Seekers of Truth Discussion Thread - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Pippin Pondlily · 08-15-2004, 11:19 AM

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

08-15-2004, 11:19 AM	#19
Pippin Pondlily Animated Skeleton Join Date: Jul 2004 Location: Savannah Posts: 41	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. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *** And its open for revision if necessary, Hope you like it Crystal! - P. Pondlily Last edited by piosenniel; 08-15-2004 at 01:32 PM.