[Kransha]

If there's room left, I'll slip a character in here. He can be one of the travellers.

Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – No

How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? None

Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – Yes, the Green Dragon

NAME: Idruil

AGE: 39

RACE: Man of Minas Tirith

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Idruil has very few possessions besides his weapons, so he values them greatly. He has a one-handed short sword with one half of the cross-guard missing, which he inherited from his father, his most valued object, a round buckler shield that he usually wears on his back that bears a crude family crest carved on it, and a pair of miniscule throwing knives, one kept in his belt and the other in his boot for emergencies. He’s quite frankly horrible with most ranged weapons and doesn’t bother with them, though he’s accurate enough with the knives.

APPEARANCE: Idruil is often mistaken for being older than he is because of his aged look. He has brownish hair with a few strands of early grey. His face is rough and hidden by a very full beard. His hazel eyes are often half closed and he seems to carry a strange weariness around with him. His skin is darker from years of being primarily outdoors and he’s not especially strong or fast.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Idruil seems like a very tired person when he’s not in combat. He speaks slowly but firmly and doesn’t like making tough decisions. He will get easily bored and ignores most everybody around him. He doesn’t care very much about others, unless they have something he needs. His strength is that, being so slow and precise; he is often very thoughtful and can usually see a good way out of most situations. His weakness is that being indecisive, he often reacts to something too late, which can be a fatal flaw at times.

HISTORY:
Idruil is a man weary of life. He has searched for a majority of life for some kind of adventure. His father, a Gondorian warrior of an old family, died during the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Though the two of them never shared any great bond, Idruil still honored his father’s word and took up the possessions he had as his inheritance. His mother, also a born and bred citizen of the White City, died years before. The only real thing he has of his family to remember is the stories that he was told as a boy. He always looked for an opportunity to use the blade of his father in something other than a bar fight, but has rarely seen such a chance. He didn’t go into the Gondorian military, as his parents had hoped, but simply wandered aimlessly looking for that goal. He has occasionally worked as a mercenary in Lebennin, spending time in Pelargir and learning what he could from the sailors there. Though he considers himself old, he would still jump at the chance to do something worthwhile.
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Kransha's post

Idruil hummed quietly to himself, scratching nonchalantly at the stubble around his beard. He sniffed the air, letting the cornucopia of smells fill him. The mélange was not particularly savory so he continued, gently kicking the haunches of his steed. He goaded the horse to the side, tugging on the reins to turn him. He proceeded down the angled streets of Minas Tirith, occasionally glancing up at the upper levels and sighing, then returning his gaze to whatever empty patch of street lay directly ahead of him.

His eyes looked up from beneath the tattered red hood to see the other people on nearby. Many were on foot, and some were rudely staring at him. He dismissed them, not caring who noticed him or what they thought of him. That never mattered to Idruil, others’ opinion. He only cared for his own needs and how they related to him. Some would call that selfish, but he considered it minding his own business.

Riding aimlessly had grown tiring, though, and he resolved to get some exercise on his own two feet, rather than the four of a horse. The slow-moving steed halted and snorted impatiently as Idruil swung his legs over its side and narrowly avoided falling off. He dusted himself off for no particular reason and grabbed the horse’s reins again with one hand. He staggered forward weakly, getting used to using his legs again and walked on, still as aimless as ever, through the streets with the horse close behind. Perhaps he could find some place to sit down and get a drink, which he sorely needed.

He headed towards another clump of city buildings, talking to himself under his breath, and walked towards the foremost one.

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Hope that works...

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:28 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]