Breelanders All! Discussion Thread - Part 1

[Chathol-linn]

Hi - if mayor is still available, here is my character description and first post. Regards - Chathol-linn

NAME: Harald Chetwood the Mayor

AGE: 30

RACE: Mortal

GENDER: Man

WEAPONS: Is competent with longbow and his large, all-purpose knife, Adequate horseman. His greatest weapons are his quick mind and ability to come up with creative ideas. He is schooled in reading, writing, arithmetic, and some lore.

APPEARANCE: If Harald could trace his family back far enough he would find its founders included members of the Houses of Haleth and Beor. He is a little taller and fairer than the typical short, brown-haired Bree-man. Harald is 5' 10." He shaves - occasionally - and so has a bristly chin. He wears his light brown hair loose to his shoulders. His most impressive physical characteristics are his solidly muscled body and dark blue eyes. He wears dark brown homespun breeches, good black leather boots, and white linen shirts with the long sleeves rolled up. He wears his knife sheathed on his belt. His badge of office is a bright red neckerchief.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Strengths: Natural leadership abilities - courageous, charismatic, intelligent and creative. He is happy-go-lucky by nature, practical, loyal to family, friends, alliances. Weaknesses: As the baby of the family, he is used to being the center of attention, taking it easy, and having his own way. He is inexperienced. He hasn't been mayor long. Sometimes he has doubts about his ability to live up to his parents' successful mayorships, feeling he must prove himself. Other times, he's over-confident. He has a short temper but a short recovery time also. Distrusts folk outside of his known groups and relationships.

HISTORY: His father Berendil was Mayor until he died, and then, his mother Hala. Nothing much happened in Bree-land during their tenures so Harald viewed the job, which he inherited by default, as little more than titular, and with some nice perks like meeting girls, going out to dinner a lot, presiding over town meetings, etc. His biggest management job to date was running his Mum's household in town while she was sick and dying. He lives there now and knows almost everyone in town. He is unmarried and courts a woman from Bree. His best friend is the Captain of Guards, Telien.
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Chathol-linn's post - Harald

“The best thing your Mum ever did as Mayor was holding these weekly market days,” observed Telien. The two men sat in the new Mayor’s kitchen that overlooked the street and the town below.

“The market days and keeping the streets in order,” agreed Harald. “Let’s have a look at the market, shall we? It’s the first one since Mum died and I should make an appearance, I think.” He tied his red scarf around his neck – symbol of the mayor’s office – and the two went down the narrow stairs to the front door.

“You’ll have to make a more important appearance soon,” said Telien. “Did you hear the news?”

Harald had many ways of hearing the news. He said, “Wanderers in the Wild. Rangers, crying doom. Their party is staying at the Pony.” They were walking downhill from the good residential section of Bree, where houses were two-story stone and the streets were paved – yes, paved – with Brandywine river gravel. Also, a Hobbit family from one of the outlying villages had found a way to chop tree branches and saplings to make a rough mulch. Parts of Bree actually had side trails of springy shredded bark as a result.

“This beats mud,” observed Telien.

Harald was not so sure. “I miss mud,” he said. “If this drought continues, wells could dry up. Livestock could die. Crops already are withering. As for that bunch of Archet Hobbits, downed tree limbs might be the best crop they can come up with this year. Of all the things we don’t need just now, it is scary stories from uncivilized folk. I want you at the meeting, Telien. The Captain of Guard must hear with his own ears if this is a credible threat.” And Telien nodded.

They were now come to the place of the market fair, a little dell in the Bree Hill just south of The Prancing Pony Inn. In former times it had been grassy and green. Now it was dull and browning. That was not the only change.

“Where is everyone?” wondered Telien. For many of the accustomed stalls and stands were not there. It was the middle of Halimath yet noticeably lacking was the fall produce of the rich outlying farms. In their places stood the stalls of Hobbit townsfolk, displaying their cottage-made crafts. The crowd of Z