Seekers of Truth Discussion Thread

[The Perky Ent]

Seekers of Truth Profile

Well, I just finished my RPG, and this looks good, so why not give it a shot

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Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Which one?

• Last Hope for Moria
• Land of Darkness
• Last Ride of the Heir

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in?

List them, please: Currently, none

Please note you may play in only 2 (TWO) Shire games at one time. Exceptions to this may be made for this on a case-by-case basis by the Shire Moderators. (The Green Dragon Inn DOES NOT count as a game for this.)


3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES
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For your character please include:

NAME: Arthur Lightheart

AGE: Twenty-six

RACE: Rohirric Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Arthur carries two small daggers around his waist. Both are leather bound and always sharp. Arthur also carries a short sword he won from a stranger who he gambled with at the White Horse Inn. Its blade is very sharp and smooth. The hilt had a very small crystal embossed, but Arthur later took it out and sold it. Arthur also carries a small, hand-sized club, which he used to knock out Sandrina. It’s smooth and rock hard texture makes it very dangerous.

APPEARANCE: Like his father, Arthur is tall, reaching 5’7”, and also broad shouldered. He has deep, dark blue eyes and very strong. His stature implies that given the choice of fighting or negotiating, Arthur would choose brute force. Young, quick, and agile, Arthur is in the peak of his physical prime. He has dark hair, and shows little face expression. His nose is very large, and his eyes aren’t perfectly centered. He also has a small scar running across the top of his brow. Arthur is clearly someone you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Harold imprinted much of his ideals into his sons very strongly. Arthur is bright, but does not apply himself. He often doesn’t think things through well enough, and has logic problems. Although he has the personality of a thug, Arthur has a small soft side. He enjoys smoking a good pipe. Harold has molded Arthur into a “failed experiment”. While his father tried to teach Arthur to be aware of everything, and not take things for granted, Arthur never paid attention to it, which is partly the reason for Sandrina. Arthur’s temper can be fierce, but is often more sarcastic. Although not as quick as his father, Arthur still takes caution to things that would involve him personally.

HISTORY: Arthur was born the year his parents were married. He spent much time with his father, and almost no time with his mother. All his life, Arthur took under his father’s wing and began hearing of many of his values. Arthur wasn’t very old when his grandparents died. After their deaths, Arthur became Harold’s henchman and accomplice, doing work for his father.

Arthur always was polite to his cousin and his uncle. When his father told him it would come in handy in the future, he followed his advice. It has led the entire Lightheart family to trust him, which makes Arthur a powerful ally to Harold. Much of his life Arthur has been doing easy cores for his uncle, doing it without complaining. Though his father hates the idea of getting the easy work, Arthur never minded that much, and continued to do it. Sometimes, even when not asked.

In an attempt to change Arthur, Harold sent him on a quest to get a small piece of gold from the roof of the golden hall. While there, Arthur spent many nights in the White Horse Inn, and won a sword of a stranger. On Arthur’s third attempt to get a piece of gold, he slipped on a small patch of snow and hit his head on a rail. It gave him his scar on his forehead. Finally giving up, Arthur sold the diamond from his sword for money to buy a piece of gold and forge it in the shape of a piece of gold form the roof.

Upon returning to his home, Arthur was greatly appreciated by his father, and was held in higher respect. When the perfect time for Harold’s plan came, Arthur and his brother escorted Sandrina into the woods. There, Arthur took his club and beat her several times, while Samuel covered her in blood. Thinking Arthur had killed her, the two brothers returned home, where they were greatly rewarded.

A year after, when Harold became the landlord of the Lightheart estate, Arthur was rewarded with one of the best pieces of land, and a large sum of money. For the years in safety, Arthur has been living a peaceful, rich life. But Sandrina and Henry will change all that.

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The Perky Ent's post

Arthur began the day as he normally did after his father owned the Lightheart Estate. He smoked a pipe on a hillside. With the money his father had given him, plus the extra money Arthur had acquired from selling the crystal from his sword, he was a rich man. Rich enough to get Old Toby shipped in every month. Thanks to King Éomer Éadig’s friendship with hobbits of the Shire, he learned of the many fabulous pipe-weeds and began importing them. Arthur, being a wealthy man, could import it from Edoras to the Lightheart Estate. For this morning, the Toby was particularly good.

“Ah! I’ve been missing out on the good life all these years! This is truly heaven!” Arthur said, putting the pipe down to watch the view. Under the hill, he saw two young boys fighting. “This should be interesting!” Arthur said, as he laughed down the hill.

Coming down the hill, he saw two boys fighting over a coin. “It’s mine!” one said. “No, it’s mine! I won it!” the other said. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny?” the first boy said, who was slightly large than the other. “What’s funny is that your fighting over something you don’t even have!” Arthur said, flexing his muscles. “It’s none of yours! It’s mine!” Arthur said, snatching the coin from the boys.

“Hey! Give that back!” “It’s ours!” the boys said, but Arthur was already halfway up the hill. “Survival of the fittest!’ Arthur shouted down at them, flipping the coin with his thumbs, and putting his pipe away. “Time to put this one with the rest of em!” Arthur said, heading for his house.

On the way, he had to cross his father’s house. He couldn’t really call it a house. It was more of a small mansion. Being the sole owner of the land had been very good to him. While crossing the yard, he saw Harold rush over on his horse, which seems as if it was going to collapse. “Get Samuel and come to my study,” said Harold thickly, not bothering to hide his anger. “But first spread word to my men that they are to meet and wait for me behind the house as soon as possible.” Arthur did not hesitate.

Arthur ran to the stables, which were nearby, and grabbed a horse. Riding down the grass, Arthur rode several miles until he reached a very small tavern run by friends of the Lighthearts. Inside the tavern, Arthur walked past the entrance and the main room, to a small room in the back of the building. In the room, there were twelve men gambling, all shady characters. “My father has requested an early meeting!” Get your horses and meet him behind his house. Something bad has happened.” Instantly, the men gathered their money, their cards, and their loaded dice, and rode out to Harold’s house.

“Now where are you, brother?” Arthur said, riding to Samuel’s house. Avoiding being polite by knocking on the door, Arthur kicked the door open. Inside, he saw Samuel resting. “Get up brother!” Arthur said, hitting Samuel very hard on the shoulder. “Father brings tidings of bad news!” Immediately, they both got their horses and set back for Harold’s house.

When Arthur and Samuel finally made their way to Harold’s study, Harold exploded. “Sandrina is alive. How hard could it have been to kill a weak, foolish girl? And yet you two seem incapable of even that task! Do you realize what this will cost us? Your error is forcing us to flee the property, because if we stay, Henry will come and kill us. That girl that you could have killed - should have been killed - is alive, and when she makes her way back to Henry he will come after us. No more Lightheart business for us! We won’t even be working here anymore! Instead we are forced to flee like cowards. Now, go and join my men behind the house. If you have something to say to me, you can say it there. I will be there shortly.” Harold was so mad that he was quivering slightly. He sat for a moment to calm down a bit and collect his thoughts. Then he got up and followed his sons outside.

Samuel and Arthur stood a little apart from the rest. Harold ran his cold blue eyes over everyone; silently making sure everyone was there, each one shifting uneasily when his gaze rested on him. When he was satisfied, he began to speak, his voice quieter than it had been for his boys, but holding no less intensity or anger. “In case you have not heard, Sandrina is alive.” This news brought murmurs from the group. “We can no longer stay here, or else Henry will come back, and do not expect him to have any mercy on any of you! We must leave, but before we go we are going to carry off everything that we can possibly take from this estate.” “The other thing that needs to happen is someone needs to get rid of Sandrina once and for all. Someone more capable than my sons seemingly are,” said Harold with a pointed glare at Arthur and Samuel. “One or two of you should suffice. Now, does anyone have any ideas, thoughts, or opinions?”

Arthur thought for a moment, and then said, “The girl did slip through our grasps, but it won’t happen again. We know what we need to do. I beat her, instead of stabbing her. I gave her that, as my cousin. A favor, which I will not give again! We’ll ambush her, and stab her. She won’t get away.” Arthur thought very proudly of the statement, until Harold interjected, “You think she’ll just be wandering alone. She’s probably having a guard with her! There’s probably going to be five people with her, helping her get home! Not to mention Henry! Think before you open your mouth!”


Arthur pounded his fist in his hand, and then said, “What about mercenaries? If they do come for us, why not prepare a trap? What if we hire mercenaries to fight them?”

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[Child of the 7th Age]

Crystal Heart and everyone,

Just checking in as the mod and saying "hi". Looks like the ball is rolling and hope you'll be off to a quick start!

Cami

[Arien]

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Which ones? The Road to Erebor, Quest for the Ainereg, Escape from Nurn, Truth in a Dark Place, Sailing Away, Dark Seduction, The Fall of Greenwood the Great, Corsairs and Corsets and The Ambassador's Son (but not to final completion).

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in?

List them, please: None.

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES
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Character:

NAME: Braedon

AGE: 30

RACE: Man (Ranger)

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS (No magical, super-hero, mithril weapons. Just good solid Middle-earth weapons and armor only that is appropriate to the race of the character and the time period.): A plain, double- edged, steel sword, at a glance it is nothing of extraordinary worth, but it holds high personal value to Braedon as it was his fathers. The hilt is leather bound, and although old, Braedon still finds it his most trusted weapon. He also carries a curved knife; it has a sharp steel blade and a black leather handle. He does not wear much armour; he finds it uncomfortable and an annoyance. However he does wear a small mail shirt, also made of steel, underneath his jerkin.

APPEARANCE: Braedon has jet-black hair, shoulder length, straight and messy. Several plaits are strewn in his hair; he also has a short beard. His skin is tanned, and his eyes are dark and hollow looking. He is of medium build, reaching a height of 5ft 11. He wears mostly dark clothes. Black trousers, and dark brown leather boots. Light for walking in. He has a white shirt and over this a black jerkin with a little silver design on the left side. He wears a dark green travelling cloak, and because of his dark appearance many often avoid him rather that communicate with him.

(PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: (No half-Elven characters. No mixed-type characters. No super-heroes. No assassins. No one all powerful, martial arts proficient, or having any magical traits. Just regular characters with normal abilities for their races only): Braedon is somewhat of lone wolf; this partially has come from his upbringing. He chooses to have but only a few true friends and regards the friends he does have with the utter most respect. He appears somewhat mysterious and quite to those who he does not know, and does not always trust those that he should. His strengths are apparent, he is and excellent tracker and healer, and a decent swordsman. However he also has evident weaknesses, as an only child he did not find socialising his strong suit and was often weary of those with bad and good intentions. Also quite pessimistic, he is not always the

HISTORY: Brought up as a single child, Braedon had a lonely childhood. As a young child he was left at home with his mother while his father, himself a Ranger, was away. In their isolated home his mother taught him the art of healing, and tracking. He was a fast learner and gain vital teachings from his mother. Unfortunately, when Braedon was 13 she died due to an illness that neither she nor Braedon could cure. Distraught at the death of his mother he became even more weary of others company and kept himself to himself only choosing perhaps to wander out into the nearest village when he needed a new book.

At the age of 18 it was doubtful that Braedon would become a Ranger and follow in his fathers footsteps. He could wield a sword well enough, but Braedon felt he just did not have the motivation to follow his father. However his father, who visited his son from time to time encouraged him to. In time Braedon saw that his mother would not wish to see him like this and so he followed his father. He learnt, and became a skilled swordsman.

Now his father is old and carries the wounds of many years of fighting, he lives in Rohan. Despite his age Braedon has no children, and no wife. This is of course due to his nature, but it doesn’t bother him much.

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Arien's post

“Thank you,” and with that he dropped three coins on the table. The bar keeper scooped them up and turned to the next customer. He lifted the mug and made his way to the table nearest the wall, it was empty; he couldn’t take talking to someone. He needed to collect his thoughts and see where he was in all this.

“Right,” Braedon muttered to himself, setting down his drink and sitting. He leant back for a minute, nursing his hand. He traced a finger over the bandage; he could see blood trying to seep through from the fresh cut. He would have to change the bandage soon. After this he would return to his room, and then set out to see his father.

He was not in Rohan for long this time, only a couple of day and he wanted to see how his father was coping. He knew he had gotten stubborn in his old age, and kept telling Braedon that there were better things to be done with a Rangers time, but Braedon knew he appreciated it. He also needed to visit a friend, rare he knew, but he hadn’t seen her for over 8 months.

Last time they were both here was when he was investigating the disappearance of a landowner’s daughter. It was said that she had been killed, but no trace of her was found. The search had been abandoned 5 months ago when her parents too disappeared, leaving their land and heading deeper into Rohan.

He drew his attention away from his and fumbled with his necklace, vaguely remembering his mother for a second. He shook his head, and reached out for the mug. A soft breeze dance over him as the door to the inn opened, he sipped from his mug and set it down once again. He looked up to the new entrant, but they were cloaked and he could not see their face.

He continued to watch as he saw that the new arrival was a woman, or was she a girl? He could not tell from here, her back was facing towards him. But she did have auburn hair, curly. A distinct memory sparked in his mind. But Braedon did not pick up on it.

"Excuse me, but what is a good drink to have around here?" she asked. Her soft voice was kind, the bar keeper answered and handed her a drink.

Braedon returned to his drink. When he had finished he headed back to his room. Gingerly he peeled the bandage away from his cut. Stupidity was the cause of his injury, he had gambled with a cheat and in a fight he was left with the wound, but his money too. This just proved why he was such a loner; most weren’t to be trusted. He bathed the cut in a basin filled with a mixture he had put together the previous day. It stung, but not too much.

He bandaged it quickly and headed back to the main bar and took his seat. He looked round for the girl, she had something about her... there she was! She was sitting at the same stool. But she seemed confused; she turned her head towards him. That girl. She looked remarkably like the one who had gone missing. Braedon sat up straight. But it couldn’t be could it? Surely not after this long! Braedon walked for the exit. He was probably mistaken, but he couldn’t help it, as much as he disliked talking to stranger, he was curious.

“Excuse me...” the girl turned startled. “May I ask your name, forgive me but you look like a girl I was searching for a time ago. I would dismiss it, but the resemblance in the description and your self is uncanny.”

The girl paused for a moment, still startled. "Crystal."

Braedon dissmissed it, and nodded to the girl. He walked to the exit and took another look at her. He stood for a moment and shook his head, a mistake it couldn't be her, she was dead was she not?

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[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Character Description Form: Friend of the Family

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Which one?

Legacy of Traitors
Last Ride of the Heir
Bloodstained Elanor

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? 1

List them, please: Bloostained Elanor

Please note you may play in only 2 (TWO) Shire games at one time. Exceptions to this may be made for this on a case by case basis by the Shire Moderators. (The Green Dragon Inn DOES NOT count as a game for this.)


3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES
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For your character please include:

NAME: Hama Haukrson

AGE: 21

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: a sword engraved with the word 'Fangrin', a short throwing spear, and a bow and quivver of arrows.

APPEARANCE: Tall and fair, with striking blue eyes and a hard face. His long blond hair often falls into his eyes, and he has a short, neatly trimmed beard and moustache. He wears full Rohan scalemail and an ornately decorated helm. A round wooden shield is often on his back, along with his bow, quivver and spear. His sword always rests by his side, even during slumber. He wears a green cloak with the symbol of Dorian Heart's army on it, and his cloak-pin is moulded into the same symbol.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: He is slightly paranoid, always looking over his shoulder, but is normally outgoing and courageous. He thinks little of dying, and would gladly sacrifice his life for ones he cared about. He has a close friend in an elven female by the name of Aduthondiel, and is often seen with her. He is an excellent fighter, being one of the few to survive all three battles of Helm's Deep, Pelennor Fields, and the Morannon. His sword, Fangrin, is expertly wrought out of the finest blue steel, and he is extremely fond of it, perhaps too fond, as it has been known to cloud his judgement on occasions.

HISTORY: Born several years before the war of the ring, Hama learnt to fight at a young age, and from thirteen, he was better with a sword than both his older brothers. When he was eighteen, he was called to become a rider, and he donned the armour with pride, joining his older brothers in service to Theoden. One of his brother's died at the Deep, the other at Pelennor Fields. Upon his return he was gifted with the honour of a royal guard to Eomer, but still wore the emblem of Dorian Heart, the evermore deranged general. When he rode home to deliver the news to his wife and children, however, he found their homestead burned, his two children, Eorund and Freyda, dead and his wife raped and then brutally slaughtered by Denlendings. This broke him, and he vowed revenge. Every dunlending that he has fought since has been given no quarter, he kills and mutilates every one of them like he found his family.

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Hama of the Riddermark's post

Hama sat alone at his table sipping his ale. He was in a pensive mood, and sat there almost motionless, sometimes the mug rested at his lips for more then a few minutes before he set it ack down, having only taken the smalled gulp from it. He saw the woman walk in, but she was well past him when she took off her hood. The hair looked familiar to Hama, but he shook his head. Sandrina was dead. And Dorian's daughter had run away. No, just a passing resemblance, and anyway, what was hair to go on? He had waited in Gondor for months, before receiving word that Sandrina had been killed. The blow had struck him deeply, because he was a good friend with all the Lighthearts. he had taken to moping around the taverns in Edoras of late, except when any opportunity to attack Dunlendings arose. He sighed and returned the tankard to his mouth, this time taking a larger gulp, some spilled onto his beard, and as he moved to wipe it off the woman turned around and caught his eyesight for the briefest of seconds before she turned around again. Hama was astounded. If it wasn't Sandrina, then someone had been blessed with a daughter that looked so much like her....

Again, Hama pushed the thoughts from his head. Sandrina was dead, and there was nothing going to change that. He gulped the last of his ale and called for another one. reclining in his chair as the barkeep bustled over to refill his tankard. He didn't let his eyes wander from Sandrina, something told him that she would vanish if he did. His ale came, and this time he drained it in a single movement, letting the amber liquid flow down his throat. He got up and replaced his shield, spear and bow on his back, attaching the quivver to the leather strap on his shield. Slowly he walked over to the woman at the bar and she looked around again. This time Hama caught a good look at her face. She clearly didn't recognise him as he leaned on the bar next to her. He took a good long look at her face, but when she turned around he tried to make it look like he was armiring the pendant around her neck...the pendant! Hama now did focus his attention on the pendant. It was...it was Sandrina's pendant!

Hama's heart skipped a beat quietly as he tried to form the sentence he wanted to say. Words raced through his mind at an amazing pace, and he discared them at an equally speedy rate. Sandrina turned away to look around the room again. Hama chose this moment to lean forward and whisper in her ear, "Nine months is an awfully long time to go missing, Sandrina Lightheart"...

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[The Perky Ent]

Ah, Hama! It seems our paths cross again...

[Pippin Pondlily]

Seekers of Truth

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? - Yes, Farmer in the Dale.

2.) How many RPGs on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - One, Farmer in the Dale.

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn? - Yes.

Profile - 7.) 1 Female (Who wants to come along in hopes of gaining a reward)

Name - Haven Finduilwen Storms

Age - 27

Race - Man

Gender - Female

Weapons - A standard Rohirric-style short-sword, four throwing knives, a boot dagger, & long, black whip.

Appearance - Haven has short curly black hair, large grey eyes, full, sensual lips and high cheekbones. She is attractive but lacks any grace or elegance that would make her actually beautiful. Haven is of good height at about 5'8" and is quite thin and flat. She is surprisingly strong however when she needs to be. She sticks to practical clothes such as snug pants in dark hues and billowy shirts that breathe and open in a V at the neck that can be laced up in the cold weather. Occasionally she'll wear a navy blue leather jerkin that laces five inches above either hip for comfort during riding and also up the length of the front. About her waist she ties a dark red sash and under she wears a thick leather belt from which she hangs a pouch of money and her black whip (strictly for horse training purposes ). Over her left shoulder and secured to the right side of her belt she wears a brace of four throwing knives which she is fairly handy with. Finally upon her feet she wears black leather boots that come to just above her knee.

Personality - Haven is a very hardy woman and is rebellious and short-tempered. She has a terrible addiction to gambling that often gets her into trouble. Her sense of humor is wry and sarcastic and usually at the expense of others. However, as much as she can dish it out, she certainly doesn't like to take it and will jump quickly to defend herself. Haven is stubborn, prideful, and self-absorbed but she has a great capacity for friendship. Once her trust and respect is gained by a person, she will be as loyal and dependable as any noble companion.

History - Haven Storms was born the eighth of eleven children to a wealthy Gondorian family in Dol Amroth. She grew under the pressure of her five older sisters and was daunted at an early age by their superior beauty and intelligence. Abandoning any hope of ever becoming one of the ladies her mother wished for her daughters to become, she found escape in the local bars, stables, and even at the trading docks that led to the sea. When she was thirteen she fell in love with "glory" and learned sports such as horse-racing, jousting, archery (which she lacked the enthusiasm for--not aggressive enough), fencing, knife-throwing (especially in bars), and fist-fighting.

Her family disapproved and she began to grow distant from them. At sixteen she left for Rohan, a country that focused much less on society and protocol and more so on good, solid, hard work. She hoped to get a job and finally, after three years of struggling she landed a position in training horses for the Rohirrim. She's been doing it for eight years now, is paid quite well and comes very highly recommended. Her stubbornness, intolerance, and severity with the horses is key to molding the ideal warhorse. In her opinion things are done one way only: the right way, there are no side-paths.

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Pippin Pondlily's post

Haven Storms had one foot on the ground and the other perched on the rod connecting the front two legs of the stool. She half sat on the chair and half leaned on the bar counter, tracing the lip of her mug with her index finger. Her grey eyes were fixed sullenly on the shelves of mugs and tumblers behind the counter as she lamented all the minor troubles of her life that were brought into sharp relief and exaggerated by the excessive amounts of alcohol she had consumed.

The inn was an old one inhabited mostly by people who came out of tendency because here had been the eye of revelry in days past. The walls were dark and mildew filled the cracks and seeped through the grain of the rank wood. The ceiling was so full of smoke that Haven, frankly, could not be sure that one was even there. But what put the wry smile on her face and lured her to sit at the bar and buy a drink here was the fact that the people made like this was a modern, lively inn. They sang, laughed and told stories: some true, some ridiculously false. To put a damper on the patrons' happy spirits would be condemnable, which was precisely why she did.

"How long have you been here?" asked a familiarly dramatic voice. Haven cringed and moved so she sat the whole way on the chair. She cupped the mug in her hands.

"Please, leave me alone, Bryian," she said, her voice cold as stone not out of contempt for him but of what he had come to say. He took the empty seat next to her but did not order a drink.

"Why didn't you come back to the stables?" he asked, sounding sincerely anxious.

Haven sighed, began to answer and stopped. She took a drink. She set the mug on the counter and turned to face him, searching for an appropriate answer. "It wasn't my damn fault that horse died," she said bluntly, "the idiot stable boy should have arranged to get his shoe replaced months ago. It just so happened that I was riding it over that ditch when the nail came loose, the shoe came off, the bloody horse tripped and fell into the gully and broke its neck. What was I supposed to have done about it?!" She was shouting but no one seemed to notice it blending in with the songs and talk.

He inhaled deeply. "Haven, you push far too hard and you're merciless." He held up a hand to prevent her intervention. "I understand your ideas, I know your beliefs, the … code," he accentuated the word 'code', "you live by. It follows a steady line of logic and has its advantages but there's a line, Haven, there's a limit to what we as humans and they as horses can do. If you overstep that line, someone is going to get hurt, like today. Is that something you're just willing to risk?"

She didn't answer. Her face was taught and she clenched her teeth, a passion of fury rising up like a wave inside her, threatening to swell and crash, to swarm over him with an anger he shouldn't have to see.

Bryian put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Haven, Rillis Wheed needs you, please, take care of yourself." He paused when she remained silent. "There is only one thing more tragic than the loss of a horse and that is the loss of a man, or, woman, in your case. What would they do without you?"

"To hell with Rillis Wheed and his bloody horses."

"You don't mean that, Haven."

"I do."

"Come on," Bryian said, standing. "I'll take you back to your house." Haven sat rigid.

"No thanks," she said. Her tranquility was noticeably forced. "I'm going to stay here a little longer." He looked at her openly concerned. "I'll be alright," she assured him. He smiled and leant forward, kissing her on the forehead. She stiffened.

After he left, Haven ordered her fifth mug of Dorwinion wine and moved to a table near the fire. She knew it wasn't her fault. She felt no guilt about the horse's death. That belonged entirely to the stable boy in charge of that row of stalls. She had been taking it around the course in sharp turns and sudden jumps forcing the horse to respond to the lightest touch and obey the smallest command. They were jumping the gully when the shoe came off. She was thrown to the side and her body was jolted against the hard dirt and stone. Haven had had just enough time to roll out of the way as the horse kicked its legs frantically, whinnied in excruciating pain and foamed thick at the mouth. She remembered she had come to her knees and watched in horror and disbelief.

Haven hung her head over the mug. She had been so close. That horse was brilliant, born with the gifts of the Mearas though it was not of their blood. He would have made the king proud and Haven was ready to present him in just under two weeks. It would have been the very turning point of her career. She had tasted the glory of having trained one of the king's horses only for it to be snatched away from her in a manner harsher than she thought she deserved. It certainly wasn't what that horse deserved. She didn't want to know what would happen to the stable boy. In her opinion, there was nothing severe enough for him.

Now what was she going to do? How could she continue to train horses and be hopeful when this had happened? It was too much to think about. She wanted to get away from it all if just for a little while…

As she was thinking, Haven hadn't exactly realized what she had been staring at but now she focused and saw that she was studying another patron in the inn. It was a young woman, a rather beautiful woman with thick, curly auburn hair sitting in a green cloak at the bar. Her expression changed as often as a river. First she was comfortable, secure and in control. Then she began to look confused and her expression grew distant, as though she was lost. Out of nowhere she'd smile or frown. Then suddenly she jolted as if hit by a sudden wind or a shudder of the earth. Her face began to shuffle emotions until suddenly they stopped and her eyes were wide and alert and her whole body was tense and aware. She began to look around the inn, apparently searching for someone.

Haven was completely mystified. What sort of loony was this?


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***

And its open for revision if necessary, Hope you like it Crystal!

- P. Pondlily

[Himaran]

Hey, great RPG idea!

I would like to play the second male ranger. I will start working on a profile and first post immediately.

Himaran

[Child of the 7th Age]

Himaran -

Please check your pms.

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Everyone please note the rule about submitting first posts with profiles:

First post:


This is a requirement for this game. Character Descriptions without a First Post attached will be sent back to the writer. They may be submitted again, once there is a First Post to go with them.

Many thanks!

Cami, Shire Mod

[Himaran]

Seekers of Truth

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? - Yes, The Hobbit’s Gift, The Road to Erebor, Quest for the Ainereg, Sailing Away, The Summons, In the Shadow of the Star, Flight from Rohan, Resettling the Lost Kingdom, The Ambassador’s Son, Search for Rhûn, Land of Darkness.

2.) How many RPGs on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - One, Land of Darkness.

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn? - Yes.

Profile - 7.) 1 male ranger, returning to Rohan after several months in the wilderness.

Name - Raen

Age - 42

Race - Man (ranger)

Gender - Male

Weapons - Two long throwing knives (his favorite weapons), a standard bow an arrows, and a Longsword.

Appearance - Raen has lived in the wildnerness for several months, and his appearance has followed suit. Shaggy, dark brown hair clings to his neck as do the scruffy wiskers on the ranger's unshaven face. His clothing consists of a brown tunic, pants and cloak, weaven with green fibers to blend in with the forest. Leather vanguards and boots hold tightly to his arms and feet, attached with rusty metal clips. Tall with a broad profile, Raen has an intimidating figure. His light blue eyes are perhaps the only soft and yielding figment of his being. A traveler's pack hangs over his left shoulder, the only piece of luggage he ever carries with him.

Personality - Despite his appearance, Raen is compassionate and helpful -- it was this trait that caused him to go searching for Sandrina with the others, half a year earlier. He has always felt a strong urge to serve others, and cannot bear the sight of a sick child or an injured worker. The ranger is kind and thoughtful, uncharacteristic for his race, but is still withdrawn and quiet. Instead of conversing with others in taverns and halls, he prefers a silent walk in the forest. If one breaks the non-social barrier, however, he is talkative and friendly. Injustice to others is one of the few things in life that cause him to completely loose that personality. Raen becomes incredibly angry, and has little self control once his blood rises.

History - Raen was an only child, born in a small ranger camp in southern Eriador. His father died when he was young, leaving the raising to his mother, Haerin. A compassionate woman herself, Haerin focused on teaching her son to love and respect others. Instead of showing him the basics with a shortsword, she instructed him in the art of healing. She died when he was 12, and the boy's training quickly shifted to the trade of a warrior. But as the men of the camp molded him into and knife thrower, archer and swordsman, Raen never lost that caring spirit, and undying love for people.

After leaving the camp at the age of 22, the young ranger set out to travel the world. He did so, visiting Rohan and then Gondor. Many years passed, for Raen liked Gondor, and worked for a the Steward; patrolling the lands of Ithilien. But after joining a gold-mining expedition in the Bay of Belfalas that soon turned out to be a scam, the now poor warrior headed north again. Returning to Rohan, the now experienced ranger joined the search for a woman named Sandrina; who had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Even after it was called off, Raen continued to traverse the surrounding wildnerness, not satisfied with the group's failure to find any trace of Sandrina. But he had no more success than the others, and eventually returned to Rohan, one year after the War of the Ring...

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Himaran's post



It was dark. Rain poured down around him, water splashed against his chest. He scanned the flooded area once more, looking for a trace, the slightest sign that she had been there. And then he saw her, twenty yards away, struggling against the current. He dove in, trying to reach her... but then the wave came, and the woman was gone.

Raen awoke with a start. He lay still for a moment, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. There was no flooded forest, no woman, just a comfortable room inside a Rohanian tavern. The recurring nightmare had haunted him for several days, ever since he the stopped searching the wilderness a week before. The general search effort had ended months ago, but the ranger was hardly satisfied by the results. It was as though he was being punished for giving up, and Raen would have speculated further upon that theory; if common sense but had a smaller presence within his mind. Sitting up, he pushed with thick sheets aside and dressed slowly. After sleeping in the forest for so long, even the smallest figment of civilized life was a luxory. The man yawned, trying to feel comfortable; for in truth he was a stranger to these civilized surroundings. Snatching up a long, slender knife from the table (out of pure habit), Raen locked the room and headed downstairs.

Taking a seat at the bar, the ranger ordered a light breakfast and a hot drink. Even after several days at the establishment, it all seemed surreal. Nothing came naturely; Raen stared at the utensils before him for several moments before attacking the sliced ham with a vengence. He felt silly to have forgotten such simple behaviors, but knew it would all come back eventually. After all, it had been a while. The man watched as commoners and soldiers came and went, chatting and dining and arguing. Their lives were so simple; waking, working, and eventually passing from the world. Can I become a part of this calm, routine life? It was a question Raen had been asking himself ever since returning from his unsuccessful hunt.

Then a single man caught his attention. It was a ranger, (Raen was certain of that), but he seemed vaguely familier. There had been several of Raen's bloodline on the hunt for Sandrina; perhaps this was one of them. But that had been over five months back, surely they had not stayed in Rohan. Most went back to Eriador or Gondor, working for King Aragorn. He did look familier, though, and Raen started towards him; determined to find at least one of the answers that constantedly bothered him. The man immediately stopped, however, when the ranger began speaking with young woman who clearly resembled the one he had so desperately sought to find...

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Here you go - let me know if you need me to make changes.

Himaran