Treachery of Men Discussion/Planning Thread

[piosenniel]

This is a planning thread for Anguirel’s RPG proposal:

Only those listed below may post to the thread at present.

• Anguirel - game founder/facilitator
• bill_n_sam
• CaptainofDespair
• Celuien
• Child of the 7th Age
• Dimturiel
• Durelin
• Folwren
• Fordim Hedgethistle
• Garen LiLorian
• Kath
• Lalaith
• Mithalwen
• Nogrod
• Noinkling
• piosenniel - moderator for the game
• Rune Son of Bjarne
• Volo

All other posts will be deleted

[piosenniel]

Treachery of Men


Historical Background:

In the wake of the disastrous Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame, Caranthir, Lord of Thargelion and son of Feanor, was driven from his realm and joined his people to those of his brothers, the hunters Amrod and Amras, maintaining a strong guard against Morgoth on Amon Ereb.

Meanwhile, the eldest of the Sons of Feanor, Maedhros, extended his friendship and welcome to the tribes of Easterlings coming over the Ered Lindon, bearing in mind the desperate need of the Noldor and Edain for more troops if the battle against Morgoth was to be won.

The Easterlings were led by two chieftains, Bor and Ulfang. Bor entered the army of Maedhros, and his people marched to the north; but Ulfang swore an oath to be Caranthir’s liegeman, and his people were given lands on the borders of the green forests of South East Beleriand. There they remained for a while in peace and contentment, and more of them traveled across the Blue Mountains, hearing of a safe refuge that could be earned for a little axe-service.

Events in the world outside took their toll, inevitably, however, and Maedhros began to draw up plans for a great Union of all the Elven-princes and the Men who followed them, to finally break Morgoth’s strength. His messengers rode with haste, cunning and care to reach the lands of his brothers and summon their forces to his side.

Caranthir in turn sent a rider to the lands of the Ulfings, haughtily bidding them assemble their full power and march north.

[piosenniel]

Links for First Age information


Chronology of the First Age

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Easterlings

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Houses of Bor and Ulfang

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The Wars of Beleriand - Battles from the Silmarillion

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Nirnaeth Arnoediad -- click on Battles of the 1st Age; then choose The Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

[piosenniel]

Basic Storyline:

Caranthir’s messenger arrives in the settlement of the Ulfings, seeking an audience with Ulfang, and summoning them to prepare for battle.

He does not know that Ulfang, growing in age and cunning, increasingly gives ear to his eldest, most ruthless son Uldor; a known outlaw who has been banished for slaying unarmed men and raping women, and spent long periods in the east, but has always eventually been allowed back by his doting father.

And Uldor is inclined to listen to another messenger...

Amid the intrigue and treachery, life for the Ulfing tribesmen and women goes on as usual, tinged now with the looming menace of imminent war.

[piosenniel]

The purpose of the story is to:

Assemble the Ulfing detachment so it can join the army of Caranthir as it passes by on the way north; and secretly conclude the treacherous pact with Morgoth.

[piosenniel]

Starting Location: The settlement of the Ulfings.

Likely destination: Caranthir’s camp in East Beleriand.

[piosenniel]

Garen LiLorian has asked to join the game.

Garen - your name is on the list to post to this thread. Come say hello and put your Character Bio on when you get it ready.

~*~ Pio

[Garen LiLorian]

Hello everybody. Here's a rough character sketch, that may or may not work very well. It may be a bit modern. *shrug* Oh well. It was fun to think about. Please let me know if and how it needs to be changed.

Linked ~*~ Pio
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Garen LiLorian's character


NAME: Adbrandr

AGE: 22

RACE: Ulfing

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Adbrandr's weapon is usually rhetoric, but he has the strength of his beliefs and so occasionally wields a dagger or a torch as becomes neccessary. In a real fight, he would use the same short spears and shield as the other Easterling warriors, though he is not trained with them beyond a basic proficiency.

APPEARANCE: Adbrandr is taller then average for an Easterling, (say 5'5" or so) straight limbed and beautiful. His eyes (which are blue) are fiery and passionate. His skin is fair (for an Easterling) and his hair is long, black, and tied in a ponytail. For an Easterling, he is slender and not very strong. He wears typical peasant clothes, though his family can afford better, to show his devotion to the working man.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Adbrantr is a political activist. Though a man in the prime of life for an Easterling, he is not married, continues to live with his parents and doesn't work or own property. Instead, he devotes his entire attention to his political agenda. He is a student (insofar as it is possible) who has decided that the Ulfings would be much better off allied with the Enemy. He is happy giving incendiary speeches against the Eldar, whom he sees as frightening, condescending aristocratic overlords and comfortable arranging mysterious fires or administering dark alley beatings to those he sees as collaborators with the hated Elves. He is extremely zealous and has a charisma about him, a strength of belief that sustains him much more then food or friends. He is strong but brittle, overly passionate but close-minded, intelligent but foolish.

HISTORY: Minor house carls in Ulfang's "court," Adbrandr's parents enjoy some status and wealth above most of the other subsistance farmers, and thus Adbrandr's life was less hard then most of his peers. He was only a small child during the relocation of the tribes, and carries only a small child's romantic vision of the "motherland" that the tribe relocated from. His knowlege of Elves is just as scarce, his only real experience being a vague memory of them as bright and terrible as they, according to him, commanded that the tribe settle in the area where they are now, an area pitifully too small for the growing number of Men, in his estimation. His youth, while less hard then most, was not easy by any stretch, and he blames this as well on the Elves. Hearing of the "Enemy" that dared to challenge the Eldar's claims of superiority with nothing but a few brave men and other creatures hated by the bigoted Elves, Adbrandr spent most of his teenage years trying to learn from the old men of the tribe about Elvish history and oppressions. Armed with a patchy knowlege of third-degree history, he had declared his contempt for the Elvish collaborationist views expressed by Ulfang and his two younger sons, and holds up the oldest as a misunderstood folkhero, worthy of praise.


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Garen LiLorian's post

"And that is why!" the crockery rattled from the thump as he be brought his fist down, staring feverishly around the dinner table at his companions. "Don't you see? What have they ever done for us? How have they helped us? By giving us what is already ours?! No! And no again!" His head traversed from side to side in an emphatic shake, but his too bright eyes remained fixed on his audience. On the table, his fist trembled with restrained passions. "This... this slavery, yes, slavery is an affront to our proud house that cannot, nay, will not be borne. Justice will out, friends." He dropped into a prophetic whisper at this last. "Mark my words. And you would be wise to side with the people rather then with the overlords when we rise up and throw off this yoke of elvish imperialism." He punctuated his impassioned talk with a deep swallow from his earthenware cup, revolutionary fervor burning deeply in his breast, his strange eyes darting over his audience.

"Yes, yes, just as you say dear." His mother pushed back in her chair uncomfortably, hands dry washing themselves in her lap as she looked imploringly at her husband. The other person at the table brought the palm of his large, hairy hand down on the table with a thump not unlike his son's, only a moment before. "And I say, that is enough of that nonsense, boy." He growled, foul breath washing over the intervening space, his small black eyes glinting dangerously. "Three times already ye've escaped having yer throat cut and fed to the crows, and each time ye come back more lunatic then the last. I'll na' have it under my roof anymore, d'y'hear?" The revolutionary started to speak strongly, but the hairy limb slammed the table again, a cup leaping off in fright, preferring the cool safety of the packed earth ground to the increasingly abused table. "No! I said no an' I mean no, boy! While ye live under my roof, ye'll do as I say, or it'll be me feedin' ye to the crows." The small part of his face not yet claimed by the ongoing struggle of beard, hair and eyebrows was a dangerous red and the hand not used for so scaring the cookware clutched the wooden handle of a long dirk at his belt unconsciously, the barest gleam of iron reflecting candlelight.

The revolutionary leaned forward in his chair, his passion turned cold. His bright eyes glittered like a snake's and, as though taken with the metaphor, his body appeared coiled and tense, ready to strike. His voice, perhaps feeling left out, came in a hiss. "You cannot suppress the truth, father. You cannot kill it with your cold iron or stamp on it with your boots. You are just like every other fat, self satisfied house carl, living off the work of the people, offering nothing in return. A mangy wolf, living off of the scraps the elves feed you, and the meat you can steal without bringing down the wrath of the people upon you." His head made another slow traverse. "No more, father. Strike me all you wish. I never wanted your protection, and I renounce your soveriegnty over me."

The bearded thundercloud darkened and he reached for a handful of the rough shirt his son was wearing, but the younger man slipped his grasp and moved to the door gracefully. "Farewell mother. Find the truth before it finds you." He intoned, and was gone. "Damn blast that Elf-spawned, goblin loving excuse for a milk blooded son of a pox-ridden -!" His father's bellow cut through the night. "You know it's only a phase, dear..." The peacemaker laid her hand on her husband's arm, her voice soothing. "This is the third time this month, and he always comes back, talking about filial piety and the values of this revolution he seems to want so much." She looked out the door sadly. Her still glowering husband clenched and unclenched his ham-like hands, looking for something to hit. "... I'm for the lord's house." He said after a moment through gritted teeth. "If that blasted goblin lover gets his feet too cold and runs back, he can sleep in the field with the animals, d'y'hear?" His wife nodded obediently, privately resolving to do nothing of the sort. "Well then." The man of the house took another look around, as if daring the furniture to utter revolutionary slogans, then ducked into the night after his son.

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[Child of the 7th Age]

Garen,

Glad to see you're here.

__________________

My minor character is still to follow but here is my main one. I'll add in the name of Embla's clan/family later as well.

Linked ~*~ Pio

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Child of the 7the Age's character - Khandr

NAME: Khandr

AGE: 40

RACE: Eastern Man - Borrim

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: Unlike the other Borrim, most of whom wield curved blades, Khandr bears a straight sword. It is a blade of fine workmanship gifted to him by Maedhros as a recognition of loyal service in Bor's court. The hilt is silver, adorned with an intricate pattern of intertwining leaves, a pattern more typically elvish than is generally seen in a mannish blade. Khandr’s penchant for this unusual sword puzzles some of the Borrim, but he considers it a physical embodiment of his clan’s oath of loyalty and will not set it aside. He bears a serviceable crossbow that is a gift from his father along with a quiver of 25 arrows; a throwing dagger stashed inside his leather boots; a sturdy hunting knife; a shield of wrought iron; and two ancient spears that once belonged to his grandfather who dwelled far to the east. It is a dangerous world, and Khandr makes sure he is never without a weapon

APPEARANCE: Khandr stands 5’, 5” and weighs about 165 pounds. His black hair is kept short, although it curls a little around the nape of his neck. His skin is tanned from the sun, and one side of his face is marred with a scar that runs from the top of his right ear down to his nostril. Despite the troubling scar, his dark brown eyes look honest, a rare and sometimes dangerous trait in these troubled times. Khandr wears a leather thong about his neck that has a symbol of his clan suspended from it. This device is wrought from the tusk of one of the giant mûmakil and presumably reflects the region from which his clan originally came. Although the son of one of the more prominent members of the Borrim, he dresses simply: leather riding boots reaching to his knees, dark trousers and a tunic, a leather jerkin that’s usually left open, and, when needed, a heavy cloak.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

Khandr is an honest man who would love to pass his days in quiet: hunting, supervising the herds, enjoying his beloved first wife, and passing on customs to the younger ones in the clan. Unfortunately, that is not to be. His own household and the wider world he inhabits are filled with strife, a situation he privately deplores. Living in the north, he has seen firsthand the ugly work of Morgoth and his minions, and he despises them. Khandr is by nature a peacemaker, but one born into an age when peace is not possible. In personal terms, he can be stubborn and inquisitive to the point of exasperating others. He is bright and observant and on occasion has learned things that would be better off left untouched.

HISTORY:

Khandr, his father, and brothers are in the personal service of Bor. Khandr has inherited a considerable stretch of lands, both forests and plains, in northern Beleriand and owns large herds of horses and flocks of goats and sheep. He employs servants to care for these, since most of his time is spent at Bor’s court or on official business for him, carrying messages to distant locations. Khandr’s most recent assignment brought him south where he is trying to negotiate a marriage agreement. One of Bor's nieces was looking for a husband, and it was thought wise to try and tighten the alliance with the Ulfings Since Khandr has a reputation as a peacemaker and someone skilled at building bridges, he was chosen to negotiate the settlement. Unfortunately, relations between the two peoples have now deteriorated to the point that Khandr finds himself frustrated at every turn in his efforts to forge a new marriage alliance. He is at the point of giving up and returning home, but hesitates to do so since it will disappoint Bor and his son.

Khandr is doubly frustrated in his personal life. His married his wife Briga at the age of seventeen and is still deeply in love with her. More recently, however, Bor asked him to enter into a second marriage for reasons of cementing an alliance with a powerful family. Taking a second wife is a common arrangement among the Borrim who still keep many of the old ways. He wearily acceded to this request without much enthusiasm. He vowed to treat Embla kindly but to make sure she understood that she was second to Briga. When the new bride arrived, Khandr quickly realized he had taken on more than he had bargained for. Much of his time is now spent trying to put out fires between the two women since they are frequently at odds.

Khandr has two daughters in their early twenties, one married and one single, but neither has travelled with him to the court of the Ulfing. He has always yearned for a son but that wish has not been granted.

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Child of the 7th Age's minor character -- Briga

NAME: Briga

AGE: 36

RACE: Borrim

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Briga owns a small bow which her husband has taught her how to shoot for purposes of sport, but she has never been in a physical fight.

APPEARANCE: Briga is short and lithe, standing less than five feet. She has brown curls that fall to her shoulder and, when she is happy, her dark eyes sparkle. Though approaching the age of thirty-six, she looks considerably younger than that. Her dress is modest, as befits the first wife of a high ranking official.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES/HISTORY

Briga has been loved and sheltered for much of her life. Her parents showered her with love and affecton and her husband has done the same. Khandr and Briga played together as children. They were sweethearts from a young age and have continued to be extremely close as husband and wife, though Khandr protects her from the worst intrigues of the court and from comprehending the reality of Morgoth's attacks on Beleriand.

Shy and reserved with those outside the household, Briga focuses her energies on her husband and daughters and the few close friends she admits to her heart. She is from a wealthy family and has never had to struggle for money or position. She is naturally good natured and gentle but sometimes fails to see the very real problems that people face whose past have been far more difficult than hers, whether in personal or economic terms. As a result, Briga sometimes lacks real sympathy or understanding for those around her who are struggling with difficult issues that she has never had to face. And to make things just a bit more difficult, she is also a person whose feelings can be easily hurt. Her one sadness, which she keeps to herself, is that she has failed to give her beloved husband any sons.

Although Briga hates to argue, she will defend her loved ones with tooth and claw if she feels their best interests are threatened. She was prepared to accept the presence of a second wife in the household with grace, since that is part of traditional Borrim culture. She had hoped to make that second wife a sister and share things with her. What she did not count on was Embla's sharp tongue and open hostility from the very beginning. Briga can not understand the kind of problems that Embla has encountered in life and, as a result, has a hard time feeling any sympathy towards her. The real question for Briga is this: will she continue to ignore the complexity of life and fail to recognize that there are people around her struggling with things she can barely imagine, or will she grow in understanding, wisdom, and grace?


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Child of the 7the Age's post - Khandr

With a weary sigh, Khadr leaned back in his chair and tried without success to sort out the tangled events of the day. He had been home from the great hall for more than two hours, yet his head was still throbbing. He could hear the angry voice of his first wife Briga issuing from down the hall as she criticized second wife Embla for her lack of cooperation and continuing bad spirits. The two women constantly disagreed about household arrangements. Briga would point out when Embla was shirking her share of the work, while the latter would glare out at her, saying nothing but with a nasty scowl on her face.

Not that Khandr would place the major share of blame on Briga! The house had run flawlessly in the old days when she had been the only one on board. He had taken a second wife to extend his own network of alliances and influence and to provide a female friend for his first wife. All his good intentions did not seem to be working. The newcomer Embla had upset the delicate household balance with her sullen face and bitter words. As second wife, Embla should have the good sense to accept that she was not going to be the one on top. Khandr was not an unthinking brute, and a little graciousness and cheerfulness on Embla’s part would have gone far towards earning her many special favors and rewards.

The arguments, however, showed little sign of abating. While Embla did not openly challenge his authority or that of Briga, she sometimes flung out occasional side insults or vague sounding threats which left no doubt that she was bitterly unhappy. Once in a while Khandr glimpsed a real sadness in Embla’s eyes and wondered if he shouldn’t make some effort to sit down and talk to her and try to figure out what was wrong. He did not like confrontations, however, and tended to shy away from Embla rather than run the risk of finding himself in the middle of a very unpleasant conversation.

In any case, Khandr did not have the leisure to deal with the matter now. He had enough on his hands trying to untangle the increasingly confusing web of diplomacy. Any serious attempt to improve the situation with Embla would need to wait till they returned back home to the land of the Borrim. That day could not come too soon as far as Khandr was concerned. This was the fourth week that he and his wives had been in the encampment of the Ulfings. He missed his daughters, and there had been absolutely no progress in trying to forge a marriage alliance between the two kindred peoples. All his effort to negotiate a union between one of Ulfang’s sons and the young niece of Bor had been unsuccessful, despite the assurance that generous gifts would be made as part of the bride price. Some members of the Ulfing entourage even seemed to take offense that the woman would be designated a second wife. That was part of the traditional ways, and Khandr could not understand why this should be a problem.

Khandr felt increasingly baffled over what was happening with the Ulfings. He and his father had always enjoyed good relations with Ulfang. But Ulfang now seemed incapable of making a decision and constantly referred problems and issues over to his sons, especially Uldor. Khandr’s conversations with the sons had been singularly unproductive. They seemed to talk in circles, promising much but never committing themselves to signing an agreement. On top of all that, there were numerous rumors sweeping through the general populace that the delicate balance of peace and war was about to be upset, and they would all find themselves in the middle of a war. Khandr had heard nothing official along those lines, yet he could not help feeling that there was some truth behind these gloomy prognostications.

Khandr bent over his desk and began work on the list of gifts to be sent with the new bride once an agreement was reached. He was still having trouble concentrating. One further regret tugged at the back of Khandr’s mind. If only he had been blessed with a son! The young man could have acted as the arbiter in the disagreements between the two women or, even more likely, Khandr could have avoided the marriage and put forward his son as the bridegroom instead. His son would have been closer to Embla in age and perhaps understood her more. With a weary sigh, Khandr turned his mind away from personal affairs and redirected his attention to the matter of deciding whether twenty or twenty-five goats should be included as part of the bride price.

[Anguirel]

Garen, thankyou for joining. There's one slight alteration you should make in your profile - we've decided that Uldor the Accursed is more likely to have been viewed by Tolkien as the eldest son than the youngest. So your last bit should read something like:

he had declared his contempt for the Elvish collaborationist views expressed by Ulfang and his two younger sons, and holds up the eldest as a misunderstood folkhero, worthy of praise.

You should also be aware that your character is engaged in active treason and so is, at first, in some danger from Ulfang's establishment. Free speech probably isn't tolerated greatly under Morgoth's shadow. But that should make things more fun...

pio, I'd like to add another cameo to the list of available characters. I've decided we can't have a proper Ulfing RP without an appearance by Brodda the Easterling. He's of Ulfang's sons' generation, though I'd guess him as rather younger; maybe 30s. I don't think his birth date is recorded. He is to ultimately become chief of the Easterlings, so he's a pretty vital role - the Fortinbras of our Hamlet, if you like...

My Easterling woman's character description and my first post for the game should be finished by the end of today.

Mith, I wonder if you could PM me what you know about my page, so I can weave him into the first post?

[Kath]

Here is my character bio, it may be subject to change as some bits don't sit quite right with me, but I've been fiddling with it for three days now so I'm probably making it worse rather than better. Yell at me if you do see anything that needs changing.

Linked ~*~ Pio
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Kath's character


NAME: Bergr

AGE: 31

RACE: Eastern Man - Borrim

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: A sword and two sharp daggers hang from his belt and hunting knives are strapped to his shins. He carries a lightweight but sturdy bow along with a quiver of arrows. His armbraces are sharpened to protect him if all weapons are lost.

APPEARANCE: Short at 5’4” and heavy set, though light on his feet. Broad shouldered with a grim countenance he can appear frightening and unapproachable unless he smiles, which is rare. He has brown eyes and dark brown hair which hangs straight to his shoulders if left down but is almost always tied back to keep it from his eyes. He has a beard which is the same dark brown as his hair. He wears a simple tunic and breeches, adding a vest in colder weather, and short boots. His only concession to armour is his armbraces.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: His personality often matches his appearance, grim and hard, except around children. To some his affinity for youngsters is seen as a weakness but he enjoys their company and innocence, and he protects them as though they were his own. He keeps his own counsel and rarely speaks his mind to others, but when he does his words are measured and deliberate. He is liked among his own people.

HISTORY: Bergr originally went north with the rest of his kin and made a modest living for himself, being skilled at tending the land and hunting. He married and lived in relative peace for a time, but his wife died in childbirth and, feeling the need to escape sadness, he travelled south with other hunters. Since arriving at the Ulfing settlement his natural skills have made him popular with some and an enemy of others.

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Kath's post


Stalking into his home Bergr threw his catch down onto the low table that sat near the glowing embers of the fire and threw himself down to the floor next to it. Taking out his knives he dealt with the reward of the hunt quickly and efficiently, some going into the pot he would have his evening meal in that night, some he prepared to keep, and some he set aside for those who needed it more than he did. For the widows whose children were barely able to survive on the little their mother could provide them with, the only ones that even half accepted him here.

Since the day he’d arrived he’d received nothing more than suspicious glances and whispered comments behind his back. Few said anything to his face, they were not that stupid, but he knew of it all the same. Still there was no love lost on his part either, Bergr disliked this area. It had too many hidden secrets and too much hostility. However, it served his purposes for the moment, and so he would stay.

With a grunt Bergr pulled himself out of his maudlin thoughts and busied himself with cleaning his knives and the table. This done, he carefully wrapped the meat he was not keeping in cloths and, taking up the small packages, left.

As he neared his first stop the children of the hut ran out to him, used now to his heavy footsteps, and the younger ones threw themselves at his legs. Barely breaking his stride he allowed two to cling on to his lower limbs and pulled a third up to dangle from his arm.

“Yours, ma’am.” He spoke gruffly but gently to the woman standing over the fire, indicating both the children and the package he held in his one free arm. She had smiled and taken his burdens from him, allowing him to make his escape and continue on.

He returned, empty handed but lighter hearted, having garnered a similar reaction from every household. Sitting down to his own meal he stared into the contents of the pot for a few moments, wishing there was someone to share it with as he did every day, and then set to, his hunger outweighing his desire for reflection.

Later he found himself sitting in a corner of the small inn that he went to on occasion. He usually stayed out of places where there were going to be a lot of Ulfings as his presence was bound to cause trouble, especially when the men had imbibed a little more than was good for them. Today though he had decided that he did not want to be alone, even if the alternative meant being surrounded by these people.

So far things had been quiet. He had kept to his corner, only venturing out when the bar was clear to order a drink, and then skulking back into the shadows again. Most of the inhabitants were too busy discussing the happenings of the day to pay any attention to him, and Bregr appreciated that, enjoying being able to find out what he had missed while hunting, and it seemed that todays news was particularly interesting.




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[piosenniel]

bill_n_sam has requested to play an Ulfing Easterling.

I've put his(?)/her(?) name on the list of posters to the thread.

See you soon, BnS!

~*~ Pio

[bill_n_sam]

Hi everyone!
I guess I'll be playing a male Ulfing. For the record I am myself actually female although I see my name could be misleading. I just really love Samwise. I'll get started coming up with a bio and first post and get those up soon.

[Anguirel]

Mith, I understand completely - get some rest and PM whenever suits.

[bill_n_sam]

Here is my bio for my Easterling. I hope making him a smith will work out alright. I'm getting this feeling that the easterlings were something like an iron age tribe, and thus probably a smith would be making farm tools, household items, and then weapons. I wouldn't think they would be doing farrier work yet (?) Well, if anyone has any ideas on that subject please let me know. I'm also assuming any "armor" would be limited to relatively small pieces of plate type iron, say like a breast plate, which would be very heavy and probably not your typical ordinary warrior wear. No chain mail as of yet????? Does it make sense that the easterlings would not yet have some of the technology say other races of men and elves have? I had thought this would be something I could bring up in the RPG, say when the elf messenger arrives, the superiority of his gear and the easterlings being anxious to develop that technology for themselves. If anyone knows of any good sites I could look at, that would be great.


Linked ~*~ Pio
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bill_n_sam's character


Name: Dag (rhymes with “fog”)

Gender: male

Race: human, Easterling

Age: 22

Appearance: Medium height for his race (5’3” ?); stocky build; extremely muscular arms, shoulders and torso; deeply tanned skin; very dark brown, straight hair, falling a bit below the shoulders, worn pulled back and tied with a leather thong; dark brown, deep-set eyes with a somewhat overhanging brow; square jaw; thick neck; no facial hair; clothing consists of simple woolen tunic and trousers in natural colors of undyed wool, leather boots and belt, lambskin cloak and cap for colder weather. Usually ties a leather strap across his forehead while working to keep the sweat out of his eyes. Often appears to be scowling but this is due to poor eyesight which causes him to screw up his eyes to see better.

Weapons: normally carries only a sharp utility type knife, but personally owns two swords, plain but well made, and a bow which he only uses for hunting. He has not to date been a “warrior” so to speak, and so doesn’t own any type of “armor” or protective gear, nor a shield, but as a smith, he has relatively ready access to whatever weapons, armor, or shields he needs/wants to make.

Personality/strengths/weaknesses: very taciturn and outwardly quiet and not prone to speaking much more than is necessary. Inwardly, he does give some thought to what is going on around him and makes his own judgments thereon and acts according to what he believes is best for him and his family, although he is far from being a “deep thinker”. He is straight forward in his dealings with others and appreciates the same in return, although he isn’t foolish enough to always expect that to be the case. His ambitions in life are to better himself and his family simply to insure, to the small extent possible, that there will always be food to eat and a roof over their heads, but he has no desire for power or prestige. He is steady, responsible and not given to rash action. However, once he has considered a situation and made up his mind on a course of action, he basically can not be turned from it and is stubborn to the point of mule headedness. He has a tendency not to listen to others even when their advice is sound if he is set on a different course. Slow to anger, once roused he will not back down until he feels the wrong has been righted, even to the point of bloodshed.

History/background: He was born and raised on the eastern side of the mountains; his father was a smith and taught him the trade. Not inclined to be a roamer or adventurous himself, it was his father that convinced him to go to the new lands and make a place for himself there, where the skills of a good smith would be needed and well paid for. Before leaving, he decided, again on his father’s advice, to take a wife, and chose a girl (Gunna) from his village selected by his parents. As part of the marriage negotiations, he was asked to take on the added burden of Gunna’s younger sister (Mem), to which he was much opposed. But his father pointed out that having an extra woman about the home, even one such as Mem, might be a good thing, for a variety of reasons, and thus Dag found himself with two women to care for. That was four years ago and now they are comfortably settled into the main village of the Ulfings, with Dag doing a good business as a talented smith and armorer. Ten months ago, Gunna gave birth to their first child, (simply referred to as baby until her naming ceremony which will occur on her first birthday) so Dag lives in a household of females, which can get a little overwhelming at times.

As to current events, Dag is simply leading his life as he sees fit, fairly unconcerned about power struggles or clashes within the Ulfing community, although he is well aware of the tension between the three brothers. He tries to avoid getting involved in any way, which can be somewhat tricky as he is much in demand to fashion weapons and simple armor for those who can afford them. His goal is to increase his own prosperity to provide his family with stability without running afoul of the powers that be.

-----

Name: Gunna (Dag's wife)
Gender: female
Race: human, Easterling
Age: 18

Appearance: Average height for an Easterling woman (5’); average build, lean, with a sinewy strength; waist length black hair; slightly almond shaped light brown eyes; her facial features are regular and somewhat delicate for an Easterling, as are her hands and feet which are small and shapely; she is not considered particularly pretty by Easterling standards, not ugly, just average Her clothes tend to be a bit more colorful than her husband’s; She wears simple woolen gowns of green, blue and russet; a tooled leather belt and leather slipper type shoes. She has a heavy wool cloak and hood for winter and also a sheepskin cloak.

Weapons: none, other than her feminine wiles which she only uses against her husband

Personality/strengths/weaknesses: A very peaceful and calm person, usually to be found with a somewhat enigmatic smile playing about her lips, she goes through her day with purpose and joy. She takes great pride in being a good wife, making sure her husband is well fed and taken care of, but her true pride and joy is her ten month old daughter. Her only weakness, if it truly is one, is her attachment to her sister. Her loyalty to Mem sometimes places Gunna at odds with her husband, or others in the village, but nothing will dissuade her from always taking Mem’s side. She can be just as stubborn as her husband, although her methods of waging war do not include open attack but more usually subtle but irresistible persuasion..

History: She was born and raised on the eastern side of the Emyn Luin, growing up in a farming family, one of many children who were all taught the value of hard work. Raised to be obedient to men in general, she is outwardly docile. Her younger sister, Mem, has been blind since she was a child and Gunna took it upon herself to guide her sister literally back into the world, acting as her eyes and teaching her to function within the limited confines of their family home. Gunna refused point blank to ever marryunless Mem went with her. Since moving with her sister and husband over the mountains, she has since spent her time making a comfortable home for her husband and presented him with what she is sure if the first of many children.

Of their current living situation, Gunna deliberately tries to avoid knowing anything about what is going on. She doesn’t like it when her husband must be involved in the contentiousness surrounding the chieftain and his sons and often counsels him to avoid taking sides. She desires only to have a peaceful and harmonious home.

-----

Name: Mem (Gunna's sister)
Gender: female
Race: human, Easterling
Age: 16

Appearance: Somewhat stunted looking, the fever which almost took her life when she was a child impaired her growth, so she is shorter and more frail looking than most Easterling women; her hair fell out when she was ill and grew back in a queer, rusty brownish-red color, and tends to be dry and brittle, so it’s kept short, and she wears a scarf to cover it; her eyes are dark brown, but sightless and look empty; her face, on the other hand, is alive with emotion and her highly mobile features show a running reflection of what she is feeling inside; her skin is rather sallow, a result of her ongoing frailty and being inside almost all the time; her hands and fingers are long, thin and deft and are her most attractive feature. Like her sister she wears simple gowns of dyed wool, leather slippers and belt, a cloak for the cold weather.

Weapons: none, she is defenseless in the truest sense

Personality/strengths/weaknesses: eternally optimistic; sweet tempered; patient; joyful. Her weakness might be described as a refusal to acknowledge that there is evil in the world and insists that everything and everyone is essentially good and so she doesn’t comprehend threats to her little enclosed existence


History: She has no memory of what life was like for her before the fever and so has no regrets. From her point of view she has always been sightless, she does not remember what things look like, but this doesn’t bother her. She has created her own little world, with the help of her sister, and enjoys the simple pleasures that she can create for herself, such as spinning, sewing, holding the baby, and most of all, thinking up and telling her stories, for she has become a master story teller. Being blind, her other senses have necessarily sharpened far beyond what they normally would be, and her hearing and sense of smell are acute. She experiences her world predominantly through her sense of touch, and has developed such a skill with the hand spindle that the thread she spins is the finest to be had in the village. This has proven to be quite a saving grace when it comes to her brother in law, who couldn’t help but feel a little misused by his bride’s insistence that her sister accompany them to their new home. Mem’s skill has brought more than a few things into the household and Dag is now much more comfortable with his decision to have her as part of his family. Her storytelling ability has also proven to be a great boon although one that brings merely personal satisfaction to her family and doesn’t generate income or bartering power. She entertains them all with her wide range of tales, interspersed with song, some of which she has taken pains to remember from hearing others tell them, and many of which are her own creations. But her talent for entertaining is starting to spread amongst the villagers and may be bringing her new attentions, although not necessarily welcome ones.


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bill_n_sam's post

Dag swept the back of his hand across his brow, pushing the droplets of sweat aside before they fell into his eyes. Despite the spring chill still lingering in the air, the heat of his forge made his skin glow a ruddy copper and he perspired freely under his woolen tunic. Stopping long enough to strip the tunic over his head and hanging it carefully on the wooden peg protruding from the wall of the shed, he considered returning to his home to retrieve the leather head band he usually wore, to keep the stinging beads from obscuring his sight. But the day marched forward and the work flowed from his head to his hands easily, effortlessly. No, he would not leave the metal, not now.

This morning had been still cold enough for him to delay rising from the warm bed he shared with his wife and small daughter. The sun had risen over the eastern hills as he drowsily watched Gunna preparing the morning meal. When it was ready, he had eaten leisurely, enjoying the baby playing at his feet, his sister-in-law, Mem, chatting merrily to the child and Gunna, making them all laugh with one of her outrageous stories. It wasn’t until the sound of heavy boots crunching on the path outside the door and men calling to one another as the village awoke and began to stir, that he recalled to himself the task for the day. Dag had slipped his arms around his wife, squeezing her comfortably familiar body to his, and said succinctly, “Bring me food at the forge, I’ll be there all day”

Without any comment, Gunna had placed her hand to his cheek and held his gaze for a moment. So much of their communications took place with such looks and gestures, that sometimes it almost seemed that they had no need of words. In the almost four years of their marriage, the young couple had developed a deep sense of rhythm, in their thinking, in their feelings. To Dag, it was a great comfort to have a wife who did not always demand that he talk, talk, talk. It seemed to him some men never shut up – and women more so. Some talked so long and so loud they never even heard what they were saying.

Dag much preferred to listen and to then consider, so much so there were those in this new home of his that had at first thought him simple, or stupid, or deaf. But his reluctance to prove his vocal skills was more than made up for by the skill of his hands at the forge. Soon enough, his new acquaintances were praising how well he could craft a plow blade, or a roasting spit, or, more importantly, a sword, and overlooking his reticence. After all, they needed a smith who could work metal, not spin a tale or tell a joke.

The skill to hammer, to shape, to sharpen, this was what was wanted, and today that want was palpable. The night before, as he has rested after his day’s labor, a heavy pounding had shaken the door to his home. Dag had motioned the women to quiet. As Gunna cradled the child to her breast, he had warily opened the door, his eyes narrowing as one of Ulfast’s men pushed arrogantly inside, not bothering to ask for leave to enter another man’s home. With a slight frown on his face, Dag had listened to the demand - not a mere request, but a demand - for a new sword, a fine sword, wrought of the sturdiest iron and with a keen blade, for the son of Ulfang. It was wanted, he had been told, immediately.

Having no desire to run afoul of any of the three brothers whose father was the chieftain of the Ulfings, and therefore Dag’s own liege lord, and knowing that such a commission, if well executed, would almost certainly increase the value of his other work, Dag still hesitated before granting a simple acknowledgement to the demand. Not that he had any real choice in the matter. These men were known for their viciousness and a refusal would certainly mean a violent retribution of one kind or another. Dag’s hesitation was merely the result of that inner voice which spoke to him when he was stepping into dark territory. The potential for either a rise in fortunes or a fall into disaster was equally as probably when dealing with those who lived for power. But being unable to predict which would be his, and his small family’s, fate, Dag had nodded his head solemnly and said only “Three days hence, he shall have it”.

Dag had set aside his other commissions and set to work on the new weapon at once. If fortune smiled on him, the metal would hold true. The ore had been well smelted and was of high quality. Only the best, for a chieftain’s son. He had lain awake for long hours, carefully going over each step of the making in his mind. Morning found the phantom sword complete, down to the honing of the edge and the crafting of the intricate wire work which would decorate the handle. He had spoken no word of his planned work to Gunna, but as she lay awake beside him through the night, he knew that she was keenly aware that all of their futures lay in her husband’s hands. When had they ever not?

And so, it was with a look of hope mixed with an unvoiced warning to caution, that she had sent him on his way to complete his task. As Dag recalled the gentleness with which she had touched his face earlier, he smiled to himself. Don’t worry, he thought. This will truly be a weapon worthy of a great leader of men.

[Anguirel]

Here's my first post for the game. Mith, if you feel your character isn't quite right do tell.

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EDIT: Added to your character bio post. If edits are needed, please edit it there. Thanks! Pio

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FIRST POST FOR THE GAME


"Yet neither by Wolf, nor by Balrog, nor by Dragon, would Morgoth have achieved his end, but for the treachery of Men."

~~~

For the first year since the Battle of Sudden Flame, it felt as if spring had repelled the pitiless touch of the north, as if the Earthqueen’s power had pervaded Beleriand after a long estrangement. The pair of riders upon iron-grey mounts forded the rivulets off the Gelion, careered through the meadows succoured by the waters beyond its banks, and cut swift, leafy paths through copses.

Only one indication of the danger that this temporary idyll still risked could be discerned – the speed which the riders maintained. It spoke of urgency and intensity. There was something insatiable about the journey of the two Elves, as if even the spans of their lives were limited after all, as if bare months of this vitality remained to be enjoyed, raced through, swigged to their dregs. And so, as it turned out, it came to pass.

But such reflections are suitable only for melancholic lays, for sad dreamers who hope that thinking of the past and lamenting it may bring it back again. Lachrandir, Knight of the Dispossessed, formerly of Thargelion, was no dreamer; and this was not a memory of the past, rather a duty of the present. He galloped on, his eyes on his path, his hands calm and inert at his side, belying the frenetic activity that gripped the messenger and the stallion that bore him. In lieu of a saddle-bag – for his was a high-blooded beast, and he did not presume to sully it with harness and reins, instead riding bareback in the usual Elven fashion – he bore a leather haversack slung across his back; its contents, carefully arranged, did not make a sound or apparently jostle at all on the journey.

The same could not quite be said of the other rider’s burden. There was a strange symmetry about the pair of mounted travellers and their steeds; for they were much of the same stamp in colouring and feature – the Elves dark haired and long-limbed, the horses pale - but one rider and his horse were younger and smaller, with a combination of impetuosity and hesitance that called to mind apprentices before their masters. A jangle of metal now rang out from this younger Elf’s bundle.

“I told you, Tathren, to be careful with the silver,” Lachrandir hectored at him. “We’re riding to a country where nine Men in ten have never seen a coin before; a country still wild and far from tamed with law. The summons we carry is of vital importance, boy; we can’t let it go astray due to some adan thug’s excitement over a glint of...”

“Sorry,” the other said, sounding a little crestfallen.

“Never mind, boy, it’s of little importance. But don’t let it happen again, Tathren.”

Lachrandir gave a short look back at his companion before resuming his watch on the road, spurring his stallion to a slightly higher pace. He has something of his uncle about him, I suppose. He’ll learn yet, he concluded to himself.

~~~

“...Forinasmuch as thou, Ulfang, called the Black, hath been accustomed to owe liege-homage, saving thy dignity amidst the tribes, to us, Caranthir, fourth son of Fëanor, rightful lord of Thargelion but for the false disseisin of the Enemy; by this and by the ties of loyalty between thy vassals and mine, thou art bidden to provide fighting men in service, to the number of seven thousand, under thine own command or under such a proxy as it pleases thee to dispatch, to meet with our own powers and those of our youngest brothers, the Lords Amrod and Amras, on the twenty-seventh day of the month of May; this army being dispatched, under the lordship of our eldest brother Maedhros, Lord of Himring, to avenge upon the Enemy the grievous and perfidious hurts that he hath inflicted. For amongst these art listed the slaying traitorly of our sire and grandsire, the ruin of our realms in the north, and the unlawful withholding of the Silmarilli, greatest work upon Arda, that our father Fëanor crafted, and that we hath sworn, on pain of the Everlasting Darkness, to regain. So it is ordained on this, the eleventh day of April. And we hath sworn, once having raised up this great Union of Maedhros, never to abandon it, and charge thee to swear likewise.”

Such was the main part of the missive of Caranthir, which Lachrandir carried.

~~~

“Lachrandir!” Tathren cried with gladness. “I see smoke rising not far off among homesteads, surrounding a great hall, hewn of oak and ash...”

“I have seen it too, pup,” Lachrandir answered, smiling. “Do not think that my sight is so greatly shadowed by age and toil. That is the rude dwelling of Ulfang, Chieftain of the Southern Easterlings. What do you think of it, lad?”

“Well...” Tathren started, his brow creasing and lips twisting as he tried to find the words. Lachrandir laughed, and his mirth, coming from such a stern visage, was surpassingly bright and clear.

“Well, exactly. I hope you weren’t expecting much in the way of hospitality...this is no Hithlum, Tathren, and it is no Hador Goldenhead who rules it. Put all you have seen and heard of the Edain from your head! This is Easterling country,” Lachrandir murmured, his smile thin now, “and it is another state of affairs altogether.”

They paused in thought for a few moments. Tanreth was the first to speak.

“Stop dawdling, Uncle! Don’t you know the summons we carry is of vital importance?”

“Mind that minstrel’s glib tongue, you,” Lachrandir replied. And I’m not your uncle either; he was a better Elf than I’ll ever be, even if he did charge me with looking after you, young wastrel.

“Very well. Race me, boy,” he added, kicking his horse into a run and charging after the tiny stockade and palisade walls that beckoned in the distance. After a short while the envoy and his page bid their steeds halt in front of the gate into the settlement. As they passed, they had seen the first Ulfings of their journey, who had stared at the towering, fair-featured strangers bearing the star of Fëanor on their tunics in curiosity mixed with no little fright. The guards, too, goggled as they shuffled the gates open. Tathren quickly assumed an air of composure, though he rode tentatively, all too aware that he, an Elf far from mature, towered almost a foot over most of the Ulfings.

In such a manner the envoys reached their journey’s conclusion, passing under the wall where the two banners, Ulfang’s claw and Fëanor’s star on their black field, shifted together in the April breeze.

[littlemanpoet]

Wow! What a position of power Lachrandir finds himself in! I shall post up shortly. Which way to go? Which way to go?......

[Finduilas]

Posting for Folwren: I really wont be getting back till Tuesday, so continue carrying my character if necessary.

At least, that is what I assume Folwren would write, if she were here...

[Child of the 7th Age]

I am not sure what is happening next. Someone in the hunt could post... Someone could find Khandr's body, but I don't know who is going to do that - I believe Lalaith's and Nogrod's character are on their way to find Lachrandir, so they're not available. Unless Thorn finds him.

How about Briga finding him? Wasn't Khandr killed quite near his residence?

Yes, I would like for Briga to find poor Khandr. She would, of course, arrange to have his body brought back to the house. Additionally, since she fears for her own life and that of the other Borrim, Briga would surely hope to convey the news to Nogrod rather than to those engaged in the hunt. Is there some way she could come barging into your dinner party conveying this information? Of course, we wouldn't want to do this until your own affairs and conversation are sufficiently wrapped up.

Would this work?

If so, I will put up a post where she finds his body and has it brought back to the house but will wait to come barging in to the dinner party.

[Nogrod]

Originally Posted by Child of the 7th Age

Additionally, since she fears for her own life and that of the other Borrim, Briga would surely hope to convey the news to Nogrod rather than to those engaged in the hunt. Is there some way she could come barging into your dinner party conveying this information?

You won't find me or my character Fastarr from the dinner party at Dag's house...

But more seriously she might take the servants Hugo and Grogr with her I suppose - or at least make sure they take care of the body or something? Well, depending on how she wishes to act to be sure...

[Lalaith]

Depending on how things go with Lachrandir and the Ulflings, Embla and Fastarr might want to find out what happened to Khandr, or they might in fact need to clear the hell out.

[piosenniel]

Since all the players for the Ulfing sub-story have abandoned the game, except for Noinkling and myself, we’ve brought our little sub-plot this far:

HERE.....then.....HERE

Once the inquest is started my oldest male Ulfing and his two grown sons will attend. Noinkling’s character and mine will then discuss our opinions on the event. And before the Ulfings leave for the battle, our family group and that originally of bill_n_sam will leave the main group and head back east, away from the intrigue and the soon to be disaster.

At the end of the game, I’ll most likely wrap up our story with an epilog - a happier ending, I think, than comes ultimately to the rest of the Ulfings and the Borrim.

[Lalaith]

Out of interest...this is my first RPG so I don't know what the score is. Is 21 months a normal amount of time or was this an unusually drawn-out game?

[Mithalwen]

Very long .... I have just checked the ones I have been involved in and they were four to six months. Island of Sorrow was over a year though.

I think a lot depends on the structure of the story and the context. Darker Days was a relatively simple plot and because it didn't relate to the "known" history of Middle Earth the writers were not too restricted by "known historical facts". However Red flows the Sirannon came in at under six months despite the historical context but the plot was still simpler and had a lot of experienced players.

This kind of complex set up where there are lots of separate groups make it particularly hard to gain momentum....

I can only conclude that minimally historical journey style RPGs with only one or two groups are the easiest to keep going.. at least that is the way I shall go if I ever dare take the plunge...

[littlemanpoet]

Foley, your turn unless Gwath wants Jord to show more initiative.

[Folwren]

K. Thanks for giving me the heads up.

[Nogrod]

I'll be bringing an end to Fastarr and Embla within 24 hours... I hope... Just to wrap it up as well - and Lalaith will have a veto on that...

[littlemanpoet]

I'll be very disappointed if Fastarr and Embla get killed.

[littlemanpoet]

Nice closing, Noggie and Lal.

Looks like Foley missed her chance and is off to camp until the weekend. Gwath, that makes it your turn.

[Mithalwen]

Sorry to be a pain in the proverbial, Nogrod, but we decided that it would be too undignified for Lachrandir's body to be carried on a horse. They are sending a wain for him. Tathren is waiting by the body with the horses and 2 servants.
When it arrives he will follow it back.

[Nogrod]

Originally Posted by Mithalwen

Sorry to be a pain in the proverbial, Nogrod, but we decided that it would be too undignified for Lachrandir's body to be carried on a horse.

Sorry Mith. I'll change that.

And in the end the two had run a considerable distance so they just follow the wain disappearing.

No problem.

EDIT: Done.

[Lalaith]

Nog's wrap-up for us was rather nice, wasn't it? That happy ending cheered me greatly during all the traumas of XLVII....

[littlemanpoet]

Back to you, Gwath. I added a little bit more to my last post, so please check it out.

[littlemanpoet]

Let's stop dragging our heals, folks.

If by July 7 posts don't get written that take Uldor and Ulfast (presumably with Jord listening in) to speaking with Thorn, I will kill Thorn off my own way and leave Ulfast to whomever wants to write for him.

[Folwren]

There. I brought it forward a little more. Maybe the ball will contiue rolling. I'm home for a few days yet.

-- Folwren

[Gwathagor]

I'll get a post in before Friday, when I'm leaving for a week.

[Gwathagor]

Post up.

[Folwren]

Hi. I wanted to post today, but it doesn't look like I'm getting the chance. I'll try to write something this week, but I'll be at camp, so I can't promise anything.

-- Folwren

[Gwathagor]

Great! Let's get Thorn good and dead for LMP, who has been really patient.

[littlemanpoet]

I'm wondering if a 3-way PM-built post might be a good idea between Gwath, Foley, and me; that would help us to include Uldor, Ulfast, Jord, and Thorn in more of a dialogue format. Let me know what you think.