Assigned to Mordor Planning/Discussion Thread

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Welcome Encai and tp! Can't wait to see what I know will be fantastically clever and amusing posts and bios.

[littlemanpoet]

Here's the phantom's list (I wouldn't have typed this but the system is telling me my message is too short, it needs at least one character ... go figure....

Originally Posted by the phantom

Okay then. I have copied every one of my Mordor assignements and pasted them here-

* People who "don't get" Strong Bad.
* People who "don't get" fantasy or sci-fi.
* People who drive really slow and stop at corners that don't have stop signs and generally act lost.
* Pedestrians who walk in the street when there is a perfectly good sidewalk ten feet away.
* All cats, except ones with no claws that can play without biting and come when you call them.
* People who think popularity equals quality.
* People who think everyone should get out and vote, even the people (about 40% of voters) who couldn't tell you who's running for what office, who the current vice president is, or what the capital of their state is.
* And yes, all you Brits, I just insinuated that soccer is the official sport of Mordor.
* I declare that all people who think Republicans should go to Mordor should go to Mordor themselves.
* I imagine Mordor's official television station runs nothing but soaps.
* People who are easily offended should go to Mordor.
* And also, people who are constantly worried about offending someone should go to Mordor, too.
* I believe I will send going to work on Saturday to Mordor.
* Anyway, off to Mordor with all teens who don't understand that parents see their children as extensions of their own bodies and souls, and are just as interested in and worried about their children as they are themselves, and want to spare their children as many bumps and bruises, physical and emotional, as possible, and help their children be better at everything than they were when they were young.
* But, people who tailgate when you are going the speed limit or above... yes, indeed, they should go to Mordor.
* So I say, off to Mordor with easy driving tests!
* I send working any time before noon to Mordor!!

Wow! This is going to take a while.

Here it goes-

* Suburbia (by you, lmp, you fiend )
* Milk (by Mithalwen)
* Britney Spears (assigned by lots of people, I secretly am glad she exists because she's got such a gorgeous body, what can I say?)
* People who don't give pedestrians the right of way (by Tinuviel, streets are for cars, not people!)
* People who threaten me with dire threats of unknowable doom. (you again, lmp)

Umm... this is taking too long. I'm only on page 2.

I'm just going to scan that list you made and stick things on it from there.

* bad weather (I like thunderstorms and blizzards)
* cell phones (I neeeeeed mine)
* dentists (I like mine, and I'd rather have a bit of discomfort in his office than a serious mouth problem later, and some of the dental assistants are hot)
* Disney (they've made some good stuff)
* fish (I love seafood)
* heavy traffic (I like the hustle and bustle sometimes)
* long road trips (some of my best memories were made on road trips)
* off-topic posts (I've done it, who hasn't, but in my opinion it's not off-topic if it's something that interests me )
* Yoda (how could anyone assign our little green friend?!)

Okay, that's that.

I'm working on the whole character bit right now.

Snicker! I decided to paste the thing as is, being so full of the phantom's memorable personality.

[littlemanpoet]

I have the final two candidates for the game lined up, but am waiting for their firm agreement and information, so their names remain under wraps for the time being. That said, WWXIII is going to be starting up soon, and I'm in it, so we still have a good week or so of planning time before ATM launches.

[Celuien]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet

I have the final two candidates for the game lined up, but am waiting for their firm agreement and information, so their names remain under wraps for the time being. That said, WWXIII is going to be starting up soon, and I'm in it, so we still have a good week or so of planning time before ATM launches.

Great! Can't wait to get started.

Welcome, tp and Encai!

[piosenniel]

Encaitare and the phantom

Please put your character bios and first posts directly onto the planning thread as you get them ready.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, game moderator

[littlemanpoet]

Our 6th and 7th players are guy who be short and Kath.

Pio, please add their names to the list of those who can post to this thread.

Guy & Kath, as with Enca & tp, you can post your lists, character descrip, and first posts here. I'll let you know right here what may need to be changed.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Welcome aboard, my doves! This is possibly the most excited I've been to begin writing. I don't know two of you half as well as I should like (Durelin and Celuien) and I like all of you slightly more than half as you deserve. I'm glad to be writing with the esteemed likes of ye all. Not you, phantom. I'm terribly upset to be writing with you. Words simply can't express my remorse properly.

Can't wait to see bios and posts!

PS: yay for peer pressure!

[piosenniel]

Everyone's now on the various requisite lists.

And I'm supposing that the game is now closed for taking on any more players . . . yes?/no?

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet from the original thread

"Being in love", eh? Now you've gone and done it. ATM, here we go!

Ooh, ooh, can I be in love? *raises hand* I can incorporate loads of Mordor-worthy bits to it... giggling randomly, telling soppy stories that nobody actually wants to hear, sky-rocketing phonebills (random thought: make cellphones like transportable palantiri?), long-suffering sighs, and the most poetic bits of "oh how I love him" known to man. And the crowning glory... the breakup. Can I do it? *pointedly contorts face into something adorably pleading with puppy-dog-eyes involved*

[Durelin]

Just putting my bio here...hope that's okay. I also hope it's okay if I get a thumbs up, down, or sideways from the mighty Anakron on my character before I finish up my first post.

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? - Yes… Wolf Run, Search for the Lost Messenger, Quest Ainereg, Truth in a Dark Place, Gondorian House Call, Dark Seduction, Corsairs and Corsets (sorta), Resistance, Brotherhood, A Story from the Last Alliance, The Ambassador’s Son (last part), Bloodstained Elanor, Land of Darkness (sorta), Red Flows the Sirannon… I think that’s it.

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - One...Red Flows the Sirannon

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

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Durelin's character


Name: Valde Delego (Normally goes by his surname, sometimes by his first)
Age: Whatever suits him at the time…he can easily pass for about 30, whether he is around that age or not
Race: Human
Gender: Male

Weapons: When it suits him, he considers himself quite the secret weapon, professing that he is his enemies’ worst nightmare (so, often everybody’s worst nightmare). But other times, any talk of war makes him scoff and break off into a loud rant about how barbaric it is.

Appearance: Tall, dark, and handsome. And brooding. He is a regular Mr. Darcy on a bad day, who will never meet his Elizabeth Bennett. And though he has rather large sideburns, he does not quite have muttonchops. He also has particularly prominent eyebrows and an outstanding bird-like nose.

Personality: A self-absorbed doomsayer who always finds something to complain about. He is constantly bemoaning his situation, whether or not any normal person would find it quite pleasing. Either nothing is good enough for him, or it is too goody-two-shoes perfect for him, much to his annoyance. He is on the eternal quest for the Happy Medium, believing that it doesn’t exist and cursing it even if it does. He often has a taste for drama, histrionic to his very core, and normally exaggerates either indignant outrage at his bruised pride, or the deepest, darkest depression, that of which every brilliant mind must endure, of course. He plays the suicidal Cassius to a ‘t,’ but without his own Brutus, and, fortunately for him and unfortunately for most, without the blade to do the bloody deed.

History: Delego was born to parents both rich and famous for having done an in-depth study on the health hazards of instruction on Sunday mornings. Unfortunately for his parents, he had the inborn ability to demand people’s attention through his own version of devilish wailing, which he describes as quickly developing into the sound of the eternal anguish and torment of a demon eternally flailed, which reverberated through the woe-begotten halls of eternity. But they did not initiate a study on the effects of babies’ crying.

His first word was ‘doom,’ and his favorite phrase from a very young age was ‘go to Mordor,’ which he used not at all sparingly whenever he did not get his way (and of course the poor soul barely ever got his way). When asked why he said these things, his only response would be that the person or thing he addressed ‘belonged there.’ Several years later, when he learned of the Anakronisms and how horrid they were, he made it his life’s goal to prod as many people as he could into voicing such evils in public in order to condemn them all to Mordor. It all worked very well, and he grew healthily in confidence whenever he heard from some vigilante rumour-mongorers of the people he cursed falling down rabbit holes in Mordor in time to have tea with some very interesting residents, whom he later would have described as mad, had he gotten past guffawing at their noteworthy taste in headwear.

He wished a long journey to Mordor upon many, that is, until one day when it was brought to the attention of the Anakronism Police (by a man who was later marked for Mordor due to his skewed concept of reality) that it was indeed obnoxious that such intolerant people who would assign minor irritations to the most miserable, dangerous and evil place in the world without a moment's thought be allowed to simply roam the streets of Minas Tirith. He was carried off to Mordor in a hurry, destroying his parents’ once pristine reputation for a few weeks until they released their study on lima beans being a co-conspirator with nuclear bombs in the coming of the some-day apocalypse.

This is of course not the story he would tell anyone who asked of his origins. He would instead begin on a very detailed account of how he was playing hide and seek with all the most notable and un-Anakronistic children of Minas Tirith (of which, apparently, there were about three), and decided to hide in a large chest of drawers (he was very small as a young child, you see). He then found that he had picked the wrong drawer, and thought he had fallen through the bottom of it, when he found himself plopping down upon a pile of ash, with nothing visible around him but the distant glow of the neon lights of The Mount Doom Casino and Resort. He was not very happy to be there, in this land called Nurnia (even though the initial sight of a centre for debaucheries such as gambling was a rather welcome sight to him), and is still looking for a return chest of drawers or armoire of some kind. (Of course that’s how it happened; don’t be such an Edmund!)

He uses this story to explain his bitter hatred for all things living, suspecting them to have something to do with his transport to Nurnia; his unnatural disgust at Turkish delight; and his irrational fear of drawers and particularly handles. Even so disoriented by his new surroundings, Delego quickly adapted to his new habitat, darkening his disposition and raising it to the first power in order to maximize his resilience to the ashlands. Soon he was conjuring up a few new action phrases, such as ‘go drown in the Sea of Nurn,’ and would begin work on his autobiography as a motivational tale of a young boy torn from his roots who managed to piece them back together in a strikingly new world and save himself from the inconvenience of assimilation. Cursing his past encounters to Mordor has been conveniently removed from his memory, for the most part, as it was too much for him to consider that he belonged in those black lands, having been sent there.

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Durelin's post

From the moment her woke up, Valde knew that this day, of all days, would be different. He knew, the very second he felt his mind being dragged into consciousness, that his life would be changing very soon. It was suddenly as if this was a long day prophesized in a time long forgotten, though the memory had resurfaced in the man’s dreams. Perhaps it came from the remembrance of more pleasant mornings, when he had been wakened gently from a peaceful slumber on top of a fluffy feather mattress. He had been treated like a young prince-ling in Minas Tirith, and he had of course been as handsome as one then, too. The harsh lands of Mordor had worn him down to what he was, a man rejected by his past and constantly tortured by the present, but one who stood boldly in the face of the future. Now he was but a simple man, who yearned for more, and would stop at nothing to reach it.

Or so, at least, it was told to anyone who asked about that day.

The truth was, he had awakened that morning with many groanings and moanings, and had counted on spending his day in sorrowful meditation where of course everyone could see him. His first movement since falling asleep was to reach up and wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth. He then felt the pillow, found it wet, and decided that he must inform anyone who asked that he had cried himself to sleep that night, just in case anyone decided to give his pillow a feel. Stumbling out of his room, he cursed every object on the floor that he stepped on, wishing to give the sea life in the Nurn an impressive collection of ironware, quills, and empty ink pots, along with a large stack consisting of the not-yet-so-famous tragedies of Valde Delego, written for the stage.

Upon knocking down one such stack, Valde noticed a particular piece of parchment. It was larger than the rest, and the letters upon it were to match, glaring at him. It was almost as if he could see their eyebrows slanting and their lips curling, and so he quickly crumpled up the sheet to hide them. Angrily he threw it out his open window, and the falling paper was greeted with an unnaturally high-pitched squeal.

“Do not screech in my window, thee harpy!” he shouted upon rushing to stick his head outside, and then quickly he pulled the shudders shut with a slam. He regretted not saying more to the squealer, but decided that a solemn, silent curse would be enough until they met again. For but a moment he bemoaned his situation, muttering to himself, the only words audible being ‘wretched, poor, stricken, forsaken, maimed, brutal, wound, and ticks.’ Of course, he was obviously relating the Grand Anakronist and the King to parasites, or simply a good poke in the eye. And his reason for this at the moment was plain: gatherings were mandatory, and one was today.

Reluctantly, and pulling his grim cloak of sadness tighter around him (a ratty old thing of black cloth that rippled nicely in the wind, perfect for swirling, and thus perfect for either gloomy or angry brooding, depending on the occasion), Valde made his way to the Anakronist’s gathering. Just look at all these filthy people, he thought upon arriving at Caer Pairadocks, Look at that hideous orange scarf that woman’s wearing. What was she thinking? ‘Tis a Mordorian style, if I ever saw one. No wonder she’s stuck here.

Taking a position at the back of the crowd, huddled in his cloak with the tall neck pulled up so that he stared over with his dark eyes and large eyebrows as he scanned the gathering, his face frozen in what he thought to be frigid. It became obvious to him that he was trying too hard when a passing woman asked him if he needed to relieve himself. She received first a wide-eyed look of pure shock, which quickly turned to fierce resentfulness. “You would so bother a simple man, protected from the elements by only these scraps of cloth, and even less protected from the storms within the heart? There is no wondering, madam, why you are here in Mordor.”

“The same to you, chap.” And with that, the woman moved on, leaving Valde to boil in his anger. So, naturally, he did not notice when the Grand Anakronist began extracting names from the ATM machine. At least, not until he heard his own name, though he naturally wished his ears were lying to him, not knowing why on earth he was called. He quickly smoothed his cloak and gave a tug to the collar, and began to make his way through the crowd, matching every curse at him for pushing with a more iniquitous one.

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[Encaitare]

Character Description Form:


1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – yes, Sailing Away, Red Flows the Sirannon

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? – one, Red Flows the Sirannon

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon or The White Horse Inn – yes

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Encaitare's character

NAME: Wilhelmina Brochenbach (with ach-Lauts and not K's, if you please please)

AGE: 72

RACE: human

GENDER: female

WEAPONS: a large walking-stick with a brass handle, garishly shaped as a light mayonnaise jar out of pure spite. It actually holds her secret stash of licorice.

APPEARANCE: Wilhelmina is on the short side, and has become rather thickset in her old age. She wears many skirts and petticoats of varying color and quality, and still wears a corset over her oversized shirt to keep her back straight, and remind her of the good old days. A large black hat is balanced precariously atop her grey head. Sometimes a whiskered little nose pops out from behind the feathers and fake flowers of the hat to say hello.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: She retains a fair share of stubbornness from her youth, and has certainly not mellowed with age. She is not easily shaken, but she still gets a bit touchy whenever she hears anything about carbonated beverages. Most people think that all the time spent in Mordor has addled her brains a bit, so they tend to avoid her. Her pet ferret is therefore her closest friend.

HISTORY:Born in FA 581, Wilhelmina was growing up at just the time that Anakronisms were zapping themselves into Gondor at an alarming rate. She was a rebellious, outspoken sort of teen who made a point to speak Anakronisms all the time at home because it made her mother nervous. As a young woman, she was very attractive, and also very fixed upon keeping herself that way. Some of the Anakronisms she had found were actually good, she decided, a blasphemous thought according to the king. But she really loved the boned corset and huge boots that had mysteriously materialized in her backyard one day, and it seemed worth the risk since the sexy outfit she’d put together would most certainly make the object of her affections notice her.

One summer night, she and some girlfriends went to a tavern on the fourth level of Minas Tirith to see if the cute bartender Wilhelmina liked was there. A long cloak concealed the outlandish outfit. To her disappointment, the cute bartender was absent, and replaced by one who just wasn't very cute at all. He smiled greasily at her and her friends.

"What can I get for you, ladies?" he asked. Wilhelmina wrinkled her nose ever so slightly and asked for a Coke.

The barman looked around anxiously. There had been problems about ordering carbonated beverages, as they could be tied in with Anakronisms if one wasn't careful. The fact that she was pretty was probably the only thing that was keeping him from reporting her, she thought. He lowered his voice. "What kind, miss?"

"What?" she said, staring at him blankly.

He looked even more skittish. "What kind of coke would you like?"

Something clicked and she understood. "Listen," she said, irritated. "When I say coke, I mean a COKE, and NOT any OTHER kind of soda. A coke is a Coke is a Coca-forking-Cola!"

The man appeared to be on the verge of madness at her outburst, which had drawn some attention. "She spoke an Anakronism!" he shrieked for the whole tavern to hear. "She's making trouble with carbonated beverage terminology!"

A group of guards in the corner of the tavern rose from their table. "What's your name, missy?" one asked.

"Wilhelmina Brochenbach," she replied, glaring at the men.

"Oh ho!" one exclaimed. "That name sounds like German to me!" He grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. "It's most definitely off to Mordor with you, missy," one of them growled.

"Get your hands off me, you brutes!" she cried, realizing that her huge boots served another purpose: toe-crushing. The guard howled, but the others grabbed her by the arms from behind and she was unable to reach them. The pin holding the cloak shut broke, and it fell away, revealing the blasphemous getup.

"What's that she's wearing?!" the injured guard raged. "More Anakronisms! You'll be in Mordor for a long time, you, and I’m not sorry of it either!"

Thus Wilhelmina Brochenbach came to dwell in the Black Land. After a time, the blisters from the giant boots made the footwear too much to bear. She tried to date, but all the men spat on the ground for no apparent reason, and only wanted to go out to bowling alleys. So Wilhelmina resigned herself to being a bachelorette, and invited a furry animal – a ferret named Mr. Swanky – to dwell in an excellent hat she’d found and keep her company.

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Encaitare's post

"Oh, very well, Mr. Swanky. You may have some licorice even if it's not quite lunchtime yet." The old woman unscrewed the cap from the handle of her walking-stick and removed a licorice whip. She broke a little piece off the end and appeared to feed it to her garish hat.

"Daddy, look, that lady is giving her hat lunch!" a small girl noted, tugging on her father's sleeve.

The man took a look and said to his daughter, "Never you mind, hon. That's just old Wilhelmina Brokenback. She's crazy."

Luckily, Wilhelmina was a bit deaf and didn’t hear the exchange; otherwise the man would have gotten a smart whack with her walking-stick for calling her crazy and mispronouncing her name in the same breath. Instead, she slowly chewed the rest of the licorice herself, waiting for the selection of names to begin. If anyone deserved to get out of Mordor, she did. She'd been in the wretched land for more than fifty years, and although she'd gotten used to it, it would be nice to live in a place where speeding drivers didn't try to mow her down on her way to the corner store. Yet she had dwelt there for so long that she felt quite patient to wait for the names to be drawn. What were a few more minutes compared to the years already gone?

Around her, people were chatting excitedly. "The first thing I'm going to do if I get out of here..." was the phrase that was flying about. One shrill voice cut through the din; "Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly!"

"'S that Panakeia loony again," Wilhelmina muttered to herself. "If you ask me, she could use some of that face cream stuff herself. Not that I'm one to talk, of course," she added, as though someone had called her hypocritical.

Suddenly, the crowd hushed as the Grand Anakronist stepped forth and cleared his throat. He announced that it was time to choose the lucky few who would comprise the Offending Party. Hundreds of eyes watched as the ATM rose from the ground, and everyone seemed to hold his (or her) breath as the transactions were completed.

"Alumìn-E Umfuìl," Anakron read. A pretty young girl pushed her way forward, griping about how he’d said her name wrong. "Panakeia of Harad," he continued. The saleswoman joined the first girl at Anakron’s side. The machine spat out a third card. The man squinted at it for a moment, and then read, "Wilhelmina Brochenbach."

Wilhelmina grinned and made her way to the front. "Good man!" she said jovially. "Got the ach-Lauts and everything! Did you hear that, Mr. Swanky? We’re going to get out of here!"

[piosenniel]

If you see an "edited by piosenniel" on your character bio/first post - I'm just setting it up for easy transfer of your post to the RPG thread.

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[littlemanpoet]

Another great character! I'm splitting my sides with each new entry.

Just one thing missing, Enca: "personality: strengths, weaknesses", although it can be inferred from what you've written. Still, it's all part of the bureaucratic red tape of becoming a full-fledged player in this here rpg, so I'll be waiting for it.

Originally Posted by Encaitare

NAME: Wilhelmina Brochenbach (with ach-Lauts and not K's, if you please please)

[littlemanpoet]

I love it! Valde Delego will be such a great contrast to other, more (shall we say) high spirited (and drunk on being in love) characters.

Just one modification I require of you:

Originally Posted by Durelin

He then found that he had picked the wrong drawer, and thought he had fallen through the bottom of it, when he found himself plopping down upon a pile of ash, with nothing visible around him but the distant glow of a fiery volcanic mountain.

With the destruction of the Ring, I posit that Mt. Doom burned itself out, so as to be dormant for a long, long time; The Mount Doom Casino and Resort has been built over the place where Mount Doom once vomited its filth.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet

I love it!

Most excellent. Now who wants to fall in love with me?

EDIT: er, I mean with "Alli"

[Encaitare]

Oopsies! All fixed, LMP. I knew I was forgetting something...

[Durelin]

With the destruction of the Ring, I posit that Mt. Doom burned itself out, so as to be dormant for a long, long time; The Mount Doom Casino and Resort has been built over the place where Mount Doom once vomited its filth.

*smacks head* Will be fixed shortly!

EDIT: Fixed...and I like it better now.

EDIT x2: I just realized I answered a 'How many' question with 'Yes' on my bio... Is there some kind of therapy for that? *thinks that this game's players probably aren't the best support group for insanity* As long as I want to return to sanity, that is...which I would never.

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by Feanor of the Peredhil

Ooh, ooh, can I be in love? *raises hand* I can incorporate loads of Mordor-worthy bits to it... giggling randomly, telling soppy stories that nobody actually wants to hear, sky-rocketing phonebills (random thought: make cellphones like transportable palantiri?), long-suffering sighs, and the most poetic bits of "oh how I love him" known to man. And the crowning glory... the breakup. Can I do it? *pointedly contorts face into something adorably pleading with puppy-dog-eyes involved*

And who, praytell, would be your victim? Or would there be more than one?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet

And who, praytell, would be your victim? Or would there be more than one?

I hadn't yet decided. Should one of our beloved conspirators (aka: writers) choose the role of someone fall-in-lovable, I might have to strike a bargain with them, if they're willing.

Should that fail, I can always fall in love with a 'Downer. I belive Eomer of the Rohirrim and the phantom have been bodily sent to Mordor. Then again, so has The Saucepan Man. Maybe we could convince him to cameo ("No, dear Alli, I'm married with children. This relationship would never work, though I'm flattered.").

Or, you know... I think Johnny Depp's in there... *grin*