[Deorlin]

Bethberry,
I'd like to join your game. Here is my character:

Deorlin: rider of the Mark, newly arrived back in Rohan from a few months of travelling all over Middle Earth as messenger/emissary for King Theoden, trying to assess the various races/kingdoms/peoples reaction to the rumors of Sauron's rise in the East. He comes from a fairly important family of the Westfold, his father being Deorwine, First Knight to the King. He's about 20 and just your typical Rohirrim - a good rider and fighter, rough, simple, straightforward.

game role: Deorlin will have just arrived at the white horse, stopping briefly for a drink and to catch up on news of Rohan before he makes his way to Meduseld to give his reports to Theoden. His own horse was stabled at the inn and has been stolen. Even the pressing need to report to the king can't override his loyalty to his horse, so Deorlin is beside himself to get after the theives and recover him.

First Post:

Deorlin was just finishing his ale and wiping his mustache across the back of his hand when Aelfritha came running into the inn, carrying her grim news of the stolen horses. He was on his feet in an instant, making for the door. All was confusion as the inn patrons talked loudly amongst themselves or joined the stream of horse owners, and the merely curious, going to see which beasts were missing. Deorlin swore under his breath as he pushed his way out into the darkness of the yard and thence to the stables. If Frey was gone . . . he wouldn't even allow himself to finish the thought.

A few short strides brought him to the stall where he had tended to his friend no more than 30 minutes before. Like all Rohirrim, to Deorlin his horse was more than just a means of travel, or beast of burden - he was a friend, a true and loyal companion. More like a beloved family member than a four legged servant, or pet even. The bond formed between rider and mount was almost indescribable. In Frey, Deorlin would place his utmost trust, and there was no value in gold or jewels that could be placed on him. So without question, whenever they stopped for a respite from their journeying, Deorlin always tended to Frey's needs before his own. And he had left his friend here in this stall, with a bucket of fresh water and a manger of sweet smelling hay. And now . . .

Empty! Deorlin's heart pounded in his chest, his blood throbbing in his temples. No! This can not be! he thought wildly. I must get to Theoden.I must report on all that I have witnessed and heard these last few months. But, Frey . . . where have they taken him? What fate awaits him? I can not abandon him . . . but my duty to the king!

Torn between his two conflicting loyalties, Deorlin hesitated a mere moment before deciding what he must do. Resolutely he strode back to the inn, pushing his way through the noisy crowd. Standing tall, even amongst his fellow Rohirrim, he soon spotted Aelfritha and called out to her.

"Here am I, Deorlin, son of Deorwine, rider of the Mark, newly come back to our beloved land of Rohan. My horse, my companion, Frey, has been taken. If there is anyone who can lend me the use of a mount, I will ride with you and not return unless it is with my Frey, and the others which have been taken. Say you now, is there a horse I can borrow?"

While waiting for the woman's reply, the thought flashed through Deorlin's mind - these were dark days indeed when strangers came boldly into the very heart of Rohan, undetected, and stole good horse right out from under the noses of their people. The time was drawing near, very near, when all must look to their hearts and their sword arm to fight for what they held most dear, be it horse, family or country. there was no doubt in his own mind, the east was rising, and swiftly too!