Wilderness, Weathertop, and Wild Things Discussion Thread

[Esgallhugwen]

Thank You *bows low* for accepting me! I can't wait to get this game going. I'm going to make those corrections very soon!

Edit: I made the changes, hope its good.

[piosenniel]

Fordim -

Nuranar and Envinyatar have agreed to wait the 2 weeks for your game to end.

Go ahead, please and put your Troll bio on the Discussion Thread.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Nuranar]

Pio, Alaksoron has been accepted to the game. -- EDIT: Noted! ~*~ Pio

Dragon Elf, please check your PM's!

Meneltarmacil, have you heard from Dragon Elf?

[Kransha]

Well, I, like Fordim, will be free of obligation by September 8 (my schedule opens with Fordim's game ending). I don't know if any of the baddies remaining are 'secondary' characters, but, if so, I'd be more than willing to play a part, perhaps the second in command. If this is a major part and requires 'full-time employment,' then it's probably not manageable but, that's up to y'all and pio.

[piosenniel]

Kransha

These are the games with end-dates you’re in:

Farmer in the Dale - 08/31/04
Bloodstained Elanor - 09/08/04
Land of Darkness - 09/20/04

The first two will have ended by the time I open this game – so go ahead and place your bio (no post needed at present) for the: Second in command to the Orc chieftain.

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I believe this is a secondary character - correct, Nerindel?

Would you be able to post once a week to this game?

~*~ Pio

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Here's the bio for my troll. In addition to Arrald I've come up with a carry-along brother named Dym. In an earlier post it says that a carry along is OK for this role. If there's been a change, I am happy to stick with Arrald alone.

Greetings Krashsa *Fordim waves*

Oh! I neglected to copy and paste the information about me and my RPing, so I hope this suffices:

I have RPed in three games: "A Land to Call Their Own", "Bloodstained Elanor", and "Land of Darkness." I'm currently in the latter two, but "Elanor" will be wrapping up by 8 Sept, and "Land" by 20 Sept. I have posted to the Green Dragon.


NAME: Arrald

AGE: He’s not too sure. Pretty old though. Certainly older than his brother Dym. At least, he thinks he’s older than Dym, but if he is older than his brother, then wouldn’t he be able to remember some time in his life when Dym wasn’t around? There was that time Dym was away in the south fighting in the big troubles, and so there is at least one time in his life that Arrald remembers Dym not being around, but that probably doesn’t count because he can remember when Dym went away.

RACE: Arrald loves races! He can outrun any other troll. One time, he and his brother Dym decided to race to the mountains, and Arrald is sure that he would have won. But they got lost halfway and had to find their way back to the starting line to start again so that they’d know that they’d started in the same place. But when they were just about to start again they found some sheep so they tore out the shepherd’s legs and had a good laugh watching him try to crawl away as they ate the sheep.

GENDER: Male. He thinks. It’s been a while since he checked.

WEAPONS: Arrald likes to boast that his fiercest weapon in his finely honed intellect. But when that fails him he has a really big log that he can hit things with until they stop moving. It has the fringe benefit of tenderising them a bit as well.

APPEARANCE: Very tall and broad, with an exceptionally large head marked by a huge flat nose that spreads across half his face, and a low brow beneath which peep two black eyes. His tough skin is scarred from his many battles with Men and Elves, and there are two fingers missing from his left hand. He can’t really remember how he lost them, but it has something to do with a party of Dwarves. Arrald is entirely hairless, and is clad in a simple leather jerkin that comes to his knees and is bound about his waist by an immense belt. His huge hands with their ragged talons hang below his crooked knees.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Arrald is considered to be a rather intelligent troll. At least, that’s what he thinks, and there are few who would dare tell him different, for his temper is as quick as his club is heavy. His favourite food is raw goat, and his favourite pastime is tearing the legs off hapless folk and watching them trying to walk. He hates all of those meddlesome beings who are always trying to clear the forests and plough the fields so that they can set up their blasted communities. He likes the long empty miles of the north and relishes with glee the days that he can spend with nothing but his own thoughts for company. One of his fondest memories is the week he spent contemplating a small stone atop a larger stone; he had watched it day and night, wondering if it was going to fall. He longs for the chance to do something like this again, but the busybodies coming up from the south and building roads and farms are making that more and more difficult. The only comfort he finds in the current state of the world is in the fact that these folk and their flocks are more tender and tasty morsels than many he’s had in a long span of years.

HISTORY: Arrald has lived in the north all his life with his brother Dym. He recalls no mother or father. When he tries to remember the first thing he can remember after all the things that he’s forgotten, he does faintly recall a vast fortress in a very cold land, where he seems to remember having spent a very long time. He may have fought in a war of some sort back then, but trying to work it out makes his head hurt, so he doesn’t do it very often. For a very long time now he and Dym have made their own way in the world, living off what game they can find and taking the occasional morsel when it comes their way along the Road. During the troubles, his brother Dym went away to the south to do some fighting, but Arrald was content to stay where he was comfortable. There had been some ruckus around the cursed Elf-House down by the River, but he had kept well clear of it. When the troubles had ended it had been nice for a while, what with the fearsome Men who had harried he and his brother suddenly disappearing. But lately, things have got worse with more and more Men coming up the Road from the south and setting up shop on the lands that Arrald has come to regard as his own after many long years spent wandering through them.

[Kransha]

*waves back at Fordim...ominously*

Alright, here's the second-in-command orc. I might whip up some mini-bios for lesser lieutenants of his, since I seem to be also writing the parts of a group of orcs. I assume that any necessary information will be given when needed, so, suffice to say, here is the bio for Bâzzog, my stupidest character yet. This should be fun (considering I've never played a character quite like this). Beware the amount of parentheses.

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? Yes, Land of Darkness The Legacy of Traitors, A Land To Call Their Own, Bloodstained Elanor, Farmer in the Dale

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? Three, technically, Land of Darkness, Farmer in the Dale, and Bloodstained Elanor

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? Yes, Both

NAME: Bâzzog [the Atrocious]

AGE: Unknown. As far as he knows, Bâzzog has been around for at least a century, but he doesn’t care to remember beyond that. Other orcs think he was bred in the First Age by the will of Morgoth, but he contests this doggedly, for a reason which, perhaps, is unknown to even him. He is estimated to be between 20 and 500 years old, according to collected accounts.

RACE: Orc, but the troop he commands seems to think otherwise. He is technically a Mountain Orc, but the fact doesn't bother him.

GENDER: Male, and proud of it.

WEAPONS: This orc is a veritable arsenal of weaponry, which is a matter of pride to him. His weapon of choice is a great mace which is essentially a cylinder of rusty iron with countless multidirectional spikes welded onto it, leaving only some room at one end for a hilt. The massive weapon is two handed, is almost four feet in length (longer than most Shire-folk are tall), and is bound to his back with strips of ox-hide appropriated from raided fields of livestock. At either hip he has what looks to be a long, angular, meat cleaver. Bâzzog claims to be ambidextrous, so the visage of him with two weapons is considered a most fearful sight. In addition to all this, Bâzzog has two broad knives in cloth sheaths, one strapped to his lower left arm and the other to his lower right leg. Also, just in case, he sharpens his teeth with a stolen nail file and is ready to use them if necessary. Of course, if worse came to worse, he could always used his gargantuan fists and strength.

APPEARANCE: Bâzzog is a great, galumphing brute of an orc. His gait is boorish but still proud and he carries himself as regally as he can (most of the time). His form is extremely muscular, his arms bulky and oversized, seemingly too big for his body. His skin is rough and leathery, as darkly colored as dull obsidian. His face is long and drawn like a snout with a bulbous nose, a pair of low-set, beady, greenish eyes, a mouth of teeth that are more reminiscent of elephantine tusks, jutting out at all angles, and a sagging Neanderthal brow all framed by some grizzled, seemingly misplaced strands of hair, raven like that of the elves but tainted into a more sickly color. Bâzzog’s shoulders are high and his oversized arms often dangle limp at his sides as he drags his great weight around like an ape. He is tall in comparison to men and orcs, a most imposing figure in width and breadth alike. He is often clad in no more than tattered, multicolored rags with a hauberk of chain mail over his chest, wrought-iron plates of metal bound to his upper arms and legs, and a disheveled, studded tunic three sizes two small, which he stole of a fellow from Staddle.

PERSONALITY: Bâzzog is, for all intents and purposes, an oaf and a fool, as well as a braggart, a fool, a brute, and holds many more distasteful titles, many pinned on him by those who serve beneath him. Bâzzog is not bright or remotely intelligent. He knows only the basics of Westron, often slipping into the Black Speech of Mordor, and his heavy accent doesn’t help his crude attempts at oratory. He never bothered to learn anything he wasn’t sure he’d need to know, and thus is uneducated in most matters. He is a boor, dull and witless, who does not concern himself with policy or tact. Some Trolls are even more intelligent than he, a rare low feat, even among the ranks of sniveling orcs. But, Bâzzog’s capabilities are unquestioned (for fear of painful death) since the orc lieutenant is unrivalled in strength among most orcs throughout Eriador. Bazzog is also arrogant, proud, and bombastic. He gets too jovial when drunk and too stern when sober, or the other way ‘round at night. His attitude is mostly sour, but he is mostly too simple to reflect any aspect of personality and can go for hours or days without saying (or thinking) anything.

HISTORY: Of his history, Bâzzog knows very little, and, just as he does about everything else, he doesn’t care. He knows that he was around for a while, but how long that while was is a mystery to him. His only recollection of the 29th century of the Third Age is bashing things. He remembers primarily clan wars between his cohorts and his foes, which was basically the same as all other wars he’d ever been involved in, except that he’d been crushing the skulls of his own kind and accidentally killed one of his clan’s chieftain (he was never too good at telling things apart. In fact, he once mistook a very large tree for a dragon). He participated in many inter-orc raids and skirmishes that occured along the west side of the Misty Mountains between his kind, the Mountain Orcs, and strayed orcs from the north who'd fled the Witch-King's desolated fortress of Carn Dûm. Despite a number of bizarre ‘accidents’ Bâzzog was again and again given leeway to wreak havoc on the orcs’ opposition, gaining more power by unfortunately mistaking several more members of the Misty Mountain orc hierarchy for loathsome Elves. He was given several commands of his own by powerful and venerable uruks in Gundabad and surrounding orc settlements, often loosing all his troops before resolving campaigns, but his losses seemed only to shed more of the limelight on him. He spent most of his leisure time raiding while he set up a lucrative conscription service at Mount Gundabad to enlist aid, run by his more intelligent cousin, Gráthborg.

At the time of the Battle of Five Armies Bâzzog was still in the Misty Mountains, taking orc companies on foraging and raiding expeditions. He was single-handedly responsible for a number of mannish settlements on the fringes of Bree-land (including Combe, Staddle, and Archet, three of Bree-lands four major towns) being burned, much to his credit, but still managed to lose all his mustered loot when a band of villainous warg-riding goblins happened to be pillaging the same settlement as he and his loyal men (who all duly routed when attacked). Bâzzog returned to the Mountains after more looting and gathering of some mementos only to find that some unfortunate incident had occurred there, which he never took the time to learn anything about. As the organization in Gundabad deteriorated, Bâzzog ventured westward, rather than north, south, or east where his raiding forays often took him, and found a final command, the one that he currently holds over an orcish company. The fear of him was great enough to 'earn' him a command position over a relatively small orcish host.