The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - Breelanders All! Discussion Thread

Tinuviel of Denton · 09-18-2003, 11:22 PM

Good heavens! I go away for a day, and the thread is twice as long! I didn't mean to cause such a stir with my 'save.' It was just a way of letting you know that I was thinking about it and who I would be trying for. It also seems to save room on the thread if I just edit the original post. Good grief!

Anyway, MY character...

NAME: Soran

AGE: 47

RACE: Man (outlaw)

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: A fairly old sword that he barely knows how to use, a bow with which he is a great deal more proficient, and a pike that is little more than a sharpened stick.

APPEARANCE: He has dark brown hair going to gray at his temples and dark brown eyes with flecks of green. His face is seamed with worry lines and smile lines in his forehead and around his eyes and mouth (he doesn't smile much anymore, but he used to.) He's of middle height and wears a tattered black cloak that covers his much mended gray and brown tunic and trews.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Soran was once a cheerful man, but his losses have made him bitter. He constantly blames himself for the fate of his family, and when left alone, torments himself with imagining what could be happening to his daughters and his wife. He treasures no of a glorious revenge, because he knows that on old(er) man could do nothing against the armies of the Witch-King. For all his sad experiences, he is fairly gullible, and believes whole-heartedly that the Breelanders are greedy and grasping, that they would turn him away with nothing if he came forward peaceably. (which is of course nonsense.) He is given to brooding silences, when he'll stare into the flames and wish that his miserable existance is just a dream.

HISTORY: Soran used to be a farmer who occasionally hunted to supplement his crops. The Witch-King commanded that all of the produce from the farms in a certain area be given to his troops, so they would have a steady supply of food. Soran's farm was in this area, but he refused, on the grounds that it was his work that brought these crops from the ground, and he had the right to use them as he would. The regional commander was not too pleased with that, and ordered that Soran and his family be used as an example.

One evening as Soran, his wife and their five children (two sons, ages 15 and 12, and three daughters, ages 13, 10, and 6) were sitting down to supper, a battalion of men from the Witch-Kings army attacked. They forced Soran to watch as they slit his sons' throats and carried his wife and daughers away. They beat him and left him senseless on the floor of his cottage, lying in his own sons' blood.

When he woke, he fled, hating himself as a coward, but not knowing what else to do. He eventually joined up with the bandits, mostly because he was lonely and food was surer with them than alone. Now all he wants is a place where he can remember his loved ones in peace.

_____________________________________________

Tinuviel of Denton's post

Soran watched the fire in front of him and reflected on just how much his life had changed. Not too long ago he had been a prosperous farmer, and now he was an outlaw and a bandit. How Laira would have laughed. That sent him off into another trend of melacholy, thinking about his lovely wife.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hardly noticed Lotar's rampage, even though the man almost tripped over him. Of course, most of them were used to Lotar's furies by now, and didn't pay them any notice anymore. The poor fellow who'd gone scouting was new to the group, probably another of the Witch-King's victims. He didn't talk much, unless in a reply to direct questions. None of them asked about his family; it was understood that such things would be shared only if invited. Soran was only half-listening to Lotar rant and rave until the scout came back.

‘Lotar sir’ he heaved ‘There be little defense on the way. None actually. They’ve done practically nothing!’

‘Well, at least you tell me what I wish! Now, tell me what the scene looks like! I want every hill and knoll if this is to work! The sooner we get this, the sooner we have our own houses and fires to warm our feet by! This town will make us a pretty amount!'

His ears ed up and he thought almost dreamily about having a house of his own again. He would have to turn tradesman, of course, there was no room for a farm in a town...never mind. He was a bandit, and this Bree-town would likely turn into a haven for his kind, with few respectable people if any at all. Still, a home would be nice.

A chill gust of wind broke his concentration, and he pulled the half-shredded cloak closer around him, temporarily forgetting about the thought of a house in the future in absorbtion of his discomfort in the present.

[ September 19, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[ September 24, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

09-18-2003, 11:22 PM	#17
Tinuviel of Denton Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Mar 2003 Location: Amid the hills and dales of the Shire... or not. Posts: 579	Good heavens! I go away for a day, and the thread is twice as long! I didn't mean to cause such a stir with my 'save.' It was just a way of letting you know that I was thinking about it and who I would be trying for. It also seems to save room on the thread if I just edit the original post. Good grief! Anyway, MY character... NAME: Soran AGE: 47 RACE: Man (outlaw) GENDER: Male WEAPONS: A fairly old sword that he barely knows how to use, a bow with which he is a great deal more proficient, and a pike that is little more than a sharpened stick. APPEARANCE: He has dark brown hair going to gray at his temples and dark brown eyes with flecks of green. His face is seamed with worry lines and smile lines in his forehead and around his eyes and mouth (he doesn't smile much anymore, but he used to.) He's of middle height and wears a tattered black cloak that covers his much mended gray and brown tunic and trews. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Soran was once a cheerful man, but his losses have made him bitter. He constantly blames himself for the fate of his family, and when left alone, torments himself with imagining what could be happening to his daughters and his wife. He treasures no of a glorious revenge, because he knows that on old(er) man could do nothing against the armies of the Witch-King. For all his sad experiences, he is fairly gullible, and believes whole-heartedly that the Breelanders are greedy and grasping, that they would turn him away with nothing if he came forward peaceably. (which is of course nonsense.) He is given to brooding silences, when he'll stare into the flames and wish that his miserable existance is just a dream. HISTORY: Soran used to be a farmer who occasionally hunted to supplement his crops. The Witch-King commanded that all of the produce from the farms in a certain area be given to his troops, so they would have a steady supply of food. Soran's farm was in this area, but he refused, on the grounds that it was his work that brought these crops from the ground, and he had the right to use them as he would. The regional commander was not too pleased with that, and ordered that Soran and his family be used as an example. One evening as Soran, his wife and their five children (two sons, ages 15 and 12, and three daughters, ages 13, 10, and 6) were sitting down to supper, a battalion of men from the Witch-Kings army attacked. They forced Soran to watch as they slit his sons' throats and carried his wife and daughers away. They beat him and left him senseless on the floor of his cottage, lying in his own sons' blood. When he woke, he fled, hating himself as a coward, but not knowing what else to do. He eventually joined up with the bandits, mostly because he was lonely and food was surer with them than alone. Now all he wants is a place where he can remember his loved ones in peace. _____________________________________________ Tinuviel of Denton's post Soran watched the fire in front of him and reflected on just how much his life had changed. Not too long ago he had been a prosperous farmer, and now he was an outlaw and a bandit. How Laira would have laughed. That sent him off into another trend of melacholy, thinking about his lovely wife. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hardly noticed Lotar's rampage, even though the man almost tripped over him. Of course, most of them were used to Lotar's furies by now, and didn't pay them any notice anymore. The poor fellow who'd gone scouting was new to the group, probably another of the Witch-King's victims. He didn't talk much, unless in a reply to direct questions. None of them asked about his family; it was understood that such things would be shared only if invited. Soran was only half-listening to Lotar rant and rave until the scout came back. ‘Lotar sir’ he heaved ‘There be little defense on the way. None actually. They’ve done practically nothing!’ ‘Well, at least you tell me what I wish! Now, tell me what the scene looks like! I want every hill and knoll if this is to work! The sooner we get this, the sooner we have our own houses and fires to warm our feet by! This town will make us a pretty amount!' His ears ed up and he thought almost dreamily about having a house of his own again. He would have to turn tradesman, of course, there was no room for a farm in a town...never mind. He was a bandit, and this Bree-town would likely turn into a haven for his kind, with few respectable people if any at all. Still, a home would be nice. A chill gust of wind broke his concentration, and he pulled the half-shredded cloak closer around him, temporarily forgetting about the thought of a house in the future in absorbtion of his discomfort in the present. [ September 19, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ] [ September 24, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]