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Old 06-23-2006, 12:34 PM   #51
Illusionary Holbytla
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Join Date: Dec 2003
Posts: 7,547
Firefoot has been trapped in the Barrow!

NAME: Johari

AGE: 31


GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Her fists, fingernails…

APPEARANCE: 5’7”, tough, wiry, and lean. She has medium-toned skin that shows clear signs of having worked as a Mordor slave all her life; her hands are callused and rough. Her hair is dark and coarse and is always held out of her face. She has dark, fierce but wary eyes and an expressive face. Her clothing is simple and worn: breeches, shirt, and tunic. She has no shoes, so her feet are as callused as her hands. Various whip-scars line her body, mostly on her back and the backs of her legs.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Johari is more passionate than intelligent, more prone to fight than work it out with words, and more likely to act first and think later. She tends to be scornful of weakness. The result of this was frequent trouble with those in charge of her. However, this has grown less frequent as she has gotten older; the futility of her own battles against her situation eventually began to wear on her, and she has sunk down into hopelessness and depression. Apathy has numbed the fiercer parts of her personality. She really has no hopes left from her spirited childhood, only determination to find her “son” (see history) and make life better for him.

: Johari was born into slavery; however, her mother had been a captured slave from Harad and would often tell her stories of freedom that inspired Johari and gave her hopes that one day she might be free too. But her mother died when she was ten, leaving her to understand the underlying realities of slavery. Sauron was defeated when she was twelve, raising her hopes once more, only to have them come crashing down around her as she realized nothing about her situation had really changed. Always a fighter by nature, this second crashing of her hopes really set in motion her private war (as she thought of it) with the slave holders. After a few encounters with their whips, she tried to be more subtle, but she was too easily provoked into mouthing off to or even, on one or two occasions, physically attacking the slave overseers.

She continued to fight it until she was about 20, at which point the ferocity and frequency of her miniature rebellions began to slack off; she simply had a hard time finding the point of it any more.

At 24, in an odd turn of compassion she noticed a young orphaned boy Kalin and took him under her care. He was never cut out for a slave’s life, however, being rather frail and sickly (although her affection for him rather blinded her to this; she could not believe such weakness in one so close to her), and without her care he probably would have died sooner than he did; he died when she was 28, although she managed to convince herself in her grief that he had not died but escaped this cruel life of slavery as she had always wished to do. Since then, it has been her only desire to find him and make a better life for the two of them.


Firefoot's post - Johari

Rebellion, they had said. Escape. Johari hadn’t cared about much more than that, not about how the rest of them planned to get out nor even if they would be successful. Only one thought occurred to her: Kalin. Now would be her chance to find him. She didn’t care about the rest of them, but she would escape. She would find him.

There was no hope involved in her determination. Hope was like water, Johari had once decided: once you learn to live with plenty of it, life becomes all the harder without it. And hope died slowly: it was more like a thousand little deaths that wasted you away until you were nothing. Johari had seen it happen in her mother and had experienced it herself; it was better simply to live without hope. Then you were never disappointed, as you surely would be in this forsaken land that killed all hopes. No, her determination resulted from the conviction that eventually she would escape and that she would find him. If not this time, there would be a next time. There would always be a next time.

It was a fact, and therefore required no hope or effort to believe in. It simply was.

The night came. Chaos reigned supreme. Slaves, singly, in pairs, in mobs, all ran, fueled by the hope and promise of freedom. Only some would make it away – only some would survive; the rest, hopes quashed, would be returned to their barracks and to work the next day. Johari did not think of this. She did not think at all. She just ran.

She avoided their dogs, more out of instinct than conscious decision. She did not stay and fight, she did not stop to help the others. She just ran.

Towards the mountains. Kalin was a smart boy. He would have taken refuge there. Rumors even existed that other escaped slaves were living in those mountains; he might have found them. She shifted her course, practically flying through the fields - not caring whether she trampled the growing crops - into the hills beyond: already farther than she had ever traveled in her life. It was only now as she reached this comparative safety that she slowed her pace. Her legs and lungs were burning, and her make-shift pack thumped uncomfortably on her back. She did not stop completely, though, but kept moving, always listening for pursuit behind her. At one point she heard hoof-beats, but she stayed in the shadows and never saw them anyway.

On into the night she walked, never once feeling the ecstatic rush of freedom that might be expected. For her, escape was not the realization of hopes and dreams. Once it might have been; now it was only fact fulfilled.

In the next days, she found a group of escaped slaves and was welcomed into their fold. It did not occur to them that Johari was content, happier even, to travel by herself. She did not feel heartened by their presence; she did not care that they, too, had escaped. She had a purpose, and these ones would not help her with it… especially when they started discussing settling down and hiding in the foothills of the mountains while they decided what to do. Johari already knew what she wanted; she didn’t care what the rest of them did. Nevertheless, she had reluctantly decided to at least stay the night there with them; she wouldn’t get any farther in the dark.

The next morning they found themselves surrounded. Johari quickly realized, as did the rest of the escaped slaves, that these tough-looking strangers were not trying to capture them but help them. Maybe they would know about Kalin – she would certainly be asking…



Name: Grask

Age: 9

Race: Orc

Gender: Male

Weapons: A long knife that serves him as a sword, purloined off the body of a dead Orc.

Appearance: Around 4’ tall and a little on the thin side; “lanky” is a word he is growing into, with rather long limbs. Only wears a sleeveless tunic. He is perpetually dirty.

Personality/Strengths/Weaknesses: Like most young Orcs, Grask tries to stay relatively unobtrusive among older Orcs to avoid risking their wrath, and tussle amongst themselves to prove or better their fighting abilities (usually without real weapons). Not being particularly burly or strong, Grask tries to avoid these fights mostly; he is quite competent at looking after himself. Definitely more of a follower than a leader, he takes his cues from those around him. He can also be very curious.

History: Grask has no real concept of his own parentage. He has very vague memories of a mother-figure, though he has no real emotional connection to her. He assumes she died, or perhaps just abandoned him at some point; this doesn’t bother him, though, since this is more the norm than the exception in Orkish culture. Other than that, his history is unremarkable and consists really only of day-to-day survival. It was only by chance that he found out about the rebellion at all, but he immediately decided to join them, feeling that a large battle would be in no way beneficial to him.



That about completes it.

Last edited by Firefoot; 06-29-2006 at 12:58 PM.
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