[Imladris]

I received permission from Elora to do this, so here is a charcter description for a hobbit:

Character Description Form:
1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – NO
2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in?
List them, please: Resistance and Lingering Darkness
Please note you may play in only 3 games at one time.

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES -- The Green Dragon
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For your character please include:

NAME: My name is Gorby Brandybuck , but most call me Orb, because they say my thinking has a tendency to go ‘round an’ round in circles.

AGE: I’m still in my tweens yet, and because most people say I act younger than my age, I’ll just as well not state it.

RACE: Hobbit -- which is rather obvious in my opinion.

GENDER: Male , also rather obvious.

WEAPONS: Weapons? I’m lucky if I can chop the firewood for supper without cutting my finger. But, in a pinch, I can shoot a stout a cross bow, gift of my father.

APPEARANCE: I’m kind of…well…sturdy-looking, like some distant relative of mine: Meriadoc Brandybuck. I have fair curly hair, shot with streaks of reddish brown and I have a nice big pair of hairy feet. I like to dress in various shades of greens and browns.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: I always wonder why they ask you that because how can you really know one’s self if you are one’s self? I mean most people have either a horribly high opinion of themselves (such as one Falco Boffin) or an intolerably low opinion of themselves (such as my sister). But on the whole I guess I am curious about the world in general, which as sent me into too many straights to count on one hand. Generally, though, I like to have a bit of smoke, lying on my back upon a green hill, and watch the clouds morph into shapes. I love to sleep…sleeping is so peaceful, so pleasant, and a time to think about the world in general: not gossip, but of the trees, and rivers, and of insects and things. My sister, Lily Brandybuck, says I’m lazy, but I disagree because I read, write, draw, sculpture, and paint when I do have spare time, which I usually have plenty of, considering ‘I don’t do anything.’

HISTORY: I don’t have much of a history, at least not an interesting, dramatic, traumatic, hear-rending, daring, roguish, pitiful one. Actually, to hero standards, it’s inexpressively dull. I was born in Buckland, I grew up in Buckland, and I’ll more than likely die in Buckland, if the Hills don’t take that privilege away at least. Of course, if I do end up dead, I’d be much obliged if one of the people accompanying the search would bring me back home and bury me proper like.
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Imladris' post

Doderic was looking at me pointedly: I knew that glance full well, and I quailed and trembled beneath it. I had been summoned from my afternoon smoke and that boded ill in my opinion. I cleared my throat and said, “Yes, Doderic?”

“I was wondering if you would do something for me,” he said smoothly, looking at me kindly but that only made me more uncomfortable. I stood uneasily on one leg and scratched at a poison ivy rash with a toe: a managed to nod. “I was wondering if you would like to go on a search party?”

“I’d much rather not,” I said hastily.

“And why not?”

“Because,” I said, beginning to list reasons on my fingers, “I am no good with any type of weapons, you know that I can’t even find my vest when it’s right under my very nose, I can’t hide very well, I ---” and I was rudely interrupted by Doderic.

“Which is the very reason why you should come,” he said. “Think of this as a learning experience where you can fix your faults.”

“Is this a ploy to get rid of me so that I don’t bother anyone with my ‘laziness’?” I asked suspiciously. It drove Lily mad that I stood out there to have my smoke, rain or shine. She was always complaining of cleaning the house and sweeping up after my lingering ashes that always somehow fell from my pipe.

“Good heavens, no!” Doderic cried. “That’s just your sister and she doesn’t mean half of what she says anyway. You’ll be meeting a man named Falowik in the Prancing Pony,” his eyes sparkled here -- he knew how much I enjoyed visiting Bree. “And there’ll also be an elf there as well -- Uien I believe. Falowik is a man, some don‘t trust him and he has a lousy reputation around in Bree, but…well, an elf trusts him so I suppose he is not too bad. A man of Rohan, Eodwine, disappeared in the Hills of Evendim and they are gathering a search party to see if they can either find his remains or himself alive.”

“Oh,” I said absently, playing with my leather belt. So it was a rescue mission for a man that wasn’t even around in these parts (which I honestly didn’t mind in the least). But then we’d have to go travel up North, where the cold perpetually lingered, and I honestly didn’t look forward to the nasty trudging over rocks and hills. I would miss the Shire -- it was my home after all. I sighed: But on the other hand, I would have a chance to see Bree, a most tantalizing place, a place where there was much to learn. I especially liked to visit the Blacksmith, and watch him hammer the metal into various shapes. It was a wonder how fire could melt it, enable it to bend to the smithy’s will. Fire in and of itself was pretty fascinating anyway: so lurid, so bright, so intoxicatingly exotic, yet it could be harmful and deadly, too. “Why don’t you come?”

“I have business here, Orb. You know that.”

I sighed and left and went to pack my few belongings. I brought an ample supply of weed, a few pipes in case some would like to join me for a bit of smoke, a pen and some parchments as well also found their way secretly into my bag, for I knew Doderic would have a fit if he knew I would bring something so superfluous as they.

Some time later the next day, Doderic and I reached Bree and meandered my way to the Prancing Pony. I enjoyed watching the lasses work and on this particularly fine day, they were doing the washing. The scrub of the clothes upon the washboard, the frothy soap, and the sight of the lines of vests, bodices, blouses, skirts, and breeches was a pleasant sight to behold.

Doderic told me to keep dawdling and all too soon I found myself at the Prancing Pony and there I saw Falowik. He was a rough man with fair hair, but it looked as if he had seen much hardship and sorrow. I, particularly, didn’t see what was so wrong with him: a bit rough ‘round the edges maybe, but certainly alright.

And then the elf came, a fair maid, but not quite how I pictured them, from Master Merry’s description, least ways. We sat and I ordered ale for them all and watered wine for Uien for that was what she told she would rather have. Then we waited.

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Gorby is not stupid: just simple minded, gentle, and a typical hobbit. Pretty naieve too.

[ October 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]