a thick soft padded shirt. A thick, waist length, boiled leather vest serves as another layer to protect his upper body. Boiled leather vambraces without device protect his forearms. There is a plain helmet and a small round metal shield.

APPEARANCE: Dark grey eyes. Black hair cut very short. Tall, 6’5”. Broad shouldered, lithely muscled. Graceful in his movements. Ambidextrous, though prefers using his right hand.

His brown breeches are held up by dark brown leather belt. Tends to favor tunics in shades of grayish green. His boots are knee high, of supple, dark brown leather. He has a hooded, grey-green cloak woven in Imladris.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Orëmir is a softspoken, gracious man. Unlike his brother, he is not reserved or withdrawn. He enjoys the company of others and is the sort who with a few light words and a quick smile can draw one out. He is well liked by his fellows and often sought for his companionship.

He has taken on the role of healer with such naturalness that it would seem his hands and mind had been schooled from the first in the arts of gentle touch and healing words; that they had never been put to use with sword, and spear, and cudgel - with the multitude of cruel ways that one person can kill another.

Unlike his brother, he has come to terms in his own way with the bloodshed done by his hands. In part, perhaps, because he feels he has made some redress of his actions through his skill as a healer. It grieves him deeply that he cannot lighten his brother’s burden.

HISTORY: His history, of course, is much like his brother’s. Though it was not for love of Fëanor and his sons that Orëmir joined them in their pursuit of the Silmarils. Not that he thought them wrong in their choices. Truth be told, he really did not care much one way or the other. He simply did not want to be apart from his brother.

And once the battles and the war were done, he supported his brother’s choice to stay in Middle-earth and to see of it what they could. They wandered long in distance and in years before coming to settle in Imladris.

During their travels, it was from men that he gathered much of his knowledge of the healing arts . . . the uses of herbs in different combinations to ease pain or to restore the sick and injured body to its normal courses. From his fellow Elves met along the way were the deeper lessons of using thought to probe the illness or injury and speed the course of healing. Death, too, he found to be an exacting teacher, coming as it did despite the skills used to hold it in abeyance. And often he wondered at this Gift of Men, how some welcomed it and others were frightened.

In the long course of this last war, that which brought about the fall of Sauron, Orëmir had much to do, especially among the Rangers who dwelt south of Imladris, in The Angle. His skills were often called upon to heal the wounds made by the Shadow and his foul creatures. Even now that the victory has been won and there is peace, there is still much to be done.

The call from Malris was not a welcome one for Orëmir. It brings into sharp relief an ongoing dialog between the two brothers. Endamir grows weary of Middle-earth. Orëmir can see him withdrawing more and more as the years pass. There is a longing in Endamir to return to the West. It is there he feels he will be at peace. Orëmir does not share his brother’s longing. Malris, it seems, has also turned his thoughts to the journey home. Being so close to the sea, and with his old friend wanting also to go West, Orëmir knows will be hard to dissuade his brother. Impossible, perhaps. And if he cannot change Endamir’s mind, then what is he to do?

~*~

Will also play a contingent of Orc houseless spirits if needed

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Envinyatar’s post

The stars were just opening in night’s field, glittering more brightly as the sun sank beneath the rim of the sea. There was enough light for Orëmir to study his brother’s face as he sat opposite him on his bedroll.

Orëmir’s hands were busy with his carving knife and a small piece of beech, one of many he’d brought with him from Imladris. From this one he was teasing a small chickadee, one of the many he’d seen on his treks along the valley’s sides seeking plants for his medicines. They were bright little birds, in spirit, if not in color. And they never ceased to make him smile with their hopping about beneath the low growing shrubs, ever on the alert for food.

His brother’s hands were busy with quill and ink; teasing some piece of history from his mind. Setting it down in black upon soft white as he scratched the letters across the pages of his journal. Capturing it; making it stand still. Almost as if it were some charm against its fading.

It had not proved so.

And here they found themselves, making a rough camp on a small rise above some unnamed stream flowing south from Emyn Uial into the Lhune. The healer and the word-smith. One in their affection for each other, but divided by the decision that must soon be made.

In the gathering darkness and his tangling thoughts, the knife slipped, nicking his finger. Blood welled up from the cut, and he brought the injured digit to his mouth to stanch the flow. It was salty. The taste of it mingling with the scent from the sea when the wind from the west blew up the river. His senses sharpened to a pinpoint and he thought, too, he could hear the sound of the far bells at the entrance to the harbor as the waves rocked them on their buoys.

‘The gulls, at least, are silent,’ he thought to himself as he drew his leather pouch toward him, fishing in it for a wad of moss to place against the wound.

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

4.) Feanor of the Peredhil’s character – Lorien Elf

Name: Tasarënì

Age: 7221 years

Race: Noldorin Elf of Lothlorien

Gender: female

Weapons: twin blades, slender and slightly curved; perfectly balanced with black hilts. Silver dagger elaborately carved with vines on the hilt. Is adept with both longbow and staff, but prefers niether. Years before she carried her blades crossed on her back. These days she goes weaponless but for the dagger which she keeps tucked away.

Appearance: Tall and slender, Tasarënì has long golden hair that is usually partially braided to stay out of her eyes, but still falls to the middle of her back. She has pale skin that rarely flushes and shimmering grey eyes. Her favorite colors are blue and silver, and so usually she is clothed in flowing gowns in those colors. She wears a belt made to look like twining lengths of willow leaves. In days of battle, she was more likely to be found in men's garb, favoring knee-length tunics over loose breeches. Her armor was crimson, but is no longer around, having been cloven asunder during the Nirnaeth. She bears a long white scar along her left jaw bone.

Personality: Tasarënì is unsure of herself, though not in battle. She avoids large gatherings at all costs, preferring fireside chats with old friends. When she was young, her love of all things good and her mercy brought her to become cold to those who were too ambitious to recognize what was right. Her heart melted some when she once witnessed a handsome young Elf turn aside from a race to help the son of Fëanor. From that moment she loved him for she saw in that instant past his short temper and to the kindness in his heart.

Through the years, her heart has softened considerably until the only creatures who do not receive her unconditional love and mercy are the spawn of Melkor; those with no hope of salvation. To them, she is as cold as ice, and will slay them swiftly at need. Tasarënì is quick and intelligent, but saves her judgements, keeping counsel only with herself, and, in later Ages, with Galadriel.

History: As a maiden in the fairest lands about Tirion, Tasarënì has always had a fondness for beautiful things. Her heart was open and she was merciful, but could not bear to tolerate ambitious types who would ignore a call for help to achieve their own ends. She was cold to most people, until they won her respect, but ever after would she be kind and gentle with them. When she was young, Tasarënì witnessed Malris in a race and loved him. Her unsurity caused her to delay in informing him of this fact, and eventually she decided not to. However being the perceptive lad that he is, he figured it out and was sick at heart, for he knew that he could not return her love, and so allowed her to believe he was unaware. However they became fast friends regardless.

When Melkor stole the silmarilli, Tasa was absolutely devestated by the malice and the loss of such beauty. She could not stomach evil, and so when Fëanor called for war, her heart was kindled, and she joined him. When she learned that Malris rode as well, she was overjoyed.

Her heart, kind and merciful as it was, was torn between her love of the Valar and her hatred of Morgoth. During the Kinslaying, though she took part, she knew that it was wrong and wept, her tears mingling with the blood of the Teleri.

Through all battles, Tasa fought valiantly, believing it the greater evil to allow Morgoth's evil to spread than to destory it. Through this time, her friendship with Malris grew and at times they would meet in the midst of battle and smile to know each was there.

At the Nirnaeth, Tasa was grieviously wounded and was unable to fight again for a very long time. It was at this time that she met Galadriel and knew that her allegiance was torn. Though she loved Maedhros and would happily lay down her life for him, she loved the goodness and purity of Galadriel and at this time vowed that she would lay down her arms and become a handmaiden, if allowed. It was, and she did. Through the many long years, Malris and Tasa lost touch, but she never forgot that her heart belonged to him, and he never forgot that he could not accept it.

---------------------------------------

Feanor of the Peredhil’s post

Tasarënì wiped away a quiet tear as she slowly passed through her deserted home for the last time. She had lived in Lothlorien as a maiden of the Lady of the Golden Wood for years beyond count. Though named for her love of the willows, the mallorns quickly became their equals in her heart, and she was loathe to leave them behind. She had watched silently as many of the first born passed from the land, tarrying long. For what had seemed an age, Tasarënì waited for an unknown sign, certain she would recognize it when it came. Every twilight she would walk the silent woods, marvelling. Song birds came to her, singing quiries of her sadness, and she smiled.

She looked to the sky, noting a single ray of starlight passing through the canopy. She smiled softly, eyes downcast. It was time. She turned, glancing for the last time at the water by her feet, the trees that had been her silent companions for many long years, bearing witness to her grief, never condemning her, and never asking of her what she cared not to answer.

A harsh cry pierced the air and she looked up, startled. A swift falcon was weaving carefully through the trees, making its way to Tasarënì. She lifted her arm, sending out a quick prayer that the handsome bird's sharp talons not hold too tightly. He landed gracefully and met her eye with the intelligence of his kind. She looked at him in amazement, noting not without a start the roll of paper bound to his leg.

She removed it quickly with one delicate hand as he perched patiently. With a flick of her wrist, Tasa unrolled the letter, tears coming to her eyes as she received the long awaited message... Malris requested her presence, accompanied by Lómwë, at the Grey Havens. It is time, she thought. Time to go home.

Silently, but with a small smile, Tasarënì walked through the woods, seeking for Lómwë. They would leave at the first light.

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

5.) Firefoot's character - Lorien Elf

NAME: Lómwë

AGE: Born 1256, Age of Trees

RACE: Noldorin Elf of Lothlórien

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: His sword, Coruthel, is his weapon of choice. It is of Dwarvish make and was acquired soon after the Noldor returned to Beleriand. The scabbard is plain leather, bearing no devices. However, he has had little practical use for his sword of late, requiring more his bow, which is such as the Galadhrim use. He also carries a long knife, which is a useful tool if not always used as a weapon.

APPEARANCE: Tall, lithe but well-muscled. Black hair which he wears partially pulled back; it falls to just past his shoulders. Eyes are grey, with a blue tint; his gaze is keen. He has high cheekbones and a firm jaw line.

He wears a tunic of an unassuming-green shade with a belt of dark brown leather, and underneath this a shirt of chain mail. His breeches are earth-colored and his boots, also dark leather, extend to about mid-calf. He also wears one of the grey-green cloaks of Lórien.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Lómwë suffers from a strange combination of longing for the glory of the Elder Days and regretting them, desiring both to remember and to forget. He has never been one to let go, and while he has adopted the customs of the Galadhrim, in many other ways he dwells largely on the past. He has never been overly friendly, though neither was he outright cold, and has put many people off by this; he has had few close relationships. He is more of a follower than a leader, but will readily make his own decisions. Though less impulsive than he had been in youth, he still maintains a quiet intenseness about him. He is proud, though not arrogant, and can be stubborn.

HISTORY: Born in the fair city of Tirion upon Túna, Lómwë spent much of his youth exploring the lands around the city. Though he loved the beautiful land of Valinor and the bliss of the light of the Trees, he eventually found that the trails and woods seemed too well-traveled and found himself to be more than a little curious about the lands beyond the sea: the realms of Beleriand, the great Mountains of Mist, Cuiviénen under the stars. He contented himself, however, desiring not to leave the fair land of his birth; that is, until the flight of the Noldor.

In the years following Melkor’s pardon, Lómwë was more of a passive spectator than a participant, though his father, a jewel-smith, received aid from Melkor numerous times. Lómwë was ever wary of these interactions, though he soon found he could little untangle the lies from the truths of Melkor. He respected Fëanor greatly, and when Fëanor called for the Noldor to follow him to Middle-earth, Lómwë followed gladly. He made some attempt to find his family first, but found them not. He later found out that they, too, were among the throng.

He was in the van of the host, and, still under the influence of Fëanor’s heated words, readily took part in the Kinslaying, an action he eventually came to regret. His sister, his only sibling, was killed in the Kinslaying, and partially because of this his parents afterwards followed Finarfin and forsook the march. Thus Lómwë was the only one of his kindred to land in Middle-earth.

During the battles of Beleriand he marched always in the vanguard. Once Fëanor fell, he immediately turned to Maedhros for leadership, of all Fëanor’s sons the one he found the best leader and most courageous. During the Long Peace he fell in love with and married a Green Elf of Ossiriand, Ellothiel. Also in this time they had a son, Aradol. Both wife and young son were killed during the Dagor Bragollach while Lómwë was away fighting.

After this Lómwë lost most of his taste for fighting, and after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad he fought no more until the War of Wrath and dwelt for a time among the Green Elves, his wife’s kin. After the War of Wrath Lómwë found himself bereft and without purpose. He desired not to return to Valinor, in part for pride but mostly in hopes for finding someplace new and not filled with memories. He wandered about Middle-earth for a time, soon settling in with the Noldor under Galadriel’s leadership, who alone of the Elvish leaders remaining in Middle-earth had been present since the Unchaining of Melkor.

He did not fight in any battles of the Second and Third Ages save to defend Lórien. He assimilated himself into the culture of Lórien, caring little for outside affairs. He eventually wound up as a marchwarden. Though melded into the new ways, he felt deep longing for times as they were, for though there had been sorrow, there had also been valor, and courage, and glory. So when Malris’ summons had come, he accepted almost full-heartedly, the exception being the small part of him that wanted to let the past be past; it haunted him enough without searching it out.

---------------------------------------

Firefoot's post

Dreary step by eager step, Lómwë drew ever nearer to the Grey Havens. He and Tasarënì would reach their destination by midday, he estimated. The journey had been long if uneventful, and traveled mostly in silence. It was not that there existed any particular aversion between the two; rather, they had nothing of importance that they cared to share. Lómwë could scarce remember the last time he had had a lengthy conversation of any real import – import to him, that is. The truth was, very little seemed important to him anymore. Now this trip; this was important. It was everything he had longed for and tried to escape for the last six and a half thousand years, and naturally, after so long he had some very strong feelings about it, feelings which he had expressed to no one. He had made it clear early on (subtly) that this topic was not open for conversation on his part, and fortunately Tasarënì did not seem overeager to discuss the subject either. Always though it lurked around the corner, ready to come up in discussion like a dark cloud preparing to storm. So, they hadn’t done a whole lot of discussing.

As was the norm, Lómwë was wrapped in his own thoughts, and currently his mind was turned towards the thought of home. He was going there, he supposed, though he was not exactly sure where “there” was. Certainly, home was not Lórien, where he had dwelt for so many years. In sunken Beleriand? Maybe. Valinor? Perhaps. He honestly wasn’t sure. He had long since lost a feeling of belonging anywhere. He wondered if finding this home, this sense of belonging, was his desire for the trip to Himring – now Himling, he corrected. He honestly did not know, for with the belonging he had also lost an ultimate purpose. It had all seemed so clear before we left Valinor, when Fëanor explained it, he mused. Yet it hadn’t been clear at all, nor was it now.

With a shake of his head, he cleared his thoughts. He had found that dwelling on these things changed the past not at all and his feelings about them hardly. If he did not fear to forget, he would not think of it at all, if he could help it.

Instead he concentrated on the path, for something to do rather than for need. He tried to think of something to say to Tasarënì to lighten the quiet, but found nothing. Thus the remainder of the trip was continued in silence.

They knew they were getting closer as the grey gulls wheeled overhead in increasing frequency. Soon the harbor came into view: the end, and the beginning. One of these grey ships would carry them on a voyage into the past, a past Lómwë felt ready to confront, or at least knew he needed to. It was a past full of sorrow and defeat mingled with valor and glory. Yet none of these were what Lómwë sought.

He sought peace.

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

6.) Child of the 7th Age - Noldorin Elf of Lindon

NAME: Lindir

AGE: Born 1258, Age of Trees.

RACE: Noldorin Elf

GENDER: Male

WEAPON: Lindir bears a well crafted blade with a cunning design of flowers and leaves engraved in silver and surrounded by an inlay of fine jewels. It is a weapon that he himself designed and forged with his own hands under the direction of his father, who was also a talented craftsman. He has had little use for this weapon since the end of the Second Age. By preference, he now uses a hunting knife and a long bow of simple, practical design in making his way along the coast and up into the foothills of the Blue Mountains.

APPEARANCE: He has the face of an artist rather than a warrior, with grey eyes that hold a great depth of sorrow. His features are fine, and he is unusually short for one of the Noldor, standing just under six feet tall. His hair is black and straight, held back from his face in a single braided plait and secured with a simple leather band. His clothes are so plain, lacking any elegance, that some mistake him from a distance for a Man of common birth. Only an ornate silver brooch of unsurpassed workmanship that graces his shirt hints at his family and artistic heritage. This jewel at his throat is evidently a gift that Lindir holds dear, yet he does not say who gave it to him.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

Lindir is a quiet Elf who, in the past, was driven by his love to create beautiful things: weapons, jeweled necklaces, and rings. Over the years, he has become increasing closed mouth and secretive. Lindir's fierce desire to craft objects of beauty was both his great strength and his weakness. Because of his singleminded devotion, he chose not to take a bride. Since his return from Eregion (see below), however, he has laid aside his skills as an Elven-smith and has learned a totally different trade: that of a scout who wanders alone beside the seacoast and into the mountains, hiring out his services to other Elves and Men.


HISTORY:

Lindir’s father was an Elven-smith of Fëanor’s house: Lindir followed in his footsteps. As such, he inevitably became involved in the wars of the First Age, seeing his blades employed in fierce and bloody battles in Beleriand, as well as in the Kinslaying. After the drowning of Beleriand, Lindir had turned from the crafting of weapons to the making of rings and jewels, thinking that it was better to forge objects of beauty rather than destruction. He was perhaps moved by some impulse to make amends for the sorry events of the First Age.

In the Second Age, a time when many of his earlier companions had left the seacoast and journeyed eastward, Lindir remained in Lindon and joined the remaining Noldor Elves who were ruled by Gil-galad Ereinion. Lindir had been among those smiths who, led by Celebrimbor, grandson of Fëanor, moved across the Blue Mountains in 750 and founded the city of Eregion under the walls of Moria. These Elves had sought to make amends for earlier evils by helping to forge Rings of Power intended to heal the ills of Middle-earth. At some point, before the fall of Eregion, Lindir had fled back to the coast of Lindon. He refused to discuss the events of this period in his life, just as he refused to discuss the great bloodshed and sadness of his earlier time in Beleriand.

------------------------------------------

Child of the 7th Age's post

Lindir stood silent on the banks of the Lhûn, vacantly fixed on the churning waters that emptied into the Gulf. Far beyond, he could glimpse the distant Sea. At his back, to the north and west, hung the peaks of the Ered Lhûn. It was strange, he reflected, that the river and the mountains were called by the ancient Grey-elven term that meant “Blue” in the Common Tongue. In the past week, he had seen no hint of blue, only brown and green, in the miles of tangled forest and matted bracken through which he had trudged. Nor did the waters in front of him show any bluish hue, despite the bright sunshine that beat down from the heavens. He saw only dusky grey waters that gave no promise of comfort or a glimpse of better things to come. A lone gull appeared overhead, circled once, and then disapeared.

Lindir felt he had come to the end of his journey. He could not stay on in Middle-earth. The shores of Lindon and the lands further east brought no relief to his aching discomfort. Yet that decision held no measure of joy or anticipation. His journey from the Havens was not a well deserved rest after a life of purposeful activitity, but almost an admission of guilt of too many mistakes and missed chances that had slipped through his grasp. The events of the First Age as well as those of the Second had left him uneasy, deeply aware of the evil that shadowed the world and the fact that he was seemingly unable to do little to alleviate it. It was not only the bloodshed of the First Age that preyed on his mind, as ghastly as that had been, but his bungled attempts to atone for things at Eregion that had ended in such disaster.

When Malris had come to him some time ago with the suggestion that they pay a final visit to Himring and then sail from the Havens, Lindir had promised to think on the idea, but had not given his consent. Now, after spending a week secluded in the mountains, he had finally decided that Malris was right. It was time to leave behind the past and sail West. Whatever awaited him there surely could not be worse than what had happened in Middle-earth.

He had thought of asking Malris to forego the trek to Himring and have the group head straight out to the West. Himring was fraught with bitter memories, and Lindir could see little good in awakening these images. But Malris seemed determined; Lindir felt he had no chance of changing his comrade's mind, and he did not wish to disappoint him. There were too few Elves whom he could still call by the name of "friend". With a sigh, he picked up his pack and hoisted it onto his shoulders continuing on his path towards the harbor as he wondered what the morrow might bring.

[piosenniel]

Fea and Firefoot

Please post your Character Bios and First Posts on this thread. No need to PM them to Anguirel.

~*~

Anguirel

Please feel free to review the submissions and make suggestions and comments

:cool: ~*~ Pio

[Anguirel]

What can I say? I'm very impressed, and I eagerly await your posts!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I am incredibly excited... being exhausted, I asked if I could switch my hours at work to Friday. My request was met with enthusiasm, and now that means that I get to go home on time.

Which means that I'll be working on my character who just informed me (she's well enough developed to have a personality of her own, if not a concrete appearance, age, or set of skills) of something incredibly interesting. Anguirel, this twist in my character is sure to make you lean forward with interest. I'll have my bio done by tonight (I'll probably post it in the morning), and my first post... I'm not sure yet. But soon.

Fea

[Envinyatar]

Looking forward to playing in this game.

Will have a post up by Friday, barring some major catastrophe. :)

- E -

[Firefoot]

I'll have my bio up soon, and a first post shortly after that. These are a busy couple days for me, but I'll do my best to get it up as soon as possible. (Also I am in desperate need of a review of the Sil, so I'm working on that as well...)

I'm very much looking forward to playing in this game with you all! :)

[piosenniel]

Please note

I have invited Child of the 7th Age to play in the game. She will take one of the Elf roles.

~*~ Pio

[Firefoot]

I'll play the Elf of Lothlorien, if Child doesn't mind taking the Lindon Elf.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Regretfully there's a change of plans for my bio and post... I wasn't able to write it all up last night, which is why it wasn't posted today. But I am working in the few seconds I can swipe. I'll have it up soon.

[piosenniel]

Firefoot

Go ahead and work up the Lorien Elf. I've PM'd Child about being the Lindon Elf.

~*~ Pio

[Child of the 7th Age]

The Lindon Elf sounds fine to me. I am just starting work on the profile and post so I am the laggard in the group. I will be writing it over the weekend.

This sounds like an interesting storyline so I am very happy to be joining you all!

Child

[Anguirel]

Which leaves only the rather complex, but I hope rewarding, role of Giledhel's ghost. Lots of tragedy and nostalgia in this part! Roll up, roll up...

[piosenniel]

Giledhel is found! Here's the list of players and characters so far:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PLAYERS/CHARACTERS

Anguirel – Malris (Forlindon)
Child – Lindir (Lindon)


~*~


Pio – Endamir (Imladris)
Envinyatar – Orëmir (Imladris) *will also play some of the ‘houseless’ Orc spirits


~*~


Fea – Tasarënì (Lórien)
Firefoot - Lómwë (Lórien)


Pio – Giledhel (Malris’ dead wife)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHARACTERS STILL NEEDED

Any number of houseless spirits (Coavalta), either of Elves or Orcs – NO BIOS NEEDED A player may control more than one should they wish.

Just let us know here on the discussion thread if you plan on playing one or several of these character types.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Envinyatar]

Here's my first post.

Pio, I've brought us just north of the Havens - the night before we find Malris' ship. Can you get us to the ship?

- E -

------------------------------------------------------

PLACED ON PROPOSAL ~*~ Pio

The stars were just opening in night’s field, glittering more brightly as the sun sank beneath the rim of the sea. There was enough light for Orëmir to study his brother’s face as he sat opposite him on his bedroll.

Orëmir’s hands were busy with his carving knife and a small piece of beech, one of many he’d brought with him from Imladris. From this one he was teasing a small chickadee, one of the many he’d seen on his treks along the valley’s sides seeking plants for his medicines. They were bright little birds, in spirit, if not in color. And they never ceased to make him smile with their hopping about beneath the low growing shrubs, ever on the alert for food.

His brother’s hands were busy with quill and ink; teasing some piece of history from his mind. Setting it down in black upon soft white as he scratched the letters across the pages of his journal. Capturing it; making it stand still. Almost as if it were some charm against its fading.

It had not proved so.

And here they found themselves, making a rough camp on a small rise above some unnamed stream flowing south from Emyn Uial into the Lhune. The healer and the word-smith. One in their affection for each other, but divided by the decision that must soon be made.

In the gathering darkness and his tangling thoughts, the knife slipped, nicking his finger. Blood welled up from the cut, and he brought the injured digit to his mouth to stanch the flow. It was salty. The taste of it mingling with the scent from the sea when the wind from the west blew up the river. His senses sharpened to a pinpoint and he thought, too, he could hear the sound of the far bells at the entrance to the harbor as the waves rocked them on their buoys.

‘The gulls, at least, are silent,’ he thought to himself as he drew his leather pouch toward him, fishing in it for a wad of moss to place against the wound.

[piosenniel]

Will do, Envinyatar!

~*~ Pio

[Anguirel]

Brilliant stuff, Envinyatar...I hope to have lots of fun arguments...

[piosenniel]

My post is now on board. :)

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

*** PLACED ON GAME PROPOSAL ~*~ PIO ***

Name: Tasarënì

Age: 7221 years

Race: Noldorin Elf of Lothlorien

Gender: female

Weapons: twin blades, slender and slightly curved; perfectly balanced with black hilts. Silver dagger elaborately carved with vines on the hilt. Is adept with both longbow and staff, but prefers niether. Years before she carried her blades crossed on her back. These days she goes weaponless but for the dagger which she keeps tucked away.

Appearance: Tall and slender, Tasarënì has long golden hair that is usually partially braided to stay out of her eyes, but still falls to the middle of her back. She has pale skin that rarely flushes and shimmering grey eyes. Her favorite colors are blue and silver, and so usually she is clothed in flowing gowns in those colors. She wears a belt made to look like twining lengths of willow leaves. In days of battle, she was more likely to be found in men's garb, favoring knee-length tunics over loose breeches. Her armor was crimson, but is no longer around, having been cloven asunder during the Nirnaeth. She bears a long white scar along her left jaw bone.

Personality: Tasarënì is unsure of herself, though not in battle. She avoids large gatherings at all costs, preferring fireside chats with old friends. When she was young, her love of all things good and her mercy brought her to become cold to those who were too ambitious to recognize what was right. Her heart melted some when she once witnessed a handsome young Elf turn aside from a race to help the son of Fëanor. From that moment she loved him for she saw in that instant past his short temper and to the kindness in his heart.

Through the years, her heart has softened considerably until the only creatures who do not receive her unconditional love and mercy are the spawn of Melkor; those with no hope of salvation. To them, she is as cold as ice, and will slay them swiftly at need. Tasarënì is quick and intelligent, but saves her judgements, keeping counsel only with herself, and, in later Ages, with Galadriel.

History: As a maiden in the fairest lands about Tirion, Tasarënì has always had a fondness for beautiful things. Her heart was open and she was merciful, but could not bear to tolerate ambitious types who would ignore a call for help to achieve their own ends. She was cold to most people, until they won her respect, but ever after would she be kind and gentle with them. When she was young, Tasarënì witnessed Malris in a race and loved him. Her unsurity caused her to delay in informing him of this fact, and eventually she decided not to. However being the perceptive lad that he is, he figured it out and was sick at heart, for he knew that he could not return her love, and so allowed her to believe he was unaware. However they became fast friends regardless.

When Melkor stole the silmarilli, Tasa was absolutely devestated by the malice and the loss of such beauty. She could not stomach evil, and so when Fëanor called for war, her heart was kindled, and she joined him. When she learned that Malris rode as well, she was overjoyed.

Her heart, kind and merciful as it was, was torn between her love of the Valar and her hatred of Morgoth. During the Kinslaying, though she took part, she knew that it was wrong and wept, her tears mingling with the blood of the Teleri.

Through all battles, Tasa fought valiantly, believing it the greater evil to allow Morgoth's evil to spread than to destory it. Through this time, her friendship with Malris grew and at times they would meet in the midst of battle and smile to know each was there.

At the Nirnaeth, Tasa was grieviously wounded and was unable to fight again for a very long time. It was at this time that she met Galadriel and knew that her allegiance was torn. Though she loved Maedhros and would happily lay down her life for him, she loved the goodness and purity of Galadriel and at this time vowed that she would lay down her arms and become a handmaiden, if allowed. It was, and she did. Through the many long years, Malris and Tasa lost touch, but she never forgot that her heart belonged to him, and he never forgot that he could not accept it.



Shoot... the bell just rang. I have school until 11:30 and then work until 5:00, but after that I should have time to finish writing this up and editing it a bit. Like Estelyn says... better finished than perfect. I'll get this finished if it takes me a dozen edits!

[Anguirel]

Her heart melted some when she once witnessed a handsome young Elf turn aside from a race to help the son of Fëanor. From that moment she loved him for she saw in that instant past his short temper and to the kindness in his heart. Sadly, seeing his love for Giledhel, and hers for him, Tasarënì never spoke of it.
[/i]

Allow me to lean forward in interest...

[Firefoot]

I promise, I'm working on my bio. I've just been busy.

I was thinking, though. Fea, since both of our characters are from Lothlórien, will they have travelled together? I'm open to either way, but I was curious to your thoughts on this.

[Anguirel]

By the way, can I cry mercy to all you Elves who are nicely kitted up with accents? Rendering them is beyond my computer, so if you don't mind I'll refer to you as, for example, Oremir. Is this alright?

[Envinyatar]

Oremir is fine.

I'm surprised, though, that the accent/diacritical marks don't work on your computer. They've worked on both my very old and then new PC. They also work on my laptop.

Have you tried the guide to making them found here (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=171365&postcount=3)? Do make sure the NUM LOCK light is on when you try it.

-E-

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I was thinking, though. Fea, since both of our characters are from Lothlórien, will they have travelled together? I'm open to either way, but I was curious to your thoughts on this.
It's entirely up to you. I honestly hadn't given it thought yet, since I've been going nuts trying to get my bio complete. After this week, my life should slow down, but it's just a bit crazy right now (think huge project, prep for art show, art show, clean up after art show, work, work, work, work, chores, homework, huge project, and 8 poems a night read and analyzed for English).

I'm open to travelling together. Now, I'm going to finish typing my bio and start editing it.

[Firefoot]

*** PLACED ON GAME PROPOSAL ~*~ PIO ***

NAME: Lómwë

AGE: Born 1256, Age of Trees

RACE: Noldorin Elf of Lothlórien

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: His sword, Coruthel, is his weapon of choice. It is of Dwarvish make and was acquired soon after the Noldor returned to Beleriand. The scabbard is plain leather, bearing no devices. However, he has had little practical use for his sword of late, requiring more his bow, which is such as the Galadhrim use. He also carries a long knife, which is a useful tool if not always used as a weapon.

APPEARANCE: Tall, lithe but well-muscled. Black hair which he wears partially pulled back; it falls to just past his shoulders. Eyes are grey, with a blue tint; his gaze is keen. He has high cheekbones and a firm jaw line.

He wears a tunic of an unassuming-green shade with a belt of dark brown leather, and underneath this a shirt of chain mail. His breeches are earth-colored and his boots, also dark leather, extend to about mid-calf. He also wears one of the grey-green cloaks of Lórien.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Lómwë suffers from a strange combination of longing for the glory of the Elder Days and regretting them, desiring both to remember and to forget. He has never been one to let go, and while he has adopted the customs of the Galadhrim, in many other ways he dwells largely on the past. He has never been overly friendly, though neither was he outright cold, and has put many people off by this; he has had few close relationships. He is more of a follower than a leader, but will readily make his own decisions. Though less impulsive than he had been in youth, he still maintains a quiet intenseness about him. He is proud, though not arrogant, and can be stubborn.

HISTORY: Born in the fair city of Tirion upon Túna, Lómwë spent much of his youth exploring the lands around the city. Though he loved the beautiful land of Valinor and the bliss of the light of the Trees, he eventually found that the trails and woods seemed too well-traveled and found himself to be more than a little curious about the lands beyond the sea: the realms of Beleriand, the great Mountains of Mist, Cuiviénen under the stars. He contented himself, however, desiring not to leave the fair land of his birth; that is, until the flight of the Noldor.

In the years following Melkor’s pardon, Lómwë was more of a passive spectator than a participant, though his father, a jewel-smith, received aid from Melkor numerous times. Lómwë was ever wary of these interactions, though he soon found he could little untangle the lies from the truths of Melkor. He respected Fëanor greatly, and when Fëanor called for the Noldor to follow him to Middle-earth, Lómwë followed gladly. He made some attempt to find his family first, but found them not. He later found out that they, too, were among the throng.

He was in the van of the host, and, still under the influence of Fëanor’s heated words, readily took part in the Kinslaying, an action he eventually came to regret. His sister, his only sibling, was killed in the Kinslaying, and partially because of this his parents afterwards followed Finarfin and forsook the march. Thus Lómwë was the only one of his kindred to land in Middle-earth.

During the battles of Beleriand he marched always in the vanguard. Once Fëanor fell, he immediately turned to Maedhros for leadership, of all Fëanor’s sons the one he found the best leader and most courageous. During the Long Peace he fell in love with and married a Green Elf of Ossiriand, Ellothiel. Also in this time they had a son, Aradol. Both wife and young son were killed during the Dagor Bragollach while Lómwë was away fighting.

After this Lómwë lost most of his taste for fighting, and after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad he fought no more until the War of Wrath and dwelt for a time among the Green Elves, his wife’s kin. After the War of Wrath Lómwë found himself bereft and without purpose. He desired not to return to Valinor, in part for pride but mostly in hopes for finding someplace new and not filled with memories. He wandered about Middle-earth for a time, soon settling in with the Noldor under Galadriel’s leadership, who alone of the Elvish leaders remaining in Middle-earth had been present since the Unchaining of Melkor.

He did not fight in any battles of the Second and Third Ages save to defend Lórien. He assimilated himself into the culture of Lórien, caring little for outside affairs. He eventually wound up as a marchwarden. Though melded into the new ways, he felt deep longing for times as they were, for though there had been sorrow, there had also been valor, and courage, and glory. So when Malris’ summons had come, he accepted almost full-heartedly, the exception being the small part of him that wanted to let the past be past; it haunted him enough without searching it out.

[piosenniel]

Nicely done, Firefoot!

~*~ Pio :)

[Anguirel]

Well-matched to Tasareni, too, in that you both left after the Nirnaeth. And Malris will sympathise about your wife...

About accents; I'm on a laptop, and I can't seem to access any equivalent of the NumPad on a desktop. Hope it's not too irritating.

[piosenniel]

What sort of laptop do you have, Anguirel?

[Anguirel]

Ahm...does Acer answer that question? Or Windows XP Professional? Or some Mysterious Other Presence?

[piosenniel]

Let me explain how my laptop works: (it's a Dell)

On the keyboard there is an Alt key and next to it an Fn key in light blue. I don't have a separate number pad on my laptop like I do on my main PC. But there is one that functions off the main keys. (eg, M = 0, J = 1, etc. [there are faint light blue numbers on the particular keys])

By pressing the Fn and Alt keys at the same time, then holding them down while you punch in the code for the accented letters, you should be able to get the accented letters.

For ë it's hold down the Fn+Alt keys while punching 0235 - when you let go of the Fn+Alt keys, the accented letter appears.

Don't worry about it though - maybe your laptop simply doesn't have the capability

[Child of the 7th Age]

Just to let everyone know I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. It is the last week and a half of school so things are just a bit more hectic than usual.

I am making progress but have sadly discovered that what I don't know about the history of Lindon (which is where my Elf has apparently remained) could probably fill several books. I hope to have things sorted out shortly.

Child

[Anguirel]

There isn't that much to tell, actually. It's just the scrap of Beleriand that Gil-Galad ruled over, and after the Dagorlad, Cirdan. It's divided into Harlindon and Forlindon, with the capital at Mithlond (the Grey Havens). In the Second Age it resisted Sauron after the fall of Eregion and the death of Celebrimbor.

But I'm sure you'll find out all this and more!

Oh...and I think I've discovered how to use Pio's method of taming the accents...

[Child of the 7th Age]

Perhaps I should call this "Good Elf Makes Bad Career Choices". ;) Post to follow. Please let me know if revisions are needed.

*** POST PLACED ON PROPOSAL ~*~ PIO ***


CHILD'S CHARACTER - Elf of Lindon

NAME: Lindir

AGE: Born 1258, Age of Trees.

RACE: Noldorin Elf

GENDER: Male

WEAPON: Lindir bears a well crafted blade with a cunning design of flowers and leaves engraved in silver and surrounded by an inlay of fine jewels. It is a weapon that he himself designed and forged with his own hands under the direction of his father, who was also a talented craftsman. He has had little use for this weapon since the end of the Second Age. By preference, he now uses a hunting knife and a long bow of simple, practical design in making his way along the coast and up into the foothills of the Blue Mountains.

APPEARANCE: He has the face of an artist rather than a warrior, with grey eyes that hold a great depth of sorrow. His features are fine, and he is unusually short for one of the Noldor, standing just under six feet tall. His hair is black and straight, held back from his face in a single braided plait and secured with a simple leather band. His clothes are so plain, lacking any elegance, that some mistake him from a distance for a Man of common birth. Only an ornate silver brooch of unsurpassed workmanship that graces his shirt hints at his family and artistic heritage. This jewel at his throat is evidently a gift that Lindir holds dear, yet he does not say who gave it to him.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

Lindir is a quiet Elf who, in the past, was driven by his love to create beautiful things: weapons, jeweled necklaces, and rings. Over the years, he has become increasing closed mouth and secretive. Lindir's fierce desire to craft objects of beauty was both his great strength and his weakness. Because of his singleminded devotion, he chose not to take a bride. Since his return from Eregion (see below), however, he has laid aside his skills as an Elven-smith and has learned a totally different trade: that of a scout who wanders alone beside the seacoast and into the mountains, hiring out his services to other Elves and Men.


HISTORY:

Lindir’s father was an Elven-smith of Fëanor’s house: Lindir followed in his footsteps. As such, he inevitably became involved in the wars of the First Age, seeing his blades employed in fierce and bloody battles in Beleriand, as well as in the Kinslaying. After the drowning of Beleriand, Lindir had turned from the crafting of weapons to the making of rings and jewels, thinking that it was better to forge objects of beauty rather than destruction. He was perhaps moved by some impulse to make amends for the sorry events of the First Age.

In the Second Age, a time when many of his earlier companions had left the seacoast and journeyed eastward, Lindir remained in Lindon and joined the remaining Noldor Elves who were ruled by Gil-galad Ereinion. Lindir had been among those smiths who, led by Celebrimbor, grandson of Fëanor, moved across the Blue Mountains in 750 and founded the city of Eregion under the walls of Moria. These Elves had sought to make amends for earlier evils by helping to forge Rings of Power intended to heal the ills of Middle-earth. At some point, before the fall of Eregion, Lindir had fled back to the coast of Lindon. He refused to discuss the events of this period in his life, just as he refused to discuss the great bloodshed and sadness of his earlier time in Beleriand.

[Anguirel]

Followed Feanor, Maedhros and Celebrimbor? Ouch! Poor old Lindir...

[Child of the 7th Age]

I am afraid Lindir made just a mistake or two. Here's hoping he does better this time around.

[piosenniel]

I've started collecting bios and posts on the first page's proposal form. Please let me know if you decide to change anything.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Firefoot]

Fea - I think travelling together is a good plan. Probably it would be better if they received the summons separately, but if you have a real preference I don't mind either way. There's nothing in particular that I'd like you to include; do as you see fit (helps a lot, doesn't it? ;) ). I'll pick up wherever you leave off and bring them to the harbor.

About how well they know each other: do you have thoughts on this? I was thinking that maybe they'd know each other, but not really well.

[Anguirel]

As two Feanorian fugitives after the Nirnaeth, I think you'd get to know each other pretty well, though you could easily not even have met before then.

Would it help if I specified the form the summons took? Say, a falcon with a message on its leg? That seems more practical than an other Elf riding east on the whim of a reclusive and disliked smith...yes, let's make it a falcon for Lothlorien. Lindir I will have contacted in person, as he's in Lindon, while I will have communicated with the twins in Imladris via Galdor, who attended the Council of Elrond. I think that makes sense. Incorporate the summons if you like, though I think the Imladris first posts are perfect as they are.

[Firefoot]

As two Feanorian fugitives after the Nirnaeth, I think you'd get to know each other pretty well, though you could easily not even have met before then. I see your point. The way I thought of it was this: Tasarënì became Galadriel's handmaiden pretty immediately after the Nirnaeth. Lómwë did not join Galadriel until quite some time after the War of Wrath, and even then it was more of a scout/warrior position than anything else. Once in Lórien, Tasarënì would presumably spend most of her time in Caras Galadhon, whereas Lómwë would spend most of his time on the borders of the forest: this would not seem to afford close contact between the two. However, both being 'Fëanorian fugitives,' as you put it, living in the same general area, I figured they probably would know each other.

That was my reasoning; if it is preferred that they know each other better, I am open to that option.

[Anguirel]

I think that that's perfect. So they have on the face of it little in common except for a past both are, to an extent, eager to gloss over...that means strife, angst and other phenomena beneficial to the plot...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I agree. They don't need to know each other well, but certainly know each other. What of a certain pure avoidance, since seeing each other brings up memories that they'd both prefer to forget? It would explain two people who have known each other for years beyond count staying entirely aloof even though they live in the same neighborhood, so to speak.

I like travelling together for pure convenience, but it'd be far more interesting if they only did it because of that. They'd quite frankly rather be anywhere else, but ride together for safety (not that a whole ton of thought is needed on that count) and so that everyone gets there at roughly the same time?

Oh, and I've edited Tasa's eye color. Instead of golden-brown, they're more of a shimmering grey.

[Firefoot]

Sounds good to me, Fea.

[Anguirel]

Looking forward to your posts, Fea, Firefoot, and Child, especially if they're as impressive as your Histories...I'd like to get this started on Monday...is this a bit impatient?

[piosenniel]

Anguirel

Once the posts are all in, please look them over and list them in the order you want them put on the game thread, by PLAYER NAME.

I'll then open the game thread for play.

~*~ Pio

[Firefoot]

I was going to wait until Fea wrote her post to write mine, but I have an idea instead. Fea, what if you did the beginning of the journey (when they leave) and I did the end (when they arrive)? That way I could get my post in sooner.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Please let me know if changes are needed.

Anguirel - - Since both our characters dwelt long years in Lindon, I am assuming there may be some friendship between them. Is this alright?

_____________________

Child's post for Lindir -- ** POSTED TO GAME PROPOSAL ~*~ PIO **

Lindir stood silent on the banks of the Lhûn, vacantly fixed on the churning waters that emptied into the Gulf. Far beyond, he could glimpse the distant Sea. At his back, to the north and west, hung the peaks of the Ered Lhûn. It was strange, he reflected, that the river and the mountains were called by the ancient Grey-elven term that meant “Blue” in the Common Tongue. In the past week, he had seen no hint of blue, only brown and green, in the miles of tangled forest and matted bracken through which he had trudged. Nor did the waters in front of him show any bluish hue, despite the bright sunshine that beat down from the heavens. He saw only dusky grey waters that gave no promise of comfort or a glimpse of better things to come. A lone gull appeared overhead, circled once, and then disapeared.

Lindir felt he had come to the end of his journey. He could not stay on in Middle-earth. The shores of Lindon and the lands further east brought no relief to his aching discomfort. Yet that decision held no measure of joy or anticipation. His journey from the Havens was not a well deserved rest after a life of purposeful activitity, but almost an admission of guilt of too many mistakes and missed chances that had slipped through his grasp. The events of the First Age as well as those of the Second had left him uneasy, deeply aware of the evil that shadowed the world and the fact that he was seemingly unable to do little to alleviate it. It was not only the bloodshed of the First Age that preyed on his mind, as ghastly as that had been, but his bungled attempts to atone for things at Eregion that had ended in such disaster.

When Malris had come to him some time ago with the suggestion that they pay a final visit to Himring and then sail from the Havens, Lindir had promised to think on the idea, but had not given his consent. Now, after spending a week secluded in the mountains, he had finally decided that Malris was right. It was time to leave behind the past and sail West. Whatever awaited him there surely could not be worse than what had happened in Middle-earth.

He had thought of asking Malris to forego the trek to Himring and have the group head straight out to the West. Himring was fraught with bitter memories, and Lindir could see little good in awakening these images. But Malris seemed determined; Lindir felt he had no chance of changing his comrade's mind, and he did not wish to disappoint him. There were too few Elves whom he could still call by the name of "friend". With a sigh, he picked up his pack and hoisted it onto his shoulders continuing on his path towards the harbor as he wondered what the morrow might bring.

[Anguirel]

Love it, Child. And Firefoot, good idea-that way you can echo the twins. It does mean that Fea should probably write about finding the hawk with the message in her post.

[Firefoot]

Here's my post. Let me know if anything needs to be changed.

~*~*~*~

*** POSTED TO PROPOSAL *** ~*~ PIO

Dreary step by eager step, Lómwë drew ever nearer to the Grey Havens. He and Tasarënì would reach their destination by midday, he estimated. The journey had been long if uneventful, and traveled mostly in silence. It was not that there existed any particular aversion between the two; rather, they had nothing of importance that they cared to share. Lómwë could scarce remember the last time he had had a lengthy conversation of any real import – import to him, that is. The truth was, very little seemed important to him anymore. Now this trip; this was important. It was everything he had longed for and tried to escape for the last six and a half thousand years, and naturally, after so long he had some very strong feelings about it, feelings which he had expressed to no one. He had made it clear early on (subtly) that this topic was not open for conversation on his part, and fortunately Tasarënì did not seem overeager to discuss the subject either. Always though it lurked around the corner, ready to come up in discussion like a dark cloud preparing to storm. So, they hadn’t done a whole lot of discussing.

As was the norm, Lómwë was wrapped in his own thoughts, and currently his mind was turned towards the thought of home. He was going there, he supposed, though he was not exactly sure where “there” was. Certainly, home was not Lórien, where he had dwelt for so many years. In sunken Beleriand? Maybe. Valinor? Perhaps. He honestly wasn’t sure. He had long since lost a feeling of belonging anywhere. He wondered if finding this home, this sense of belonging, was his desire for the trip to Himring – now Himling, he corrected. He honestly did not know, for with the belonging he had also lost an ultimate purpose. It had all seemed so clear before we left Valinor, when Fëanor explained it, he mused. Yet it hadn’t been clear at all, nor was it now.

With a shake of his head, he cleared his thoughts. He had found that dwelling on these things changed the past not at all and his feelings about them hardly. If he did not fear to forget, he would not think of it at all, if he could help it.

Instead he concentrated on the path, for something to do rather than for need. He tried to think of something to say to Tasarënì to lighten the quiet, but found nothing. Thus the remainder of the trip was continued in silence.

They knew they were getting closer as the grey gulls wheeled overhead in increasing frequency. Soon the harbor came into view: the end, and the beginning. One of these grey ships would carry them on a voyage into the past, a past Lómwë felt ready to confront, or at least knew he needed to. It was a past full of sorrow and defeat mingled with valor and glory. Yet none of these were what Lómwë sought.

He sought peace.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I'm sooo sorry... I know I promised to have my first post up on Friday but I got home on Thursday for a four day weekend and discovered that my internet is down.

Firefoot, I love your idea of me doing the first part and you getting us there. I'd actually planned on asking if you wanted to do that.

I'll get my first post tweaked and posted and then you can work off of it. Sorry again about the delay... I will definately have my first post up within the next few hours.

Fea wanders off muttering about stupid technology.

[Anguirel]

That's fine, Fea. As for the order, I suggest-

Child of the Seventh Age (in Lindon, provides a link to first post)

Feanor of the Peredhil (summons, journey from Lothlorien)

Firefoot (approach to Grey Havens)

Envinyatur

Piosenniel (opens dialogue I can react to)

So when Fea's post is in, we're ready. That leaves the Imladris group by the ship, with the Lothlorien group and Lindir still encountering Cirdan on their way. If you like you can brush over the poor old chap and skip straight to Malris' boat as the twins did...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

** POSTED TO THE PROPOSAL ** ~*~ PIO

Tasarënì wiped away a quiet tear as she slowly passed through her deserted home for the last time. She had lived in Lothlorien as a maiden of the Lady of the Golden Wood for years beyond count. Though named for her love of the willows, the mallorns quickly became their equals in her heart, and she was loathe to leave them behind. She had watched silently as many of the first born passed from the land, tarrying long. For what had seemed an age, Tasarënì waited for an unknown sign, certain she would recognize it when it came. Every twilight she would walk the silent woods, marvelling. Song birds came to her, singing quiries of her sadness, and she smiled.

She looked to the sky, noting a single ray of starlight passing through the canopy. She smiled softly, eyes downcast. It was time. She turned, glancing for the last time at the water by her feet, the trees that had been her silent companions for many long years, bearing witness to her grief, never condemning her, and never asking of her what she cared not to answer.

A harsh cry pierced the air and she looked up, startled. A swift falcon was weaving carefully through the trees, making its way to Tasarënì. She lifted her arm, sending out a quick prayer that the handsome bird's sharp talons not hold too tightly. He landed gracefully and met her eye with the intelligence of his kind. She looked at him in amazement, noting not without a start the roll of paper bound to his leg.

She removed it quickly with one delicate hand as he perched patiently. With a flick of her wrist, Tasa unrolled the letter, tears coming to her eyes as she received the long awaited message... Malris requested her presence, accompanied by Lómwë, at the Grey Havens. It is time, she thought. Time to go home.

Silently, but with a small smile, Tasarënì walked through the woods, seeking for Lómwë. They would leave at the first light.

--------

So I'm thinking that Tasa's going to be having the falcon with her as she and Lomwe travel back... because she likes birds. And he would make for better conversations than a reluctant Elf. ;)

[piosenniel]

The game is now open for play. :D

Please remember to remove your signature from every post to the game thread – including SAVES.

Try to fill any SAVES put on the game within 48 hours.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An additional thought:

Please remember to use other writers' characters very carefully.

Don't speak for them or have them perform actions unless it is okayed by the character's owner.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Since I have a feeling that my posting may be a little sporatic at first (I'm really busy right now, but it'll die down to almost nothing very soon), I give permission right now for anyone to write my character when needed, as long as she's not saying any words that I would hesitate to put in her mouth. I trust you all know me well enough to know what I'd do, and if there are doubts, just reread her bio.

Firefoot: since we're travelling together, feel free to interact with Tasa whenever you please.

[Anguirel]

Cool, as long as, when you do post, you leave us plenty of stuff to extrapolate and gnaw on...oh, this is exciting...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Off with you, m'boy. Go do some gnawing.

[Child of the 7th Age]

My save will be filled in Wednesday afternoon.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Ahem... I didn't quite make my afternoon deadline but the save is now filled in. I do believe Lindir's middle name is "Cassandra".

Cami

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I do believe it may be time to depart. Shall we?

[Anguirel]

I'm off to see some relatives now, I'm afraid, so we won't be able to set sail till tomorrow...

[Child of the 7th Age]

Any response to what Lindir has said, or can I simply assume the members of the company have averted their eyes and turned away without any outward show of how they personally feel?

Child

[piosenniel]

Endamir has had a private word with Lindir. There is room for discussion if Lindir chooses. :)

~*~ Pio

[Child of the 7th Age]

;)

I have put up a save for a brief response to Endamir, which will hopefully be filled in this afternoon.


Anguirel - Please feel free to push off with our vessel as there will be nothing in my post that will directly affect the action.

Cami

[Anguirel]

I'll get us sailing off before nightfall...I responded a wee bit to the bloodsoaked ground (kudos to Cami, reminds me of the Oresteia-as you intended of course. I tried to answer in kind)

[Anguirel]

Notice of absence-I won't be here tonight, but will be back, I hope, tomorrow night, or the day after tomorrow's morning at the latest. in the meantime, feel free to react to the sail, get aboard and put to sea...it will be calm till my return, after which we'll have fun battling a storm, methinks...

[piosenniel]

A quick note - if you see and "edited by piosenniel" on your game post, I'm just removing your signature.

~*~ Pio

[Envinyatar]

Firefoot

Just an FYI -

I've had my character approach yours and ask for his help. Feel free to start a dialog if you wish. :)

- E -

[piosenniel]

I've sent The Ghostbearer heading westward toward the mouth of the Gulf of Lune . . .

[Anguirel]

A storm is coming! Prepare to repel it, my valiant crew...

[Envinyatar]

Child

Orë's given Lindir a bucket and thrown him a rope if he wants to secure himself to the ship rail.

Prepare to man, or rather, elf the buckets!

- E -

[Child of the 7th Age]

I do believe that Lindir forgot his umbrella and is getting rather wet!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I've filled in my save.

[piosenniel]

I've put up a SAVE and will bring the ship to the shores of Himling, if that's alright. Otherwise I'll just do a general still traveling to the island post.

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I'm going to be a bit busy for the next few days, so if I don't get a chance to put up an unboarding post, please feel free to string Tasa along. And here's my officially polite and punctual fair warning: starting Sunday at about 4:00 AM EST and ending very late on Tuesday night, I will be out of town. I doubt I'll be anywhere near a computer for the three days and two nights I'll be away, so I won't be able to post. I think I told Anguirel about it already, but if not, sorry I didn't warn sooner. I just plain forgot that this weekend is "the" weekend I'll be away.

[Anguirel]

I remember you saying. It's fine, I'll tag you on if necessary...

[Firefoot]

I may as well put this up as a warning as well, though I've already informed Anguirel and pio: I will be out of town from Monday to Friday next week. During that time, feel free to bring Lómwë along...

[Anguirel]

Fine, will do. Just don't blame me if you miss a gripping battle with spirits...er...I mean...ah...nice weather, isn't it?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Aww. Can we drag out the whole encounter? If anyone's been paying attention to the Smell This, I Think It's Expired thread, it's common knowledge that tension and suspense should be drawn out and not dedicated to a single battle. ;) And besides... apart from these nutzoid ghosts, I do believe we all have personal demons to defeat. :cool:

[Child of the 7th Age]

I will also be out of town next week from Wednesday, June 15, through Sunday, June 19. My computer access is iffy.

If I do not appear to post, please drag Lindir along and try to keep him in one piece. ;)

Thanks.

Cami

[Firefoot]

I've filled my save. Pio, Lómwë has approached Endamir, feel free to start a conversation.

[Child of the 7th Age]

My edit tag on the last post was just to remove the sig.....

[Anguirel]

Ah yes...my fault...sorry...

[Child of the 7th Age]

We all forget sometimes (including me). Just wanted to let you know there wasn't anything else involved in the edit.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Envinyatar

What may lie on the bottom of that hole, whether living creature or inanimate object, I am not certain..... Perhaps, you can pull it up once hooked and let me know? (Or, alternatively, whatever else you may have in mind in terms of this next post.....)

Cami

[piosenniel]

My SAVE is filled. :)

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Okay... I've posted. Quite lengthily, I might add. But it should give some nice insight to Tasa's history/personality/personal-demons/current-state-of-mind. I'm leaving very early tomorrow morning, so enjoy what I've left you with (a silently depressed female companion sitting near the fire) and I'll just have to be extremely excited to see what happens while I'm gone.

Try not to fight too many ghosts without me... ;) After all... Tasa hasn't been in a battle in ages... she's too stuck on a lengthy guilt-trip for that sort of thing.

[Envinyatar]

Cami

I've brought the 2 fishermen back to the rest of the group. They've been quite successful.

An interesting item was also discovered . . . perhaps something of historical interest, perhaps not . . .

- E -

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Historical interest?"

As an Elf whose early life was dominated by the desire to forge wondrous physical objects (not always with good results), Lindir may view this helm in a personal light rather than a purely historical perspective. :eek: I think you may have some trouble getting that helm away from him!

[piosenniel]

Enter Endamir, stage right, wearing his own Cassandra outfit . . . :p

And of course no one will listen to the benighted Elf and great calamity will come of it. Though in what fashion it is yet too early to tell.

~*~ Pio :eek:

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir has made his argument for keeping the helm, and it is up to Malris to decide.

It sounds like a good argument to me. However, Lindir has never been known for making good choices. :eek:

Anguirel, please check your pms.....

[Envinyatar]

My SAVE is filled. Orëmir has made a suggestion concerning the Helm.

- E -

[Child of the 7th Age]

Just a reminder that Lindir's "owner" will be gone this Wednesday through Sunday, and her chance of gaining internet access during these days is very iffy. I am still running in circles trying to pack at this late hour :eek: so won't have time to do a responding post.

As you work out this helm thing, could someone involved in the conversation "carry along" the character of Lindir as needed? I think Lindir could live with Envinyatar's suggestion....at least the helm doesn't get tossed in the mud and Lindir gets to cart it about on the isle, even though he still feels it not wholly wise to leave the object in the world of men. If Malris says no--that the helm must be destroyed, Lindir will respect the choice of his leader but with some personal regret.

I will look forward to reading how this plays out when I get back!

Child

[piosenniel]

Cami

Lindir now has the helm secured in his pack as the companions ready themselves to hare after the ghostly voice.

~*~

Envinyatar

Orëmir has made his brother very sad . . . :(

~*~ Pio :)

[Child of the 7th Age]

I wondered about his destination, but didn't want to "intrude" on family business.

Till my return...

Cami

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I'm home. I'll be catching up later today.

[Anguirel]

This is a wee bit embarassing...but I'm not sure what to do now! I was expecting you lot to cry "Steady on, Malris! You're insane! You're ordering us to climb a mountain, at night, infested by spirits, while we drag a cursed helm around, not that you know we're doing that."

Instead, as one, you've said "Cool, we're up for a bit of suicide today."

Shall we just attempt the ascent, realise its impossibility, and then turn back for a nap on the beach? I was expecting us to decide to do the climb in the morning, after a bit of remonstrating with Malris. Is it too late for someone to bring him to his senses?

[Envinyatar]

Hmmmm . . . I thought we'd just reach into our bags and pull out our night vision goggles :p

However, I can make the persuasive argument to wait til morning, if you'd like. By tomorrow, Firefoot may be back and can join in on the fun.

Back to work for a while - will fill in my save later.

- E -

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Here, Ang. I've got you covered. I'll go post something to save you. :-D And I've had worse... I get my White Horse characters in such interesting situations that I end up polling the chat wights on what to do. Burrahobbit was all for stabbing out Odessa's eyes. :rolleyes: I had to bring Degas back to life because I couldn't figure out a good way to kill him. :D

EDIT: Actually, it looks like Envin's got your back for this one.

[Envinyatar]

Save filled.

Orëmir tries to inject a little reason into those who are about to hare off after The Voice. :)

- E -

[piosenniel]

I filled in my SAVE. Lindir and Lomwe were mentioned in it. Let me know if the 'mentions' need any editing.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Many thanks for bringing Lindir along. Everything looks fine. I am back and have put up a largely reflective post.

Lindir is not too happy.

Cami

[Envinyatar]

Cami -

What the voice was Lindir could not say. Though refusing to believe Maglor was alive, he could not deny that this strange music of the night carried an undertone of urgency not easily gainsaid

Could not resist - it reminded me of this: :cool:

Softly, deftly,
music shall surround you . . .
Feel it, hear it,
closing in around you . . .
Open up your mind,
let your fantasies unwind,
in this darkness which
you know you cannot fight -
the darkness of
the music of the night . . .


. . . Let the dream begin,
let your darker side give in
to the power of the music that I write -
the power of the music of the night . . .

-- from Phantom of the Opera

[Child of the 7th Age]

Envinyatar -

Perceptive comment! I have a daughter whose "passion" at the moment is Phantom of the Opera. Every time I get in the car, she pops the CD into the player. The songs have become embedded in my head.

I had no intention of mimicking the sound track. However, after I reread the post, I realized what I had done. The allusion somehow seemed appropriate. This is also a "night" story with broken spirits of shadow.

It's interesting how we bring our own associations to Middle-earth, and they somehow come peeping through, whether in an interpretaion of the books or when crafting an RPG.

Cami

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It's funny that you guys should say that, because I was seriously considering giving Tasa a "mask", and in thinking about it now, I'm noticing that it relates to my signature (an excerpt from the Masquerade scene... it's chance's fault... I saw the show live a week ago), as well as the masks thread on the Barrowdowns part of the forum. "Hide your face so the world will never find you."

It fits well, because for the past few thousand years, Tasa has been a broken spirit. She's not wholly to the night part of it (her love, honor, and regret keep her tied to all the good stuff), but if you'll remember, she loves the twilight.

See, she's already feeling very inadiquate and her confidence of old is pretty well shattered, and it's very commen of people like that to present themselves differently to the world. A natural defense mechanism, really. "If I can convince them I am not weak, maybe I can convince myself. And if not, at least they won't know." Thoughts? Or should I leave Tasa as she is already...?

[Envinyatar]

I say deepen the heck out of your character! :cool: Give her a 'mask'.

It will be interesting to see how you work with that.

http://www.westegg.com/unmaintained/alw/phantom2.gif

- E -

[Child of the 7th Age]

Feanor -

Sounds interesting to me as well.

Cami

[piosenniel]

Everyone

On the 2nd of July Anguirel will be off to Italy till the 27th-an absence of some four weeks. And for a short time after this, he will have some other trips which will take him away from internet access.

Child, I think, will also be busy during much of this time.

I’d like to propose we put the game on hold until Anguirel and Child can resume posting to it – perhaps until the 2nd week in August.

Anguirel would appreciate it if we could wait for him to come back to play. How does that sound to everyone?

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

We can't have a game without its crazed leader trying to drag us up haunted mountain-sides at night! I'm up for halting it. It wouldn't be as much fun with a third of us gone. That said, have a blast in Italy. I'm certainly jealous. ;)

[Firefoot]

Italy, huh? Have fun, Ang!

I have no problems with the game being halted for the time being. (Disappointed, yes, a little... I am as curious as Lómwë to see what they will find there... ;) )

Also, my Save is filled.

[Child of the 7th Age]

And I would certainly appreciate a halt while I am off gallivanting!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Enjoy your gallivanting, Child. See you guys when you get back!

[Envinyatar]

See you then!

- E -

[piosenniel]

Just to let everyone know - received a PM from Anguirel. He will be back @ the first week in september . . .

~*~ Pio

[Child of the 7th Age]

Yeah! Lindir will definitely come alive by then.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I'll have to thaw Tasa out of the cryogenic freezer. I think I've partly forgotten her, and she's based on me from about a year ago. How depressing.

Early notice: the first week of September I'll be trapped in college orientation and probably entirely unable to post. The schedule looks terrifyingly full of brunches and bonding. Any way we could post-pone our trip up the mountain until after September 5th?

[piosenniel]

How about the weekend of Sept 10th?

Hopefully Anguirel will be on board by then.

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

The tenth sounds perfect. Can't wait. Tasa is easier to write than Inzi, and less moody than Saeryn. Should be fun to see what she decides to do once they start exploring.

[Anguirel]

I'm ready to go! We should all spend some time tomorrow reminding ourselves about our characters...and rereading the game of course. I hope we can glide seamlessly back on track.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Welcome back, Anguirel. Let's get this show on the road. :) (Just please not first thing in the morning. :p)

[Firefoot]

:D

Nice to have you back, Ang. Can't wait to get going on this game again (after I refamiliarize myself with my character, of course... ;) ).

[piosenniel]

The poor ghostie has made her appearance . . .

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NAME: Giledhel of Himring (Malris' wife)

AGE: 7187 years (Including the millennia since her death)

RACE: Once a Noldorin Elf. Now a houseless spirit.

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: While some of the warrior Coavalta cling to the weapons they bore in life, occasionally even choosing to inhabit them, Giledhel has no such great affection for tools of war.

APPEARANCE: Giledhel has elected to haunt her marriage bed, and usually hides within it. Sometimes she leaves it to examine her loom, smashed to pieces in the sack of Himring, and it is only in the torn, soiled embroidery that her former hroa can still be glimpsed. When the embroidery is possessed, it shows a stunningly lifelike upper half of an elven woman, in a hooded black dress, with hair so dark it almost has a blue sheen-a sheen reflected in her large, plaintive, pale eyes.

PERSONALITY, STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Giledhel barely remembers anything now. A permanent reel of images spins through her mind, all of a dark and tragic nature. It chills her and leads her to despair. Just occasionally, though, the freezing sorrow recedes slightly, and she sees Malris’ face, the face of her husband. In these moments she feels nostalgic, which is to say relatively happy; but they rarely last long.

In life Giledhel was animated, filled with unceasing energy, and possessed of a rare altruism; an altruism for which she paid the highest price, eventually.

HISTORY: Giledhel was not especially renowned in Valinor, where she was born; though she was beautiful, her loveliness was not of the proud, masterful the sort the Noldor appreciated, but in her vulnerability and kindness. She worked as a milliner and weaver beside her mother in Tuna; her father was one of Mahtan’s servants, a grim, rough-spoken smith whom she scarcely knew, as he closeted himself in his forge.

Contented and busy, she paid no heed to the long strife in the royal house; but on the day of Feanor’s return from Formenos, it happened that she was out to buy some bales of silk at the market, and so was caught in the momentous events of that time. Crowds were pouring into the square, and the news reached Giledhel’s ears that the King was dead, and his son was to give a speech; she was pulled along with the rest.

How could such a fair and utterly true maid be expected to resist the most captivating words in the history of Ea? Feanor’s speech flared her up as nothing had ever done before; and she was further convinced when she saw her father, out of the smithy for one, cheering all he was able. Despite the entreaties of her mother, both Giledhel and her father left with Feanor’s host. During the Kinslaying, Giledhel seized up a spear and fought beside her father as best she could.

Both of them followed Maedhros after Feanor’s death, and Giledhel was enraptured to know so well a father she had never before been close to. When he fell at the Dagor Aglareb, she was inconsolable; she tore her hair and wept alone on the threshold of their house. It was then that Malris, Lord Maedhros’ friend and banner-bearer, chanced to ride by; and his heart was moved. He wooed her for twenty years, crafting gifts for her and ensuring that she lived comfortably; and at last she accepted him. Their marriage was attended by Maedhros, Maglor, and Curufin; and Maglor prophesised that as long as Himring stood, the marriage would prosper.

After the Nirnaeth, his words proved terribly accurate. Hours after Malris had bombarded the walls of Himring to prevent its occupation by Morgoth, the Orcs were pouring in thick and fast. Moved to pity by the sight of a lone Elven child, Giledhel gave the girl her horse, and ran up the stairs to her bedchamber. There she sat at her loom, weaving “Malris, forgive me” in Quenya and in Sindarin.

She was discovered and slain by Orcs after finishing the Sindaring “forgive”; but something made her resist the summons to Mandos, clinging to what she knew, investing herself in the bed where she had been happy. There her spirit still creeps, waiting for some unknown peace to descend. Her loom has been shattered and the weaving torn, but the message, half-Quenya, half-Sindar, can still be read.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Glad we are up and running. I need to skim over the story first and then I will think about a post.

Are there any posters we are missing?

[Envinyatar]

All present and accounted for, I think.

- E -

[Envinyatar]

I've started us up the cliffside.

Let me know if you want me to make any adjustments to the posts.

- E -

[Anguirel]

When evening comes, the Coavalta of the Orcs killed when Maedhros rescued Azaghal will attack, their minds on the Dragonhelm! By then we'll have reached the gate to the courtyard. In the meantime, description and remniscences.

Quick reminder of the Dragonhelm episode-

Azaghal was ambushed by Orcs. Maedhros rescued him, and was rewarded with the Helm, which of course got to Hador's line later...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

When evening comes, the Coavalta of the Orcs killed when Maedhros rescued Azaghal will attack, their minds on the Dragonhelm! By then we'll have reached the gate to the courtyard. In the meantime, description and remniscences.
I'm good at reminiscing... :)

Quick reminder of the Dragonhelm episode-

Azaghal was ambushed by Orcs. Maedhros rescued him, and was rewarded with the Helm, which of course got to Hador's line later...
Fair warning, I'm probably going to skirt any direct writing concerning this. The only books I've got immediate access to are The Hobbit and the LotR. I can probably track down the Silm, but I'm still trying to figure out my new library, so chances are pretty slim of me finding it and having time to read it (time, time, I need more time!) this week, much less today. If my campus library hasn't got it, I'll have to wait until I can beg a favor off of one of my girls to go downtown with me and track down the public one. But yeah, just so you know... that's why I won't be much detailed concerning this part.

[Anguirel]

You don't need to know much more. But it's described in the Narn in Unfinished Tales if any of you want to look it up.

[piosenniel]

The lady is secure for the moment, but most likely quite scraped and bruised.

Endamir can't hold her and him for too much longer :eek:

Throw us a rope, Malris! :cool:

~*~ Pio

[Anguirel]

I'll fill in my SAVE this afternoon. For the moment, alas, I have Greek to revise...

[piosenniel]

No 'alas' needed - 'twas my undergraduate major. A glorious language . . .

And now, back on topic, since I'm the mod and should set a good example -- Endamir will simply have to suck it up, grit his pearly white Elven teeth and hang on. Hopefully, Tasa will not develop a leg cramp as she perches on the toe of his boot . . . :p

~*~ Pio

[Anguirel]

SAVE filled in...

After the trauma of this episode, I think I'll take us to evening, the gate and the Orc Coavalta as soon as feasible. That'll provide a nice rest!

[Envinyatar]

I've introduced 3 Orc fëar:

Ashukh
Zlog
Gorgu

They haunt, so to speak, Giledhel's chamber. She has gathered these three lost souls in with her kindness and they in turn, now free through their deaths from their Master's dominion, use what rude skills they have to protect their Lady.

In lieu of a long, dry bio/history, more of the hapless story of how they came to be entwined with her will come out in further posts. ;)

- E -

[Anguirel]

The Orc Coavalta after the Dragonhelm are about to arrive on the scene. Pio, Envinyatur and I can each play a few of them. They remember the failed ambush, at which some of our Elves might even have been present-we might have led them directly to their present state in some cases. Now they want vengeance...and the Dragonhelm.

The physical injuries they inflict are slight, like Malris' hand-wound of the night before. Their main weapon is fear, and after the initial horror we should be able to recover ourselves and stand against them till...till...well, that's a secret...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Now that's just mean, Ang. Secrets? From us? At least when I have fantastically fun plot twists, I keep them hushed until I spring them. That way I don't leave my fellow writers just dying to know what's going to happen. :D

[Anguirel]

On an unrelated note-type "Island of Sorrow" or "Malris" or something of the kind into Google and we're at the top! I got such a kick out of that...

[piosenniel]

Firefoot

My SAVE is filled (post #91). I left room for Lómwë to join in on the general creepiness of their present situation. :eek: :)

--------------------------------

Anguirel

I've left another SAVE for an Orcish post if that's alright with you. See your PM's

~*~ Pio

[piosenniel]

My post is up for Bazhrat the Skullcrusher. One of the houseless Orc spirits stuck outside the fortress walls. He was a lowly grunt in the Orc armies of way back when. Still is as far as he and his "Cap'n" are concerned. He's not all that bright, but he has the cunning of one long gone mad . . . and he can be mean, very mean.

The Elves are lucky he can no longer wield his spiked oaken club.

~*~ Pio

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir's save is filled in with a very brief post. I will be out of town for the next few days. Should be back on Sunday. Meanwhile, I may have computer access if we can hook our laptop up to the hotel's wireless network. We shall see.....

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE ~*~

Let it be known that

Fordim Hedgethistle

known to those in the Shire as Master Hearpwine, and etc . . .
has now had his name engraved on the iron plaque that bears the list of the story-tellers of Gondor.

Huzzah!

Let all come to The Inn of the Seventh Star (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?p=413867#post413867) in Minas Tirith and raise a glass of cheer to Fordim.

** And for those wondering, drink and food are free on this occasion. And all are most welcome **

~*~ http://forum.barrowdowns.com/ubb/icons/icon13.gif ~*~

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seriously, everyone is welcome to come to the Inn in Gondor, in whatever character you'd like.

Give a word of congrats to Fordim and knock back a drink or two. I'm there, playing darts . . . challenge, anyone? . . . :cool: ;)

[Envinyatar]

For my own clarification -


A ghostly blade suddenly darted forth to pierce her wrist. The wound healed almost instantly, leaving a line of fresh blood to flower through the light bandages still covering her hands. --Fëa

Can the Orc fëar wound the living? Can we manipulate objects, e.g., hurling rocks or what ever? How much can we do, other than mind games?

- E -

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

When writing, I was thinking of the Morgul blades, and how the Witch King pierced Frodo. Only I tempered it because Tasa's an old-blood Noldo so she would heal faster... right? Right??? :eek: *crosses fingers that an edit isn't needed* And the wound wouldn't be as awful because it's just a doofus orc inflicting it, not a crazy old ghost of a super-powerful king. It will still scar, since you just can't be stabbed by an evil spirit with no permanent damage.

[Anguirel]

Fea's got it right. The physical damage you inflict is slight and stinging, but causes mental hurt. And while with a lot of effort you could hurl rocks, you wouldn't need to-you're aiming to separate body and soul, and don't need to slay the body.

[Anguirel]

I'm off now till Thursday evening...

[Child of the 7th Age]

I will fill in my save tomorrow. Beyond Thursday, things aren't certain. We live in Houston and Miss Rita has threatened to pay us a visit. If I disappear, just carry Lindir along with or without the Helm. :eek:

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Luck stay with you, Child. We'll keep everything ready for you, should you be away for a bit.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Thanks, Feanor.

Unless the weather forecast changes, it looks as if we'll be leaving tomorrow to stay with friends further inland. I will try to fill my save late tonight.

If I don't get to the save, Pio , could you erase the it? I hope to have computer access at my friend's if things go well. Meanwhile, I've asked Pio to drag Lindir along, with or without the helm. :rolleyes: Everyone is welcome to mention him in your post.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cami

I'll delete it, but not completely - you can go back and fill it then if you wish. :cool:

~*~ Pio

[piosenniel]

Put on your best clothes, Elves. Giledhel thinks she is throwing a party. ;)

And poor Tasa . . . I don't think Giledhel likes her :eek: :p

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Ah, my loves, there seems to have been a break in battle.

[Anguirel]

I wouldn't mind seeing something of Lindir, as he is the focus of the Orc attack, assaulted by Ghashthurk himself and three others. I also want to see Envinyatur play with some of the Orcs I've tossed in-Ghashthurk is my precious, the others are fair game...and pio post the reactions of her pet Orc to Tasa's manouevres and proud cry...

EDIT: Is Child having Rita trouble? Should I or pio post Lindir's defence of the Helm?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I wouldn't mind seeing something of Lindir, as he is the focus of the Orc attack, assaulted by Ghashthurk himself and three others. I also want to see Envinyatur play with some of the Orcs I've tossed in-Ghashthurk is my precious, the others are fair game...and pio post the reactions of her pet Orc to Tasa's manouevres and proud cry...

EDIT: Is Child having Rita trouble? Should I or pio post Lindir's defence of the Helm?
Ditto. I'd be much appreciative if Tasa's proud cry does nothing more than to cause a brief hesitation and then some derisive laughter. :D

[piosenniel]

Anguirel

It would be best if you carry Lindir at present - I'm soon off to a long day at work followed by another tomorrow.

I'll put up a save for my little Orc and see if I can get that filled in when I return early tomorrow a.m.

~*~ Pio

[Envinyatar]

Pio

I'll follow on your lead. Or if I get a chance to post first, you can follow on mine. :p

- E -

[Child of the 7th Age]

Things are still up and down here. Warner Cable wouldn't let me on most of the evening, either dial-up or broadband. (It was apparently a glitch for the whole neighborhood, since my friend had similar problems.)

But when I got up to check in the middle of the night, it cooperated so my save is finally filled. The helm is lying unnoticed on the ground if any greedy Orcs want to grab it. :D

[Child of the 7th Age]

Anguirel,

I had a question about something said in your recent post. Please check your pms and advise.

Child

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I filled in my save. One question... Pio, in post 106, you mentioned that Tasa's orcs have no weapons... any chance you could change that? I had a random stroke of "hey, one of the orcs should have the blade that scarred her" inspiration, and I'd hate to ignore it...

[piosenniel]

Done, Fea!

A number of the little wretches now are armed.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Three cheers!

[Child of the 7th Age]

I apologize for my unfilled save. I intended to fill it this morning but other business arose. I will try to fill in later today. This post will not affect later action in the story. It will merely reflect the fact that Lindir is having physical and mental problems.....in other words, a post filled with angst. :D

[Child of the 7th Age]

Save finally filled. Lindir is hurting, physically and otherwise.

Envinyatar and Anguirel- I have used your characters in ways that seem to go along with what's is said later on the thread. If you'd like me to change or modify anything, please let me know and I will do so.

[Envinyatar]

Child

Orëmir and his brother have come over to Lindir. Orëmir has asked if Lindir will allow him to treat his wound.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Poor Anguirel and his fruitless save-patience. I deleted my save. Since I'll be out of town this weekend, I thought it a bit unfair to leave it there. I thought I'd be able to get it filled yesterday, but that really turned out well. :rolleyes: I'll try for a post Monday.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Envinyatar and others,

Well, I guess there's more than one way to squirm out of writing a lengthy post!

Lindir is "dead" on the ground. Whether he is really deceased or has just lost a lot of blood, I will leave that up to you, my fellow gamers. I've never turned a character over to the mercy of other writers and I thought it might be an interesting thing to do.

Even if you choose to tend to my wounds, I would ask that you let me lie unconscious for a bit. Drag me along if you need to or leave me be by the side of the cliff, whatever works best. Would the houseless ones have an interest in a body that is half dead and half alive? I do not know, but it is possible. And would Lindir perhaps in his unconscious state have some ability to speak with these spirits? Again I do not know.

Any suggestions, ideas would be appreciated.

Should you kill me off, please give me a decent funeral before the game ends, if that is possible.

[Anguirel]

I don't intend to let you die...we'll haggle with Coavalta and see how things go...but yes, you can lie unconscious for the while...

[Child of the 7th Age]

Thanks, Anguirel. I'm glad to hear someone will be dragging along my prostrate body. I'll remember to keep breathing, and who knows what dreams I'll have?

[Anguirel]

Actually, I think Malris is justified to be pretty hacked off about the Helm...but resentment'll be thrown aside for now. Next stop, the cheery singing soldiers in the gatehouse; they'll give us a clue where help for Lindir and a safe resting point can be found.

I'll get up a post by tomorrow night. In the meantime, feel free to react to Lindir's collapse.

One interesting thing-by now night has well and truly fallen. We may have to rest soon, probably in the gatehouse, before we've found any hope of healing Lindir, and that's bound to cause a bit of argument.

Also there's the second snatch of Maglor's song to consider, which few but Malris have brought up so far. Malris, of course, will immediately be suggesting finding Maglor to heal Lindir; others may be more cautious...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Others more cautious indeed. Though I haven't yet found time for a post, Tasa's not all together happy with Malris at the moment. She's got some fantastic emotions rampaging right now... torn between "Ooooh, Malris (sigh) he's always right" and "What was he thinking dragging us here, and where does he get off yelling at us when we just got away from evil spirits trying to hack our souls from our bodies?" and leaning more towards the latter. :D

[Anguirel]

I happen to think Malris has got a decent foundation for yelling. Fine, the expedition may have been his idea, but so was the drive for the courtyard, and the Helm most certainly wasn't anything to do with him. The fact that Lindir's gone and semi-died has now made his rage at the same time worse and more difficult to express, since even Malris knows he can't hector a corpse, so his anger will channel itself into finding a way to heal Lindir as quickly as possible...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Hey, I'm not saying that Tasa's actually right in being mad, but she's scared. That's cause for some misplaced anger, certainly. And besides... the more anger, the more strife, the more interesting story line.

[Anguirel]

I think on that...we can all agree!

Not for nothing did we follow the Sons of Feanor...

[piosenniel]

Child

Let me know if you need Endamir's ramblings edited to fit in with your 'dreams'.

~*~ Pio :)

[Child of the 7th Age]

Pio,

I think we are on the same page here. No need for an edit.


Teeheehee....Lindir has beaten you all up the hill and into the fortress!

Child

[Anguirel]

Argh! Does that mean you've killed his body off? In that case Malris will be in trouble...especially with that mutinous Lomwe...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Oh posh. It's not like we aren't all going to meet back up in Valinor anyway. :D

[piosenniel]

Well, his spirit might be wandering - but I don't think the body is dead . . .

It's mine . . . I wants it . . .

~*~ Pio

[Anguirel]

Weeell...a few of us might end up haunting Himring...depends on how things go...

EDIT: Ulp!

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I think if Tasa were to haunt Himring, Malris's dead wife might have an issue with it. Though that could be entertaining...

[Anguirel]

Have you seen Blithe Spirit?!

[piosenniel]

Yes, well . . . Giledhel might not be averse to try booting Tasa's fëa out with the help of her 3 faithful servants and using her body . . .

[Anguirel]

Elvira's methods were eerily similar. But who's our Arcati?

Maglor??

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Yes, well . . . Giledhel might not be averse to try booting Tasa's fëa out with the help of her 3 faithful servants and using her body . . .
Ooh... I like that idea. What, I wonder, would Malris do in that situation? Rejoice at the prospect of Giledhel in corporeal form? Crumble inside at the prospect of one of his best and oldest friends being torn body from spirit?

Who, oh who, would he choose, had he to choose between his dead wife and living friend?

I think Giledhel ought to try it, if only because now I really want to see how Ang would approach it.

[Anguirel]

Malris would stroll off, happy to have removed the vexing problem of women from his life, and shortly afterwards die in a car accident and join them...

[Child of the 7th Age]

I wouldn't say Lindir's body is quite dead yet. But if you folk don't hurry up and get the poor Elf some help, it may be very soon! ;)

[piosenniel]

A quick question - is Lindir right or left handed?

[Envinyatar]

So, Lindir has left the building . . . :cool:

Ashukh, Zlog, Gorgu would be happy to assist the fair Lady Giledhel in taking care of the Elvish tramp and her moonie eyes . . . :eek: :p

[Child of the 7th Age]

Pio,

Left-handed.....

[piosenniel]

Now that he's beginning to get the hang of it - Ingir is being none too careful with this new vehicle.

After all, he's armed and there are all of you to consider as potential bearers for his fëa should this one not work out . . . :eek: :p

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Ah, but my hroa seems to be claimed already. Does he plan to duke it out with Giledhel if all else fails?

[Anguirel]

I won't be able to fill in my SAVE till Wednesday...basically in essence it should end with Lindir being confirmed in possession of his body, and the Elves being told that to heal him they must find a character called "the Diviner". But actually I wouldn't mind if we paused till I got back.

[Envinyatar]

Wednesday is fine with me.

- E -

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Wednesday is also fine with me. I understand entirely, as that which is referred to as a Progrèss Rëpôrt in anachronistic terms has quite insistently informed me that I need to spend a little more time on Psych studying and a little less on here. That's why you won't see much writing out of me for awhile.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Schedule sounds fine.

Also, good luck on the studying, Feanor.

[Anguirel]

SAVE filled in. Sorry it's late.

The, er, nice captain has offered us the gatehouse for a fitful night's sleep...

Lindir is reembodied but still in danger until we find the Diviner. I must admit that I only just know who this figure is, and have no clue where he is. We have seen one glimpse of him and his pal the Seneschal before though...

[Child of the 7th Age]

Thanks for getting me back in one piece, but you poor folk must still drag me inside the fort. I seem to be on the ground, having a personal revelation but drifting in and out of consciousness. I can't hold on much longer so you folk had better look for that "Diviner" pronto. ;) Ugh! I hate to think what he might have to do to me to accomplish this "cure".

Child

[Anguirel]

Indeed-from what we've seen of him before, he's not especially friendly...

[piosenniel]

OK - I've had Orëmir, Tasa, and Endamir haul Lindir into the gatehouse on a blanket sling.

:)

[Anguirel]

I've basically quashed Fea's opening to the Lady's Orcs. Sorry, but we have to postpone them a bit. This day has gone on quite long enough, and plenty has happened in it...there can be more spirity goodness after we've got some sleep...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I've basically quashed Fea's opening to the Lady's Orcs. Sorry, but we have to postpone them a bit. This day has gone on quite long enough, and plenty has happened in it...there can be more spirity goodness after we've got some sleep...
Haha. How do you know I was aiming for orcs? I could just be paranoid. ;)

[Anguirel]

Child, should I wait for you to put your save up or charge on to the next day?

[Child of the 7th Age]

Anguirel,

Please charge on and I will wait to put something up at that point.

Child

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

You know Ang, for some strange reason, I don't think Giledhel's going to be very happy with the view from her room. :D

[Anguirel]

Ah, what strife I've just caused...ha ha...

By the bright light of day, the spirits' power will be far feebler, so it may be evening before the Lady's Orcs can retaliate physically and mentally, if Giledhel spots the pair (which she needn't necessarily-Himring's an enormous place). However, it'd be fun to see my dear departed wife's reaction.

By the time the spirits strike, I'm planning that our party will have divided-Lindir and someone to watch over him in the gatehouse, and two pairs looking for the Diviner in opposite directions-thus making us more vulnerable to their attack...

[Envinyatar]

My save is filled.

Pio - I've left it up to you as to whether Giledhel sees her faithless git of a husband holding hands with the gold haired tramp. :p ;)

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hope you don't mind if I woke up Lindir! There was no way I could post otherwise. :D He will still be weak and badly in need of a healing hand, both mentally and physically.

[Firefoot]

Save filled. :)

[piosenniel]

Well, poor Giledhel has gone completely over the edge.

Her belovéd Malris is, of course, blameless in her eyes. :rolleyes:

And as for Tasarënì . . . Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! :eek:

[Firefoot]

Child and Envinyatar - If either of you want to have your characters say something in response to Endamir's question, let me know. It didn't seem like any of the other characters knew much about the Diviner, so I left it at that and brought Lomwe and Endamir out into the courtyard where they met Malris and Tasa.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Hey Ang, what are we having Malris and Tasa do next?

[Child of the 7th Age]

Ang,

I also have a question about the Diviner. Do you have something definite up your sleeve? (Is there some Middle-earth character I've forgotten. :eek: ) In which case, I'll be glad to fall in step with you...

Or was this just a "wild idea" where anyone is free to "fill in the dots". I hesitated to answer Endamir until I had a better sense of this.

[Anguirel]

Fea, we'll be setting off in the opposite direction after our moment of tendresse. I should also note that we won't be the group that finds the Diviner...

The Diviner is a non-canon character, so feel free to fill in more info about him. I'll PM whoever I decide should stumble upon him...and I'll play him and the Seneschal myself once he's found, unless pio wants one or both of them...

[Child of the 7th Age]

"a non-canon character"

How fun! Lindir shall throw in a few memories in the next save.

[Child of the 7th Age]

OK, Lindir has spilled the beans -- really spilled the beans. Ang... Perhaps Lindir's unfortunate experiences has afected his mind? It does seem that our esteemed leader wasn't exactly telling the whole truth.

If this is too far off course, I will revise, but I couldn't resist. Every time I sat down to write this post, I kept getting an image of PJ's Galadriel!

[Envinyatar]

OK, Lindir -- time to revive or open the door at the end of the hall . . . :p

[piosenniel]

Firefoot

I've got Endamir and Lómwë heading out to what remains of the eastern wall of the fortress. Endamir has volunteered Lómwë to head up this part of the search for the Seneschal, Idrahil.

What say we reminisce about the place as we search through the bastions there; encounter a few Elvish warrior spirits along the eastern wall; and perhaps they will help us find the Seneschal.

If it's alright with you - the Seneschal at this point will not be with the Diviner. But perhaps with your persuasion he will take us to him -- somewhere along the north wall. We can do all this as a series of posts between us - or just a few longish posts. I'll follow whatever lead you set up.

By the time we reach the north wall to find the Diviner, what do you think about making it late in the day - before evening. But nearing sunset (say 2 hours before), so we don't have much time to get done what the Diviner says needs to be done.

How does this sound to you?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anguirel

I've left Malris and Tasa to look along the southern and western walls. My frame of reference for Giledhel was that her and Malris' quarters were somewhere along the western wall. Is this OK with you?

~*~ Pio

[Firefoot]

pio - sounds good. I'll try to have a post up tomorrow afternoon as time allows. Monday evening at the latest.

[piosenniel]

Firefoot

Take your time . . . no hurry on my account . . . :)

~*~ Pio

[Child of the 7th Age]

Envinyatar,

What the blazes was in that flask? I am having a little trouble controlling my character.

Child (running quickly down the path after Lindir.....)

[piosenniel]

Firefoot

Well, something is after us! :eek:

I'll leave it to you to disclose what it is :p

Could be Elves-gone-bad could be crows . . . :D

~*~ Pio

[Firefoot]

Could be both... :D

Endamir and Lomwe can either leave now, or if Endamir thinks he can get something more out of the just-slightly crazy Elf fëar, go for it... up to you.

[Anguirel]

I was wondering if I could call yet another brief halt, or at least slow down? I know Fea has Final exams of some variety, and I have school Trials over the next couple of weeks, which are vitally important as they are my last hope of attaining silver buttons next year...

[piosenniel]

That's fine by me - when would you like to pick up again?

Silver buttons . . . trials . . .?

~*~ Pio

[Child of the 7th Age]

Envinyatar -

Please check your pm's.

Pio and Anguirel,

I will adapt to whatever schedule you prefer. I am assuming it would be alright to do a little cave exploration as long as we stay in one spot. A lengthy exploration of this cave might be kind of fun.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It's true, Ang. I've got my first ever official university finals week starting Monday. But this week is when everything that isn't a technical final exam is due (and some of the professors are perfectly fine assigning you final projects and final papers and final exams). Which means a lot of scrambling and trying to find extra hours in the day.

I'll have all the time in the world after next Friday. Until then, I'm ecstatic about the idea of delaying the proceedings.

[Anguirel]

Then let's make it next Friday. Though I suspect Christmas holidays abroad will bedevil proceedings a short time after that...

If I do exceptionally well in this exam, I might just be granted the right to wear silver buttons on my waistcoat...therein lies its main importance. Honestly! But Plato threatens to thwart, and I need some time to stop his posthumous machinations...he wants the silver buttons for himself, to reflect the fire at the back of the cave I expect...

[Child of the 7th Age]

See you then.....best of luck with all the tests.

[Firefoot]

All righty. Good luck to you both. :)

[Envinyatar]

Child

Ball in your court! :p

- E -

[Child of the 7th Age]

Finally, a return volley....

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I have no internet access at home so I'm going to be unable to post until the second weekend of January. Sorry guys... stupid parents. :(

[piosenniel]

~*~ Announcement ~*~

You are all invited to post in The Yule Log (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=12478) in Rohan. Just read Bêthberry’s introductory post and join in at The Green Man Free House for the next few weeks.

Come share a story of ghosties, and ghoulies, and sharp toothed goblins for the days of the Winter’s Yule while the fire burns bright and warm and the drink flows freely.


~*~ Pio

[Anguirel]

Well, Fea returns to us soon and I feel positive auras. Up goes a SAVE which I'll fulfill tomorrow.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Anguirel,

Glad to see you back again!

I have a question that relates to the need to keep our two storylines in sync.

We had talked about having Lindir be ill and/or unconscious (in need of healing) when he finally meets the Diviner face-to-face. That sounds great to me. Could you give me a very rough estimate of how long it will take for that meeting with the Diviner to occur (in terms of real posting time)?

Some time ago, I put my character out cold, thinking that the encounter would take place shortly. But the plot took an interesting turn and the story went forward more slowly. After a dream post or two, I eventually brought my character back to life since I found it difficult to post for an unconscious character on an extended basis.

Lindir is in a jam right now. He could easily have a mishap and be down for the count. Conversely, if you think it will take a while to set up your lead-in story, I can pull Lindir out of this jam and have him collapse later. I am very flexible: whatever you do is fine. I just need to know a little more about the timing so that poor Orëmir doesn't have to drag my unconscious character around too long. :D

Let me know on this thread or by pm. I'll wait to fill in my save till I hear from you. Many thanks!

[Anguirel]

Well, now the Seneschal has summoned the Diviner, we'll deal with three essential strata-

1. Endamir, Lomwe and Idrahil try to persuade the Diviner to come onside
2. Malris and Tasa walk into danger and the Lady's Orcs as they approach Malris and Giledhel's chamber
3. Lindir and Oremir in the cavern-both knocked out?

After this we'll have two strata

1. The Diviner, still in male form, gives in, transports the others to his/her cavern and reveals his prize, the two unconscious Elves. But Idrahil persuades him to relent. Reveals female form and commands that bones, Orcish and Elvish alike, be laid to rest. Lindir and Oremir recover; Lindir is healed.

Lindir and the Diviner finally meet here. Maybe in about a week?

2. Tasa set upon by the Lady's Orcs! Malris confronts Giledhel

Then we'll close the day with Maglor's song, most of the party back in the guardhouse, but Malris and Tasa both missing in Giledhel's chamber.

Is this alright?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I'm back and this is all good with me. I may not get a post up today but at latest, I'll have one tomorrow. Can't wait to have my Tasareni attacked on the orders of a crazy dead Elf lady. Seriously... I'm excited. :D

[piosenniel]

Anguirel

Your plan sounds fine to me.

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It appears that Tasa may soon be left alone. That's up to you, Ang, whether or not you'd like her to come with Malris, but I think it would be easier for the orcs and the Lady to attack her if he is not present.

[Envinyatar]

Unfortunately, the Orcs and Giledhel are bound to her chamber - unless Tasa enters, all there will be will be the sound of ghostly 'Fie!' 's and the gnashing of ghostly teeth . . .

[Anguirel]

Well, then I suppose Malris has to persuade Tasa to come with him. But I can't think why he'd want to...there has to be some other way...

What about-Malris goes in-Malris is transfixed by Giledhel's image in the tapestry-she keeps him sorrowfully talking, whiling sending a false osanwe message to Tasa, pretending to be Malris, saying he is in desperate need of aid?

Something like that?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Works for me. See, I had Tasa wait because 1) she's feeling this total unwelcome coming from the room and is uneasy about the whole island experience and 2) why would she go into Malris and his dead wife's old bedchamber?

But I'm quite sure that if she thought Malris was in danger, she'd drop all fear and hasten to his side. So whatever y'all feel like doing to encourage her into harm's way, I'm all for it.

[Envinyatar]

OK - I've figured out a way to bring Tasa to the aid of Malris. Let me just get my SAVE filled - and then we will attack the blighted fellow and draw in his gold haired hussy . . .

[Envinyatar]

SAVE filled

Anguirel

Why don't you have Malris come into the chamber; look at Giledhel's weaving . . . etc. . . . then the ravens will attack you.

Does this sound alright with you and Fea?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

I'm good for it.

Ang, can you make sure that Malris calls out for Tasa? I'd prefer her to have solid need to interrupt such a personal time of his. Odd noises can be attributed to nerves and haunted things... A direct request for aid from the one you love most in the world is unignorable.