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Old 06-21-2006, 12:46 AM   #16
Shade of Carn Dûm
Undómë's Avatar
Join Date: Mar 2005
Posts: 400
Undómë has just left Hobbiton.
Looks to be a great game! I'm very much looking forward to playing in it.

Here are my two Orc sisters. Will work on the post for them, and on the bio for the minor Mordor character soon.


Undómë’s characters:

NAMES: Zagra and Mazhg, sisters

AGE: around 36 or so


GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Zagra has a thick wooden club – part of a stout oak stave that once held a lance. Mazhg carries a spade she stole from one of the fields; she keeps the edges of the metal shovel sharp with a flint rock she has stashed in a battered leather pouch hanging from her shoulder. Both are strong, and fight like cats when they are cornered -- with nails and teeth and feet.

APPEARANCE: about 4’ 10”; darkish skin made darker by layers of dirt; dark eyed short; spiky black hair matted with filth; stocky, thick bodied, well muscled. Ragged, rough cloth shifts, stained and torn. Frayed, tattered blankets of some indiscriminate grey colored wool serve as cloaks. Barefooted.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Despite her hard life, Mazhg is a bright woman, very wily, extremely suspicious, cautious around other people. Especially around males, whom she despises for the most part. She is fiercely protective of her sister. Zagra is what one might call a little ‘simple-minded’. Her mind tends to drift; she is not as wary of situations and people as is her sister. Mazhg keeps Zagra close to her, and will kill and has killed any who touch her or try to hurt her.

HISTORY: Zagra and Mazhg had just turned about 15 years old in 3019 III Age. The woman who gave birth to them died at their birth as had their triplet sister. They were raised on one of Mordor’s breeding farms. They worked hard in the fields from a young age; took care of the babies and littler children as they got older. That year, their fifteenth, they would have gone into the breeding sheds to become part of the great propagation program designed to supply Mordor with a continuous source of Orc warriors, workers, and breeders.

When Sauron fell and Mordor was made free by the King’s decree, Mazhg and Zagra joined in with a large band of Orcs who were staking out their claim to a part of Nurn for themselves. Now the Easterlings who were part of Mordor’s slave base were trying to eliminate the Orcs. There was to be a big battle between the two groups. Mazhg had decided this battle would not be to her and Zagra’s benefit; they would most likely be killed she thought. She and her sister had joined in with those Orcs who were fleeing from the main group to find a safer place to live.


Undómë's post - Zagra & Mazhg

‘Scared . . . big scared.’ Zagra’s voice, hushed and strained already, trailed off into silence. She leaned against Mazhg as her sister chopped at their shifts. Mazhg was shortening them with a knife she’d stolen from the cook shed, making them into what she hoped would pass for boys’ tunics.

‘I know you’re scared,’ Mazhg, whispered back, nuzzling Zagra’s cheek with her nose. I’m scared too! she thought to herself, though to her sister she spoke in an assured tone. ‘Things will be alright. You just stick to me . . .,’ she said, smiling at Zagra.

‘. . . like a pink tail on a rat!’ Zagra finished. She scooted around so that she could lean her back against her sister’s. ‘Tell me . . . tell me again, Mazhg. What we doing under old white face t’night.’

Though she’d heard it already several times, Zagra’s eyes went wide as Mazhg retold her story of stealing two pairs of breeches, each from two different sides of the camp. And how she’d managed to slip into the cook tent and the storage tent near it – to take a knife from the one, and dried meat and travel-bread from the other.

What Mazhg hadn’t made part of the adventurous tale was how one of the Uruk who was hanging about had spied her crawling out from under the back of the tent. And how he’d hit her hard with his club on the small of her back. The blow had sent her flying. She’d barely scrambled to her feet before he got to her. By some stroke of luck or his own laziness, he’d elected to hurl insults at her retreating form, rather than expend the energy to run her down. She expected he was most likely drunk. Quite drunk, from the smell of fermented mash spirits that hung in a thick cloud about him.

Many of the men were drinking. Getting up their courage for the coming battle against the Easterlings. In the distance, on the other side of the camp, she could see many little fires dotting the plain, and the shadowy forms of Orc men, big and small, wavering in the garish light. Drums, too. They beat loud and louder as the night progressed. A booming heartbeat, strong and mighty; savage it was meant to seem . . . to make the Easterlings’ blood run cold with fear.

Mazhg snickered. She was in no way fond of the Easterlings. But she hoped their knives were sharp and would slit the throat of every man-Orc. She brought her attention back to her sister.

‘Once we’re dressed like I told you, we’re going to sneak off on an adventure. Me and you. To a place where we’ll be safe. Together.’

‘Try this on, Zagra,’ she said, handing one of the shortened shifts to her sister. ‘Let it hang loose about you.’ Mazhg pulled her own on hastily, modeling it for Zagra. ‘Like this.’ She nodded in approval as Zagra stood before her. ‘Come here, now. Let’s put this pouch over your head.’ Mazhg flattened the leather strap that held the rough made pouch across Zagra’s chest. ‘This has a little skin of water in it, some meat and some bread. Now throw your blanket over your shoulders . . . like the boys do.’ Mazhg reached for the ends of the blanket scrap and tied them in a loose knot so that material fell about her sister’s form like a little cape. She handed Zagra her stick, telling her to hold tight to it.

Mazhg quickly got herself ready to go, tucking the knife into a raggedy sort of sash she’d tied about her middle. She picked up her spade, checking one last time in her own pouch for the sharpening stone.
With a quick smile of assurance, Mazhg took her sister’s hand firmly in her own and let her eyes dart about the nearly empty northern part of the camp she’d staked out as their little place. Most of the others who bedded down in that area were at the fires in the southern part of the camp.

The moon was bright on the eastern horizon. Fat and bulbous like some great swollen spider, it hung in the dark sky. Its light ate the little lights of the stars, swallowing whole it seemed those ones that had the ill luck to be near its web.

Hunched over, skittering like dark little bugs from one pool of shadow to another, the two sisters headed west. They hurried as fast as their legs would take them; away from the madness of the coming battle and toward the meeting place the loosely organised group of rebels had agreed on . . .


Undómë’s minor character – Granny Brenna

NAME: Brenna (slave escapee), aka ‘Granny Brenna’ or just plain ‘Gran’

AGE: 51


GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Her planting stick; small hand scythe for harvesting grain – hangs from her belt by a leather cord; small sling and pouch of rocks for bringing down small animals.

APPEARANCE: 5’1”; thin, wiry. Once raven black hair now streaked heavily with grey, worn in a thick braid down her back, or in a bun at the nape of her neck. Dark brown eyes. Tanned complexion from work in the fields. Wrinkles. Keeps her tunic and long skirt as neat and clean as she is able. Piece of rope serves as a belt for the skirt. Pair of hand cobbled sandals of leather. Raggedy square of dark woven material she uses as a shawl

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Knows how to keep her nose out of trouble; minds her own business as she can. A kindly, no-nonsense sort of woman with a helping hand for those who need it. She is a story-teller and has been known to sing on occasion when the hard cider jug is passed her way.

HISTORY: Taken at the age of eleven, with her family, from their little farm in the eastern reaches of North Ithilien. Father and mother are now deceased. She hasn’t seen her two older brothers, Bran and Nevan, in twenty years - since they were sent to another plantation on the southern edges of Nurn.


[b]Carry alongs:

1.) Gwenith (Gwenni) - girl @ 11y/o; long, light blonde hair
2.) Nia - young woman @ 16 y/o; shoulder length dk. brown hair
Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night . . .

Last edited by piosenniel; 10-15-2006 at 08:16 PM.
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