Númenórean Blood Runs Black Planning/Discussion Thread - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

The Perky Ent · 10-02-2005, 02:17 PM

Will do Pio! We did most of the work solo, and through PM's, so we have most of it ready. We just need to glue it all together! I'll let you know when it's dry

piosenniel · 10-02-2005, 03:02 PM

Please note:

There are two new players taking on dedicated roles with Perky's blessings:

Anguirel - Lord of Umbar

Alcarillo - Captain of the 2nd Gondorian Ship

Welcome aboard!

~*~ Pio

The Perky Ent · 10-02-2005, 04:42 PM

Welcome aboard indeed! Let me know if you need any help with your character sheet!

Hiriel · 10-02-2005, 05:31 PM

Hullo all! Just a insidious lord of Umbar checking in here.

Perky: Send me my corrections and I'll be on them. I have to go over my post again anyway.

Anguirel: Pm me if you need any extra info while making your character. I look forward to trying to bring down Gondor with you.

The Perky Ent · 10-02-2005, 07:10 PM

PLACED ON DISCUSSION THREAD ~*~ PIO

Eorl of Rohan's Character Proposal Sheet

Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Legacy of the Traitors (Please don't read it or I'll go crazy with shame)
How many RPG's on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - NONE
Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES

APPEARANCE EDITED: 10/03/05
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NAME: Ferethor Steele

AGE: 31

RACE: Man

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: A piece of broken oar.

APPEARANCE: Dark-haired with eyes of gray, the appearance as well as the mannerism and accent that of Gondor born and bred. On his shift, he is often seen chained to the left side, second row, his lean and lanky frame straining against the oar with a sense of strength that talks of better times. His tousled hair is unkempt and slicked behind his ears, wet with blood and the spray of the tides. Pale as he is, and lean, only his eyes keep some measure of vitality still – alert and alive, sparkling as icily as his voice, as cold as the waves that lash the ship’s brow. The torn and tattered remains of his shirt and breeches alike are plastered to his back, sticking with grime and the sickly yellow of half-healed scars. If someone bothered to look past the film of dirt and dried blood on the shredded clothes, one might have seen the black and white of Gondorian Guards...

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Serious, cynical, steady in his hate as in all things else - yet he keeps it controlled. He had learned that much in the past three years. No one can blame him, however, if the collected bitterness had made him cold and indifferent. Sanity, in such a condition as this, comes with a price. Thralldom is a harsh mistress. In his case, he hid behind his sense of cold reason, trusting no one, loving no one, afraid, not of violence or betrayal, but of the acute pain that will come with awareness.

HISTORY: Once a promising young captain of Gondor at 27, he went missing a few years later - in a skirmish against the Easterlings at the borders of Gondor. He was presumed dead, his family notified – the city named an obscure street after him and promptly forgot. There had been no news of him in the three years since.

__________________________________________________ _______________

Eorl of Rohan's post

Ferethor couldn't keep count. Beneath the ship, days and years were as one in their miserable condition. A few went mad. Most died. No one lasted more than a year in the service at the oars, no one sane… but him.

He might have lost the consciousness too, if he hadn't that to spark the flame – hatred. He deliberately nurtured it. From the instant when he realized to his horror that he'd go mad if he didn't do anything, he had fed and coddled this hatred of his until it became his driving force. And they knew it. What 'they' were here but the damned Corsairs, the enemy? They knew that he survived. He ate whatever they brought it, he built his strength, and his muscles continued to ripple and move as he strained his chest against the oar to the bending point, under the shadow of the whip of the master, and behind the master, the South, behind it still, the fundamental hatred between the West and the South. He held on. Every minute, he held on. In the pitch-darkness, relieved only by faint lanterns and the cracking sound of the many-lashed whips, he held on with one purpose in mind and one desire – to take vengeance. He had watched impassively as people dropped like flies around him. He knew he could not help them, no matter what. What he could do was escape – escape, and sink the ship with the whole cursed population! He would remember the blank faces of the dead comrades that fought beside him in the fray, the screams of the tortured thralls, and the feel of the lash on his bare back. He would remember, and the blood will be on their heads. Ferethor knew he was thinking in circles. But a thread broken in the train of continuous thought might douse the flame of hatred that was the only thing that kept him sane against all odds. So he pulled the oar. And hated steadily.

There was no source of light other than that which trickled through the hole where the oar handles were thrust in. The lantern that the sentry guard held didn’t count. He bent against the oar, letting his weight do half the work in moving forward the massive ship whose only part he knew was beneath the decks, the mold and the dark and the whips. It was then that he heard the shouts outside – there were always shouts, but this was of a different nature – and the call to arms. They were going to war. War… He strained to hear the next word. War against Gondor. Gondor. He froze. The oar fell from his hands, clattering against the floor. Let them react to that. Was it on purpose or an accident? He didn’t know. He was tired. So tired.

The slaves working around him flinched, and shied away as if the whip might descend on them by mistake. Ferethor straightened up and lifted his head, knowing that soon he'd whimper and beg for mercy like any other slave under the stinging blows of the whip – maybe the racks, even – but he wanted to show them that he was not afraid. No, that wasn't it. He was afraid, but he was not going to let that fear run away with him. He was still a Gondorian, if nothing else. He was a captain of Gondor. He knew that the Corsairs have always hated him more for all that, wanted to see him break under their hands, more than all others - because he was the material realization of the strength and power of Gondor, the City of Stone. He wouldn’t give them the pleasure so easily – he clenched his teeth at that – he owed that much to his heritage, if nothing else. If he had more strength… If he had… If he could contact them… But no. It was futile to dream.

The guard woke from his doze and looked over. The thralls shrank away still further, as much as the chains would allow, and made it a point to not look at his way. They were chained just so that they were forced into a kneeling position, unable to stand or to sit, with the chains interlinked with other slaves that one slave's mishap might affect all others. The arms were free to work the oars, and some had misshapen arms because of being chained in one place with only one arm used for exercise, for so long. Not that the length mattered. They were all mindless and timid, all of them. He wouldn’t get any help from them. He had tried to spark their spirit before, but they moved away, as they did now, afraid. There was some that had a remnant of spirit left, he knew, but they were chained too far away. Ah, here it comes. A guttural remark, then in barest rudiments of Common as the two guards approached – but he didn’t pick up the oar. When the guard grabbed him by the thrall collar, gaggling and choking with the blood that filled his lungs, Ferethor instinctively brought down the metal end of his cuffs hard on the man’s wrist, noting its sickening crunch with mixed feelings of satisfaction and terror. Terror soon gained the upper hand. Usually he would not do anything so stupid – he would let himself be sworn at and beaten around some without unnecessary defiance, which would doubtless bring the steel-tipped whips into play. But… War. War against… Gondor? He couldn’t help shuddering convulsively. One, two seconds passed? The man fell. He was dropped by the first man, so that he was left in the position of half-kneeling along with the rest. The one he had hit recovered in a moment and sat up from the wooden plank, gesturing angrily at Ferethor and reaching for his weapon. No. Please. Can’t take it anymore… The whips cracked in the air, an ominous sound at best, but worse if you heard it cut into flesh and sinews. Especially your own. He moaned, falling onto his knees, and before he could brace himself came one blow and another time after time in quick succession. Usually these stopped after a dozen, or the slave might be rendered useless for the day – but it went on and on – enough that blood and flesh splattered all over, some of the weaker slaves covered their eyes, and he soon lost consciousness hanging limp by the chains.

Gondor. What did it mean? Gondor, and… and…

__________________________________________________ _______________

~*~

Tnx for that! I'll start editing...

Eorl of Rohan · 10-02-2005, 10:46 PM

The Perky Ent: In case you haven't checked your PM yet, I did make some more changes to the character descriptions since this morning - I just came back from school - and sent it to you by PM. Sorry for the frequent change and delay. Blame my school principal, if you wish.

Anyway, checking in, and everything seems really great, for lack of better vocabulary. Amazing first post.

To Other Players: As this is only my second roleplay, I'm still a novice in the art of roleplaying, especially in the Barrow-downs. Please feel free to criticize me by PM or email if you see me breaking a rule, or see weakness in my writing. I look forward to having an enjoyable time with you all.

Alcarillo · 10-03-2005, 08:30 AM

Ahoy, there, shipmates and mortal enemies!

Just posting to tell all of you that I'm here. I'm working on my character sheet as we speak. I just have two questions for His Royal Perkiness:

1. What sort of ships did you have in mind for the Gondorians? Square sails? Triangular sails? Oars like the Corsair ships?

and

2. Do I get to name my ship?

10-02-2005, 02:17 PM	#1
The Perky Ent Maniacal Mage Join Date: Dec 2003 Location: Setting sail for Umbar, with Firefoot at my side! Posts: 3,297	Will do Pio! We did most of the work solo, and through PM's, so we have most of it ready. We just need to glue it all together! I'll let you know when it's dry __________________ 'But Melkor also was there, and he came to the house of Fëanor, and there he slew Finwë King of the Noldor before his doors, and spilled the first blood in the Blessed Realm; for Finwë alone had not fled from the horror of the Dark.'

10-02-2005, 03:02 PM	#2
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Please note: There are two new players taking on dedicated roles with Perky's blessings: Anguirel - Lord of Umbar Alcarillo - Captain of the 2nd Gondorian Ship Welcome aboard! ~*~ Pio __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.

10-02-2005, 04:42 PM	#3
The Perky Ent Maniacal Mage Join Date: Dec 2003 Location: Setting sail for Umbar, with Firefoot at my side! Posts: 3,297	Welcome aboard indeed! Let me know if you need any help with your character sheet! __________________ 'But Melkor also was there, and he came to the house of Fëanor, and there he slew Finwë King of the Noldor before his doors, and spilled the first blood in the Blessed Realm; for Finwë alone had not fled from the horror of the Dark.'

10-02-2005, 05:31 PM	#4
Hiriel Wight Join Date: Sep 2005 Location: Sleeping in the South, dreaming of Umbar Posts: 135	Hullo all! Just a insidious lord of Umbar checking in here. Perky: Send me my corrections and I'll be on them. I have to go over my post again anyway. Anguirel: Pm me if you need any extra info while making your character. I look forward to trying to bring down Gondor with you. __________________ Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising 4 8 15 16 23 42 ~Proud Lostaway

10-02-2005, 07:10 PM	#5
The Perky Ent Maniacal Mage Join Date: Dec 2003 Location: Setting sail for Umbar, with Firefoot at my side! Posts: 3,297	*PLACED ON DISCUSSION THREAD ~~ PIO Eorl of Rohan's Character Proposal Sheet Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Legacy of the Traitors (Please don't read it or I'll go crazy with shame) How many RPG's on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - NONE Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES APPEARANCE EDITED: 10/03/05 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NAME: Ferethor Steele AGE: 31 RACE: Man GENDER: Male WEAPONS: A piece of broken oar. APPEARANCE: Dark-haired with eyes of gray, the appearance as well as the mannerism and accent that of Gondor born and bred. On his shift, he is often seen chained to the left side, second row, his lean and lanky frame straining against the oar with a sense of strength that talks of better times. His tousled hair is unkempt and slicked behind his ears, wet with blood and the spray of the tides. Pale as he is, and lean, only his eyes keep some measure of vitality still – alert and alive, sparkling as icily as his voice, as cold as the waves that lash the ship’s brow. The torn and tattered remains of his shirt and breeches alike are plastered to his back, sticking with grime and the sickly yellow of half-healed scars. If someone bothered to look past the film of dirt and dried blood on the shredded clothes, one might have seen the black and white of Gondorian Guards... PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Serious, cynical, steady in his hate as in all things else - yet he keeps it controlled. He had learned that much in the past three years. No one can blame him, however, if the collected bitterness had made him cold and indifferent. Sanity, in such a condition as this, comes with a price. Thralldom is a harsh mistress. In his case, he hid behind his sense of cold reason, trusting no one, loving no one, afraid, not of violence or betrayal, but of the acute pain that will come with awareness. HISTORY: Once a promising young captain of Gondor at 27, he went missing a few years later - in a skirmish against the Easterlings at the borders of Gondor. He was presumed dead, his family notified – the city named an obscure street after him and promptly forgot. There had been no news of him in the three years since. __________________________________________________ _______________ Eorl of Rohan's post** Ferethor couldn't keep count. Beneath the ship, days and years were as one in their miserable condition. A few went mad. Most died. No one lasted more than a year in the service at the oars, no one sane… but him. He might have lost the consciousness too, if he hadn't that to spark the flame – hatred. He deliberately nurtured it. From the instant when he realized to his horror that he'd go mad if he didn't do anything, he had fed and coddled this hatred of his until it became his driving force. And they knew it. What 'they' were here but the damned Corsairs, the enemy? They knew that he survived. He ate whatever they brought it, he built his strength, and his muscles continued to ripple and move as he strained his chest against the oar to the bending point, under the shadow of the whip of the master, and behind the master, the South, behind it still, the fundamental hatred between the West and the South. He held on. Every minute, he held on. In the pitch-darkness, relieved only by faint lanterns and the cracking sound of the many-lashed whips, he held on with one purpose in mind and one desire – to take vengeance. He had watched impassively as people dropped like flies around him. He knew he could not help them, no matter what. What he could do was escape – escape, and sink the ship with the whole cursed population! He would remember the blank faces of the dead comrades that fought beside him in the fray, the screams of the tortured thralls, and the feel of the lash on his bare back. He would remember, and the blood will be on their heads. Ferethor knew he was thinking in circles. But a thread broken in the train of continuous thought might douse the flame of hatred that was the only thing that kept him sane against all odds. So he pulled the oar. And hated steadily. There was no source of light other than that which trickled through the hole where the oar handles were thrust in. The lantern that the sentry guard held didn’t count. He bent against the oar, letting his weight do half the work in moving forward the massive ship whose only part he knew was beneath the decks, the mold and the dark and the whips. It was then that he heard the shouts outside – there were always shouts, but this was of a different nature – and the call to arms. They were going to war. War… He strained to hear the next word. War against Gondor. Gondor. He froze. The oar fell from his hands, clattering against the floor. Let them react to that. Was it on purpose or an accident? He didn’t know. He was tired. So tired. The slaves working around him flinched, and shied away as if the whip might descend on them by mistake. Ferethor straightened up and lifted his head, knowing that soon he'd whimper and beg for mercy like any other slave under the stinging blows of the whip – maybe the racks, even – but he wanted to show them that he was not afraid. No, that wasn't it. He was afraid, but he was not going to let that fear run away with him. He was still a Gondorian, if nothing else. He was a captain of Gondor. He knew that the Corsairs have always hated him more for all that, wanted to see him break under their hands, more than all others - because he was the material realization of the strength and power of Gondor, the City of Stone. He wouldn’t give them the pleasure so easily – he clenched his teeth at that – he owed that much to his heritage, if nothing else. If he had more strength… If he had… If he could contact them… But no. It was futile to dream. The guard woke from his doze and looked over. The thralls shrank away still further, as much as the chains would allow, and made it a point to not look at his way. They were chained just so that they were forced into a kneeling position, unable to stand or to sit, with the chains interlinked with other slaves that one slave's mishap might affect all others. The arms were free to work the oars, and some had misshapen arms because of being chained in one place with only one arm used for exercise, for so long. Not that the length mattered. They were all mindless and timid, all of them. He wouldn’t get any help from them. He had tried to spark their spirit before, but they moved away, as they did now, afraid. There was some that had a remnant of spirit left, he knew, but they were chained too far away. Ah, here it comes. A guttural remark, then in barest rudiments of Common as the two guards approached – but he didn’t pick up the oar. When the guard grabbed him by the thrall collar, gaggling and choking with the blood that filled his lungs, Ferethor instinctively brought down the metal end of his cuffs hard on the man’s wrist, noting its sickening crunch with mixed feelings of satisfaction and terror. Terror soon gained the upper hand. Usually he would not do anything so stupid – he would let himself be sworn at and beaten around some without unnecessary defiance, which would doubtless bring the steel-tipped whips into play. But… War. War against… Gondor? He couldn’t help shuddering convulsively. One, two seconds passed? The man fell. He was dropped by the first man, so that he was left in the position of half-kneeling along with the rest. The one he had hit recovered in a moment and sat up from the wooden plank, gesturing angrily at Ferethor and reaching for his weapon. No. Please. Can’t take it anymore… The whips cracked in the air, an ominous sound at best, but worse if you heard it cut into flesh and sinews. Especially your own. He moaned, falling onto his knees, and before he could brace himself came one blow and another time after time in quick succession. Usually these stopped after a dozen, or the slave might be rendered useless for the day – but it went on and on – enough that blood and flesh splattered all over, some of the weaker slaves covered their eyes, and he soon lost consciousness hanging limp by the chains. Gondor. What did it mean? Gondor, and… and… __________________________________________________ _______________ ~~ Tnx for that! I'll start editing... Last edited by piosenniel; 10-10-2005 at 10:30 AM. Reason: Changed Appearence*

10-02-2005, 10:46 PM	#6
Eorl of Rohan Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Jan 2004 Location: Seoul, South Korea Posts: 602	Checking in, Eorl of Rohan The Perky Ent: In case you haven't checked your PM yet, I did make some more changes to the character descriptions since this morning - I just came back from school - and sent it to you by PM. Sorry for the frequent change and delay. Blame my school principal, if you wish. Anyway, checking in, and everything seems really great, for lack of better vocabulary. Amazing first post. To Other Players: As this is only my second roleplay, I'm still a novice in the art of roleplaying, especially in the Barrow-downs. Please feel free to criticize me by PM or email if you see me breaking a rule, or see weakness in my writing. I look forward to having an enjoyable time with you all. __________________ There is no signature here. Last edited by Eorl of Rohan; 10-02-2005 at 10:54 PM.

10-03-2005, 08:30 AM	#7
Alcarillo Shadow of the Past Join Date: Jul 2005 Location: Minas Mor-go Posts: 1,007	Ahoy, there, shipmates and mortal enemies! Just posting to tell all of you that I'm here. I'm working on my character sheet as we speak. I just have two questions for His Royal Perkiness: 1. What sort of ships did you have in mind for the Gondorians? Square sails? Triangular sails? Oars like the Corsair ships? and 2. Do I get to name my ship?