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piosenniel · 01-26-2004, 12:28 AM

Placed for Hama of the Riddermark – member #10344

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?
None

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES – Which one?

Green Dragon
_______________________________________

Character Description:

NAME: Roryn

AGE: 45

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: A bow, a quiver of arrows and a sword.

APPEARANCE: Looks weary, as if he is twice as old as he really is. He has a brown beard that is kept neatly trimmed close to the chin and a moustache of the same colour. He has shoulder length dark brown hair and dark green eyes which are always alert and restless, unlike the rest of his face.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: He dislikes people looking at him directly in the face, as it could lead to him being recognised and revealed by them later. He is slightly paranoid, but has a deep trust in those he knows, especially those rangers that he often works with. He often likes to slink off while nobody's looking, and then appear from up ahead confirming that all is clear. Morally fairly strong, enough that he knows where the mark is, and he always endeavours not to put a foot over it. He is a deadly shot with a bow, like all rangers, and it is rare for him to miss a declared target, at almost any possible range. He likes the simple pleasures in life, good food, good ale and good tobacco, and always tries to procure all three after a hard day's slogging across the woodland around Ithilien.

HISTORY: A loyal soldier of Gondor, he often skirmished with the other rangers in the War of the Ring. He attacked Harradrim convoys, easterling patrols, even the scouting patrols of orc trackers. His bow claimed many a victim in the enemy ranks, but he was completely unfazed by the seemingly hard life that a ranger had to live. That was, until, the end of the war. The months of fighting had taken their toll on Roryn physically and mentally. He is not as full of joviality as he used to be, and his bones are less supple than they used to be. In his eyes his finest moment was shooting a mumak in both eyes, blinding it and causing it to throw off the construction on its back, killing a score of Harradrim. In the siege of Gondor Roryn stood on the walls picking off orcs with his bow until all his arrows were spent, whereupon he ditched his bow and drew his sword. He retreated to the second tier with the survivors and braced for death. From the ramparts after the charge of the Rohirrim he picked off many of the remaining few orcs with his bow. He pursued the forces of the enemy long, only stopping when he had cut down those he could see. He returned to Minas Tirith and continued his life’s work of protecting Gondor, even though there were few foes, and they were far between.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Hama of the Riddermark’s post

Roryn sat in the high branches of the trees of Ithilien smoking his pipe. He was almost invisible to anyone that would have looked up, but there were few people to look up into the trees in search of enemies now. He settled himself with his back to the tree trunk, with his legs bent upward in front of him, outstretched to the extent that is was comfortable, but gave adequate support. His bow hung off a small branch next to him and his quiver of arrows with it. He knew it was reckless to leave them there, but then, he reasoned, it was reckless to go to war as he had done. He remembered the day well of the Pellenor fields.

He let a whistle escape him. He started to hum a tune. He didn’t know where it came from or what it meant; only that it was a nice song. He supposed it was one of his own compositions, but he couldn’t be sure, as he had heard so many songs…

Green be the fields of silver,
Green be the land of ours,
White is the tree restored,
White is the crown of stars.

He knew it was awful, but he chuckled anyhow. It was about Gondor and its beauty, and so it was good enough for a mid-day hum in the middle of a wood. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t really before now truly appreciated what a beautiful place Gondor was, he had seen it ravaged too much by war for that. He sat in the tranquil of the woods and took another long drag on his pipe. He smiled once again, then unhooked his bow and quiver, slung them over his back and dropped down branch by branch until he hit the forest floor. A leaf crunched under him and he sighed, he was out of practice somewhat.

He made his way through the undergrowth slowly, picking carefully his route so as to avoid making noise. There were still things here that would not look kindly on a ranger of Gondor. He reached the edge of the woods within a few minutes and surveyed the horizon, nothing, good. He set off at a run in the direction of Minas Tirith…

01-26-2004, 12:28 AM	#11
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Placed for Hama of the Riddermark – member #10344 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? None 3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES – Which one? Green Dragon _______________________________________ Character Description: NAME: Roryn AGE: 45 RACE: Human GENDER: Male WEAPONS: A bow, a quiver of arrows and a sword. APPEARANCE: Looks weary, as if he is twice as old as he really is. He has a brown beard that is kept neatly trimmed close to the chin and a moustache of the same colour. He has shoulder length dark brown hair and dark green eyes which are always alert and restless, unlike the rest of his face. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: He dislikes people looking at him directly in the face, as it could lead to him being recognised and revealed by them later. He is slightly paranoid, but has a deep trust in those he knows, especially those rangers that he often works with. He often likes to slink off while nobody's looking, and then appear from up ahead confirming that all is clear. Morally fairly strong, enough that he knows where the mark is, and he always endeavours not to put a foot over it. He is a deadly shot with a bow, like all rangers, and it is rare for him to miss a declared target, at almost any possible range. He likes the simple pleasures in life, good food, good ale and good tobacco, and always tries to procure all three after a hard day's slogging across the woodland around Ithilien. HISTORY: A loyal soldier of Gondor, he often skirmished with the other rangers in the War of the Ring. He attacked Harradrim convoys, easterling patrols, even the scouting patrols of orc trackers. His bow claimed many a victim in the enemy ranks, but he was completely unfazed by the seemingly hard life that a ranger had to live. That was, until, the end of the war. The months of fighting had taken their toll on Roryn physically and mentally. He is not as full of joviality as he used to be, and his bones are less supple than they used to be. In his eyes his finest moment was shooting a mumak in both eyes, blinding it and causing it to throw off the construction on its back, killing a score of Harradrim. In the siege of Gondor Roryn stood on the walls picking off orcs with his bow until all his arrows were spent, whereupon he ditched his bow and drew his sword. He retreated to the second tier with the survivors and braced for death. From the ramparts after the charge of the Rohirrim he picked off many of the remaining few orcs with his bow. He pursued the forces of the enemy long, only stopping when he had cut down those he could see. He returned to Minas Tirith and continued his life’s work of protecting Gondor, even though there were few foes, and they were far between. +++++++++++++ Hama of the Riddermark’s post Roryn sat in the high branches of the trees of Ithilien smoking his pipe. He was almost invisible to anyone that would have looked up, but there were few people to look up into the trees in search of enemies now. He settled himself with his back to the tree trunk, with his legs bent upward in front of him, outstretched to the extent that is was comfortable, but gave adequate support. His bow hung off a small branch next to him and his quiver of arrows with it. He knew it was reckless to leave them there, but then, he reasoned, it was reckless to go to war as he had done. He remembered the day well of the Pellenor fields. He let a whistle escape him. He started to hum a tune. He didn’t know where it came from or what it meant; only that it was a nice song. He supposed it was one of his own compositions, but he couldn’t be sure, as he had heard so many songs… Green be the fields of silver, Green be the land of ours, White is the tree restored, White is the crown of stars. He knew it was awful, but he chuckled anyhow. It was about Gondor and its beauty, and so it was good enough for a mid-day hum in the middle of a wood. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t really before now truly appreciated what a beautiful place Gondor was, he had seen it ravaged too much by war for that. He sat in the tranquil of the woods and took another long drag on his pipe. He smiled once again, then unhooked his bow and quiver, slung them over his back and dropped down branch by branch until he hit the forest floor. A leaf crunched under him and he sighed, he was out of practice somewhat. He made his way through the undergrowth slowly, picking carefully his route so as to avoid making noise. There were still things here that would not look kindly on a ranger of Gondor. He reached the edge of the woods within a few minutes and surveyed the horizon, nothing, good. He set off at a run in the direction of Minas Tirith… __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.