Outracing the Flames Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

Nogrod’s Character

NAME: Sythric

AGE: 41

RACE: Men

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Good,basic Rohirrim sword, gotten as a honorary gift from the riders’ guild at Croacht after ten years of service: good weapon, but not a masterpiece or anything of worth in gold in the wide world. Brand new horserider’s longspear, iron tipped, gotten from the March-warden. Longbow, made of fir, basic model, not more than ten years’ old, bought from an armourer in Bregoware + 18 arrows in his own soft leather quiver + 20 arrows tied with a string, from the March-warden. Small round shield of wood (swordmans’ shield), gotten as a part of a “starters’ kit” at Croacht, and has hanged along ever since: badly bruised and damaged, the paintings in the leather topping almost all gone. Mediumsized knife, iron blade, not sot much a weapon, as an all around tool: present from his much admired great-uncle (starring: the family-logo, a silver wolf’s head at the back of the handle – makes it propably the second or third most valuable item he has with him). Toughened leather breast-armour and greaves (on arms & legs), another gift from his great-uncle, a worthy gift indeed. No helmet: Sythric never liked them.

APPEARANCE: Normal height, clearly under six feet. Has gained a little surplus weight as compared to his youth, but not a fat man at any standard. In a good shape to his age, strongly built. Hairline at the forehead has escaped a bit higher, so he combs his hair backwards and ties it to two ponytails at the back. Hair colour: yellowish-light brown. No whiskers over the upper lip, but strong sidewhiskers + plaited beard (pigtail!). Blue-grey eyes that can be quite flashing and intense, but have also a “switched-off” -position. Mellow-orange cotton shirt (under the leather armour) and light brown leather trousers.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Sythric is not the ice-breaker at the parties! From the early childhood onwards, he has had the feeling, that he is being walked through his life without anyone bothering to ask, what he himself would like to do or decide. After his assignment with the riders, he has tried to wrestle himself free from this, but due to his tough, conservative upbringing, he hasn’t quite gone over that yet. All this has made him quite a cynical, almost nihilistic – and at lately, quite straight-forward speaking man. Still, there is a romantic inside of him. Secretly he believes in justice and freedom for the days to come. That is well revealed in his almost altruistic love of young people, male or female: in the drive, which he gets into, when he is going riding on with the youngsters, or teaching them to shoot arrows etc. He truly believes, that the new generation can make the difference.

Over that, it should be mentioned, that he is quite moody and unpredictable: at a moment, tender and caring, at another, sarcastic and dooming.

HISTORY: Born to Skara, a farming community, or indeed a manor farm of some esteem, Sythric had a twofold inheritance: either to be a landlord or a soldier. As he was the second child (his big brother Swithulf is 2-years older), the latter choice seemed to be calling him. As he won all the childrens’ fights with his brother and cousins, his father laid great expectations on him. He was to be a rider, and he was trained to that from the beginning. If everything would have gone according to his fathers’ wishes, he would have become a heroic rider of Rohan. That never happened: he served at the riders of Croacht (the same place were Raedwald was serving – they both knew each other and even shared some battles together) and returned “fully served” at the age of 30, as a mere sergeant (that was his dad’s point of view).

His great idol had been his great-uncle, Limferth, who had, in his time, served at the “rohirrim proper”, the king’s hird. The tokens his great-uncle ordered to be given to him at his deathbed (the breast-armour & greaves and the knife), were great marks of honour for him. And they still are. The only cause of envy was, that his great-uncle’s sword and shield went to his cousin, Aethelbane, and not to him.

As Sythric returned, he was an oldtimer to marry, but there was a younger half-kinswoman, Ceolflaed, who had been recently been widowed with no children. All the families thought, that this would be a good marriage, and so the wedding was held. They had a rush of love: Sythric trying it seriously the first time, Ceolflaed trying to make it reality a second time. It passed away quite quickly. They couldn’t divorce, because of the conservative values of the time, but also, and more importantly, because of the strong social and economic ties that had been settled between the families under the umbrella of being “kinsfolk”. The “old couple” had their first child, Hunlaf, the very same year Sytheric came back from the riders’. Their daughter Cwen was born about three years later. That was the time-span of their love. After that it waned.

Sythric got to doing anything else than being with his wife. He started mentoring bregowarian youngsters and teens in riding, sword handling, archery etc. Many wealthy families were ready to pay for this teaching for their young hopefuls. Added to his savings from the military, he didn’t have to make any other living for their family. They lived at Skara, at the old farmhouse, the one that was built there first, by the first settlers of Woldland. It was an old and not so comfortable logging, but it was ok. for Sythric. It had tradition. His brother Swithulf lived at the magnificient main-building of Skara: it had 7 rooms and the longhall (not to mention all the workingrooms of the three household servants – the stableboy and field-assistants had their own little dwelling near the longhouse). In Sythric’s house there was just the one main area, and the dormitory corners with curtains. But he was happy with it.

Lately Sythric had managed to persuade his brother Swithulf to let his youngest sons ride with him – and after a much longer conversation, his eldest daughter too. And as his own son Hunlaf was also coming to an age, they started having their own riding parties every now and then. The youngsters had a chance to learn skills they admired, and Sythric a chance to be away from home a few days in a row.

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Nogrod’s post ------- Place after Undómë's Rædwald post

Sythric was tending a dying fire in the middle of the northern wilderness, when he heard the distant horns in the still air. The three young lads and the girl were sleeping a good nights’ sleep, and the horses were taking their well earned rest just a few feet away. He knew immediately, what the horns meant. All the things he had seen and recollected from other ranging peoples’ depictions during the last year, or year and a half, pointed to one direction only: a large scale orc raiding party would be up on their village one day or another, this autumn or winter, pillaging and plundering. Now it seemed to have come to happen.

He got so excited, that he almost bruised the lads, kicking and shaking them out of their happy dreamworld. One of them was his own son, Hunlaf, 12-year old kid, who still sucked his thumb while asleep. The other two lads were the youngest sons of his brother, Swithulf: Waermund and Waerferth (16 & 15 respectively), and the girl, indeed a handsome young lady, was his brothers’ still unmarried daughter Winflaed (17). He urged them to get up and on the road. There was alarm at Bregoware, an alarm that hadn’t sounded during the decades the Bregowarians remembered. It was time to ride, and ride fast. They rode south, towards the town, and Sythric pressed them forwards as if all the hounds of Mordor would have been on their heels. The youngsters started to sharpen, got alarmed, all senses open. It was a ride in a deep night and darkness the young had never encountered – or were never taught how to cope with. They would remember it for the rest of their lives.

Some time after the daybreak they reached the outskirts of Bregoware. They had not been as fast as Sythric would have hoped for, but they hadn’t been as slow as he had feared. The young had been quite good indeed. He should have to praise them to his brother someday. At the small hill, north of the town centre, he told his young companions to reach homewards, and bid them tell his wife and brother, that he would be accompanying them soon enough. Then he rode down to the Town Hall.

The March-warden was having a council with the city elders, when Sythric entered the Hall. They all fell silent at his arrival. Before they had time to open their mouths in a greeting, Sythric got straight into the business – as was to be expected from him: “So, an orc party, much larger than a normal one, now coming to pillage for real, not just probing, isn’t it? Today or tomorrow?”

“That’s correct, and sadly, at the same time incorrect, master Sythric,” said the March-warden slowly. Sythric had never quite catched the idea, why March-warden preferred to call him ‘master’. There was something playful or humorous in that honorific, but was it all? “It’s just much worse. A greater party, yes. Orcs, yes. But also easterlings. And not a raiding party... but a full army. We have already called for evacuation at noon.” The March-warden made a rhetorical pause to let his word sink in, deep down to the bottom of it all. Sythric felt his blood thrusting with such velocity through his rusting veins that he thought he could not cope with it for long. In the following silence he almost heard his own heart thumping, with ever increasing speed. So, it did come to this, he thought to himself, my skills were never needed here when I had them, and now, when they would be needed, I don’t have them anymore. I’ve defended many villages and run against many enemies, but never have I defended my own town, my own people. Now I am not able, not more than the other old battle-rags around here: some council, the last defense perhaps... His solitary thoughts were distracted by ever more urgent whispering by the council members. They were talking about him. He knew it.

“Master Sythric”, began the March-warden, as their discussion had settled. “Would you serve your town in a time of distress, in an errand both urgent and most crucial to our destiny?” Hearing the unexpected pledge in the middle of his self-depressing thoughts, Sythric only nodded slightly, and kind of wondered, whether this man was really asking, would he do something for the town, or was it again some rhetorical nicety. The March-warden started explaining the events of the night, but when he got into the riding party and those involved in it, old counselor Hugebryth cut in, a very cynical tone in his soft voice: “It probably was pure madness to send just four riders for an errand of that importance at times like these. But what should we say about the wisdom of choosing two boys and two girls whose experience can be compared to that of the kids? Would you send your son Sythric, or would you go yourself? What should we have decided last night? Let me say, reason can not be seen dwelling here, under the roof of this very hall. They sure can ride, and some of them probably can hunt or fend off foxes from their goat herds. But have they ever even seen an orc, or an easterling warrior in full armour, not to talk of confronting one, or ten? And even if they would make it to the Golden Hall, could they get an audience, or would anyone believe them, or even take them seriously? Just asking, old and tired man as I am...”

So, this is it, no use in real war, but ready to be sacrificed with a quest, that only a fool would hope to have an effect on anything, thought Sythric by himself. Aloud he said: “If it is the wish of the council, that I should trace and join them on this errand, so be it. You don’t have to ask, whether I’m willing to help my town. You know the answer. And if this is the way you see fit, then this is the road I will take. But first I must see to my family and my brother to arrange evacuation affairs. And because I have practically been riding since yesterday morning, both I and my horse need some rest. I could be off late afternoon and if I ride without pause, I should reach them early tomorrow morning. Is that all right with the council, or should I try to hasten?”.

“We are most grateful to you, master Sythric. Is there anything you would need on your quest, any gear you would like to upgrade? You are welcome to claim them from my armoury, ... or kitchen”, said the March-warden. “My spear is not in shape it used to be, and one could always do with some extra arrows. Otherwise, I do prefer my own equipment. Some dried meat would be useful, my share of our own would then go to my children and my brothers’ children. It may be a tuff journey for you all too.” Sythric answered. The March-warden called for the armourer to see these items to Sythric’s old farmhouse before noon.

As Sythric was taking his leave, the old counselor Hugebryth rose up from his chair and called him to wait. He took a couple of short steps towards Sythric and addressed him, looking straight into his eyes, kind of evaluating him as he spoke: “We all know you are a good man, and we also know that as a mentor for many of our young riders, you love and care for them deeply. Just remember, that this message to the King, no matter how slim are the chances that it will affect anything in the end, is the single most important thing on your journey. It’s more important than the lives of any one of those youngsters, and remember also this: your being alive is the best insurance we have for the message reaching its destination. Don’t try to be a hero of your conscience, be the hero of your people.” He took a step backwards and mumbled quietly, as to himself, even the words were at least half directed to Sythric: “If this would be done my way, you would have ten spearman riding with you – maybe we wouldn’t even need you then, other than just taking the youngsters safely back.”

Sythric bowed and exited the hall. He rode to his old farmhouse and ordered the farmhand to see to his horse. Then he negotiated evacuation-matters with his brother. His wife and children would of course go with his brother’s family, and with all the rest from Skara. It was just a question of some special items he would like to be taken with for him, if possible, and such matters. As he then told her wife about this new twist of his fate, they suddenly embraced, even hesitantly kissed each other. That hadn’t happen in years. There was a little shining tear in his eye, when he hugged his children, and demanded Hunlaf to defend his little sister, Cwen (9) in all circumstances, and her mom too. It was his duty as the oldest man in his family.

Then he started to gather his war gear in silence. No one said a word. The children were watching their father collecting and packing items slowly, but with precision of a life long experience. Hunlaf took Cwen by the hand, and they wept quietly together, without tears, just moist eyes gleaming ever brighter. Neither dared to look at each other. Ceolflaed turned her back to the room and just stared out of the window. Her shoulders were trembling weakly. Sythric tried to force a smile to his children when he was finished, but couldn’t. Slowly he bent himself down to meet his childrens’ eyelevel, looked them both in the eyes, took a strong grasp from both of their shoulders, and pressed them softly but firmly. “There will be a better world, one day there will be. You shall see it”, he almost whispered. He rose up and got out of the hall to the barnhouse to get some sleep.

In the dim light of the barn attic, laying on the hays, his tears flew openly. He was tired, frustrated, kind of offended, angry, and most of all, afraid of the fate of his children, his brother and his children, even of his wife. When he fell asleep at last, he was seeing images of burnt houses, screaming children and marauding orcs, fire and blood. And riding, all the riding... Things that had really happened, and things he hoped, never would.

As Sythric woke up, it was late afternoon. His horse was brushed and fed and looked quite lively again. March-wardens’ promised gear had been delivered to the door of the old farmhouse. Everything was quiet and empty. There was no one at sight: just birds singing their songs and the sound of the grasshoppers filling the air. Suddenly he saw a glimmer at the doorsteps of the old farmhouse. He took a closer look and found out, that it was a small wristband, made out of little pieces of glass. It was the band of Cwen, made by Sythric himself, when Cwen had her fifth birthday. He held it in his hand for a while, just staring at it and then slipped it carefully into his beltsack. He packed the rest of his gear, saddled his horse and rode out, into the empty fields.

[piosenniel]

CARRY-ALONG CHARACTERS


Carry-along character – Undómë

NAME: Rædwald (the aging lancer)

AGE: 42

RACE: Man of Bregoware

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: long, plain oak, iron tipped lance; plain iron short sword; iron helm, boiled leather vest beneath a short, sleeveless chain-mail shirt. Other items of armor have been melted down by him at one time or another for farm implements and repairs.

APPEARANCE: Ash blond hair, streaked with white. Thick white mustache with close trimmed beard, also much streaked with white. Faded blue eyes. Skin wrinkled and roughened from many years spent in the sun moving his herds about. Ordinary homespun clothing, leather breeches, thick, tight woven, hooded brown cape. Scuffed and worn mid-calf boots.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Cautious, soft spoken, Good at sizing up problems and paring them down to their essentials. He’s not as quick physically as he was when he was younger. He likes to think this isn’t so and continues to act as if his reflexes were as acute as if he were in his twenties.

HISTORY: The youngest son in his family, Rædwald never married. He figured his father’s resources would be stretched far enough for his older brothers and his sister’s dowry.

At the age of seventeen he left home with the blessings of his father to serve in the ranks of the Riders for one of the more important Lords along the Rohan borderlands. He served for eleven years, coming back to Bregoware at the news of his father’s death to help with the homestead and the family flocks.

From his service to the Lord he had managed to save a small pouch of coins with which he bought a trio of nanny goats and one billy. He has since increased his herd to about fifteen head. He lives in a small hut he built on the outskirts of his father’s (now Rædwald’s oldest brother’s) land and spends all of his days with his little herd.

His hut borders on Leof’s land. He and Meghan and Leof have often aided each other with the goat birthings or the doctoring of various ailments of their animals. They have also cross mated their flocks to make for stronger, healthier goats. Rædwald is fond of Meghan, thinking of her as almost a niece of his own. She and he are close friends and respect each other for their knowledge and love of their flock.

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Rædwald

Undómë's post

(I'll put this up after the group leaves the village. He'll follow after them and meet with them when they make camp)

It was late morning, the four riders would already be well on their way from the village. Meghan’s brother, Leof, had come earlier in the morning to ask a favor of Rædwald. Since Leof had his family and his mother to look after, would Rædwald follow after Meghan and keep an eye on her for him. After a short consideration, the older man had said he would do this, for a promise from the younger man. And so they met for one last word together before Rædwald left.

‘Now, Leof,’ Rædwald said, motioning for Meghan’s brother to follow after him. ‘I’ve milked the nannies and penned them in with hay in the rick. The two billys are in there, too. And I’ve given them all a measure of oats.’ He pointed to the small pen where his little flock now stood jostling each other for positions near the fence, vying for his attentions. ‘Now over there,’ he went on, pointing toward the little shed that served as his barn. ‘There under the tarps is the hay you can take with your own. Some of it’s loose; got most of it tied into sheaves. And in my hut are three oaken barrels of oats. Take them, too.’

He reached down and gave his oldest nanny a scratch between her ears. ‘I’ll see you in a couple turns of the moon, old girl.’ His hand came up to the back of his neck and he rubbed it slowly. ‘Now you remember, Leof, what I told you.’ He raised his hand to cut off Leof’s protest. ‘Nay, I mean it. You must make that promise to me, or I cannot take this task on for you.’

Rædwald saw Meghan’s brother to the edge of his little holding. The man had made his promise, and Rædwald knew his goats would be safe, whether or not he made it back to them. He pushed what clothes he thought he’d need in his old leather pack; rolled up a bedroll; stuffed some dried fruits and meats into leather packets, and filled several skins with water from the well.

He got down on his hands and knees and looked beneath his single bed. It was dark, and he got back up to fetch a candle stub. There they were – his helm, crusted with dirt and some straw where it looked as if a mouse had nested in it; his mail shirt, a bit rusted here and there; the thick leather vest that went beneath it, nibbled on, he noted. And there, rolled up against the wall his oaken lance, the tip of it having fallen victim to the same rust as had his shirt.

Rædwald gave them all a cursory cleaning, then stuffed the helm, vest, and mail shirt into a canvas sack. He secured everything to his dun mare. Giving his little holding one last look about, he mounted up and moved at a tempered pace out of the village. If they met no problems along the way this day, then he would come upon them in the evening as they camped.

[piosenniel]

Farael's post - 2nd Post

Osmod’s first thought of the day was “For the Lord of the Mearas I overslept.” Looking out his window, he could see the sun was already shining brightly on this chilly autumn day. He was supposed to be meeting the other riders in less than an hour and yet he had not even started packing. He knew not what to do and so he laid in bed for a few more moments. “If I am to be late, I might as well enjoy what could very well be my last awakening on this comfortable bed.” Yet the grim thoughts convinced him to wake up at last rather than stay in bed. With a tired sigh he put his traveling clothes on and made his way to the kitchen. It was a pleasant surprise to find not only a full breakfast set for him, but also everything he planned to take was set and packed by the door. His family was waiting for him and they called him merrily. They enjoyed breakfast together and then walked with Osmod to the stables. He had been expecting his father to ride with him into the town, but when he did not make any attempts towards his own horse, Osmod understood he would be riding alone. Holding back the tears he hugged his father and his mother. The neighbours had also come to wish him good luck and so it was a fairly merry group that accompanied Osmod outside of his father’s plantations. He knew they would all look after each other and found that thought comforting.

The ride to the Town Hall was slow and uneventful. He did not want to tire neither himself nor his horse and so he got there a few minutes late. It seemed no one else had made it any earlier and as Osmod was being greeted by the March Warden and his wife, he heard a banging noise behind him. “Well, here I am; ready as I’ll ever be. Now if you’ll just show me to the horse you promised, I’ll get the both of us ready to be off . . . “. He turned around, startled by the sound and the claim, and smiled at the woman that had recently arrived. He remembered her name from the meeting the night before and so he greeted her. “Miss Meghan, I admire your enthusiasm. I hope the other riders will be as excited as you seem to be about our… adventure. Myself, well… I must say, now that departing seems imminent, I’m all the more hesitant. Yet I hope you will bear with me through today, I’m sure I shall feel better tomorrow after camping on the outdoors.” He smiled at her and walked over to shake her hand. “I am Osmod, just in case you have forgotten.”


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This thread will be opened once all the character bios and posts are on the Planning Thread.

Once I've transferred all the bios and posts here - I'll open this thread.

Arry - you can then put the posts in the order you want them for the game thread and I'll open the game for play.

~*~ Pio, game moderator

[Naria]

Does everyone have there posts in? If so, what day are we starting the game?

[piosenniel]

Arry will be available for the game on Tuesday - so that's the day the game thread will open.



~*~ Pio

[Arry]

Let’s group the different villagers together and put the name of their village above each post for now. Wulfham for the Rohan proper villagers/Bregoware for the Outlanders.

The older characters, Undómë’s first and Nogrod’s following hers, can be posted later – after the Outlanders are well on their way. Pio you can post them at the appropriate time – or you two gamers can get them on at the right time, if you’re able.

Post Order:

Wulfham

Arry
Naria
Valier
Tevildo

---

Bregoware

Farael
Eowyn Skywalker
Maeggaladiel
Undómë


See you all on Tuesday or shortly thereafter as your schedules allow!

-- Arry

[Farael]

Pio, Arry and all my Bregoware friends. With regards to the ordering of our posts, and most importantly our second posts I was thinking that we could make a big mega-post with a short second post of each of us (I believe Undome and myself have already taken our characters to the Town Hall the following morning) in which we introduce each character to each other and then we can carry on with our "adventure".

Sounds good? if not, Undome's second part of the first post and my second post will be a bit too short when compared with the others.... or so I think

Looking forward to writing with you all!!