Assigned to Mordor Planning/Discussion Thread

[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.

[the guy who be short]

My first post is in the process of being crafted, but as I've never played an RPG before, I thought I'd post the rest of the necessary info and see if LMP wants any of it drastically altered, deleted, reshaped, or hoovered.

Name: Fléin of the Ironfists living in the Orocarni

Character Description Form:


1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – NO unless you count the Green Dragon or Unforbidden.

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? None.

List them, please: N/A

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

_______________________________________

TGWBS's character

NAME: Fléin son of Fréin (of the Ironfists).

AGE: 102 (and just come of Age)

RACE: Dwarf, Ironfist.

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Steel axe. It's double edged and very sharp, you know. A little boringly conventional, I'll admit, but quite handy.

APPEARANCE: Short and Bearded. Four feet and six inches tall. Black, curly hair not restricted to conventional hair-growing areas. Surprisingly un-ironlike fists. Has a penchant for steel chain mail. Also wears a round steel helmet. Weathered, brown skin and intelligent black eyes. When not wearing a helmet, his hear appears rather flat and therefore perfect for resting e.g. mugs upon.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Likes throwing Khuzdul into his sentences. Slow to make friends, quick to anger. Rather blunt, as opposed to his axe. Speaks little and with a strong Dwarvish accent. Dislikes his head being used as a table, dislikes Elves. Likes mining, crafting, selling, hoarding and hewing. Despite his quietness, an incredibly intelligent fellow. Weaknesses include being rather short. Strengths include being at a good height to remove people's stomachs with ease.

HISTORY: The tale of Fléin's coming to Mordor is a most curious one. Fréin's House, the Ironfoots, or, as some preferred, Ironfeet, traditionally dwelt at the feet of the Orocarni. Near the beginning of the Fourth Age, these were rediscovered by the Men of Gondor and thus opened up to trade.

Due to the general decline of the Dwarvish race, Fléin's father was one of the few sentient beings left in Middle Earth capable of crafting weapons so pointy that, were one to place it on the earth, it would near instantaneously submerge itself to the hilt. By the time of Fléin's coming of age, therefore, his father was a hugely successful merchant, with stalls in most major Gondorian cities.

Shortly after his hundredth birthday, Fléin's father convinced him to take a trip to Gondor to get a real feel for the business world, for though Fléin was a shrewd dwarf, he had little practicle experience, due largely to the absence of civilisation in the parts where he lived. He also intended to make pilgrimages to Khazad-Dum, Kheled-Zaram, Durin's Stone, Aglarond and the field of Azanulbizar.

His first stop, however, was Minas Tirith, to meet the family's accountant, or, as they were called in those days, computer, in those lands. Fléin's father had warned him of the accountant's somewhat... sensitive nature. "He often has breakdowns, lad, but he is a good man. Just pray you find him well."

"Where is Iorin?" he had nervously asked the maid upon finding the building.

"I'm afraid he's just had a little bit of a psychological breakdown, master Dwarf," the maid had replied nonchalantly. "Currently, he believes himself to be a duck."

The Dwarf had sworn, tugging at his beard. "Why does my computer keep breaking down!" he yodelled into the cold Gondorian morning.

Swiftly, two pairs of burly arms had grabbed him from behind and begun hurling him towards a cart. He had protested in the form of loud yells and attempting to remove one of the men's legs, but to no avail. And so, by a quirk of fate, he had found himself in the most inhospitable realm in Middle Earth.

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the guy who be short's post:

Much as Fléin would have liked to have left Mordor, he simply didn't have enough energy to be enthusiastic. Being woken at four ante meridian by twittering songbirds was hardly the best way to start a day, but when said awakening is accompanied by discovering you have conjunctivitis - well, it's hard to deal with. After discovering that he was not, in fact, blind, but merely lacking in eyelid mobility due to a gooey discharge, Fléin had tried to rush blindly to the well. Unfortunately, fate was smiling down in a particularly twisted manner that day, and before he had taken five paces, Fléin was face down on the ground due to excess phlegm coating the floor.

Life in Mordor was never easy, but people have especially bad days even in the Black Land. So far, this appeared to be one of them. He had been in Mordor for only two years, maybe less, but the longing to leave was like a manic kitten in his heart - painful and stingingly noticable.

So it was that Fléin found himself behind a large crowd at Cair Pairadocks, hoping beyond hope that he would be chosen to leave Mordor.

The noise of flugel horns startled Fléin, causing him to blink, or rather, causing him to perform half of the action that is generally thought sufficient to be considered a blink. His eyes stuck shut.

"Blasted Conjunctivitis!" the Dwarf swore. He had visited a nurse just before coming to the docks, but she was a know nothing and hadn't been any help at all. In a way, it was perhaps nicer having ones eyes sealed shut. One didn't have to take into account the blasted landscape, or the even more blasted aspects of civilisation that had made their way into Mordor.

"Excuse me," Fléin intoned into the air at large. I've just gone temporarily blind. Little help, someone?"

"Blindness? How positively bestial. Do stay away from me, be a good fellow," a snotty upperclassman had replied.

The Dwarf sighed. Sometimes it was better to say nothing at all. He stuck his fists into his eyes and forcibly peeled them apart.

By this time, the Grand Anakronist had already declared the name of Alumìne Umfuìl as the first member of the Offending Party. Though he had freed his eyes (albeit they were streaming pus all over his face and into his beard) Fléin couldn't see her through the press of human bodies around him. From what he heard, he instantly disliked the girl. Here she was, given the chance to leave this curséd land - what a chance! - and all she could do was moan about her name.

Panakeia, the next name to be selected, turned out to be a woman who sounded even more annoying than Alumìne. What a buffoon, he thought. Thank goodness I'm not her, even if my eyes are melting.

Wilhelmia Brochenbach was next. What a disgusting name. And yet another woman? Suspicions about the Grand Anakronist's honour whizzed through Fléin's mind. But then again, why would he choose a whiny child, an idiotic saleswoman and an old bat out of all the women in Mordor?

The possibility that he was being bitter about his bad morning and taking it out, completely unjustifiably, on those running into a bit of luck flittered through Fléin's mind. He tried to make it go away.

"Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfoots" the Grand Anakronist cried, his voice rolling through the courtyard.

"Ironfeet!" injected an annoying English teacher.

Fléin couldn't believe it. What a piece of luck! How wonderfully harmonious the universe seemed, that he should be given the chance to leave with those three fine women! "That's me! That's me!" he screamed. "Out of my way!"

The crowd parted around him, and he made his way up to the ATM and the Grand Anakronist himself. The latter eyed him with disdain. "It is, is it?" he intoned, looking down the length of his nose at the Dwarf.

"Er, yes, sir," Fléin meekly replied, but the Grand Anakronist had already turned to read the next card the machine had just excreted, so he stood there, smiling jovially at the whiner, the nutter and the old bat.

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[littlemanpoet]

Good stuff, Guy. I eagerly await your first post.

[piosenniel]

Before your planning on cameos goes forward, I'd like to make the request that for this game, you forego them. Since this type of RPG is an experimental one, and there were a number of hoops jumped through to get it on board, I'd prefer that it not go off onto any sideroads with the use of cameos.

Sorry! But I'd really like this game to be tight and well written and something I can defend as a viable RPG type for the Barrow-Downs.

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by piosenniel

Before your planning on cameos goes forward, I'd like to make the request that for this game, you forego them.

No problem. Next question: who thinks it would be amusing for Alli to fall in love with The Grand Anakronist?

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by Feanor of the Peredhil

Next question: who thinks it would be amusing for Alli to fall in love with The Grand Anakronist?

A delicious waste of time for both parties.

[the guy who be short]

First post added.

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by the guy who be short

..., so he stood there, smiling jovially at the whiner, the nutter and the old bat.

Absolutely hilarious! Nothing needs to be changed. With every first post I see, the more excited I get about this rpg. Way to go, guys!

[the phantom]

Now who wants to fall in love with me?

I'm afraid that's not possible...

...everyone is already in love with you, m'dear.

lmp- I took your advice about revealing my character's full history. I won't do it until the game is in full swing.

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES/NO - Which one? I'm not sure. Do the birthday parties count? I know There was one in 2003, I believe, that was in one of the RPG sections. Does that officially make it RPG?

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? None.

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES/NO Yes

For your character please include:

NAME: Mardil II

AGE: 23

RACE: Human

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.): Mardil loves weapons. He carries a spear in his hands and a bow and a light sword across his back. He also loves throwing knives, and has a huge assortment of them across his chest, in his belt, in holsters on his legs, and even a couple in his boots. Mardil also carries various poisons, some of which are made for poisoning food and drinks, and others for coating his throwing knives.

APPEARANCE: Mardil has a lean athletic build with a height slightly less than average. He has blue eyes, and long, dirty-blonde hair.

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): Mardil is extremely smart and is charming when he needs to be and has many talents, which causes him to think an awful lot of himself. He fancies himself as the best all-around human in the world. But, this belief results in an extreme fear of failure, since, of course, the best in the world should never fail.

Mardil is scared to death of performing poorly on anything, therefore he tends to be lazy and do nothing at all, unless there is no risk involved. When he does do something, he purposefully does not give his best effort, and makes sure that everyone else can tell. That way, if he fails he can use the excuse that he wasn't trying. But he seldom has to use that excuse. His less than best effort is usually good enough to succeed.

Mardil, though he loves weapons, is a bit of a coward when it comes to fighting (which there is a lot of in Mordor). He avoids fights at all costs, even if he thinks he will for sure win. He does this because he is afraid of not only dying, but of being harmed. He very much dislikes uncomfortable things like cuts and scratches, and considers a battle a loss if he receives so much as a sprained pinky.

When he is forced to fight, though he is fairly strong, he does not rely on strength to win because other fighters are often larger than him. He relies on his fantastic speed/agility/reflexes and weapons skills to overcome his foes. His preferred method is to strike surprise blows. For instance, he will agree to duel his opponent using swords, and then as soon as the fight begins Mardil will fling a poisoned throwing dagger into his opponent's foot. In other words, he is more than willing to cheat.

About the only time Mardil does not act cowardly is when he is trying to reel in a beautiful young lady. One time he challenged three trolls to a fight in order to earn some alone time with a fair maiden.

Mardil is often abrasive, and doesn't worry about sparing people's feelings when he talks. At times, he will purposefully stir up bad feelings and arguments just for entertainment.

And yes, I know what you are thinking- a cheating, egotistical, womanizing, mean, coward?! This Mardil is a horrible person! But that is simply not true (well, not entirely true at any rate). Mardil used to be better- before Mordor.

The pre-Mordor Mardil was wonderful to be around. He enjoyed making others laugh and liked to toss out compliments to nearly everyone. He was an engaging speaker, and did not have a difficult time convincing people to see things his way.

He also had a special soft spot for children. He loved to play games with them, but he especially loved to teach them things. He derived great satisfaction from imparting knowledge to others.

But that Mardil has been gone for several years.

HISTORY: According to his records, Mardil was officially assigned to Mordor for "quoting Yoda", but when asked about it he denies ever having done it. He won't say why he believes he was sent.

No one knows anything about Mardil- except his two "guards", Gundor and Bregor. The two men, both middle-aged, guard Mardil's tent, do all of his tasks for him, and refer to him as Milord or Master. However, the two men bite their tongues when asked about Mardil, and so no one has learned what they know about him. Mardil's speech, pronunciation, and mannerisms peg him as a member of the upper class of Gondor, but that is about all anyone can guess.

He was sent to Mordor when he was eighteen. Gundor and Bregor joined him one month later. Two years after arriving, Mardil was summoned by the Grand Anakronist and given a letter from outside Mordor. No one knows who it was from or what information it contained. Mardil claimed it was nothing, but he was obviously lying, for that is when his behavior took a sudden turn for the worse. He had always been capable of cutting remarks and made them now and then when he thought they were deserved, but now he became perpetually abrasive. His egotism and arrogance, which had previously been somewhat endearing, grew into unbearable full blown narcissism, from which arose his cowardice.

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the phantom's post

A loud knock at his bedroom door spurred Mardil into a state of slight consciousness.

"Wha- whass goin' on...mmm, jusss...go'way...m'sleepin'..." he mumbled, slipping back into slumber as he spoke.

The knock sounded again. Mardil opened his eyes. Annoyed, he grumbled, "Leave me alone," but the knock sounded again, accompanied by a "I have a message for you, Lord Mardil."

Mardil recognized the speaker. "Gundor, I told you I'm trying to sleep. I'll read my message later!"

"But Milord," protested Gundor, "The message is from the Grand Anakronist. The man who delivered it said it was imperative that it be given to you immediately."

Mardil rolled over onto his back and stretched his arms out above his head. "Well, I suppose now that I'm awake I might as well read it. Bring it to me."

The door to the well furnished room opened and a tall man with grey-flecked black hair entered, carrying a parchment in his left hand. He was dressed in finely crafted armor and held a spear in his right hand. "Here it is, Master," he said as he offered Mardil the parchment.

Mardil took the message and unfolded it. It read-

Lord Mardil II,

I know that you never bother to come to gatherings, even if they are declared mandatory, but I would strongly suggest joining the assembly in Caer Pairadocks this morning.

I know what you are thinking. You believe there is no way that your name will be chosen because the King's writ and pardon are involved, but I assure you, the King has no control over which names are picked. The selection is random. The only person that can influence the ATM machine is me- The Grand Anakronist.

And now that I've said that, let me just say that I have a strong feeling your name will be chosen.

If you do not arrive before noon you forfeit your chance of escape.

-The Grand Anakronist

Mardil sighed and handed the letter back to Gundor. "What did it say, Milord?"

"Go ahead and read it if you like, Gundor." Mardil sat for a moment staring at the wall, waiting for Gundor to finish.

After Gundor reached the end of the letter, he looked up. "I assume you are going to go, Lord Mardil?"

"I suppose. My life would certainly be easier back home than it is here, but... it wouldn't be as good as the way I left it. I'm worried that I would constantly compare my life with what it was before Mordor- and that would rob me of all joy. Perhaps it would be best to stay here."

"That may be true," said Gundor, "But if I may say so, Milord, there are more reasons to live than for joy and happiness. What about power, your family's honor and status, and revenge against those that wronged you? Surely those things are worth pursuing. Aren't those reasons good enough to leave Mordor for?"

Mardil smiled grimly. "Yes, Gundor, those are good reasons." After a short pause, Mardil stood to his feet and placed his hand on Gundor's shoulder. "You are a good and faithful servant, Gundor. I can't tell you how glad I am that you and Bregor chose to join me here. If I escape I will find a way to get you out of this place. I promise. Now, go and get Bregor and have him help you pack my things, and then load them onto a cart and deliver them to me in Caer Pairadocks. I will go on ahead to be sure I am there before noon."

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Mardil stood upon a balcony overlooking the courtyard of Caer Pairadocks. So far, The Grand Anakronist had called forward an overdressed middle aged lady, a short old lady, a dwarf, a slender girl who looked to be around seventeen, and a young lady who was overly touchy about the pronunciation of her name. I hope she isn't that touchy about everything. If she is, she will be a real pain to have along thought Mardil, though she certainly is easy on the eyes he observed as he looked her up and down for about the twentieth time.

The voice of the Grand Anakronist interrupted Mardil's musings. "Mardil II!"

Mardil waved from the balcony. The Grand Anakronist looked up at him and nodded.

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[piosenniel]

Just to clarify for the newer gamers - the Inns and the Birthday Party threads don't count as Barrow-Downs RPG's. Only those games which have a posted game proposal and character bios for each player count as official RPG's.

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Looking forward to following along in this game!

~*~ Pio

[Kath]

Eep! Looks like everyones done except me! I promise it's on it's way. The first post is mostly complete and the history is in the planning stages. It will be up by tomorrow evening at the latest (just depends what time I get up after this party tonight!).

And if you want my character's name, I was feeling silly and made it Sai Onara. However, it was only after coming up with it that I read Fea's post and realised her characters name is also able to be read across like that so if she wants it changed I'm happy to do so.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Me? Want it changed? Not a chance. I like it. Sai is pretty and Onara amuses me.

PS: TP: I love it.