Outracing the Flames Discussion Thread - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:21 AM

Arry invites you play in his game:

Outracing the Flames

Basic Storyline:

It is late autumn of 3017 TA; the War of the Ring will begin in June of 3018 TA. Orcs and Easterlings have begun to rampage near the eastern borders of Rohan. One of the small villages just outside the eastern Rohan border has been hit hard, most of its people killed, its houses and barns burned. The leader of that village has sent messengers out to those other villages nearby which he thought might be next on the agenda of the ravaging orcs/Easterlings.

One of the messengers has come to the village of Wulfham, a village just within the eastern boundaries of Rohan. The March-warden (minor Lord) there sends out a number of young volunteers to ride to Edoras to raise the alarm as they go along and to bring back assistance. The March-warden intends to pack the village up and move them all towards Edoras for protection. All of his armed men will ride with them - that's why the younger folk are asked to be the messengers.

During the first week of their ride, they encounter another group of riders who’ve come from a small village, Bregoware, just outside the eastern boundaries of Rohan (that would be on the other side of The Great River – the Anduin).

The two groups will have to form an alliance of some sort in order to survive the ride and deliver the message to Edoras.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:22 AM

The purpose of the story is to: Bring news of the destruction of outlying villages to King Theoden at Edoras

This means we will know the story is over when: The message is delivered (or if there is interest in continued play – when the messengers are reunited with their villages)

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:23 AM

Starting Location: The far eastern borders of Rohan, somewhere near the Wold. (See Map)

Likely destination: Edoras – the King’s Hall

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:24 AM

Timeframes:

This game takes place in the Third Age, very late autumn, of the year just prior to the start of the War of the Ring. (The War of the Ring begins in June of 3018 TA)

The storyline itself or plot covers about a month to a month and a half.

This game requires a time commitment of three (3) months from me, the game owner, and from the major players.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:25 AM

Other thoughts:

We would most likely be from farming villages (raising crops and small animals) - not horse raisers. The outlying lands are a little harsher than the grassy lands nearer to Edoras.

Women would be as likely to know how to wield weapons as the men, though I don't think they would be able to become professional soldiers in the employ of the March-warden.

Weapons would probably be simpler than those of the professional army - plain steel swords, hunting bows, knives; stout sharpened wood staves - the sorts of things farmers might have in their family armory.

I was thinking we would be about 200 or 250 miles from Edoras, possibly up near the Wold.

I'd like our route from the eastern border to take us toward where the Snowbourne River intersects the Entwash. We can ride along the Snowbourne, then, to Edoras. The Snowbourne River is that little white dotted line that connects, on the first map below, to the Entwash River, and goes straight to Edoras.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:26 AM

MAPS:

Map 1

Map 2

Map 3

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:33 AM

Here are a couple of name lists for reference in making up Rohirric names for your character.

Old English name lists:

MALE

FEMALE

~*~

Anglo-Saxon name lists:

MALE

FEMALE

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:37 AM

Dedicated Players: (Their character bios and First Posts will need to be on board before the Discussion Thread is opened.)

1.) Farael
2.) Maeggaladiel
3.) Naria
4.) Tevildo
5.) Undómë
6.) Valier
7.) Arry
8.) Eowyn Skywalker
9.) Nogrod

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:39 AM

CHARACTERS/PLAYERS

Rohan village - Wulfham

1.) Valier – female – 19 y/o - Vaenosa
2.) Naria – female - 18 y/o - Incana
3.) Tevildo - male – 16 y/o (passes for 18) - Dorran
4.) Arry – male – 20 y/o - Brand

~*~

Outlander village - Bregoware

1.) Undómë – female – 17y/o - Meghan --- (carry-along character - male - 42 y/o - Rædwald)
2.) Farael – male – 20y/o - Osmod (Osse)
3.) Maeggaladiel – male – 18y/o - Fion
4.) Eowyn Skywalker – 20y/o - Eostre Merir
5.) Nogrod - Sythric

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:41 AM

Arry’s character

NAME: Brand,

AGE: 20 years old

RACE: Men

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: An old short sword, plain blade with leather wrapped grip – passably fair at using it. An all purpose double edged knife he always wears on his belt – uses it throughout his daily routine. Weapon of choice is his stout oak cudgel he uses when out with the small flock of sheep belonging to his family.

APPEARANCE: 5’ 6”, 140 lbs; fair skinned with an uneven light tan; lean build, lithely muscled; straw blond hair, chopped off just below the shoulders and bound back with a leather thong. Dark blue eyes. Wears dark brown breeches, homespun tunic, brown leather belt with a brass buckle. Scuffed mid-calf boots Has a tightwoven cloak his mother made him – light brown.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Brand is a quiet, even tempered, dependable fellow. Hardworker. Likes to see a task through to the very end. He likes the rhythm of the old ways, or so he calls them, doesn’t care much for change, and can be quite suspicious of any who live outside his village. He weighs almost everything in light of how it will benefit his family first and then his townsmen. He is, of course, a loyal man to his King, and would knock anyone down with a blow from his cudgel who’d gainsay him. The King, though, is more a vague idea to him than a real man.

HISTORY: He comes from a long line of sheep farmers, and as the only son, he expects to take over the running of the family farm when he is older. He has two sisters, both older than he by several years – Hilde and Winnifred. They are married and plague him constantly with invitations to meet what they consider suitable matches for him. He is not in the market for a wife at present. He has projects about the family farm he wants done before he starts thinking of a family. He’s not traveled much – just those times with the flock as he moved them from grassy area to grassy area. And never across The Great River. Those times they move to summer pasture, he rides among them on his sturdy chestnut mare; his hound running at his side, keeping the sheep together. Dog and horse are as even tempered as their master.

Over the past year, the villagers have heard rumors of Orc and East-men pushing against the outlying borders of those little hamlets that lie just east of the river and beyond. Brand has pushed down the panic and fear those stories first brought him. Now he is determined to figure out some way he can be of use in the protection of his family, his village, and the livelihoods that sustain them.

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FIRST POST FOR THE GAME FOR THE ROHAN VILLAGERS

Arry’s post

The iron bell that hung in the wooden tower above the Lord of Wulfham’s mead-hall rang out in the dark watches of the night. Aldwulf, the march-warden for this far eastern area of the Riddermark, sat in his carved chair giving orders to his wife and sons. They moved quietly and efficiently about him – pushing back benches and tables to make room for the crowd they knew would soon be there; heating up kettles of water for the hot tea the cold and tired villagers would need to hear the news.

Aldwulf rubbed his thumb along his coarsely bearded jawline. It was a nervous habit of his, helped him keep his focus he told himself. Tonight that was a lie. He couldn’t focus, not yet. The news was still too fresh. It made his gut ice cold to think of the horror that was coming their way.

A messenger had come earlier in the evening from one of the small hamlets a week’s ride north of Wulfham. The smoke they’d been seeing on the far hills now had a hideous face he’d told them. Orcs and men from the east-lands had made their way near to The Great River. A number of Outlander villages that lay in their path had been razed – the houses and barns burned to the ground, the people killed. The headman for the messenger’s village had sent him and a number of other messengers out to warn those who dwelt near them. And he, himself, had been sent by the headman to let the marchwarden know what was happening.

Questioned by Aldwulf, the man told him that many of the villages were heading to safety. A number to small fortressed hills further westward and some even making the long march to Edoras. ‘It is said,’ the messenger told him, that some great power to the south and east of us presses against the Mark and would swallow us one by one, until his shadow covers the grasslands and we are no more.’

The man would not stay once his message was delivered and the lord’s questions answered. He took a quick meal, a cup of ale. and then was on his way, riding back to intercept his own village’s flight to a place of safety.

‘Rouse yourself, Aldwulf,’ he heard his wife say as he considered the choices before him. ‘The crowd is come through the gate and will soon enter the hall.’ She handed him his thick vest to put on, for it was still cool in the hall, thought they’d piled the grates with wood and the flames licked at the offering hungrily. He tied back his grey shot hair with the piece of cord she gave him next and stood up before his chair as the villagers entered.

^*^*^*^

Brand squeezed along the south wall of the hall, making his way to a place nearer the raised platform where the Lord stood, talking to the heads of some of the more prosperous families in the village as well as the man who captained his small company of warriors. Brand waved off the offer of tea, focusing his gaze on that core of decision makers. Something big was happening and those who saw to the welfare of the village were discussing what should be done.

Aldwulf finished speaking to the men near him and motioned for the crowd to attend him. With an economy of words he explained the situation – that a messenger had come and the news bode ill for Wulfham. In the space of a few days, he would expect the villagers to pack up their belongings and be ready to move themselves and their animals to the safety of the King’s own city. The warriors would ride with them for protection, he told the people, many of whom were already muttering about the plan, both from fear and from the tumultuous turn they knew their lives would soon be taking.

Many questions were shouted at Aldwulf. And he took them as calmly as he could, giving as much assurance as he could to his frightened and angry people. When the asking was all done, and the ruffled feelings smoothed over for the moment, he raised his hand again, calling for quiet.

‘I have need of a small party of volunteers,’ he said, his gaze going about the room. ‘Fast riders to bring this news to Edoras. The King will want to protect his people and to do so he will need to know what we have learned. I would send some of my own armed men, but I want them all with us as we travel.’

His eyes rested on a number of folk about the hall and then moved on. ‘Four young people, those for whom others can pick up their responsibilities is what I want . . . what Wulfham needs.’ He nodded toward the captain of his men who began moving through the crowd with three other of his warriors.

Brand watched as three of them clapped their hands on the shoulders of a young villager each and led him or her . . . for there were two females he noted with some astonishment . . . to where the march-warden waited. ‘Poor sods,’ he murmured to himself, thanking his lucky stars that he did not stand among them.

Much to his surprise and dismay a voice rang out behind him. ‘There you are!’ the captain, himself, said, drawing near. He grasped Brand’s shoulder and urged him firmly toward the others.

A short while passed and villagers began to return to their houses, most to begin the long job of sorting through what they would need to bring; many to weep at what they must leave behind.

Brand and his chosen companions were told to go home and get what rest they could. Aldwulf would see them back at the hall midmorning to instruct them on what he wished them to do. ‘Bring your horses and what weapons you might have,’ he told them. ‘My house will fill your packs with food for traveling and with drink for several days' journey. You will leave directly then for the King with my written message.’

He nodded to them once he had finished speaking and then wishing them well, dismissed them to their beds.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:45 AM

Valier's Character

Name: Vaenosa

Age: 19

Race: Men

Gender: Female

Weapons:Handmade bow and quiver of arrows.Fairly good shot from horse back.Two small daggers,both homemade with red dyed leather hilts,hidden under her riding tunic.

Appearance:5'8 Slender,but with feminine curves.Mid back length, hay coloured hair that tended to curl(annoyingly)Hard,peircing blue eyes. Delicate facial features.Wears a tan riding outfit that consists of: pants,tunic,dark brown boots laced to the knee,and a brown leather hip pouch which belonged to her father.

Personality/Strenghts/Weaknesses: Cold,shy,quick to judge,untrusting.Has a sort of macabre sense of humor.Slightly obsessive with everything she attempts .Loyal to all those that she loves. Over confident, thinks things would be done better if she did them herself.Very self reliant, almost anti-social.

History: Lived on a small farm,that mostly grew crops for the surrounding farms.She is an only child.Her father died when she was 10.Her mother raised her by herself until she fell ill.Then Vaenosa cared for her.Has travelled.Always on her own with her chestnut stallion named Nay,who is a silly, giddy,fellow that loves to run.She never visited many towns,just watched the counry side fly by.

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Valier's Post

Vaenosa turned her back to the crowd and grasped her mother's hand firmly, leading her towards the small stage that was set up in the town hall. "Vaenosa you must go child! Do not worry about this old woman, I will be fine. I will go with one of our kindly neighbours,do not fret!" "Mother I will not leave you,not in your condition! Who will care for you? You are not strong enough,you need me here with you."

As they approached the stage, the MarchWarden was requesting volunteers to ride ahead with a letter for the King. Vaenosa felt a slight squeeze in her hand. Sighing deeply she turned around again to her ailing mother. " No mother I insist I stay here with you!" But the look of determination in the sick woman's eyes, melted Her heart. Before she could try and reason with the woman again,she felt a push from behind. Hands grabbed her from the front and lead her away.With one last look at her mother, Vaenosa raised her head high and walked towards where the other volunteers stood.

After receiving praise from the March Warden, he dismissed them all to their houses, to return in the Morn with weapons and horse. Then he would fill them all in on their duties.

Vaenosa was dazed. Almost walking in a fog, she found her way outside without looking for her mother.The cool air hit her face, bringing some colour back to her ashen cheeks. Then came the small frail arm, touching her own. "This my daughter is all I ask of you before I go......Please save this town,Get help while we still can! Your Father loved this town, as I do. I would love for this to be your place. For you children and your children's children. Please go."

With shoulders slumped and head hung low, Vaenosa let herself be led back slowly to the place she called home.

Awaking the next morning to he mothers wracking coughs, the day before came flooding back."Well there's no chance I'm getting out of this now,I may as well make the best of it." Vaenosa was reluctant to put all her energy into the thought of the long road ahead,for if she did she would be set to accomplish what ever was asked of her, to the fullest extent. This scared her to her very core. Yet she would put on a brave face and say goodbye to her mother,maybe for the last time.

After a teary goodbye and a promise to stay safe, Vaenosa packed a travelling pack with some extra clothing and equipment. She was accustom to carring only what was essential, to let Nay go as fast as he pleased. Walking out to the stables, lifted her spirits some due to the slight Autumn breeze.

Nay was prancing in his stall and throwing his head back in anticipation. She had not let him run the day before and now he knew she was taking him out. "alright my friend,lets go." She jumped smoothly on to his blanketed back and without another look back, she started down the road to the town.

Tying Nay outside took alot longer than it should have, Vaenosa was still nervous about the whole thing. There was three other people she would be traveling with, and she was sure they would just get in the way. Taking three deep breaths she walked up the steps and through the door.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:46 AM

Naria's character

Name: Incana

Age: 18

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Weapons: She would carry a rock thrower of sorts made of a long piece of leather looped and attached to a y-shaped hard wood stick. She has a pouch for carrying her rocks for her rock thrower- slung over her shoulder. She would also carry a simple utility knife long enough to do some damage if need be.

Appearance: Incana has long dark blonde hair almost brown that she keeps tied back in a half ponytail. Eyes that seem to change their colour with her mood; sometimes a gold colour sometimes a hazel green. She is 5'6" and weighs in at a whopping 115lbs. She would have pale skin compared to most of the other villagers, but very rosy cheeks. She usually wears a wrap tunic made of leather and lined with angora, that her mother made for her and leather leggings. She has a pair of high leather boots that she wears this time of year that tie up around her calves.

Personality, strengths, weaknesses: She has a great personality, at least that's what her parents say, she is always bubbly and full of life. She is usually the voice of reason when a problem arises. But, Incana is quite bull headed at times when she wants to be usually ending her in hot water.

History: Her father is the village horse breeder and works hard on there farm tending to the horses and goats. Her mother is a seamstress using the goat wool for angora. Her mother would have also worked on the farm tending to the goats, chickens and horses. She is the only child of her parents, her mother had a hard time during labor with Incana and didn't want to risk losing her life with another one. Because her father was a horse breeder he would have to travel great distances at times to sell his stock therefore, Incana was used to being by herself although she didn't mind being alone she often wondered what else there could be outside her village for her. She had learned a lot of the techniques that her mother had taught her and wouldn't have minded putting them to use some day. She often muttered to herself "why does no man want to take me as his bride?" She always thought that she was missing something in her life, besides having no family of her own or husband at her age, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. They have a herd of 15 horses and two of them were not to be ridden, "they are strictly for breeding!"her father would say. So she always had her pick of which to ride on any day. Because of his generous nature, her father had built a smaller house off to the side of theirs in case someone from out of town would need a place to stay. Her uncle was that person, he said he was only going to stay for a week or two but it's turned out to be two years now. Incana liked to watch her uncle practice his archery she thought, for being an older man, that he was the best that she had ever seen. He was also very good in tracking and taught Incana a few tricks of the trade.

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Naria's Post:

Incana and her mother were getting ready for bed when her father and uncle came crashing through the door. "Something is going on in the town square" her father exclaimed. "We heard the bell ring, must be very important." said her uncle. With their night dress on and lanterns in hand , Incana and her mother hurried outside with her father and uncle leading the way. "It's a good thing that we reside nearby else you ladies would be catching a chill this night." her uncle said trying to lighten the mood.

Approaching the centre of town they noticed a large group of people had already arrived. Some they recognized some they did not. "I wonder where these people have come from that I have not seen before." Incana said with concern in her voice. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing that we should be too concerned about." her mother said not quite convincing herself of that.
The four of them walked through the crowd and into the town hall where there were even more people that they had and had not seen. Incana was starting to feel overwhelmed and scared. She took her father's hand and held it tightly. Her father, straining to hear, heard what sounded like a plea for help from an older man in the sea of villagers. With Incana's hand still tight in his they weaved around people until they were closer to the stage.

The MarchWarden had given his speech to everyone and after listening to him, Encana's parents couldn't believe what they had just heard. "He can't be serious Sending our young ones out like that." Her father said in obvious disdain about the idea. There was some quarreling back and forth among some other parents and it was getting louder and louder. The MarchWarden banged his staff on the stage floor twice. All went silent. "I implore all of the young people of Rohan, come forth if yea shall volunteer for this task." Incana felt a pain in her stomach and a pull in her that she could not ignore. She slowly loosened her grasp of her father's hand and walked even closer to the stage. "NO!" cried her mother "I won't let you do this." Incana picked her mother up off of the floor, wiped away her tears and whispered into her ear, "I'll be ok. Don't fret mother I will come back to you. I have to do this." And with that Incana raised her hand.

With barely any sleep Incana awoke the next morning to find that it wasn't a dream that had kept her tossing but a cold reality. Her mother had been up before her daughter that morning and prepared and packed some food and extra clothing for the journey. Her father came inside and wiped away some dirt off of his face. Incana couldn't help but notice that the dirt had smudged even though it wasn't hot enough outside this time of year. She felt tears well up in her eyes and threw herself into her father's arms. He pulled her back and told her that the horse was ready while he walked into another room. Incana heard muffled sobs; she wanted to go and be with her father but she changed her mind. Her mother hugged her only child and said good-bye and told Incana that she loved her. Incana put the food pack around her waist and went outside where her horse was waiting tied to a post. She fastened her weapons to the side of the horse sighed deeply, mounted and made her way to the town.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:47 AM

Tevildo's character

NAME: Dorran

AGE: 16, but passes as 18

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Dorran cherishes a sturdy bow and knife that were passed down to him by his father. He has some skill with these weapons in hunting and cleaning game. He has a sling fashioned from soft leather, which is the weapon he prefers to use when protecting farm animals from annoying pests like snakes and rodents or in bringing down small prey to feed himself and his sister.

APPEARANCE: Dorran is a tall but slender lad with a shock of brown curly hair, skin that is darker than most in the village, and earnest brown eyes. His serious expression and somber demeanor make him look considerably older than his actual age of sixteen years. Dorran wears a pair of mended breeches, a shirt, and a homespun vest that have all seen better days. His pockets generally bulge with the rocks that he always keeps nearby in case an unsuspecting rabbit comes darting across his path. Around his neck hangs a simple thong with a copper medallion that he keeps tucked underneath his shirt. Dorran has a way of blending quietly into his surroundings so that few of those who pass by even notice him. He generally prefers it that way.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Dorran's personality seemingly matches his quiet and unassuming outer appearance. He keeps much to himself out of choice and necessity. He lacks the protection that comes from having a cynical tongue to lash out at others or an adult protector. His manner is steady and cooperative, but he gives little hint to the outside world of what his real feelings are. He lacks confidence, thinks little of his own abilties, and tends to live from day-to-day, not caring much about the future. In reality, he is an extraordinarily gifted young lad who has managed to provide for himself and his younger sister despite enormous adversity.

HISTORY: Dorran and his sister Creide, now twelve years old, came to the village of Wulfham when they were tiny children, brought there from some identified place that lay towards the east by an elderly maiden aunt. Neither of the trio ever spoke of what had become of the childrens' parents. Whatever difficulties had befallen the family, Dorran and Raven kept the story to themselves. The aunt was a poor seamstress, barely holding body and soul together. Both Dorran and Creide had to be sent out in service at a very young age. After helping out in the households of several farmers in the region, the children found their way into the employ of Lord Aldwulf: Creide as a scullery maid and Dorran in the stables. With the passing of their elderly aunt, the march-warden and his lady had taken pity on the two and let them bed down in a tiny cellar room that faced onto the courtyard. The children are well behaved and generally accepted by the other villagers, yet now and then someone mentions in a whisper that the two were originally from outside the area, and no one knows from where they came.

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Tevildo's post

Dorran sat up with a start, threw off the covers, and leapt to his feet, hurrying over to the door and throwing it open. The sun had risen several hours before. He had managed to sleep through the cock's welcoming cry and all the hustle and bustle that had gone on in the courtyard, an area that stood only a short distance from the doorway of their tiny shed. Quickly sweeping his eyes over the area in front of the main hall, Dorran could see that preparations for their journey were well under way. The horses had been saddled and were snorting with impatience to be off. Several of the party had already arrived and were saying their final goodbyes to well wishers and friends.

Pummelling his fist into his other palm in frustration, Dorran turned and glared back at Criede. His sister was seated at the small table and was putting the finishing touches on a large sack of provisions that she meant for her brother to carry with him. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Dorran demanded. "I intended to be up and about. And what are you doing with all that food? The Master said he'd supply us with whatever we needed."

"Perhaps so," retorted the younger girl. "But this may be the last time for a while that you get a taste of my biscuits and apple tart. I thought you might like it." She stared back at him and then boldly stuck out her tongue. One moment Criede could be serious and adult, and the next moment acting just like a child.

"Alright, alright." His tone had softened considerably. "You've got me there. But still, I should have been up at dawn. What about the watering and feeding of the horses?" He stopped for a moment and shook his head, "It isn't like me..."

Criede interrupted before her brother could say another word, "The Master said I was to let you lie abed. You were up late helping him to gather the things that the group would need today. He wanted you to get some sleep before you began your journey. Anyways, it's only a few steps out to the courtyard, and you'll be ready to leave."

"Well enough, I suppose," he conceded with a sigh. "Promise be you'll be good, Criede, and do what the Lady says, and that you'll mind her on the road. She says you're to sleep in the hall with the other maids until you all leave together so you won't be out here on your own."

"I'd rather stay here," she objected. "This is my home."

"No more trouble now. Just do as the mistress says. When she says it's time to leave, you must go with her. She has always been kind to us and I expect you to behave. I'll see you soon in Edoras so you have nothing to fear."

"Alright, I promise. But why are you going early? You don't have to, you know. The Lord wouldn't make you. I'm sure of it."

"No, he wouldn't make me. But I want to go. I would never feel right being here and doing nothing, not knowing the danger the whole realm is in. Anyways," he muttered through gritted teeth, "not if I could do something to strike a blow at the likes of them."

Criede glanced up sideways at her taller brother, "You don't expect to see any of. those, those.... things on the road."

"I don't know but I don't expect so. They're still off to the east, or so I heard the Master talking. But if I do meet one, he won't live till another day. They are evil through and through. They have no soul, no heart, only blackness." There was real animosity in the lad's voice, the tone of one who knows more than what he says.

"Promise me, Dorran." his sister responded. "Promise me that you won't do anything foolish. You're the only family I have."

"I promise. I'm not a fool. And being dead isn't something I want to do for a long time. Anyways, dead men can't fight Orcs."

With that final thought, Dorran reached down and gave his sister a final hug, and raced out into the open courtyard to join the others who were just mounting up.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:48 AM

Farael's character

NAME: Osmod (Osse)

AGE: 20

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: An old but well cared for short sword that belonged to his grandfather. Back on those days it had a pattern drawn on the blade but it has long been erased. The grip is simple leather, comfortable if not very luxurious. Also, Osmod carries a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. While living outside the town and caring for his cattle he had had to deal with predators more than once and he was a good archer. Much better than a swordsman anyway.

APPEARANCE: Tall, around six feet, and in good shape as he was often looking after his father's cattle. Dark black hair cut rather short, about two inches above his shoulders. He wears simple home made breeches and tunic, both light brown and a black leather belt. His boots and cloak belonged to his grandfather before him, during his times as a rider in the armies of Thengel King, father of Theoden.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: A shy and quiet man, he enjoys the wonders of nature and peace. He has been raised to work hard on the task at hand, which ever that may be. He is extremely loyal to both the King of Rohan (even if he now lives outside the boundaries of the country) and his friends.

HISTORY: Even though Osmod's family is very wealthy, his father has always made him work for what he wanted. As soon as he was of age, Osmod was sent to look after his father's cattle and he loved it. The wide open spaces, the company of animals... much simpler than that of men with all the lies and pretended friendships. His horse, a strong dark brown gelding, is all the company he needs, and all the company he seeks more often than not.

Ever a lover of nature and peace, when peace was shattered and nature threatened by the invading orcs and men, Osmod wanted to join the King's army and fight them back, as his grandfather had done. Yet as the March-Warden had asked for volunteers to run to Edoras and alter the King, Osmod knew it was his best opportunity to help his family and the few friends he had. Their only hopes rested on a quick ride to the King's palace and an even faster ride to rescue the harrased villagers.

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Farael's post ------------ FIRST POST FOR OUTLANDERS

The long, slow wail of a horn arose those living close to the Town Hall. The sound of horns was taken up and repeated by others as they awoke and soon all the town had rose to the sound of alarm. The March-Warden Horwald was calling for a town meeting. It had not happened since the times of Brego King, many lives of men before, that this emergency call had sounded in the middle of the night. There was no man alive who had been born then, but still the villagers responded as they had trained themselves to do.

Upon receiving the disturbing news in the middle of the night, Horwald had ordered his eldest son to sound the alarm but he had not shared the dire news with anyone. It was the right of all the townspeople to learn about the incoming dangers at the same time. After making their respective horn calls, the people of Bregoware had started to make their way towards the Town Hall. As this town was mostly a farming community, it had been the best part of two hours before all the families were represented. Mostly men had answered the distress call, but in dangerous times like these some brave women had joined their husbands and fathers.

With a sigh, Horwald raised his hand to ask for silence. He was proud to see the look of worry in the faces of men untainted by fear. Soon that would be no more, as the news he had to tell them were ones no March-Warden had ever been forced to say in this town. A tense silence was finally achieved and so Horwald, son of Leodwald addressed his people. They were his, his responsibility. As he repeated them the words of the messenger, who at the time had long ran off to meet with his own townspeople, he saw even the bravest of his men frowning. Bregoware had been harassed by easterlings and even a party of orcs before, but the news were that of a marching army not a wild group of bandits. The people had followed him through the hardships of living outside the boundaries of the Kingdom of Rohan and they trusted him. They would follow him if he ordered them to abandon their houses. They would follow him if he ordered them to retreat into the fortified city and prepare themselves for what could be a long siege. But as he looked into his people’s faces, he could not bear the thought that in the next weeks some of them would die, no matter what choice he made.

Osmod was awaken by the alarm cries of his own family’s horn. He ran up to his father’s chambers to find him standing by the window, blowing at the horn that had belonged to his grandfather. He could hear the distinct sound of other horns at the distance, but more worrying to his mind was the sound of his mother crying. Leofwen had always been a strong woman; she had even ridden against an invading group of bandits in her youth.

The alarm sound was soon picked up by other families and father and son readied themselves for the ride to the Town Hall. They chose their fastest horses and carried their swords with them. Osmod did not have a sword that belonged to him and so he ‘borrowed’ his grandfather’s. It had been hanging on the wall since the day Osbearn had returned from the ranks of Thengel King.

They were one of the last people to arrive, as his father’s lands were far outside the town, but many of the men present allowed them to make their way closer to where the March Warden was standing. Horwald’s face was grim and soon they learned why. First there was silence. Then the yelling started. The opinion that was voiced the loudest was that of war. They had defended themselves from those orkish bandits before, they would do it again. Yet soon common sense sank in and they realized they would fight a loosing battle that would be over before it even got started. The men still wanted to fight, many of them were gripping their swords hilts already. Yet as they looked around the room and saw the women present, they understood they could not let their families die for their pride. Soon the room was silent and the March Warden announced what they all dreaded. The city was to be emptied by noon on the following day. They would march towards Edoras, protected by the warriors of the town.

As everyone was reading themselves to go back to their houses and start preparing for the long escape, a voice was heard on the back of the room. Osmod could not tell if it had been a man or a woman who had spoken, he could not tell even if it had been any older than himself. Yet the words were true. Marching armies could run faster than retreating towns and even if they left on the first light the following day, they might not make it to Edoras before the orcs caught up with them. At least some riders would need to be sent to alert The King and bring back help.

Silence fell upon the room again as they saw the March Warden deliberating with his main counsellors. When he looked up, his face was stern and decided. Four of their fastest riders would go ahead of the main group. Yet he could spare none of his warriors and so volunteers would be needed. Osmod’s hand moved towards the hilt of his sword even before Horwald had finished the call for volunteers. Never before had anyone but the March Warden heard those words and never before had they been meant for anything other than teaching the March Warden his duties and responsibilities. “Who among the people of Bregoware will answer my call? Who among us braves will show to be the bravest? Who will risk pain and death for the greater good of his people?”

The room fell silent, interrupted only by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. One volunteer had accepted the call. Soon two more swords were raised over the heads of their brave owners. One last volunteer was needed yet the room had fallen silent again. Osmod closed his eyes and tensed his grip on the sword. Almost without him knowing, he unsheathed his grandfather’s sword. He had answered the call for help.

Voices were heard at the back of the room and spread out quickly towards the front. Soon all the gathered townspeople were discussing the names of the volunteers. Everyone seemed to want to talk to Osmod and grab his arm. He had shown to be as brave as his grandfather Osbearn had been, they said. He had shown to be great among the great of his town. But Osmod knew he had shown nothing yet. He was still safe inside the walls of the village and there were many dangers to confront before he would even consider himself to be brave.

Horwald dismissed everyone but the volunteers and their families – it would have been pointless and cruel to force them appart now when they would be parting soon enough, perhaps for ever- who stayed and gathered close to him. He praised the volunteers sincerely and offered them his help in anything they needed. He would provide them with food and water, as well as fast horses if they lacked one. Of course, they all had good horses, but it was a great compliment to be offered a horse by the March Warden himself. After the March Warden had spoken, Osmod asked of him only one thing. The sword he carried was old and the edge was dull. He wanted to carry his grandfather’s sword and would very much appreciate it if the March Warden could have it sharpened for him. Horwald granted him his wish, as he granted everything the others asked. They stayed until it was long past midnight discussing the best strategy for their ride, but they all agreed that there was no way of knowing what they would find and so no way of making accurate plans. The town of Bregoware would have to trust on their rider’s skill and intelligence. And as most of them made their way to their respective houses, they knew their trust had not been misplaced.

Osmod rode back to his father’s estate. His father had been uncommonly silent since he had volunteered himself and they rode in silence towards the big house. After they left the horses in the stables, Osmod’s father asked him to wait on the hall before retreating to his own room. Osmod complied and sat down on the cold floor, feeling more comfortable there than on the sturdy chairs. He scrambled up to his feet as he heard his father walking back in and could not help to gasp when he saw what he was carrying. His father had his own longbow on one hand, the finest quality weapon his family had. But what surprised the son was the family horn in his father’s left hand. It belonged to his father, it had belonged to his grandfather before and to his father before then. “Son, it has been our family tradition that the father of the house gives this horn to his son on the day of their wedding. I know not if I shall live to see that great day and this is why I want you to have it. It may be of assistance to you and I know our ancestors will forgive me for breaking our long held tradition”. As Osmod laid sleepless on his bed, he told himself that nothing would go wrong as he had the protection of those who had fought the same enemy before and won.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:50 AM

Undómë’s character

NAME: Meghan

AGE: 17

RACE: Men

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Long, thick pole about 6” taller than herself; it tapers from sharpened tip to about a 3” knobbed base. She uses it mostly for dissuading small predators from her flock of goats. A skinning knife in a plain leather sheath hangs at her hip from her belt. She is a fair marksman with her small hunting bow – though she prefers to set out her corded traps or nets when looking to bring in small animals or birds. She is also hardly ever without her sharp, metal knitting needles close to hand.

APPEARANCE: 5’1’ 111 lbs; fine boned, slightly built, agile, well muscled/strong for someone with such a small frame. Thick, honey blond hair, worn in a long plait to mid back. Light blue eyes. Skirts and tunics during the warmer months; A pair of her brother’s old pants, made of thick material, thick socks, knee high soft, worn boots and warm sweaters in the colder months knitted from goat hair yarn.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Meghan is a self sufficient woman. Used to being on her own as she moves her small flock of goats from one sparsely grassed area to another. She is quick to laugh at the antics of others as well as at her own follies, and when she does her eyes glint with impish delight and her entire face lights up. She has opinions on almost everything, and is quite capable of defending them if challenged. Fortunate for her, she has enough native wit to know when to keep those opinions to herself. She is a kind person, especially to those she feels are being unjustly trod on. Her kind-heartedness, though, is sometimes difficult to discern beneath her oft-times prickly exterior.

HISTORY: Meghan’s father died of some consumptive illness when she was quite young. Her mother, though she did not suffer the same illness as her husband, never quite recovered from the loss of him. She fell in on herself, growing old quickly. Meghan, at age eight, and her brother, barely fifteen took over the running of the house and the care of the goat herd. There had been four other babies between her and her brother, but none had survived their infancy. Her brother Leof, needless to say, has always been very protective of her.

Meghan’s mother is still living, though her mind wanders much in bygone days. Leof married, and he and his wife, Gudryn, have two babes of their own Everyone lives in the small family house her father had built. Meghan loves them all dearly, but oft times she feels hemmed in and overwhelmed by the close, constant presence of them all. As often as she can, she stays with the goats as they move from pasture to pasture. Nights they huddle near her, listening, she likes to tell herself, to the music she plays on her reed pipe.

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Undómë’s post

Meghan stood against a wall, on a chair she’d dragged over to give her some height. Had it been her choice, she would have stayed home altogether, minding her mother while Leof and Gudryn saw to the fuss at the town’s hall. Not that she wasn’t concerned about the horn call to gather, but the thought of so many people as they pressed in against her made her loathe to go.

‘I’ll just look after mama,’ she had told her brother, as he scrambled into his tunic. ‘And the babes, of course. You and Gudryn can find out the news.’

‘Nay,’ he’d told her. It was Gudryn who would see to the household while they were gone. It was he and Meghan who would represent their family at the meeting.

So, here she stood on her small island of wood looking out over the sea of her townsmen’s heads. Their faces were all turned to Horwald as he raised his hand to speak. And the words he spoke were chilling. A small current of cold fear ran down her back, making her shiver. Orcs! Worse yet, Easterlings! And in an organized group this time, not just some willy-nilly raiding. She wondered for a moment what sort of dark captain might have managed to make them work together. Given their natural hatred of each other they would have torn each other apart. She shivered again at the thought that somehow they were now acting together.

Her mind was racing as the march-warden laid out his plan to move the villagers toward Edoras. How would she manage her goats on the march? What supplies would she need to bring for the long journey? She would want to make sure they had enough to eat – especially the milkers, as they would provide nourishment for her family and others. She was making lists in her mind when she heard someone ask the question about sending for help. And looking up she saw Horwald nod his head at the truth of it and speak with his counselors.

Meghan flattened herself against the wall as he called for volunteers – four fast riders to make haste to the King himself. She did not intend to be one of them. She closed her eyes, willing herself invisible. Peeping through one eye she saw that swords had been raised as the volunteers made themselves known. Osmond’s blade was raised, as well as one of Fion’s weapons, and there across the room was the hand of . . . a woman, whose name she could not recall. Voices were raised praising the braveness of the volunteers.

But the march-warden had called for four – she only saw three . . .

Beside her, her brother made a shuffling sound as he readjusted his position leaning against the wall. She turned to ask him if he’d noted the fourth volunteer and saw with horror his own blade raised. In a quick, unthinking move she bent down from her perch on the chair and grabbed their father’s old sword from his hand. ‘You sheep-brained fool!’ she hissed at him, the sword upraised in her hand as she maneuvered it away from him. ‘Who will protect our mother and your wife and babies if you ride off westward?’

Murmurs of approval swelled about her. She stood upright wondering why her name rose on the current of voices. Her face blanched when she realized she still held her brother’s sword up and away from his grasp. She leaned back against the wall for support, her knees suddenly turned to jelly, as the march-warden pointed to her and nodded his head in approval.

The remainder of the meeting, after the greater part of the villagers had gone back to their homes, was a blur to her. Plans were discussed, as well as supplies, and horses. She recalled saying that ‘yes’ she would need a faster horse, as their old farm horse would only plod her way to Edoras and most likely arrive after the villager itself had got there.

Leof and she tramped home in a stony silence. He was angry that she had grabbed the blade from him and been counted among the volunteers; she was angry that he had thought to raise it on his own behalf at all.

o*o*o*o

Meeting at the Hall the next day

It was a tired Meghan who dragged herself to the Hall the next morning.

Her packing had not consisted of much – her few clothes, her cape, her stick and little bow, her knife, and of course, her knitting needles and her yarn. Gudryn had made her up a small packet of food for the day, knowing the march-warden’s family would see to her other provisioning.

She had said her good-byes, telling her mother not to fret. That she would soon be back and that Leof and Gudryn would take good care of her. Gudryn hugged her, whispering ‘thanks’ in her ear for making Leof stay with them. Leof, faced with the inevitability of her going thawed and clasped her fiercely to him. ‘You come back, you hear!’ he ordered her, his voice gone husky with emotion. ‘Or begads I’ll hunt you in the otherworld and drag you back to us!’

Meghan pushed herself a little away from him, and kissed him on the brow. ‘And you brother, take care of my goats! Else I give you a thump on that thick head of yours for everyone that’s gone missing.’

She pushed open the doors to the Town Hall and tromped in. Laying her pack and bedroll at her feet, she thumped her pole on the wooden floor to draw attention to herself. ‘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 . . .

. . . on this fool’s errand! she added to herself. Fools all, if we think we’ll make it . . . more the fool, if we think the King and his Riders will care about our outland problems at all . . .

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:51 AM

Maeggaladiel's Character

NAME: Fion

AGE: 17

RACE: Men

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Well-used wooden bow, quiver of arrows. One plain hunting knife.

APPEARANCE: About 5'9". Dirty-blond wavy hair, usually pulled back into a ponytail. The meagre beginnings of a beard marks his chin. Gray-blue eyes. A somewhat muscular build from years of farmwork, but not overly so. Fion is stuck somewhere between lanky teenager and adult, and he has been trying to push himself towards the latter.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Fion is somewhat naieve, and an idealist. He sets out from his home ready to save the world, not expecting the world to laugh and kick dirt in his face. He can be over-eager to help people and can become sidetracked easily. He tries to play the role of the gallant knight in shining armor, and is easily delfated when people give him a dose of reality. He is, however, loyal and honest, a quick thinker, and an excellent shot with the bow.

HISTORY: Born and raised on a small farm, Fion has known no other life. He has dreamed of traveling to Edoras, though, and wants to become a Rider of the Mark. Most of his life has been spent working on a farm with his father and younger brother. Through his various roles as "delivery boy" for his father, he has proven himself a swift rider and a trustworthy messenger.

When the orcs began their advance on Rohan, Fion begged his father to let him fight with the adults. His father refused, saying that a farm boy with a bow could do little good in such a battle. When the call for messengers went out, Fion approached his father again and demanded to go. His father finally agreed, although hesitantly. Fion was elated.

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Maeggaladiel's post

The hall went silent as the call for volunteers rang out. Fion looked up at his father. The broad-shouldered man stared out over the sea of frightened faces, his own sun-worn face an expressionless mask.

Fion grimaced. Why so few volunteers? This was an important job! This mission required endurance, knowledge of the land, and speed on horseback. It practically screamed for Fion's involvement. Why, he could do this with his eyes closed!

There was a voice from the front of the hall, and people were nodding at him. That was when he realized his hand was above his head. Oh...

"Fion!" his father hissed in anger and shock. "You fool, what are you doing?" He grabbed the boy's arm and forced it to his side. "You cannot do this!" But it was too late. The boy's fate had been sealed.

"He's naught but a child!" his father protested to the people around him. Fion, feeling rebellious, pulled away.

"I have seen ten-and-seven summers; that is enough!" he said. He jutted out his chin, wishing that his "beard" was more than short blonde dandelion fuzz.

"And I am the fastest rider around!" he added proudly. "You said so yourself!" He held up the worn hunting bow. "And I can hit a bird's eye in the dark!" A mild exaggeration, but boasting never hurt.

His father stared at him, his expression odd but unreadable. Fion shifted uncomfortably.

"I can do this," he insisted, pleading with his eyes. "Please, let me try. If I don't go, we could all be in danger."

There was another long silence. His father stared hard at Fion; the boy tried hard to return the stare. After a moment, the elder man sighed.

"Do what you must," he said. Fion, wanting to prove himself mature enough to handle the task, refrained from letting out a joyous yell.

"I'll make you proud," Fion said. His father grasped his shoulders.

"You already have."

piosenniel · 01-22-2006, 12:35 AM

Eowyn Skywalker's character

NAME: Eostre Merir

AGE: 20

RACE: Human

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Eostre carries a quarterstaff about six feet tall, made out of simple wood, a bow and a quiver of arrows (she probably has about twenty arrows, none of those unending elven arrows that Legolas seemed to have), and a longer dagger (does the term dirk apply in Middle-earth? Because that's how I'd define her blade), in case her staff were to break or anyone be too near for ranged attacks. No flashy weapons for her. Armor-wise, she has leather vambraces, only because it would be stupid for an archer not to have that sort of protection and a thick leather tunic underneath her clothing. At least, she will in this RP, not that she'd normally wear that sort of garb.

APPEARANCE: Eostre isn't very tall—perhaps 5"2— a typically larger human build overwhelming her features, and leaving her, although fairly pleasant looking, not the beauty queen of the area. Her hair is not so long as it is free-flying, cut shorter to not get in her way with various chores overwhelming who she is. Her eyes are a dark brown, and her hair's a sort of flaxen brown, not really gold, but more flat. She wears flat brown clothing, trousers underneath a skirt for the sake of both convenience and riding, and a long sleeved tunic with a vest-like foldover front. ((one might think Jedi, but not quite so overdone)) Her skirt is a basic long pleated job. Wearing moccasin-like leather shoes, she doesn't tend to think too much of her appearance, trying to keep herself down to a simple, pragmatic approach. She wears her hair up in a ponytail much of the time, believing in being pragmatic at nearly all times. ( For reference, a photo, but her hair should be blond and tied back. And just totally ignore the clothing.)

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Eostre is a cynic. It's pretty well as simple as that. The oldest daughter in her family, she quickly adapted to a mistrusting manner—though nothing happened to her parents to scar her, in fact, they're all still alive. It's natural for the oldest child to become either a caretaker or sort of slip away into their own world. Eostre somehow managed to do both, dutifully carrying out her chores and actions until she left home at the age of twenty (that was this year, I suppose) to work as a farmhand, no desire to get married living in her heart at that time—though this could change. She was a fast learner, silently picking up on everything, not readily desiring to speak unless spoken to—yet when she did choose to speak, she was able to become an incredible leader. She sees things very often as purposeless, preferring to let others do their foolish play while she walked alone, letting herself close herself in far too easily.

For this, she's very shielded, her personality guarded. She hates to trust unless positive this emotion will be returned, and although is very passionate about what she believes to be truth, masks her patriotic spirit as much as the leader underneath the indifferent guise. A notable physical weakness is an allergy to pollen, ei, hayfever. And though she's had to lift heavy things in typical farmwork, not to mention shooting off intruders now and again, she's not particularly strong with melee fighting. She has few qualms in killing if she has to, and knows a deal about basic medications, both able to come up with herbal mixtures and the nitty-gritty of setting broken limbs and bandaging wounds.

If she chooses to love and or trust someone, she holds to this to the uttmost, though this leaves her very suseptable to heartbreak, whether through death or simply betrayal. Eostre also has a nearly flawless memory, though again this is also a weakness as things most people would want to forget engrain themselves into her mind.

Since age limits in this RP force me to make Eostre younger than she should be, the fact that she's the oldest child made her end up wiser beyond her years, perhaps a bit of an unnatural maturaty, though no worse than her narrator, who suffers the same maturaty defect in reality. (coughs)

HISTORY: Eostre has no greatly exceptional history. She's the oldest born in her family, grew up to learn to take care of horses, cows, chickens, and sheep, not to mention knowledge of how to weed the garden. Having about five siblings, she's well aware of a maternal need to care for people although cynicism frequently overrides this. Once she decided her siblings (who weren't that much younger than her; her parents were busy) were well enough on their own, she decided that it would be better to help out with some older people whose oldest children had been killed in a previous bandit attack, or something like that. Considering he was her mother's brother, therefore rendering the family owning the farm her uncle and aunt, there was nothing of any scandelous manner to consider, and considering their only child was six years old, it was probably a good thing she helped anyway. Nooooooothing of merit here.

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Eowyn Skywalker's post

Jerked from a weary sleep by a strong wailing of an alarm, Eostre's eyes flickered open in the dark. An attempt to speak... her voice choked off and she leaned over to grasp a white square of fabric, rubbing some excess mucus from her mouth with a grimace. It took the adult woman sometime before she was able to place the harsh sound of alarm that drilled through her mind, chasing away all the flickering images of the dreamworld she dwelled in during her sleep. Something about... A chicken?

But, as was her custom, she didn't let anything sway her course from the choice to sit up and shove her bedding aside, yanking her nightshift off and changing hastily into full garb. By the time she was fully dressed—making the attempt to change in the dark hardly easy—the sound of the alarm had long leaned towards the houses far further away from the Town Hall, and in other rooms in the house, there came the sound of feet smacking against bare wood, her host family coming to wake her up.

Had they honestly thought the light sleeping Eostre would still be abed when alarms cried all through the town, the clatter of hooves passing through the streets and roads stretching far beyond the town to the adjoined lands? She could scarcely sleep through the sound of bacon frying in the rare mornings when she was ill, mainly from allergies. But it meant little; she was dressed, as were they all, and the bordering elderly Haodel and Gelwyn were insisting she ride to the Town Hall with them from their farm. Gelwyn wanted to stay with cousin Ieloa, Haodel wanted to go to the meeting... clamor. She didn't mind. There was no way she could ever have fallen asleep after such a racket! What was the world coming to? A full out war?

Needless to say, not being so far out of town, the two arrived quickly to the Town Hall, possibly after the first ten or so people had arrived. By this point the woman was well awake, sticking close to Haodel as they watched others arrive to the meeting.

An explanation...

Eostre exhaled. So. It did come to war, then. She felt no fear, only a vauge sense of intriege at the arguements being cast around the room, the voices raised and tossed from one hand to the next. The call for aid was too facinating; she didn't want to see any unnecessary death.

Metal cut against metal, and a sword was raised above one volenteer's head, held high in the crowd. She hardly hesitated after that. The mission screamed for fast riders, for those who knew the land, knew how to fight, and wanted to protect their land. She unsheathed her dirk, raised it above her head with just the faintest flicker of a challenging smile on her face.

Haodel threw her a glance. "Eostre..."

"They mayn't even allow me to ride along," she murmured in soft reply. "If they do, I ride hard. I shall return, and in the meantime you and Gelwyn will manage."

He only inclined his head, and she realized when he had spoken, he hadn't spoken in critisism. So. It was done, then. She glanced up at the flame-colored light reflecting off of her blade for a moment, then back down at the others surrounding her. Somehow, time seemed to blur past, others finally raising their blades in agreement of the mission.

Time passed...

The Marchwarden dismissed everyone beyond the volunteers and their families, but names had still spread. Her family recognized her involvement, remaining while Haodel returned to his family. Somehow through the plans, the clock passed well beyond the witching hour as they spoke, exchanged embraces with her family near the end, though they were unnaturally silent, Eostre noted.

She was silent through much of the planning, letting things sink in. And when she went to ride back to Haodel's family, her parents pulled her aside, insisted that it would be better if she spent one last night at home. As if she would never return, she thought...

And yet, as she lay sleepless abed once more, she felt no fear of death, only a desire to protect others of the potential same fate.

piosenniel · 01-22-2006, 12:36 AM

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 · 01-25-2006, 10:42 PM

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 · 01-25-2006, 10:42 PM

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 · 01-29-2006, 11:29 AM

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

piosenniel · 01-29-2006, 01:57 PM

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

~*~ Pio

Arry · 01-30-2006, 02:12 PM

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 · 01-30-2006, 02:56 PM

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!!

piosenniel · 01-30-2006, 03:19 PM

Actually, they aren't too short, Farael - they get your characters to the leaving place and both of you are free to add additional posts where you talk with the others in your party, mount up, receive direction from the march-warden as you wish, etc. Don't hurry along - there's plenty of play time and it's nice to deepen your characters as much as you can.

I'll work on putting up the posts just after midnight here in the Pacific northwest of the US - after I return from work. There will also be some final instructions about posting to the game included.

Undómë and Nogrod - I'll put your 'older characters' posts on the game once the chosen riders have left Bregoware.

Nogrod · 01-30-2006, 03:59 PM

Looks good!

And even if we oldtimer's are slow to start, we'll be at your backs soon enough.

Have a good ride everyone!

And let's hope that Valar will guard our way.

Farael · 01-30-2006, 04:42 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Nogrod

And let's hope that Valar will guard our way.

Which reminds me... exactly what beliefs did the people from Rohan have? if I'm not mistaken, the Valar are the gods of the elves and Numenorians (and as we are lead to believe, the 'true' deities of Middle Earth) yet did all the other cultures worship the valar?

Eowyn Skywalker · 01-30-2006, 10:23 PM

I'm awayish Tuesday and Wednesday, so I'll try to get a post in Thursday...

piosenniel · 01-31-2006, 04:19 AM

The RPG is now open for play. Have fun!!

--------

A few reminders:

Remove your signature from EVERY post to the RPG thread, including SAVES.

Fill in your SAVES in 48 hours, please.

Do not use smilies or any Post Icons on your Game posts.

Don't put 'Reasons for Editing' on your game posts - if it's important that the other gamers know you've edited something - use the Discussion Thread to tell them about it.

Please remember to use other writers' characters very carefully. Don't speak for them or have them perform actions unless it is okayed by the character's owner.

Arry · 01-31-2006, 04:31 AM

Yay! The game is open for play!!

Until our two groups join together - let's use the names of the 2 villages in bold as headers to our posts. I think it will be easier to keep track of our separate groups that way.

-----

Farael

I put your second post on the game for you.

-----

Tevildo

My character, Brand, has finally gotten to the Hall - and has greeted you as the first fast-rider he spies.

Ladies of Wulfham, feel free to come and join us two guys and get our food, water, etc. Before we actually leave, I think the March-warden will give us a few instructions.

Nogrod · 01-31-2006, 06:16 AM

Do we have any more clearer idea about our villages' whereabouts than that they are in / around Wold, near the eastern Border of Rohan, Bregoware even at the east side of Anduin? Within that description falls quite a lot of land.

I was just wondering about the route we well take: as someone riding after the others, I should have some idea about the direction...

Hopefully the March-warden of Bregoware will say it aloud at the game thread?

Arry · 01-31-2006, 12:19 PM

Here's where I see Wulfham - on the MAP, in the upper right hand area, there is a section of The Great River (Anduin) that bulges out into The Undeeps, Wulfham is in the upper corner of that.

Bregowarians - where do you want your village? North or south of us Wulfhamers? It's on the other side of the river and shouldn't be too far from us, so that we can meet up easily enough at some point.

I'd like our route to go down along the river at least for a while - do you Bregos want to come upon us or would you like to have us find you?

Farael · 01-31-2006, 12:40 PM

We could be South of where you are, cross the river ahead of you and maybe have some of our experienced riders send out scouts that will run into you... it remains to be seen whether you will be considered friend or foe

What do you fellow Bregowares think?

Undómë · 01-31-2006, 03:08 PM

Sounds good, Farael. Let's not find them too soon - we need to give all our characters time to get to know each other . . . and most likely grate on one another's nerves a bit.

Arry

What say you about when our two groups should hook up?

Maeggaladiel · 01-31-2006, 03:53 PM

Sounds good to me, too.

Valier · 02-01-2006, 03:59 PM

Sorry I haven't posted yet on the RPG fellow Wulfhamers, I promise I will tonight or tomorrow!

Tevildo · 02-01-2006, 04:44 PM

Me too! I've put up a save for Dorran to respond to Brand.

Nogrod · 02-02-2006, 04:57 PM

Are we just gathering momentum, or have all the others' overslept too?

Farael · 02-02-2006, 06:00 PM

Patience my friend... I'm sure they are all cooking up something special. Or just plain ol' busy. I was lucky to get my second post when I did, or else I wouldn't have been able to write anything until today, it's been a long (yet incredibly exciting and great) week.

By the way, I could answer Undome's post, but I'm waiting for some more of us Bregowares to show up...

Arry · 02-03-2006, 03:04 AM

Valier, Tevildo, Eowyn Skywalker, Maeggaladiel -

Hope to see a post up from you all soon. By Monday, at the latest, I would really like to get us moving out of our villages.

Thanks! -- Arry

01-21-2006, 12:21 AM	#1
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Outracing the Flames Discussion Thread Arry invites you play in his game: Outracing the Flames Basic Storyline: It is late autumn of 3017 TA; the War of the Ring will begin in June of 3018 TA. Orcs and Easterlings have begun to rampage near the eastern borders of Rohan. One of the small villages just outside the eastern Rohan border has been hit hard, most of its people killed, its houses and barns burned. The leader of that village has sent messengers out to those other villages nearby which he thought might be next on the agenda of the ravaging orcs/Easterlings. One of the messengers has come to the village of Wulfham, a village just within the eastern boundaries of Rohan. The March-warden (minor Lord) there sends out a number of young volunteers to ride to Edoras to raise the alarm as they go along and to bring back assistance. The March-warden intends to pack the village up and move them all towards Edoras for protection. All of his armed men will ride with them - that's why the younger folk are asked to be the messengers. During the first week of their ride, they encounter another group of riders who’ve come from a small village, Bregoware, just outside the eastern boundaries of Rohan (that would be on the other side of The Great River – the Anduin). The two groups will have to form an alliance of some sort in order to survive the ride and deliver the message to Edoras. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-22-2006 at 03:07 AM.

01-21-2006, 12:24 AM	#4
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Timeframes: This game takes place in the Third Age, very late autumn, of the year just prior to the start of the War of the Ring. (The War of the Ring begins in June of 3018 TA) The storyline itself or plot covers about a month to a month and a half. This game requires a time commitment of three (3) months from me, the game owner, and from the major players. Last edited by piosenniel; 05-31-2006 at 09:01 AM.

01-21-2006, 12:26 AM	#6
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	MAPS: Map 1 Map 2 Map 3 Last edited by piosenniel; 02-06-2006 at 04:11 AM.

01-21-2006, 12:37 AM	#8
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Dedicated Players: (Their character bios and First Posts will need to be on board before the Discussion Thread is opened.) 1.) Farael 2.) Maeggaladiel 3.) Naria 4.) Tevildo 5.) Undómë 6.) Valier 7.) Arry 8.) Eowyn Skywalker 9.) Nogrod Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 08:07 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:39 AM	#9
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	CHARACTERS/PLAYERS Rohan village - Wulfham 1.) Valier – female – 19 y/o - Vaenosa 2.) Naria – female - 18 y/o - Incana 3.) Tevildo - male – 16 y/o (passes for 18) - Dorran 4.) Arry – male – 20 y/o - Brand ~~ Outlander village - Bregoware* 1.) Undómë – female – 17y/o - Meghan --- (carry-along character - male - 42 y/o - Rædwald) 2.) Farael – male – 20y/o - Osmod (Osse) 3.) Maeggaladiel – male – 18y/o - Fion 4.) Eowyn Skywalker – 20y/o - Eostre Merir 5.) Nogrod - Sythric Last edited by piosenniel; 05-19-2006 at 12:14 AM.

01-21-2006, 12:22 AM	#2
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	The purpose of the story is to: Bring news of the destruction of outlying villages to King Theoden at Edoras This means we will know the story is over when: The message is delivered (or if there is interest in continued play – when the messengers are reunited with their villages)

01-21-2006, 12:23 AM	#3
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Starting Location: The far eastern borders of Rohan, somewhere near the Wold. (See Map) Likely destination: Edoras – the King’s Hall

01-21-2006, 12:25 AM	#5
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Other thoughts: We would most likely be from farming villages (raising crops and small animals) - not horse raisers. The outlying lands are a little harsher than the grassy lands nearer to Edoras. Women would be as likely to know how to wield weapons as the men, though I don't think they would be able to become professional soldiers in the employ of the March-warden. Weapons would probably be simpler than those of the professional army - plain steel swords, hunting bows, knives; stout sharpened wood staves - the sorts of things farmers might have in their family armory. I was thinking we would be about 200 or 250 miles from Edoras, possibly up near the Wold. I'd like our route from the eastern border to take us toward where the Snowbourne River intersects the Entwash. We can ride along the Snowbourne, then, to Edoras. The Snowbourne River is that little white dotted line that connects, on the first map below, to the Entwash River, and goes straight to Edoras.

01-21-2006, 12:33 AM	#7
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Here are a couple of name lists for reference in making up Rohirric names for your character. Old English name lists: MALE FEMALE ~~ Anglo-Saxon name lists*: MALE FEMALE

01-21-2006, 12:41 AM	#10
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Arry’s character NAME: Brand, AGE: 20 years old RACE: Men GENDER: Male WEAPONS: An old short sword, plain blade with leather wrapped grip – passably fair at using it. An all purpose double edged knife he always wears on his belt – uses it throughout his daily routine. Weapon of choice is his stout oak cudgel he uses when out with the small flock of sheep belonging to his family. APPEARANCE: 5’ 6”, 140 lbs; fair skinned with an uneven light tan; lean build, lithely muscled; straw blond hair, chopped off just below the shoulders and bound back with a leather thong. Dark blue eyes. Wears dark brown breeches, homespun tunic, brown leather belt with a brass buckle. Scuffed mid-calf boots Has a tightwoven cloak his mother made him – light brown. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Brand is a quiet, even tempered, dependable fellow. Hardworker. Likes to see a task through to the very end. He likes the rhythm of the old ways, or so he calls them, doesn’t care much for change, and can be quite suspicious of any who live outside his village. He weighs almost everything in light of how it will benefit his family first and then his townsmen. He is, of course, a loyal man to his King, and would knock anyone down with a blow from his cudgel who’d gainsay him. The King, though, is more a vague idea to him than a real man. HISTORY: He comes from a long line of sheep farmers, and as the only son, he expects to take over the running of the family farm when he is older. He has two sisters, both older than he by several years – Hilde and Winnifred. They are married and plague him constantly with invitations to meet what they consider suitable matches for him. He is not in the market for a wife at present. He has projects about the family farm he wants done before he starts thinking of a family. He’s not traveled much – just those times with the flock as he moved them from grassy area to grassy area. And never across The Great River. Those times they move to summer pasture, he rides among them on his sturdy chestnut mare; his hound running at his side, keeping the sheep together. Dog and horse are as even tempered as their master. Over the past year, the villagers have heard rumors of Orc and East-men pushing against the outlying borders of those little hamlets that lie just east of the river and beyond. Brand has pushed down the panic and fear those stories first brought him. Now he is determined to figure out some way he can be of use in the protection of his family, his village, and the livelihoods that sustain them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- FIRST POST FOR THE GAME FOR THE ROHAN VILLAGERS Arry’s post The iron bell that hung in the wooden tower above the Lord of Wulfham’s mead-hall rang out in the dark watches of the night. Aldwulf, the march-warden for this far eastern area of the Riddermark, sat in his carved chair giving orders to his wife and sons. They moved quietly and efficiently about him – pushing back benches and tables to make room for the crowd they knew would soon be there; heating up kettles of water for the hot tea the cold and tired villagers would need to hear the news. Aldwulf rubbed his thumb along his coarsely bearded jawline. It was a nervous habit of his, helped him keep his focus he told himself. Tonight that was a lie. He couldn’t focus, not yet. The news was still too fresh. It made his gut ice cold to think of the horror that was coming their way. A messenger had come earlier in the evening from one of the small hamlets a week’s ride north of Wulfham. The smoke they’d been seeing on the far hills now had a hideous face he’d told them. Orcs and men from the east-lands had made their way near to The Great River. A number of Outlander villages that lay in their path had been razed – the houses and barns burned to the ground, the people killed. The headman for the messenger’s village had sent him and a number of other messengers out to warn those who dwelt near them. And he, himself, had been sent by the headman to let the marchwarden know what was happening. Questioned by Aldwulf, the man told him that many of the villages were heading to safety. A number to small fortressed hills further westward and some even making the long march to Edoras. ‘It is said,’ the messenger told him, that some great power to the south and east of us presses against the Mark and would swallow us one by one, until his shadow covers the grasslands and we are no more.’ The man would not stay once his message was delivered and the lord’s questions answered. He took a quick meal, a cup of ale. and then was on his way, riding back to intercept his own village’s flight to a place of safety. ‘Rouse yourself, Aldwulf,’ he heard his wife say as he considered the choices before him. ‘The crowd is come through the gate and will soon enter the hall.’ She handed him his thick vest to put on, for it was still cool in the hall, thought they’d piled the grates with wood and the flames licked at the offering hungrily. He tied back his grey shot hair with the piece of cord she gave him next and stood up before his chair as the villagers entered. ^^^^ Brand squeezed along the south wall of the hall, making his way to a place nearer the raised platform where the Lord stood, talking to the heads of some of the more prosperous families in the village as well as the man who captained his small company of warriors. Brand waved off the offer of tea, focusing his gaze on that core of decision makers. Something big was happening and those who saw to the welfare of the village were discussing what should be done. Aldwulf finished speaking to the men near him and motioned for the crowd to attend him. With an economy of words he explained the situation – that a messenger had come and the news bode ill for Wulfham. In the space of a few days, he would expect the villagers to pack up their belongings and be ready to move themselves and their animals to the safety of the King’s own city. The warriors would ride with them for protection, he told the people, many of whom were already muttering about the plan, both from fear and from the tumultuous turn they knew their lives would soon be taking. Many questions were shouted at Aldwulf. And he took them as calmly as he could, giving as much assurance as he could to his frightened and angry people. When the asking was all done, and the ruffled feelings smoothed over for the moment, he raised his hand again, calling for quiet. ‘I have need of a small party of volunteers,’ he said, his gaze going about the room. ‘Fast riders to bring this news to Edoras. The King will want to protect his people and to do so he will need to know what we have learned. I would send some of my own armed men, but I want them all with us as we travel.’ His eyes rested on a number of folk about the hall and then moved on. ‘Four young people, those for whom others can pick up their responsibilities is what I want . . . what Wulfham needs.’ He nodded toward the captain of his men who began moving through the crowd with three other of his warriors. Brand watched as three of them clapped their hands on the shoulders of a young villager each and led him or her . . . for there were two females he noted with some astonishment . . . to where the march-warden waited. ‘Poor sods,’ he murmured to himself, thanking his lucky stars that he did not stand among them. Much to his surprise and dismay a voice rang out behind him. ‘There you are!’ the captain, himself, said, drawing near. He grasped Brand’s shoulder and urged him firmly toward the others. A short while passed and villagers began to return to their houses, most to begin the long job of sorting through what they would need to bring; many to weep at what they must leave behind. Brand and his chosen companions were told to go home and get what rest they could. Aldwulf would see them back at the hall midmorning to instruct them on what he wished them to do. ‘Bring your horses and what weapons you might have,’ he told them. ‘My house will fill your packs with food for traveling and with drink for several days' journey. You will leave directly then for the King with my written message.’ He nodded to them once he had finished speaking and then wishing them well, dismissed them to their beds. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 04:19 PM.*

01-21-2006, 12:45 AM	#11
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Valier's Character Name: Vaenosa Age: 19 Race: Men Gender: Female Weapons:Handmade bow and quiver of arrows.Fairly good shot from horse back.Two small daggers,both homemade with red dyed leather hilts,hidden under her riding tunic. Appearance:5'8 Slender,but with feminine curves.Mid back length, hay coloured hair that tended to curl(annoyingly)Hard,peircing blue eyes. Delicate facial features.Wears a tan riding outfit that consists of: pants,tunic,dark brown boots laced to the knee,and a brown leather hip pouch which belonged to her father. Personality/Strenghts/Weaknesses: Cold,shy,quick to judge,untrusting.Has a sort of macabre sense of humor.Slightly obsessive with everything she attempts .Loyal to all those that she loves. Over confident, thinks things would be done better if she did them herself.Very self reliant, almost anti-social. History: Lived on a small farm,that mostly grew crops for the surrounding farms.She is an only child.Her father died when she was 10.Her mother raised her by herself until she fell ill.Then Vaenosa cared for her.Has travelled.Always on her own with her chestnut stallion named Nay,who is a silly, giddy,fellow that loves to run.She never visited many towns,just watched the counry side fly by. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Valier's Post Vaenosa turned her back to the crowd and grasped her mother's hand firmly, leading her towards the small stage that was set up in the town hall. "Vaenosa you must go child! Do not worry about this old woman, I will be fine. I will go with one of our kindly neighbours,do not fret!" "Mother I will not leave you,not in your condition! Who will care for you? You are not strong enough,you need me here with you." As they approached the stage, the MarchWarden was requesting volunteers to ride ahead with a letter for the King. Vaenosa felt a slight squeeze in her hand. Sighing deeply she turned around again to her ailing mother. " No mother I insist I stay here with you!" But the look of determination in the sick woman's eyes, melted Her heart. Before she could try and reason with the woman again,she felt a push from behind. Hands grabbed her from the front and lead her away.With one last look at her mother, Vaenosa raised her head high and walked towards where the other volunteers stood. After receiving praise from the March Warden, he dismissed them all to their houses, to return in the Morn with weapons and horse. Then he would fill them all in on their duties. Vaenosa was dazed. Almost walking in a fog, she found her way outside without looking for her mother.The cool air hit her face, bringing some colour back to her ashen cheeks. Then came the small frail arm, touching her own. "This my daughter is all I ask of you before I go......Please save this town,Get help while we still can! Your Father loved this town, as I do. I would love for this to be your place. For you children and your children's children. Please go." With shoulders slumped and head hung low, Vaenosa let herself be led back slowly to the place she called home. Awaking the next morning to he mothers wracking coughs, the day before came flooding back."Well there's no chance I'm getting out of this now,I may as well make the best of it." Vaenosa was reluctant to put all her energy into the thought of the long road ahead,for if she did she would be set to accomplish what ever was asked of her, to the fullest extent. This scared her to her very core. Yet she would put on a brave face and say goodbye to her mother,maybe for the last time. After a teary goodbye and a promise to stay safe, Vaenosa packed a travelling pack with some extra clothing and equipment. She was accustom to carring only what was essential, to let Nay go as fast as he pleased. Walking out to the stables, lifted her spirits some due to the slight Autumn breeze. Nay was prancing in his stall and throwing his head back in anticipation. She had not let him run the day before and now he knew she was taking him out. "alright my friend,lets go." She jumped smoothly on to his blanketed back and without another look back, she started down the road to the town. Tying Nay outside took alot longer than it should have, Vaenosa was still nervous about the whole thing. There was three other people she would be traveling with, and she was sure they would just get in the way. Taking three deep breaths she walked up the steps and through the door. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 04:10 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:46 AM	#12
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Naria's character Name: Incana Age: 18 Race: Human Gender: Female Weapons: She would carry a rock thrower of sorts made of a long piece of leather looped and attached to a y-shaped hard wood stick. She has a pouch for carrying her rocks for her rock thrower- slung over her shoulder. She would also carry a simple utility knife long enough to do some damage if need be. Appearance: Incana has long dark blonde hair almost brown that she keeps tied back in a half ponytail. Eyes that seem to change their colour with her mood; sometimes a gold colour sometimes a hazel green. She is 5'6" and weighs in at a whopping 115lbs. She would have pale skin compared to most of the other villagers, but very rosy cheeks. She usually wears a wrap tunic made of leather and lined with angora, that her mother made for her and leather leggings. She has a pair of high leather boots that she wears this time of year that tie up around her calves. Personality, strengths, weaknesses: She has a great personality, at least that's what her parents say, she is always bubbly and full of life. She is usually the voice of reason when a problem arises. But, Incana is quite bull headed at times when she wants to be usually ending her in hot water. History: Her father is the village horse breeder and works hard on there farm tending to the horses and goats. Her mother is a seamstress using the goat wool for angora. Her mother would have also worked on the farm tending to the goats, chickens and horses. She is the only child of her parents, her mother had a hard time during labor with Incana and didn't want to risk losing her life with another one. Because her father was a horse breeder he would have to travel great distances at times to sell his stock therefore, Incana was used to being by herself although she didn't mind being alone she often wondered what else there could be outside her village for her. She had learned a lot of the techniques that her mother had taught her and wouldn't have minded putting them to use some day. She often muttered to herself "why does no man want to take me as his bride?" She always thought that she was missing something in her life, besides having no family of her own or husband at her age, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. They have a herd of 15 horses and two of them were not to be ridden, "they are strictly for breeding!"her father would say. So she always had her pick of which to ride on any day. Because of his generous nature, her father had built a smaller house off to the side of theirs in case someone from out of town would need a place to stay. Her uncle was that person, he said he was only going to stay for a week or two but it's turned out to be two years now. Incana liked to watch her uncle practice his archery she thought, for being an older man, that he was the best that she had ever seen. He was also very good in tracking and taught Incana a few tricks of the trade. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Naria's Post: Incana and her mother were getting ready for bed when her father and uncle came crashing through the door. "Something is going on in the town square" her father exclaimed. "We heard the bell ring, must be very important." said her uncle. With their night dress on and lanterns in hand , Incana and her mother hurried outside with her father and uncle leading the way. "It's a good thing that we reside nearby else you ladies would be catching a chill this night." her uncle said trying to lighten the mood. Approaching the centre of town they noticed a large group of people had already arrived. Some they recognized some they did not. "I wonder where these people have come from that I have not seen before." Incana said with concern in her voice. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing that we should be too concerned about." her mother said not quite convincing herself of that. The four of them walked through the crowd and into the town hall where there were even more people that they had and had not seen. Incana was starting to feel overwhelmed and scared. She took her father's hand and held it tightly. Her father, straining to hear, heard what sounded like a plea for help from an older man in the sea of villagers. With Incana's hand still tight in his they weaved around people until they were closer to the stage. The MarchWarden had given his speech to everyone and after listening to him, Encana's parents couldn't believe what they had just heard. "He can't be serious Sending our young ones out like that." Her father said in obvious disdain about the idea. There was some quarreling back and forth among some other parents and it was getting louder and louder. The MarchWarden banged his staff on the stage floor twice. All went silent. "I implore all of the young people of Rohan, come forth if yea shall volunteer for this task." Incana felt a pain in her stomach and a pull in her that she could not ignore. She slowly loosened her grasp of her father's hand and walked even closer to the stage. "NO!" cried her mother "I won't let you do this." Incana picked her mother up off of the floor, wiped away her tears and whispered into her ear, "I'll be ok. Don't fret mother I will come back to you. I have to do this." And with that Incana raised her hand. With barely any sleep Incana awoke the next morning to find that it wasn't a dream that had kept her tossing but a cold reality. Her mother had been up before her daughter that morning and prepared and packed some food and extra clothing for the journey. Her father came inside and wiped away some dirt off of his face. Incana couldn't help but notice that the dirt had smudged even though it wasn't hot enough outside this time of year. She felt tears well up in her eyes and threw herself into her father's arms. He pulled her back and told her that the horse was ready while he walked into another room. Incana heard muffled sobs; she wanted to go and be with her father but she changed her mind. Her mother hugged her only child and said good-bye and told Incana that she loved her. Incana put the food pack around her waist and went outside where her horse was waiting tied to a post. She fastened her weapons to the side of the horse sighed deeply, mounted and made her way to the town. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-31-2006 at 02:19 AM.

01-21-2006, 12:47 AM	#13
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Tevildo's character NAME: Dorran AGE: 16, but passes as 18 RACE: Human GENDER: Male WEAPONS: Dorran cherishes a sturdy bow and knife that were passed down to him by his father. He has some skill with these weapons in hunting and cleaning game. He has a sling fashioned from soft leather, which is the weapon he prefers to use when protecting farm animals from annoying pests like snakes and rodents or in bringing down small prey to feed himself and his sister. APPEARANCE: Dorran is a tall but slender lad with a shock of brown curly hair, skin that is darker than most in the village, and earnest brown eyes. His serious expression and somber demeanor make him look considerably older than his actual age of sixteen years. Dorran wears a pair of mended breeches, a shirt, and a homespun vest that have all seen better days. His pockets generally bulge with the rocks that he always keeps nearby in case an unsuspecting rabbit comes darting across his path. Around his neck hangs a simple thong with a copper medallion that he keeps tucked underneath his shirt. Dorran has a way of blending quietly into his surroundings so that few of those who pass by even notice him. He generally prefers it that way. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Dorran's personality seemingly matches his quiet and unassuming outer appearance. He keeps much to himself out of choice and necessity. He lacks the protection that comes from having a cynical tongue to lash out at others or an adult protector. His manner is steady and cooperative, but he gives little hint to the outside world of what his real feelings are. He lacks confidence, thinks little of his own abilties, and tends to live from day-to-day, not caring much about the future. In reality, he is an extraordinarily gifted young lad who has managed to provide for himself and his younger sister despite enormous adversity. HISTORY: Dorran and his sister Creide, now twelve years old, came to the village of Wulfham when they were tiny children, brought there from some identified place that lay towards the east by an elderly maiden aunt. Neither of the trio ever spoke of what had become of the childrens' parents. Whatever difficulties had befallen the family, Dorran and Raven kept the story to themselves. The aunt was a poor seamstress, barely holding body and soul together. Both Dorran and Creide had to be sent out in service at a very young age. After helping out in the households of several farmers in the region, the children found their way into the employ of Lord Aldwulf: Creide as a scullery maid and Dorran in the stables. With the passing of their elderly aunt, the march-warden and his lady had taken pity on the two and let them bed down in a tiny cellar room that faced onto the courtyard. The children are well behaved and generally accepted by the other villagers, yet now and then someone mentions in a whisper that the two were originally from outside the area, and no one knows from where they came. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tevildo's post Dorran sat up with a start, threw off the covers, and leapt to his feet, hurrying over to the door and throwing it open. The sun had risen several hours before. He had managed to sleep through the cock's welcoming cry and all the hustle and bustle that had gone on in the courtyard, an area that stood only a short distance from the doorway of their tiny shed. Quickly sweeping his eyes over the area in front of the main hall, Dorran could see that preparations for their journey were well under way. The horses had been saddled and were snorting with impatience to be off. Several of the party had already arrived and were saying their final goodbyes to well wishers and friends. Pummelling his fist into his other palm in frustration, Dorran turned and glared back at Criede. His sister was seated at the small table and was putting the finishing touches on a large sack of provisions that she meant for her brother to carry with him. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Dorran demanded. "I intended to be up and about. And what are you doing with all that food? The Master said he'd supply us with whatever we needed." "Perhaps so," retorted the younger girl. "But this may be the last time for a while that you get a taste of my biscuits and apple tart. I thought you might like it." She stared back at him and then boldly stuck out her tongue. One moment Criede could be serious and adult, and the next moment acting just like a child. "Alright, alright." His tone had softened considerably. "You've got me there. But still, I should have been up at dawn. What about the watering and feeding of the horses?" He stopped for a moment and shook his head, "It isn't like me..." Criede interrupted before her brother could say another word, "The Master said I was to let you lie abed. You were up late helping him to gather the things that the group would need today. He wanted you to get some sleep before you began your journey. Anyways, it's only a few steps out to the courtyard, and you'll be ready to leave." "Well enough, I suppose," he conceded with a sigh. "Promise be you'll be good, Criede, and do what the Lady says, and that you'll mind her on the road. She says you're to sleep in the hall with the other maids until you all leave together so you won't be out here on your own." "I'd rather stay here," she objected. "This is my home." "No more trouble now. Just do as the mistress says. When she says it's time to leave, you must go with her. She has always been kind to us and I expect you to behave. I'll see you soon in Edoras so you have nothing to fear." "Alright, I promise. But why are you going early? You don't have to, you know. The Lord wouldn't make you. I'm sure of it." "No, he wouldn't make me. But I want to go. I would never feel right being here and doing nothing, not knowing the danger the whole realm is in. Anyways," he muttered through gritted teeth, "not if I could do something to strike a blow at the likes of them." Criede glanced up sideways at her taller brother, "You don't expect to see any of. those, those.... things on the road." "I don't know but I don't expect so. They're still off to the east, or so I heard the Master talking. But if I do meet one, he won't live till another day. They are evil through and through. They have no soul, no heart, only blackness." There was real animosity in the lad's voice, the tone of one who knows more than what he says. "Promise me, Dorran." his sister responded. "Promise me that you won't do anything foolish. You're the only family I have." "I promise. I'm not a fool. And being dead isn't something I want to do for a long time. Anyways, dead men can't fight Orcs." With that final thought, Dorran reached down and gave his sister a final hug, and raced out into the open courtyard to join the others who were just mounting up. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 10:36 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:48 AM	#14
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Farael's character NAME: Osmod (Osse) AGE: 20 RACE: Human GENDER: Male WEAPONS: An old but well cared for short sword that belonged to his grandfather. Back on those days it had a pattern drawn on the blade but it has long been erased. The grip is simple leather, comfortable if not very luxurious. Also, Osmod carries a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. While living outside the town and caring for his cattle he had had to deal with predators more than once and he was a good archer. Much better than a swordsman anyway. APPEARANCE: Tall, around six feet, and in good shape as he was often looking after his father's cattle. Dark black hair cut rather short, about two inches above his shoulders. He wears simple home made breeches and tunic, both light brown and a black leather belt. His boots and cloak belonged to his grandfather before him, during his times as a rider in the armies of Thengel King, father of Theoden. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: A shy and quiet man, he enjoys the wonders of nature and peace. He has been raised to work hard on the task at hand, which ever that may be. He is extremely loyal to both the King of Rohan (even if he now lives outside the boundaries of the country) and his friends. HISTORY: Even though Osmod's family is very wealthy, his father has always made him work for what he wanted. As soon as he was of age, Osmod was sent to look after his father's cattle and he loved it. The wide open spaces, the company of animals... much simpler than that of men with all the lies and pretended friendships. His horse, a strong dark brown gelding, is all the company he needs, and all the company he seeks more often than not. Ever a lover of nature and peace, when peace was shattered and nature threatened by the invading orcs and men, Osmod wanted to join the King's army and fight them back, as his grandfather had done. Yet as the March-Warden had asked for volunteers to run to Edoras and alter the King, Osmod knew it was his best opportunity to help his family and the few friends he had. Their only hopes rested on a quick ride to the King's palace and an even faster ride to rescue the harrased villagers. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Farael's post ------------ FIRST POST FOR OUTLANDERS The long, slow wail of a horn arose those living close to the Town Hall. The sound of horns was taken up and repeated by others as they awoke and soon all the town had rose to the sound of alarm. The March-Warden Horwald was calling for a town meeting. It had not happened since the times of Brego King, many lives of men before, that this emergency call had sounded in the middle of the night. There was no man alive who had been born then, but still the villagers responded as they had trained themselves to do. Upon receiving the disturbing news in the middle of the night, Horwald had ordered his eldest son to sound the alarm but he had not shared the dire news with anyone. It was the right of all the townspeople to learn about the incoming dangers at the same time. After making their respective horn calls, the people of Bregoware had started to make their way towards the Town Hall. As this town was mostly a farming community, it had been the best part of two hours before all the families were represented. Mostly men had answered the distress call, but in dangerous times like these some brave women had joined their husbands and fathers. With a sigh, Horwald raised his hand to ask for silence. He was proud to see the look of worry in the faces of men untainted by fear. Soon that would be no more, as the news he had to tell them were ones no March-Warden had ever been forced to say in this town. A tense silence was finally achieved and so Horwald, son of Leodwald addressed his people. They were his, his responsibility. As he repeated them the words of the messenger, who at the time had long ran off to meet with his own townspeople, he saw even the bravest of his men frowning. Bregoware had been harassed by easterlings and even a party of orcs before, but the news were that of a marching army not a wild group of bandits. The people had followed him through the hardships of living outside the boundaries of the Kingdom of Rohan and they trusted him. They would follow him if he ordered them to abandon their houses. They would follow him if he ordered them to retreat into the fortified city and prepare themselves for what could be a long siege. But as he looked into his people’s faces, he could not bear the thought that in the next weeks some of them would die, no matter what choice he made. Osmod was awaken by the alarm cries of his own family’s horn. He ran up to his father’s chambers to find him standing by the window, blowing at the horn that had belonged to his grandfather. He could hear the distinct sound of other horns at the distance, but more worrying to his mind was the sound of his mother crying. Leofwen had always been a strong woman; she had even ridden against an invading group of bandits in her youth. The alarm sound was soon picked up by other families and father and son readied themselves for the ride to the Town Hall. They chose their fastest horses and carried their swords with them. Osmod did not have a sword that belonged to him and so he ‘borrowed’ his grandfather’s. It had been hanging on the wall since the day Osbearn had returned from the ranks of Thengel King. They were one of the last people to arrive, as his father’s lands were far outside the town, but many of the men present allowed them to make their way closer to where the March Warden was standing. Horwald’s face was grim and soon they learned why. First there was silence. Then the yelling started. The opinion that was voiced the loudest was that of war. They had defended themselves from those orkish bandits before, they would do it again. Yet soon common sense sank in and they realized they would fight a loosing battle that would be over before it even got started. The men still wanted to fight, many of them were gripping their swords hilts already. Yet as they looked around the room and saw the women present, they understood they could not let their families die for their pride. Soon the room was silent and the March Warden announced what they all dreaded. The city was to be emptied by noon on the following day. They would march towards Edoras, protected by the warriors of the town. As everyone was reading themselves to go back to their houses and start preparing for the long escape, a voice was heard on the back of the room. Osmod could not tell if it had been a man or a woman who had spoken, he could not tell even if it had been any older than himself. Yet the words were true. Marching armies could run faster than retreating towns and even if they left on the first light the following day, they might not make it to Edoras before the orcs caught up with them. At least some riders would need to be sent to alert The King and bring back help. Silence fell upon the room again as they saw the March Warden deliberating with his main counsellors. When he looked up, his face was stern and decided. Four of their fastest riders would go ahead of the main group. Yet he could spare none of his warriors and so volunteers would be needed. Osmod’s hand moved towards the hilt of his sword even before Horwald had finished the call for volunteers. Never before had anyone but the March Warden heard those words and never before had they been meant for anything other than teaching the March Warden his duties and responsibilities. “Who among the people of Bregoware will answer my call? Who among us braves will show to be the bravest? Who will risk pain and death for the greater good of his people?” The room fell silent, interrupted only by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. One volunteer had accepted the call. Soon two more swords were raised over the heads of their brave owners. One last volunteer was needed yet the room had fallen silent again. Osmod closed his eyes and tensed his grip on the sword. Almost without him knowing, he unsheathed his grandfather’s sword. He had answered the call for help. Voices were heard at the back of the room and spread out quickly towards the front. Soon all the gathered townspeople were discussing the names of the volunteers. Everyone seemed to want to talk to Osmod and grab his arm. He had shown to be as brave as his grandfather Osbearn had been, they said. He had shown to be great among the great of his town. But Osmod knew he had shown nothing yet. He was still safe inside the walls of the village and there were many dangers to confront before he would even consider himself to be brave. Horwald dismissed everyone but the volunteers and their families – it would have been pointless and cruel to force them appart now when they would be parting soon enough, perhaps for ever- who stayed and gathered close to him. He praised the volunteers sincerely and offered them his help in anything they needed. He would provide them with food and water, as well as fast horses if they lacked one. Of course, they all had good horses, but it was a great compliment to be offered a horse by the March Warden himself. After the March Warden had spoken, Osmod asked of him only one thing. The sword he carried was old and the edge was dull. He wanted to carry his grandfather’s sword and would very much appreciate it if the March Warden could have it sharpened for him. Horwald granted him his wish, as he granted everything the others asked. They stayed until it was long past midnight discussing the best strategy for their ride, but they all agreed that there was no way of knowing what they would find and so no way of making accurate plans. The town of Bregoware would have to trust on their rider’s skill and intelligence. And as most of them made their way to their respective houses, they knew their trust had not been misplaced. Osmod rode back to his father’s estate. His father had been uncommonly silent since he had volunteered himself and they rode in silence towards the big house. After they left the horses in the stables, Osmod’s father asked him to wait on the hall before retreating to his own room. Osmod complied and sat down on the cold floor, feeling more comfortable there than on the sturdy chairs. He scrambled up to his feet as he heard his father walking back in and could not help to gasp when he saw what he was carrying. His father had his own longbow on one hand, the finest quality weapon his family had. But what surprised the son was the family horn in his father’s left hand. It belonged to his father, it had belonged to his grandfather before and to his father before then. “Son, it has been our family tradition that the father of the house gives this horn to his son on the day of their wedding. I know not if I shall live to see that great day and this is why I want you to have it. It may be of assistance to you and I know our ancestors will forgive me for breaking our long held tradition”. As Osmod laid sleepless on his bed, he told himself that nothing would go wrong as he had the protection of those who had fought the same enemy before and won. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 05:03 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:50 AM	#15
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Undómë’s character NAME: Meghan AGE: 17 RACE: Men GENDER: Female WEAPONS: Long, thick pole about 6” taller than herself; it tapers from sharpened tip to about a 3” knobbed base. She uses it mostly for dissuading small predators from her flock of goats. A skinning knife in a plain leather sheath hangs at her hip from her belt. She is a fair marksman with her small hunting bow – though she prefers to set out her corded traps or nets when looking to bring in small animals or birds. She is also hardly ever without her sharp, metal knitting needles close to hand. APPEARANCE: 5’1’ 111 lbs; fine boned, slightly built, agile, well muscled/strong for someone with such a small frame. Thick, honey blond hair, worn in a long plait to mid back. Light blue eyes. Skirts and tunics during the warmer months; A pair of her brother’s old pants, made of thick material, thick socks, knee high soft, worn boots and warm sweaters in the colder months knitted from goat hair yarn. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Meghan is a self sufficient woman. Used to being on her own as she moves her small flock of goats from one sparsely grassed area to another. She is quick to laugh at the antics of others as well as at her own follies, and when she does her eyes glint with impish delight and her entire face lights up. She has opinions on almost everything, and is quite capable of defending them if challenged. Fortunate for her, she has enough native wit to know when to keep those opinions to herself. She is a kind person, especially to those she feels are being unjustly trod on. Her kind-heartedness, though, is sometimes difficult to discern beneath her oft-times prickly exterior. HISTORY: Meghan’s father died of some consumptive illness when she was quite young. Her mother, though she did not suffer the same illness as her husband, never quite recovered from the loss of him. She fell in on herself, growing old quickly. Meghan, at age eight, and her brother, barely fifteen took over the running of the house and the care of the goat herd. There had been four other babies between her and her brother, but none had survived their infancy. Her brother Leof, needless to say, has always been very protective of her. Meghan’s mother is still living, though her mind wanders much in bygone days. Leof married, and he and his wife, Gudryn, have two babes of their own Everyone lives in the small family house her father had built. Meghan loves them all dearly, but oft times she feels hemmed in and overwhelmed by the close, constant presence of them all. As often as she can, she stays with the goats as they move from pasture to pasture. Nights they huddle near her, listening, she likes to tell herself, to the music she plays on her reed pipe. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Undómë’s post Meghan stood against a wall, on a chair she’d dragged over to give her some height. Had it been her choice, she would have stayed home altogether, minding her mother while Leof and Gudryn saw to the fuss at the town’s hall. Not that she wasn’t concerned about the horn call to gather, but the thought of so many people as they pressed in against her made her loathe to go. ‘I’ll just look after mama,’ she had told her brother, as he scrambled into his tunic. ‘And the babes, of course. You and Gudryn can find out the news.’ ‘Nay,’ he’d told her. It was Gudryn who would see to the household while they were gone. It was he and Meghan who would represent their family at the meeting. So, here she stood on her small island of wood looking out over the sea of her townsmen’s heads. Their faces were all turned to Horwald as he raised his hand to speak. And the words he spoke were chilling. A small current of cold fear ran down her back, making her shiver. Orcs! Worse yet, Easterlings! And in an organized group this time, not just some willy-nilly raiding. She wondered for a moment what sort of dark captain might have managed to make them work together. Given their natural hatred of each other they would have torn each other apart. She shivered again at the thought that somehow they were now acting together. Her mind was racing as the march-warden laid out his plan to move the villagers toward Edoras. How would she manage her goats on the march? What supplies would she need to bring for the long journey? She would want to make sure they had enough to eat – especially the milkers, as they would provide nourishment for her family and others. She was making lists in her mind when she heard someone ask the question about sending for help. And looking up she saw Horwald nod his head at the truth of it and speak with his counselors. Meghan flattened herself against the wall as he called for volunteers – four fast riders to make haste to the King himself. She did not intend to be one of them. She closed her eyes, willing herself invisible. Peeping through one eye she saw that swords had been raised as the volunteers made themselves known. Osmond’s blade was raised, as well as one of Fion’s weapons, and there across the room was the hand of . . . a woman, whose name she could not recall. Voices were raised praising the braveness of the volunteers. But the march-warden had called for four – she only saw three . . . Beside her, her brother made a shuffling sound as he readjusted his position leaning against the wall. She turned to ask him if he’d noted the fourth volunteer and saw with horror his own blade raised. In a quick, unthinking move she bent down from her perch on the chair and grabbed their father’s old sword from his hand. ‘You sheep-brained fool!’ she hissed at him, the sword upraised in her hand as she maneuvered it away from him. ‘Who will protect our mother and your wife and babies if you ride off westward?’ Murmurs of approval swelled about her. She stood upright wondering why her name rose on the current of voices. Her face blanched when she realized she still held her brother’s sword up and away from his grasp. She leaned back against the wall for support, her knees suddenly turned to jelly, as the march-warden pointed to her and nodded his head in approval. The remainder of the meeting, after the greater part of the villagers had gone back to their homes, was a blur to her. Plans were discussed, as well as supplies, and horses. She recalled saying that ‘yes’ she would need a faster horse, as their old farm horse would only plod her way to Edoras and most likely arrive after the villager itself had got there. Leof and she tramped home in a stony silence. He was angry that she had grabbed the blade from him and been counted among the volunteers; she was angry that he had thought to raise it on his own behalf at all. oooo Meeting at the Hall the next day* It was a tired Meghan who dragged herself to the Hall the next morning. Her packing had not consisted of much – her few clothes, her cape, her stick and little bow, her knife, and of course, her knitting needles and her yarn. Gudryn had made her up a small packet of food for the day, knowing the march-warden’s family would see to her other provisioning. She had said her good-byes, telling her mother not to fret. That she would soon be back and that Leof and Gudryn would take good care of her. Gudryn hugged her, whispering ‘thanks’ in her ear for making Leof stay with them. Leof, faced with the inevitability of her going thawed and clasped her fiercely to him. ‘You come back, you hear!’ he ordered her, his voice gone husky with emotion. ‘Or begads I’ll hunt you in the otherworld and drag you back to us!’ Meghan pushed herself a little away from him, and kissed him on the brow. ‘And you brother, take care of my goats! Else I give you a thump on that thick head of yours for everyone that’s gone missing.’ She pushed open the doors to the Town Hall and tromped in. Laying her pack and bedroll at her feet, she thumped her pole on the wooden floor to draw attention to herself. ‘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 . . . . . . on this fool’s errand! she added to herself. Fools all, if we think we’ll make it . . . more the fool, if we think the King and his Riders will care about our outland problems at all . . . Last edited by piosenniel; 01-31-2006 at 01:12 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:51 AM	#16
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Maeggaladiel's Character NAME: Fion AGE: 17 RACE: Men GENDER: Male WEAPONS: Well-used wooden bow, quiver of arrows. One plain hunting knife. APPEARANCE: About 5'9". Dirty-blond wavy hair, usually pulled back into a ponytail. The meagre beginnings of a beard marks his chin. Gray-blue eyes. A somewhat muscular build from years of farmwork, but not overly so. Fion is stuck somewhere between lanky teenager and adult, and he has been trying to push himself towards the latter. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Fion is somewhat naieve, and an idealist. He sets out from his home ready to save the world, not expecting the world to laugh and kick dirt in his face. He can be over-eager to help people and can become sidetracked easily. He tries to play the role of the gallant knight in shining armor, and is easily delfated when people give him a dose of reality. He is, however, loyal and honest, a quick thinker, and an excellent shot with the bow. HISTORY: Born and raised on a small farm, Fion has known no other life. He has dreamed of traveling to Edoras, though, and wants to become a Rider of the Mark. Most of his life has been spent working on a farm with his father and younger brother. Through his various roles as "delivery boy" for his father, he has proven himself a swift rider and a trustworthy messenger. When the orcs began their advance on Rohan, Fion begged his father to let him fight with the adults. His father refused, saying that a farm boy with a bow could do little good in such a battle. When the call for messengers went out, Fion approached his father again and demanded to go. His father finally agreed, although hesitantly. Fion was elated. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Maeggaladiel's post The hall went silent as the call for volunteers rang out. Fion looked up at his father. The broad-shouldered man stared out over the sea of frightened faces, his own sun-worn face an expressionless mask. Fion grimaced. Why so few volunteers? This was an important job! This mission required endurance, knowledge of the land, and speed on horseback. It practically screamed for Fion's involvement. Why, he could do this with his eyes closed! There was a voice from the front of the hall, and people were nodding at him. That was when he realized his hand was above his head. Oh... "Fion!" his father hissed in anger and shock. "You fool, what are you doing?" He grabbed the boy's arm and forced it to his side. "You cannot do this!" But it was too late. The boy's fate had been sealed. "He's naught but a child!" his father protested to the people around him. Fion, feeling rebellious, pulled away. "I have seen ten-and-seven summers; that is enough!" he said. He jutted out his chin, wishing that his "beard" was more than short blonde dandelion fuzz. "And I am the fastest rider around!" he added proudly. "You said so yourself!" He held up the worn hunting bow. "And I can hit a bird's eye in the dark!" A mild exaggeration, but boasting never hurt. His father stared at him, his expression odd but unreadable. Fion shifted uncomfortably. "I can do this," he insisted, pleading with his eyes. "Please, let me try. If I don't go, we could all be in danger." There was another long silence. His father stared hard at Fion; the boy tried hard to return the stare. After a moment, the elder man sighed. "Do what you must," he said. Fion, wanting to prove himself mature enough to handle the task, refrained from letting out a joyous yell. "I'll make you proud," Fion said. His father grasped his shoulders. "You already have." Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 04:07 PM.

01-22-2006, 12:35 AM	#17
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Eowyn Skywalker's character NAME: Eostre Merir AGE: 20 RACE: Human GENDER: Female WEAPONS: Eostre carries a quarterstaff about six feet tall, made out of simple wood, a bow and a quiver of arrows (she probably has about twenty arrows, none of those unending elven arrows that Legolas seemed to have), and a longer dagger (does the term dirk apply in Middle-earth? Because that's how I'd define her blade), in case her staff were to break or anyone be too near for ranged attacks. No flashy weapons for her. Armor-wise, she has leather vambraces, only because it would be stupid for an archer not to have that sort of protection and a thick leather tunic underneath her clothing. At least, she will in this RP, not that she'd normally wear that sort of garb. APPEARANCE: Eostre isn't very tall—perhaps 5"2— a typically larger human build overwhelming her features, and leaving her, although fairly pleasant looking, not the beauty queen of the area. Her hair is not so long as it is free-flying, cut shorter to not get in her way with various chores overwhelming who she is. Her eyes are a dark brown, and her hair's a sort of flaxen brown, not really gold, but more flat. She wears flat brown clothing, trousers underneath a skirt for the sake of both convenience and riding, and a long sleeved tunic with a vest-like foldover front. ((one might think Jedi, but not quite so overdone)) Her skirt is a basic long pleated job. Wearing moccasin-like leather shoes, she doesn't tend to think too much of her appearance, trying to keep herself down to a simple, pragmatic approach. She wears her hair up in a ponytail much of the time, believing in being pragmatic at nearly all times. ( For reference, a photo, but her hair should be blond and tied back. And just totally ignore the clothing.) PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Eostre is a cynic. It's pretty well as simple as that. The oldest daughter in her family, she quickly adapted to a mistrusting manner—though nothing happened to her parents to scar her, in fact, they're all still alive. It's natural for the oldest child to become either a caretaker or sort of slip away into their own world. Eostre somehow managed to do both, dutifully carrying out her chores and actions until she left home at the age of twenty (that was this year, I suppose) to work as a farmhand, no desire to get married living in her heart at that time—though this could change. She was a fast learner, silently picking up on everything, not readily desiring to speak unless spoken to—yet when she did choose to speak, she was able to become an incredible leader. She sees things very often as purposeless, preferring to let others do their foolish play while she walked alone, letting herself close herself in far too easily. For this, she's very shielded, her personality guarded. She hates to trust unless positive this emotion will be returned, and although is very passionate about what she believes to be truth, masks her patriotic spirit as much as the leader underneath the indifferent guise. A notable physical weakness is an allergy to pollen, ei, hayfever. And though she's had to lift heavy things in typical farmwork, not to mention shooting off intruders now and again, she's not particularly strong with melee fighting. She has few qualms in killing if she has to, and knows a deal about basic medications, both able to come up with herbal mixtures and the nitty-gritty of setting broken limbs and bandaging wounds. If she chooses to love and or trust someone, she holds to this to the uttmost, though this leaves her very suseptable to heartbreak, whether through death or simply betrayal. Eostre also has a nearly flawless memory, though again this is also a weakness as things most people would want to forget engrain themselves into her mind. Since age limits in this RP force me to make Eostre younger than she should be, the fact that she's the oldest child made her end up wiser beyond her years, perhaps a bit of an unnatural maturaty, though no worse than her narrator, who suffers the same maturaty defect in reality. (coughs) HISTORY: Eostre has no greatly exceptional history. She's the oldest born in her family, grew up to learn to take care of horses, cows, chickens, and sheep, not to mention knowledge of how to weed the garden. Having about five siblings, she's well aware of a maternal need to care for people although cynicism frequently overrides this. Once she decided her siblings (who weren't that much younger than her; her parents were busy) were well enough on their own, she decided that it would be better to help out with some older people whose oldest children had been killed in a previous bandit attack, or something like that. Considering he was her mother's brother, therefore rendering the family owning the farm her uncle and aunt, there was nothing of any scandelous manner to consider, and considering their only child was six years old, it was probably a good thing she helped anyway. Nooooooothing of merit here. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Eowyn Skywalker's post Jerked from a weary sleep by a strong wailing of an alarm, Eostre's eyes flickered open in the dark. An attempt to speak... her voice choked off and she leaned over to grasp a white square of fabric, rubbing some excess mucus from her mouth with a grimace. It took the adult woman sometime before she was able to place the harsh sound of alarm that drilled through her mind, chasing away all the flickering images of the dreamworld she dwelled in during her sleep. Something about... A chicken? But, as was her custom, she didn't let anything sway her course from the choice to sit up and shove her bedding aside, yanking her nightshift off and changing hastily into full garb. By the time she was fully dressed—making the attempt to change in the dark hardly easy—the sound of the alarm had long leaned towards the houses far further away from the Town Hall, and in other rooms in the house, there came the sound of feet smacking against bare wood, her host family coming to wake her up. Had they honestly thought the light sleeping Eostre would still be abed when alarms cried all through the town, the clatter of hooves passing through the streets and roads stretching far beyond the town to the adjoined lands? She could scarcely sleep through the sound of bacon frying in the rare mornings when she was ill, mainly from allergies. But it meant little; she was dressed, as were they all, and the bordering elderly Haodel and Gelwyn were insisting she ride to the Town Hall with them from their farm. Gelwyn wanted to stay with cousin Ieloa, Haodel wanted to go to the meeting... clamor. She didn't mind. There was no way she could ever have fallen asleep after such a racket! What was the world coming to? A full out war? Needless to say, not being so far out of town, the two arrived quickly to the Town Hall, possibly after the first ten or so people had arrived. By this point the woman was well awake, sticking close to Haodel as they watched others arrive to the meeting. An explanation... Eostre exhaled. So. It did come to war, then. She felt no fear, only a vauge sense of intriege at the arguements being cast around the room, the voices raised and tossed from one hand to the next. The call for aid was too facinating; she didn't want to see any unnecessary death. Metal cut against metal, and a sword was raised above one volenteer's head, held high in the crowd. She hardly hesitated after that. The mission screamed for fast riders, for those who knew the land, knew how to fight, and wanted to protect their land. She unsheathed her dirk, raised it above her head with just the faintest flicker of a challenging smile on her face. Haodel threw her a glance. "Eostre..." "They mayn't even allow me to ride along," she murmured in soft reply. "If they do, I ride hard. I shall return, and in the meantime you and Gelwyn will manage." He only inclined his head, and she realized when he had spoken, he hadn't spoken in critisism. So. It was done, then. She glanced up at the flame-colored light reflecting off of her blade for a moment, then back down at the others surrounding her. Somehow, time seemed to blur past, others finally raising their blades in agreement of the mission. Time passed... The Marchwarden dismissed everyone beyond the volunteers and their families, but names had still spread. Her family recognized her involvement, remaining while Haodel returned to his family. Somehow through the plans, the clock passed well beyond the witching hour as they spoke, exchanged embraces with her family near the end, though they were unnaturally silent, Eostre noted. She was silent through much of the planning, letting things sink in. And when she went to ride back to Haodel's family, her parents pulled her aside, insisted that it would be better if she spent one last night at home. As if she would never return, she thought... And yet, as she lay sleepless abed once more, she felt no fear of death, only a desire to protect others of the potential same fate. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 07:42 PM.

01-22-2006, 12:36 AM	#18
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	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. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-28-2006 at 02:40 AM.

01-25-2006, 10:42 PM	#19
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	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. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-28-2006 at 02:45 AM.

01-29-2006, 11:29 AM	#21
Naria Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Dec 2005 Posts: 501	Pio or Arry Does everyone have there posts in? If so, what day are we starting the game?

01-29-2006, 01:57 PM	#22
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Arry will be available for the game on Tuesday - so that's the day the game thread will open. ~*~ 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.

01-30-2006, 02:12 PM	#23
Arry Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Jan 2004 Posts: 704	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 __________________ If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world – J.R.R. Tolkien

01-30-2006, 02:56 PM	#24
Farael Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Nov 2005 Location: In hospitals, call rooms and (rarely) my apartment. Posts: 1,549	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!! __________________ I prepared Explosive Runes this morning.

01-30-2006, 03:19 PM	#25
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	Actually, they aren't too short, Farael - they get your characters to the leaving place and both of you are free to add additional posts where you talk with the others in your party, mount up, receive direction from the march-warden as you wish, etc. Don't hurry along - there's plenty of play time and it's nice to deepen your characters as much as you can. I'll work on putting up the posts just after midnight here in the Pacific northwest of the US - after I return from work. There will also be some final instructions about posting to the game included. Undómë and Nogrod - I'll put your 'older characters' posts on the game once the chosen riders have left Bregoware.

01-30-2006, 03:59 PM	#26
Nogrod Flame of the Ainulindalë Join Date: Jan 2006 Location: Wearing rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves in a field behaving as the wind behaves Posts: 9,330	Let's ride on! Looks good! And even if we oldtimer's are slow to start, we'll be at your backs soon enough. Have a good ride everyone! And let's hope that Valar will guard our way. __________________ Upon the hearth the fire is red Beneath the roof there is a bed; But not yet weary are our feet...

01-30-2006, 10:23 PM	#28
Eowyn Skywalker Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Feb 2004 Location: Somewhere far, far away. Eh. Posts: 409	I'm awayish Tuesday and Wednesday, so I'll try to get a post in Thursday... __________________ Sometimes worlds collide. This time, they got their own webpage. Join Middle-earth: Insanity forums today.

01-31-2006, 04:19 AM	#29
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,816	The RPG is now open for play. Have fun!! -------- A few reminders: Remove your signature from EVERY post to the RPG thread, including SAVES. Fill in your SAVES in 48 hours, please. Do not use smilies or any Post Icons on your Game posts. Don't put 'Reasons for Editing' on your game posts - if it's important that the other gamers know you've edited something - use the Discussion Thread to tell them about it. Please remember to use other writers' characters very carefully. Don't speak for them or have them perform actions unless it is okayed by the character's owner. __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.

01-31-2006, 04:31 AM	#30
Arry Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Jan 2004 Posts: 704	Yay! The game is open for play!! Until our two groups join together - let's use the names of the 2 villages in bold as headers to our posts. I think it will be easier to keep track of our separate groups that way. ----- Farael I put your second post on the game for you. ----- Tevildo My character, Brand, has finally gotten to the Hall - and has greeted you as the first fast-rider he spies. Ladies of Wulfham, feel free to come and join us two guys and get our food, water, etc. Before we actually leave, I think the March-warden will give us a few instructions. __________________ If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world – J.R.R. Tolkien

01-31-2006, 06:16 AM	#31
Nogrod Flame of the Ainulindalë Join Date: Jan 2006 Location: Wearing rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves in a field behaving as the wind behaves Posts: 9,330	One thing about geography Do we have any more clearer idea about our villages' whereabouts than that they are in / around Wold, near the eastern Border of Rohan, Bregoware even at the east side of Anduin? Within that description falls quite a lot of land. I was just wondering about the route we well take: as someone riding after the others, I should have some idea about the direction... Hopefully the March-warden of Bregoware will say it aloud at the game thread? __________________ Upon the hearth the fire is red Beneath the roof there is a bed; But not yet weary are our feet...

01-31-2006, 12:19 PM	#32
Arry Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Jan 2004 Posts: 704	Here's where I see Wulfham - on the MAP, in the upper right hand area, there is a section of The Great River (Anduin) that bulges out into The Undeeps, Wulfham is in the upper corner of that. Bregowarians - where do you want your village? North or south of us Wulfhamers? It's on the other side of the river and shouldn't be too far from us, so that we can meet up easily enough at some point. I'd like our route to go down along the river at least for a while - do you Bregos want to come upon us or would you like to have us find you? __________________ If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world – J.R.R. Tolkien

01-31-2006, 12:40 PM	#33
Farael Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Nov 2005 Location: In hospitals, call rooms and (rarely) my apartment. Posts: 1,549	We could be South of where you are, cross the river ahead of you and maybe have some of our experienced riders send out scouts that will run into you... it remains to be seen whether you will be considered friend or foe What do you fellow Bregowares think? __________________ I prepared Explosive Runes this morning.

01-31-2006, 03:08 PM	#34
Undómë Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Mar 2005 Posts: 400	Sounds good, Farael. Let's not find them too soon - we need to give all our characters time to get to know each other . . . and most likely grate on one another's nerves a bit. Arry What say you about when our two groups should hook up? __________________ Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, and the light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night . . . Last edited by Undómë; 01-31-2006 at 03:59 PM.

01-31-2006, 03:53 PM	#35
Maeggaladiel Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Mar 2004 Location: The end of the world as we know it. I feel fine, incidentally. Posts: 512	Sounds good to me, too. __________________ "Wide ne bith wel," cwaeth se the geheirde on helle hriman.

02-01-2006, 03:59 PM	#36
Valier Twisted Taleswapper Join Date: Dec 2005 Location: somewhere between sanity and insanity Posts: 1,737	Sorry I haven't posted yet on the RPG fellow Wulfhamers, I promise I will tonight or tomorrow! __________________ grand return?........

02-01-2006, 04:44 PM	#37
Tevildo Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Nov 2004 Location: Curled up on Melko's lap Posts: 425	Me too! I've put up a save for Dorran to respond to Brand. __________________ Now Tevildo was a mighty cat--the mightiest of all--and possessed of an evil spirit,...and he was in Melko's constant following; and that cat had all cats subject to him, and he and his subjects were the chasers and getters of meat for Melko's table.