The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post

GaladrieloftheOlden · 10-14-2003, 04:53 PM

Character Description Form:
1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs?

Yes.

Which one?

Reclaiming the City, In the Footsteps of the Grey Company, and The Summons.

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?

Both, but it was a few months ago.

_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME: Hessa Taiel.

AGE: 21.

RACE: Corsair.

GENDER: Female.

WEAPONS: Hess owns a tiny but very sharp blade concealed inside one of her rings. She has never had occasion to use it, and nor wishes to, as she is rather squeamish of blood. It was given to her by her father when she turned 13. She treasures it more for how elegant it looks on her finger, and for the memory of her father that lies with it, than for its possible usefulness, but understands that as well.
She also has a small dagger, but does not carry this around with her, as she thinks it a nuisance, and does not feel that she will ever need it. She keeps it at home, under her bed, and rarely even takes it out to clean.

APPEARANCE: Hessa has long and flowing black hair, naturally tanned skin, brown eyes, and a small, often-pouting mouth. She is quite vain, and considers herself beautiful, often finding an hour to spend making faces at her mirror, but is really not more than just pretty. She is rather petite, standing at only 5’3”, but does not care, having never envied those taller than her their height. Hessa would like to wear bright dresses, or tight ones to show off her figure, more often, but, as, financially, this is hard, she makes due with boring and plain ones most of the time, unless she has a chance to do otherwise.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Hessa is a rather vain young woman, self-confident and self-centered often to the point of conceit, and feels that she does not receive all the admiration which, in her opinion, is her due. Hess is sometimes, when in the mood, a shameless flirt, but has only recently discovered this side of herself, and, though quite comfortable with it, tries not to let it show too often, because she feels that it is not worth a bad reputation. Occasionally, when she does not get what she wishes, Hess is not above throwing a hissy fit or sharply doing away with a friend or two with sarcastic, scathing words, snide remarks, and scornful glances. She cannot be said to be very intelligent, and is certainly rather featherbrained. She feels that books and studies are simply a terrible intrusion into her time. She is also very much a gossip, and will, at almost any given point, know all the talk of the town.
Hessa does not really have many strong points, but those that she has are readily noticable. She can be quite loyal if somebody is interested in achieving the same goal as she is (Umbar for the corsairs, in this case) for example. Also, she has a talent for loosening tongues and receiving all the information she could wish for. She can be quite persuasive when she wants to. And, occasionally, though rather rarely, she can develop attachments which help her become more determined- for example, she has a great love for her mother, and when she feels that she is dong something for her, she does it with much more conviction.
As mentioned somewhere above, Hess is vain, and often self-centered. This means that she is easily prejudiced against those who have obviously better clothes or looks, and also is vulnerable to flattery. By way of sweet talking, if it is well enough "crafted," almost anybody could win Hessa’s trust and esteem. Also, although she is good at hearing all that there is to be heard, she can often not distinguish between truth, rumor, and blatant lie. Lastly, Hess is very squeamish about blood or gore, and once passed out when she witnessed a street brawl, so, though she wishes for Umbar to come back to the corsairs, she knows that it cannot be done without violence, and secretly dreads the possibility of it happening.

HISTORY: Hessa was born to a well-off and moderately well-known corsair captain, a friend of Jythralo’s, and his wife, a constantly ill woman at least a few years older than her husband, somewhere in Umbar. When Hess was almost a year old, her father, who had left off sailing shortly before she was born, sold his ship and decided to accept a "mission" to spy in Minas Tirith. So he took the family (his wife, little Hessa, and his teen-aged son), changed his name, and moved them all to Minas Tirith. Things went peacefully for a long while. Hessa grew from an infant to a toddler, from a toddler to a child... she was spoiled and used to dressing well, and to getting what she wanted, and hungered always for more tales of the brave corsairs, to whom she knew she belonged. Her father and brother, meanwhile, were constatnly busy, working out strategic friendships with important officials, or reading stolen documents, or something of the sort. But when Hess was 10, the clouds began to gather. More efforts were being taken to root out spies, and all foreigners were suspect. Many were charged with spying, even those who were not, but somehow Hess’s father avoided apprehension for a few more years. When Hessa turned thirteen, her father gave her a ring with a tiny but terribly sharp blade inside which is still her only weapon, and which she treasures.
About 3 months later, Hessa’s father and brother were taken away on charges of spying and being unfaithful to the city where they resided. Hess never saw them again. She and her mother fled the city and came back to their homeland, Umbar. There, they found themselves a new home, and managed to scrape by with "donations" from old friends, though Hessa’s mother was continuousy ill. As Hessa grew older, she decided that she wanted to help out the efforts of the corsairs still left in the town to bring it back under control, but, though she asked to help, there was really nothing that she could do. However, being the social butterfly she is, she hears all the talk of the town and passes on any which concerns the corsairs or the Gondorian army to Jythralo, directly or through others, and is determined that if she can find something more helpful to do, she will do it.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
_____________________________________________

GaladrieloftheOlden's post

Hessa awoke to the sound of hacked coughing from the next room. She debated for a few seconds the idea of curling up and going back to sleep, but a louder cough pushed the measure to the other side, and, her eyes still heavy with sleep, she threw off the warm blanket and rose, shivering. Grabbing a worn shawl quickly from a chair she pulled it tight around her shoulders, over her slightly threadbare nightgown, and softly opened the door to the next room. "Mother," she called. "Are you alright?" Another bout of wheezing followed, and then her mother’s hoarse voice: "Quite alright, Hess, quite alright... go back to bed, dear." "Well, call me if you need me," Hessa said, unconvinced, in an unusually gentle voice. She walked out of the room and shut the door carefully behind her. Sitting back down on her bed, she wrapped herself again in her covers against the cold, but did not take off the shawl, brooding. Then, swinging her legs over the side, she lay down, hoping to catnap, at least. But slumber did not come, though her eyes were long closed. She strained to hear any noise from the next room, but it seemed her mother had settled down. She hoped so, at least. Concerned, she wondered how she felt. And why she even cared. She would not have cared had it been anybody else. Why should she? Nobody else mattered. She shrugged in the darkness of the windowless room, then chided herself for her silliness. Nobody was there to see her gesture to the walls. Finally, she slid into a doze...

She was 6 again, living in Minas Tirith. She was at home, twirling about in front of her parents and older brother, her crimson dress billowing about her childish form. Her mother was laughing, and her father was just sitting still, his dark eyes alive with humor. Her brother merely, stood, fidgeting. She was joyfully running into her mother’s arms and twisting her fingers into her dark hair. The picture changed. She was 9, reading from a piece of parchment, her brows furrowed, her eyes darting out every so often to check on her mother, waiting for her to doze. 11, running through the town and hearing news of traitors rooted out, spies caught, and then coming home, hearing tales of the brave corsairs to whom she belonged, whispered, from her brother. 13, her birthday, her father giving her, solemnly, the ring with the hidden blade... and then the day, a few months later, when the men had come to take away her father and brother...

She realized that she was no longer dreaming, but remembering, sitting upright in her bed, her teeth chattering still with the morning cold. She did not want to remember it all again, but the painful images seemed to burst through a wall in her mind, coming to a skidding halt just before her eyes. She remembered the days when she and her mother had run from Minas Tirith. She remembered how she had missed the half of her family that was now gone, in those first few months. She remembered how they had reached Umbar and settled down in the city, helped along by friends and relations, her mother now ailing. She remembered how she had wished to help the corsairs, because of her fiery hatred for the men who had taken her brother and father. And how, in time, she had forgotten most of it, and entered the life of a young woman in the town, and enjoyed it immensely. But she had not forgotten, she chided herself, she remembered it all... but really, her father and brother did not matter. Long dead, probably, she thought. None of it mattered. She couldn’t help the efforts of the corsairs, really, no matter what little things she heard in town and brought back to them, or what rumors she could spread for them, because she had no mind for politics.

But then, unused to such lengthy contemplation of serious subjects, she jumped off the bed, and, calling to her mother that she was going out for an hour or two, turned to find a suitable dress. She cringed a bit as she looked at those she had, because all of them had somewhere or other a worn spot or tear, no matter how skillfully stitched up. Then she wondered if she might find one somewhere else. Looking around the rather small room, she checked in the corners, the chest, even. Finally, sighing, she got down on her knees and reached under the bed, squeamishly and abruptly drawing back her hand at every dust bunny she caught by accident. Then, reaching what she had meant to, she grabbed hold of a basket and pulled it out. Heaving it upwards, she placed it on top of the bed, and began to look through its contents. There were a few dresses inside, two of them untouchable for the time, being those she wore only on special occasions. There was one, however, which was quite decent, clean and tight and a dark reddish maroon. She pulled it out, but did so carelessly, and a dagger clattered to the floor. She swooped down gracefully to pick it up, frowning. She didn’t know why she still had the thing. She was far too afraid of blood to ever use it, anyway. She dusted it off and put it back in the basket. Then, she went to change.

Emerging from a darkened corner a minute or two later, she cast a sidelong look in the mirror and smiled from under her eyelashes, as though flirting. Then, remembering her dream, she twirled, beginning to laugh. Taking a comb from her bedside table, she ran it through her long black hair, pushing its weight behind her shoulders, where it swayed softly. Then, putting on her ring, the blade inside hidden by a large stone, she took a last pleased glance and smile into the mirror and was gone before the door slammed, all thoughts, unpleasant and not so, left behind for the whirling and speeding world of gossip and the streets outside and screaming vendors in the marketplace...

_____________________________________________

Hope that's alright. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

-Menelien

[ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: GaladrieloftheOlden ]

[ October 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

10-14-2003, 04:53 PM	#34
GaladrieloftheOlden Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Dec 2002 Location: Massachusetts - digging up a bottomless hole, searching for something that's not there... Posts: 1,514	Character Description Form: 1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? Yes. Which one? Reclaiming the City, In the Footsteps of the Grey Company, and The Summons. *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?** Both, but it was a few months ago. _______________________________________ For your character please include: NAME: Hessa Taiel. *AGE:* 21. *RACE:* Corsair. *GENDER:* Female. *WEAPONS:* Hess owns a tiny but very sharp blade concealed inside one of her rings. She has never had occasion to use it, and nor wishes to, as she is rather squeamish of blood. It was given to her by her father when she turned 13. She treasures it more for how elegant it looks on her finger, and for the memory of her father that lies with it, than for its possible usefulness, but understands that as well. She also has a small dagger, but does not carry this around with her, as she thinks it a nuisance, and does not feel that she will ever need it. She keeps it at home, under her bed, and rarely even takes it out to clean. *APPEARANCE:* Hessa has long and flowing black hair, naturally tanned skin, brown eyes, and a small, often-pouting mouth. She is quite vain, and considers herself beautiful, often finding an hour to spend making faces at her mirror, but is really not more than just pretty. She is rather petite, standing at only 5’3”, but does not care, having never envied those taller than her their height. Hessa would like to wear bright dresses, or tight ones to show off her figure, more often, but, as, financially, this is hard, she makes due with boring and plain ones most of the time, unless she has a chance to do otherwise. *PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:* Hessa is a rather vain young woman, self-confident and self-centered often to the point of conceit, and feels that she does not receive all the admiration which, in her opinion, is her due. Hess is sometimes, when in the mood, a shameless flirt, but has only recently discovered this side of herself, and, though quite comfortable with it, tries not to let it show too often, because she feels that it is not worth a bad reputation. Occasionally, when she does not get what she wishes, Hess is not above throwing a hissy fit or sharply doing away with a friend or two with sarcastic, scathing words, snide remarks, and scornful glances. She cannot be said to be very intelligent, and is certainly rather featherbrained. She feels that books and studies are simply a terrible intrusion into her time. She is also very much a gossip, and will, at almost any given point, know all the talk of the town. Hessa does not really have many strong points, but those that she has are readily noticable. She can be quite loyal if somebody is interested in achieving the same goal as she is (Umbar for the corsairs, in this case) for example. Also, she has a talent for loosening tongues and receiving all the information she could wish for. She can be quite persuasive when she wants to. And, occasionally, though rather rarely, she can develop attachments which help her become more determined- for example, she has a great love for her mother, and when she feels that she is dong something for her, she does it with much more conviction. As mentioned somewhere above, Hess is vain, and often self-centered. This means that she is easily prejudiced against those who have obviously better clothes or looks, and also is vulnerable to flattery. By way of sweet talking, if it is well enough "crafted," almost anybody could win Hessa’s trust and esteem. Also, although she is good at hearing all that there is to be heard, she can often not distinguish between truth, rumor, and blatant lie. Lastly, Hess is very squeamish about blood or gore, and once passed out when she witnessed a street brawl, so, though she wishes for Umbar to come back to the corsairs, she knows that it cannot be done without violence, and secretly dreads the possibility of it happening. *HISTORY:* Hessa was born to a well-off and moderately well-known corsair captain, a friend of Jythralo’s, and his wife, a constantly ill woman at least a few years older than her husband, somewhere in Umbar. When Hess was almost a year old, her father, who had left off sailing shortly before she was born, sold his ship and decided to accept a "mission" to spy in Minas Tirith. So he took the family (his wife, little Hessa, and his teen-aged son), changed his name, and moved them all to Minas Tirith. Things went peacefully for a long while. Hessa grew from an infant to a toddler, from a toddler to a child... she was spoiled and used to dressing well, and to getting what she wanted, and hungered always for more tales of the brave corsairs, to whom she knew she belonged. Her father and brother, meanwhile, were constatnly busy, working out strategic friendships with important officials, or reading stolen documents, or something of the sort. But when Hess was 10, the clouds began to gather. More efforts were being taken to root out spies, and all foreigners were suspect. Many were charged with spying, even those who were not, but somehow Hess’s father avoided apprehension for a few more years. When Hessa turned thirteen, her father gave her a ring with a tiny but terribly sharp blade inside which is still her only weapon, and which she treasures. About 3 months later, Hessa’s father and brother were taken away on charges of spying and being unfaithful to the city where they resided. Hess never saw them again. She and her mother fled the city and came back to their homeland, Umbar. There, they found themselves a new home, and managed to scrape by with "donations" from old friends, though Hessa’s mother was continuousy ill. As Hessa grew older, she decided that she wanted to help out the efforts of the corsairs still left in the town to bring it back under control, but, though she asked to help, there was really nothing that she could do. However, being the social butterfly she is, she hears all the talk of the town and passes on any which concerns the corsairs or the Gondorian army to Jythralo, directly or through others, and is determined that if she can find something more helpful to do, she will do it. +++++++++++++ _____________________________________________ GaladrieloftheOlden's post Hessa awoke to the sound of hacked coughing from the next room. She debated for a few seconds the idea of curling up and going back to sleep, but a louder cough pushed the measure to the other side, and, her eyes still heavy with sleep, she threw off the warm blanket and rose, shivering. Grabbing a worn shawl quickly from a chair she pulled it tight around her shoulders, over her slightly threadbare nightgown, and softly opened the door to the next room. "Mother," she called. "Are you alright?" Another bout of wheezing followed, and then her mother’s hoarse voice: "Quite alright, Hess, quite alright... go back to bed, dear." "Well, call me if you need me," Hessa said, unconvinced, in an unusually gentle voice. She walked out of the room and shut the door carefully behind her. Sitting back down on her bed, she wrapped herself again in her covers against the cold, but did not take off the shawl, brooding. Then, swinging her legs over the side, she lay down, hoping to catnap, at least. But slumber did not come, though her eyes were long closed. She strained to hear any noise from the next room, but it seemed her mother had settled down. She hoped so, at least. Concerned, she wondered how she felt. And why she even cared. She would not have cared had it been anybody else. Why should she? Nobody else mattered. She shrugged in the darkness of the windowless room, then chided herself for her silliness. Nobody was there to see her gesture to the walls. Finally, she slid into a doze... She was 6 again, living in Minas Tirith. She was at home, twirling about in front of her parents and older brother, her crimson dress billowing about her childish form. Her mother was laughing, and her father was just sitting still, his dark eyes alive with humor. Her brother merely, stood, fidgeting. She was joyfully running into her mother’s arms and twisting her fingers into her dark hair. The picture changed. She was 9, reading from a piece of parchment, her brows furrowed, her eyes darting out every so often to check on her mother, waiting for her to doze. 11, running through the town and hearing news of traitors rooted out, spies caught, and then coming home, hearing tales of the brave corsairs to whom she belonged, whispered, from her brother. 13, her birthday, her father giving her, solemnly, the ring with the hidden blade... and then the day, a few months later, when the men had come to take away her father and brother... She realized that she was no longer dreaming, but remembering, sitting upright in her bed, her teeth chattering still with the morning cold. She did not want to remember it all again, but the painful images seemed to burst through a wall in her mind, coming to a skidding halt just before her eyes. She remembered the days when she and her mother had run from Minas Tirith. She remembered how she had missed the half of her family that was now gone, in those first few months. She remembered how they had reached Umbar and settled down in the city, helped along by friends and relations, her mother now ailing. She remembered how she had wished to help the corsairs, because of her fiery hatred for the men who had taken her brother and father. And how, in time, she had forgotten most of it, and entered the life of a young woman in the town, and enjoyed it immensely. But she had not forgotten, she chided herself, she remembered it all... but really, her father and brother did not matter. Long dead, probably, she thought. None of it mattered. She couldn’t help the efforts of the corsairs, really, no matter what little things she heard in town and brought back to them, or what rumors she could spread for them, because she had no mind for politics. But then, unused to such lengthy contemplation of serious subjects, she jumped off the bed, and, calling to her mother that she was going out for an hour or two, turned to find a suitable dress. She cringed a bit as she looked at those she had, because all of them had somewhere or other a worn spot or tear, no matter how skillfully stitched up. Then she wondered if she might find one somewhere else. Looking around the rather small room, she checked in the corners, the chest, even. Finally, sighing, she got down on her knees and reached under the bed, squeamishly and abruptly drawing back her hand at every dust bunny she caught by accident. Then, reaching what she had meant to, she grabbed hold of a basket and pulled it out. Heaving it upwards, she placed it on top of the bed, and began to look through its contents. There were a few dresses inside, two of them untouchable for the time, being those she wore only on special occasions. There was one, however, which was quite decent, clean and tight and a dark reddish maroon. She pulled it out, but did so carelessly, and a dagger clattered to the floor. She swooped down gracefully to pick it up, frowning. She didn’t know why she still had the thing. She was far too afraid of blood to ever use it, anyway. She dusted it off and put it back in the basket. Then, she went to change. Emerging from a darkened corner a minute or two later, she cast a sidelong look in the mirror and smiled from under her eyelashes, as though flirting. Then, remembering her dream, she twirled, beginning to laugh. Taking a comb from her bedside table, she ran it through her long black hair, pushing its weight behind her shoulders, where it swayed softly. Then, putting on her ring, the blade inside hidden by a large stone, she took a last pleased glance and smile into the mirror and was gone before the door slammed, all thoughts, unpleasant and not so, left behind for the whirling and speeding world of gossip and the streets outside and screaming vendors in the marketplace... _____________________________________________ Hope that's alright. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] -Menelien [ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: GaladrieloftheOlden ] [ October 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ "Glue... very powerful stuff."