Land of Darkness Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

Fordim Hedgethistle invites you to play in his RPG:

Land of Darkness

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Basic Storyline:

Nine prisoners in the dungeons of the Tower of Cirith Ungol are suddenly freed when the orcs who guard them mysteriously slay one another in a bloody and savage brawl. After freeing themselves from their cells, they must band together to find a way out of Mordor before they are recaptured. Starved and tortured by their keepers, naked but for their prison rags, no provisions and unarmed, this motley collection of strangers must find some way to overcome their own torments and their suspicions of each other if they are to survive.

[piosenniel]

Players will need to be familiar with the following section of Appendix B during which time this RPG occurs:

~*~

March 3019

14th - Samwise finds Frodo in the Tower. Minas Tirith is besieged. The Rohirrim led by the Wild Men come to the Grey Wood.

15th - In the early hours the Witch-king breaks the Gates of the City. Denethor burns himself on a pyre. The horns of the Rohirrim are heard at cockcrow. Battle of the Pelennor. Théoden is slain. Aragorn raises the standard of Arwen. Frodo and Samwise escape and begin their journey north along the Morgai. Battle under the trees in Mirkwood; Thranduil repels the forces of Dol Guldur. Second assault on Lórien.

16th - Debate of the commanders. Frodo from the Morgai looks out over the camp to Mount Doom.

17th - Battle of Dale. King Brand and King Dáin Ironfoot fall. Many Dwarves and Men take refuge in Erebor and are besieged. Shagrat brings Frodo's cloak, mail-shirt, and sword to Barad-dûr.

18th - The Host of the West marches from Minas Tirith. Frodo comes in sight of the Isenmouthe; he is over-taken by Orcs on the road from Durthang to Udûn.

19th - The Host comes to Morgul-vale. Frodo and Samwise escape and begin their journey along the road to the Barad-dûr.

22nd - The dreadful nightfall. Frodo and Samwise leave the road and turn south to Mount Doom. Third assault on Lórien.

23rd - The Host passes out of Ithilien. Aragorn dismisses the faint-hearted. Frodo and Samwise cast away their arms and gear.

24th - Frodo and Samwise make their last journey to the feet of Mount Doom. The Host camps in the Desolation of the Morannon.

25th - The Host is surrounded on the Slag-hills. Frodo and Samwise reach the Sammath Naur. Gollum seizes the Ring and falls in the Cracks of Doom. Downfall of Barad-dûr and passing of Sauron.

~ from: The Return of the King; “Appendix B”; ‘The Great Years section – March of 3019’; J.R.R. Tolkien

[piosenniel]

The purpose of the story is to: Escape Mordor

This means we will know the story is over when: The escapees make it to the Crossroads in Ithilien and encounter the small army left there by the King Elessar in his northward march against the Morannon.
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Starting Location: The dungeons of the Tower of Cirith Ungol

Likely destination: The Crossroads in Ithilien

Here are a couple of maps you can use for reference:

Here and Here 2

[piosenniel]

Timeframes: March 14th to March 25th during the War of the Ring

The storyline itself or plot covers 11 days.

This game requires a time commitment of three months (12 weeks) from me, the game owner and from the major players.

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTERS

1.) Amanaduial the archer - Silvan Elf

2.) Alaklondewen – Easterling

3.) Kransha – Dwarf

4.) Durelin - Man

5.) Bêthberry - Southron

6.) Aylwen – Southron

7.) Fordim Hedgethistle - Man

[piosenniel]

Amanaduial the archer – Silvan Elf


NAME: Raeis (Ray-iss)

AGE: No idea really. Over two hundred, that much she knows.

RACE: Elf (Silvan)

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: None, but she fights like a demon with her bare hands, feet, elbows... Also, anything she can pick up. She is, or at least, she was skilled with a range of swords, and is fairly good at using a bow, or a sling.

APPEARANCE: Once, Raeis was a beauty among her people, but that was long ago. Her good looks remain though, in part – her face is high-boned, the structure belying her low birth, and her hair is fine and light brown, flecked generously with gold. Her eyes are dark blue, flecked with lighter blues and white. Her hair is not the wavy, golden abundance it was once though – it was cut short when she was first taken prisoner: having stolen a dagger from one of her guards, she had hacked it off from right close to her scalp. It has grown since then, though, has had plenty of time to do so: it now comes unevenly to approximately just below her ears, but is dirty and unkempt from lack of care. Her skin was always pale, a fine almost alabaster-white, but this is even more accentuated now from lack of sunlight. But despite the lines of pain that are now more obvious on her face, the right side of her face is still beautiful, despite the dark bruise that currently adorns her high-cheek area…but the left is a different matter. A long, thin scar runs all the way down her left side of her face from an inch above her broken eyebrow to her jawbone, crossing her eye and forcing it closed, a vicious, sharp burn made from a heated blade that was pressed against her face. It mars her beauty totally, but she cares little anymore – what does it matter when no one will see it? She stands at about 5 ft 9 and is lean – her muscles have not deteriorated entirely, but beyond them there is virtually nothing else. She is painfully thin and scars, both old and new, cross her body along with bruises, the most obvious the long thin ones that crisscross her back and a long cut running from collarbone to navel. She wears a thin, ragged shirt, the sleeves torn off for practical purposes to leave her arms bare, and a sort of short, ragged skirt.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: In the years since the elf has been imprisoned, Raeis has stopped caring about many things; her appearance for one thing, for what good is it to mourn for her lost beauty when the only ones who will see it are her monstrous captors? In a way, she almost revels in it sometimes, for the ugliness of one side of her face, marring her pureness, puts them off some of their vile sport. She almost managed to block out the physical pain and humiliation which she endures so often, for she has suffered so much that the only respite she gets is to know that she will give them no satisfaction by seeing her pain. But she has not stopped caring about everything. One thing always remains on her mind: escape. It is a wild dream, and one that she barely believes in, but which she wishes for so fervently with every inch of her body and mind that has become something that she would do simply to achieve it, to spite her captors, to cause them some of the beatings she has endured for letting her escape. If she could get out of this cell, she would die spitefully happy – she is past wanting to do much else but feel the sun on her face once more. Indeed, maybe the cell has actually driven her mad: the elf had no-one to talk to for weeks on end quite often, and her own voice was all that stopped her from going entirely insane. That and her thoughts and memories, or what might be memories: she gets confused as to what has actually happened and what is real or not. Reality is, for Raeis, an illusion – if her life in Mirkwood was reality, then this existence cannot possibly be real, but if this life is truly happening, how could she ever have missed the fact it was happening when in Mirkwood? The thoughts and questions as to what is real and what isn’t torment the elf in her silent prison. She is withdrawn and vicious, violent whenever anyone comes too near her (for the only ones that come close are those who want to hurt her) and fights like a cornered wildcat with no regard for herself, only wishing to hurt and deter her opponent. But although the innocent, idealistic persona that she once possessed is obviously destroyed, behind her half-mad, wild exterior there is still probably the softer, gentler being that once lived in Mirkwood, quick to argue, quicker to laugh, ready to love. But what is love now? Is that also an illusion…?

HISTORY: Raeis was born to a hardworking but lowly family Mirkwood, some way from the palace. She lived with her family and worked hard and honestly, carving and sewing with her mother and selling the items they made with her father and two brothers. But she always yearned for something more, sure there must be more to life, and so when she was nearly two hundred she went to work in the palace, with illusions of becoming a fine courtier, close to the king, a loyal advisor to him and friend to the princes… However, such fantasies were soon put straight when she became a maid in the palace. Once again, it was honest hard work, decently paid and not overly hard, but it still left the idealistic young elf to dream about more. But she endured it, gaining promotion and working hard to keep her place and to keep sending the money to her mother. After she had worked there for a few years, her courtship began with another elf who worked in the palace, a chamberlain by the name of Caromanieth (although Raeis cannot even remember her full name, she both cherishes and curses his, burned on her memory with love and regret). He was as idealistic and gentle as she, a dreamer with his head in the clouds but, like her, his feet still on the ground.

But one day, on a sudden whim, the pair decided to search for adventure themselves. It was painfully clear that it was not coming to them, and they both yearned for the ‘more’ that they thought they knew must exist. Within a few days, they were ready to do, eloping together away from Mirkwood and from everything about the old life that they had known, heading South.

But things beyond their control, beyond the control of any, were not stirring further South, and when the pair came to the plains of Rohan, after a few months of happy, blissful, carefree travelling, their life was suddenly shattered. Warg riders. The orcs killed Caromanieth and, in a way, they stole Raeis’s life as well – by taking her prisoner they destroyed everything she had ever and would ever have. Elves were valuable, and they took her back to Mordor in the hope of reward.

Raeis never told them her real name, or her family details – stubborn to the last, she endured many different types of inquisitional torture as they attempted to find out whether they could use the elf-woman as currency, blackmail. Raeis had always been taught to be loyal and faithful, and so she didn’t say a word to help them. All they ever found out from her was the shortened version of her name: Raeis. It was the last word Caromanieth had cried out before he died. ”Raeis, run! Get away, for the sake of…run, Raeis...” Eventually they grew tired of trying to find information from her, but they were not yet tired of her – they kept her alive as a…toy. Something to do. And so her torture continued, both physical and emotional, all sorts of abuse whenever the guards wanted something to do, something to occupy themselves. She fought back, always fought back, at the start anyway…but as she lost track of days and went without company or sunlight for so long, tortured by the thought that her family must think her a callous deserter, she was nearly driven mad, alone and isolated both literally and in her mind…

~*~

Amanaduial’s post

Deep down beneath the tower, in the depths that did not even feel the natural wind through it’s corridors or the run on its hard stone floors, a lone prisoner waited in a cell. Waited, I say, but then, waiting implies hope, and this prisoner has barely any of that left. A lone strand, barely anything at all, remained in her broken and disjointed mind, but it is all she is surviving on.

At the back of the dark cell lay what resembled like a pile of rags, tattered and torn, strewn in a loose pile as if shaken then discarded by some larger-than-life dog. But if you look closer, avoiding the dank smell of rot and blood, both dried and fresh, you would see a body underneath these rags. Another clank from above and the body does not move, and neither does it respond to the drawn-out, agonised scream which is suddenly cut short which floats from high above. The being is barely recognisable now, it’s skin mottled, bruised and torn, it’s limbs broken and disjointed, but one thing is sure. Whatever it once was, the being is dead.

But something in the cell responded.

Near the door, in the darkest, gloomiest corner, something stirred, a brief, sudden movement as a limb spasms and a gasp sounded quietly. One blue eye, old before it’s time, snapped open, and Raeis looked around, her gaze quick and darting. As another rattle, closer this time, sounded from above, and the sound of a man’s voice calls, the elf tried suddenly to move towards the door, but is pulled short suddenly by the ropes binding her wrists above her head to a loop of metal hammered into the wall. Raeis gasped again, painfully struggling once more against the ropes, her legs kicking frantically from the rough stone wall, heedless of the scrapes across her bare ankles, as her nightmare began to come real once more – the nightmare that someone was coming closer and she couldn’t do anything to defend herself. Maybe it was a nightmare…her detached mind drifted through the thought and she ceased for a moment.

Another clank sounded and the elf made up her mind. She was surer than she had been of anything in the past few torturous years – this time, it was real. And despite every instinct that she had developed in that time, she was going to have to do the one thing everything in her mind screamed against.

“H…help.” Her cry was feeble, coming from a throat unused to calling, but, bracing herself, she tried again. “Help…help!”

Suspended by her wrists against the wall, her feet about half an inch off the floor, Raeis twisted around the try to see out of the barred slot in the door. The young elf woman had been tied in this position for several hours, and she guessed it was probably morning: the guards had taken the correct number of watches for it to be a few hours from dawn, not that that meant anything down here. But where was the next? The last monster had gone sometime when Raeis was asleep, and another had not yet come – the always rested their spears in one of the holes into the cell, poking the spear through as if to tease her, knowing that she would gladly take it, throw herself upon it…even if just to see if this existence was real. But this hour…it seemed to have stretched forever. Hearing another clank, Raeis twisted again, the ropes biting into her wrists once more and opening up new wounds, but in her desperation she only spared them a moment, biting her lip.

“Help! Please I…” she trailed off, breathing heavily as she writhed furiously, attempting to get out of the ropes although she knew they were done up tight. It was just another form of torturing the elf, to hang her like this. The other rope, which wound around her neck before passing through the loop above with the one tying her wrists, pulled tight every time she struggled, choking her and making breathing and calling hard. Against all sense, she continued to struggle, coughing and choking against the noose as she called, until eventually she saw a shadow cross the door’s slot. For a moment, she thought the dark figure was an orc, another guard, but as it paused and looked in, she saw bright, blue eyes gleaming in what little light was cast from a guttering lamp. Giving another sharp, dry cough, her throat feeling as though someone had taken a saw to it, she twisted her fingers once more, feebly this time, against the ropes, and looked into the man’s eyes with her one, dark blue one.

“Help…” she whispered.

[piosenniel]

POSTED FOR:

Sarin Mithrilanger - (internet access problems)

1) I have never played an RPG at the Barrow Downs.

2)I am not currently involved in any RPG's.

3) Yes, I have posted in The Green Dragon Inn.

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Name: Zuromor- Slave of Mordor

Age: Around 20

Race: Man

Gender: Male

Weapons: None at the moment, though after being in Mordor and constantly fighting for survival he has learned to use his body and wits as weapons.

Appearance: A tall man with hair black as the night itself and green eyes. His quick smile and helping hands for other slaves give a kind air to his person. He is well built; his body made hard by the harsh conditions in the slave camps. The rugged labor in Mordor has made him muscular, although the scarce food has left him whipcord thin. Sometimes, the constant hunger makes him feel close to death. His body is covered with old scars and new wounds from the beatings he receives almost daily from the slave handlers. His hair is unkempt - matted and very dirty. His beard is scraggly and filthy, also. His tunic is barely more than a ragged shirt. He has no breeches, only a worn loincloth. His feet are bare.


Personality/History: Born into slavery, bred in the very bowels of the deepest and darkest hells, Zuromor knows only the dark, bleak existence he has in Mordor. His time as a slave has been filled with daily difficulty and despair. He has often dreamt of places he has heard about from the other captured slaves - green hills and beautiful lands that must exist somewhere beyond this wretched world. For his entire life he has been beaten by orcs and tortured – and often just so the orcs would have some entertainment. Soon after he began to mature he began to exercise in his cell as often as he could. He knew the orcs would only torture him until their sick desires and disgusting pleasures became indulged by another sad and pathetic life-form. So he trained in case he would ever be able to kill at least one orc before they slaughtered him. In the end, he vowed, they would not get their pleasures so easily from him.

As if battling for his survival were not enough, he has fallen into thoughts of death - grabbing an orc’s spear through his bars and robbing them of their wishes to beat him and then tearing into his very flesh by killing himself. But he knew his death would mean nothing to him unless he could spill orc blood first.

He waited patiently for that chance.

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Sarin Mithrilanger’s post

Darkness spanned Zuromor’s entire cell once more. It was always dark and gloomy beyond all imagining. He sat in the darkest corner of both his cell and his mind. Dark thoughts came to him, besieged him. In an effort to shake himself away from such things he began to exercise, though he now tired of even thinking of doing such things. The orcs were not without intelligence however and they usually had a guard outside the group of cells his own was in – in case any of the slaves tried something foolish. But this night (or day) was different. There was no guard on watch. This seemed strange to him, but strange things often happened in Mordor.

He was just finishing up his routine when he heard raised voices and odd noises that soon sounded like keys. He approached the cell door and peered down as far as he could. Soon he saw a figure approaching. He sighed and stood in the center of his cell expecting an orc to come and threaten him. But in a matter of moments a man stepped in front of his door and unlocked it.

Zuromor was so shocked he dared not move. The man looked at him for a moment and then waved for him to follow. Zuromor hesitated - freedom seemed like another prison, just bigger. But maybe there is a land where orcs do not roam. He smiled briefly as the thought crossed his mind. He quickly followed this mysterious figure to his first taste of freedom. He was out of his cell and for the first time, there were no orcs around him.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Welcome aboard Sarin! I very much like your character's grim determination to take at least one orc with him before he goes -- perhaps, if he's lucky, he'll get the chance to do something very like that before the end of the game

Game Note -- I have been PMed by two people already about the remaining Dwarf position, so for the time being we should consider that part taken (I have yet to receive bios/posts from those players, though).

So that leaves just the Elf position to fill.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Hey all,

Wonderful, an excellently dark game. I'm just sticking my head in to say I am here, etc.

- Aman

[Novnarwen]

Hi! This looks like a very nice game. I would like to apply for the Slave of Mordor. I see now that someone has already applied for the position, but as I had already written half the bio and post, I'll post anyway. (Fordim, I tried PMing you, but I going soon so I will post it here.)


Character Description Form: Applying for the Slave of Mordor

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES/NO - Which one?

Yes. I have played in the following: Hunt for the Dragon, Corsairs and Corsets, Breelanders All!, Flight from Rohan and Setting Sails for Valinor.

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in?

List them, please: I’m currently in Defense of the Poros and Search for Rhûn.
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For your character please include:

NAME: Rhând (Raaaan)

AGE: 26

RACE: Southron (Haradrim)

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: None at the moment, but his own cleverness. He used to have quite a collection of knives though, which he was very proud of.

APPEARANCE: His mother was a Gondorian. She was held imprisoned in Near Harad. At the time she was freed, she had nowhere to go as she didn’t know where she came from. She had been a prisoner for many years, but found comfort in a hurried marriage with a tired Haradrim soldier. Their son, Rhând inherited quite a few of the Gondorian features, but was of mind a Haradrim.
- Rhând has dark blond hair. Before he was taken to the Tower as a prisoner, it was short, and neatly cut. Now on the other hand, it's quite long and knitted into a pony-tail. His eyes are brown. The spirit he used to have is lost, but somewhere in there, there is spirit and hatred enough to shine through when the time comes. The months in the Tower has made him weary. Dark rings around his eyes make him look dangerous and grim. In the centre of his grim face, his nose is situated. It is big, and the tip points upwards. It looks crooked, as if belonged to an old man. To tell you the truth, it looks broken; a proof that he has been beaten many a time. Other bruises in his face are also visible, but most he has on his body. When being a free man, serving as a spy and a devoted servant of Sauron, he could afford proper clothes. You see, his jobs paid well. It is quite different now, as he is wearing nothing but filthy rags.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Rhând is clever, humorous and outgoing. Yet he is ignorant, quick to anger, forgetful and quite arrogant.
- Sometimes Rhând is too clever for his own good. He can actually seem quite dumb, because he is so ignorant about so many things. Blame the parents I say, but Rhând would rather not talk about his parents. He has quite a few bad memories, and would not like to share those with any outside his 'inner circle'. The inner circle, which he often talks about either when sleepwalking or when angry, is an unknown mystery. No one, who knows him, understands it. However, Rhând is yet likeable, even though his many flaws. His humour makes people laugh, even though much of his humour is at others' expense. Due to the fact that Rhând can easily bond with people, which has been an extremely good tool over the years, he has difficulties keeping friends. Quite a few times he is bored when being accompanied by the same people over a long period of time. This makes him restless, and arrogant in some ways. Rhând couldn't care less about other's people's wellbeing. This, I would say, is a result of his poor childhood. Rhând found himself too ignored, too little loved, and some of this made him the way he is today.

HISTORY: Born and raised in Near Harad, by the River Harnen. He lived great parts of his childhood with his mother, as his father was constantly gone on raids or whatever it was he was doing. His father came along now and then though, but brought always new women with him. By this, naturally, Rhând felt ignored, but he got used to this way of living. His mother was busy working. Often she was away for days, but brought money, and food at the table as she came home. Nevertheless, Rhând grew used to his empty existence, but started at the age of sixteen to search for something more. As a child, just in his teens, he was an easy prey for the older ones. They took advantage of him, making him do the dirty jobs they didn’t want. Soon however, he found himself going upwards in the "ranks", amongst the part criminal young men. He was clever and in that way useful. Mostly, Rhând stole information and spied, and delivered it eagerly to Sauron’s loyal servants. In this way, he also became known as a traitor of the free men. But as most Haradrim supported Sauron, he was fairly respected amongst his kind. It was only amongst Gondorians and such, he later discovered, that they were quite keen on catching him.

Anyway, “business” went quite well for a while. Information was an easy thing to steal, as it only had to be stored one place; in his head, but not hidden. Rhând even enjoyed giving all the info he got from Gondorians and etc. as they, who had spoken so openly to Rhând, had not the faintest idea that Rhând was passing on the info to their enemy. You see, Rhând had one advantage as also previously mentioned. He didn’t look very much like a Southron. His skin was not so dark as the most of his kind. Therefore, one could believe that he was from the south-western part of Gondor, and in that way he could easily either imitate a Gondorian ambassador to get info or just be there; right place at the right time with his ear well cleaned. For a long time this worked quite well, and Sauron’s loyal servants were happy to greet him whenever he came with new info for example about the Gondorian army's positions and their future plans. But what Rhând didn’t realise, was that a Gondorian ambassador had recognised him on two occasions. Naturally, this caused suspicions, and the ambassador’s suspicions were confirmed as a fellow ambassador suspected the same. As a result of this, Rhând was set up. The Gondorian ambassadors arranged a meeting, of where they pretended that they were seriously discussing tactics. They agreed upon something Rhând cannot quite remember (see under personality: forgetful ). However, he can remember that the info he passed on to Sauron's allies was completely wrong and could have led to a disastrous, maybe fatal, outcome. So that was when Rhând was taken by Sauron’s faithful servants and interrogated. As Rhând had passed false information, he was naturally suspected of being in the lead with the Gondorians; therefore, a traitor.

Trying to explain himself that someone had probably set him up, he was brutally tormented and forced to tell a lie, about how he really worked for Gondor. Being too precious to kill in that case, he was sent to the Tower of Cirith Ungol, of where he has been a prisoner for the last thirteen months.
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Novnarwen's post:

A four legged oblong thing came sneaking through the closed bars this morning. Yes, for it is believed that it was morning. It ran hurriedly after the smell, of which it had been eager to get closer to for a long time. It was a nasty smell, the smell of rot and dried blood. But this little creature didn't think it horrible at all. It came closer and closer, having its nose sticking up in the air, squeaking, trembling with curiosity. Its long, thick, tail could only just be seen as the dim light crept through the bars and into the square room. The tail made a whispering sound now and then, as it was dragged, quickly, over the stone floor. Suddenly, what it had been waiting for; there were movements in the corner. Its yellow eyes lit up, its mouth twitched and its tail slid more quietly along the floor. Not long now...

In the dark corner of the room, something was indeed moving. A steady movement it was, someone was breathing. Rags and old clothing covered what was beneath.

Finally, it was there! It ran, scraping its sharp nails on the floor, through a hole in the clothing. Sniffing, letting in the stank of rot, dried blood and sweat, it set its teeth into the flesh.

"OUCH!!!"

A voice, so loud that the bricks in the wall trembled, exploded from underneath the rags. The rags moved quickly from the ground, and a pair of feet could be spotted; a man arose. His face was pale and his eyes red and bleary. He was covered in sweat and dirt, this, making him look old and grim. The rings under his eyes showed the number of days, weeks and months he had staid here. His eyes looked desperately around. Cursing like mad, lifting a hand to where he had been bit, he discovered the creature crawling pettily towards the bars again. With gritted teeth and a malicious look in his face, he sprang over. As there was a crack, the man lifted his foot gently and laughed gruffly. "Never bite a sleeping man. Never!"

Rhând sat down, laid his head on the ground and stirred into the dead rat's eyes. The open wound the rat had left him, made him writhe with pain. "Darn you rat!" he said slowly, feeling the pain in his neck die away for a bit. "Where did you come from?" he smirked and paused. "Was it through the bars or was it elsewhere? Is there another way to get out of this hole?" he shuddered, biting his lip. He cursed the rat, the hole of a cell and all the servants of Sauron. How had he ended up here? He knew very well how, but he had difficulties coping with it anyhow. He cursed once more, loudly this time. Offering the dead rat one last look, filled with hatred that is, he rose to his feet and clapped his hands together. Thirteen months inside of this hole, it was too much! He clapped his hands together once more. Clever they are, the free men, he thought to himself. They must have known that he wasn't who he claimed to be, and set him up. He frowned. A year had passed and he didn't even know the truth about what had happened. He wasn't sure whether it was the Gondorians who had set him up or whether it was Sauron's faithful servants. He supposed it was the Gondorians though. "Those foul folk of free men!" He yelled and cursed. He should have known that day, when that ambassador had called him in for a meeting. The ambassador must have already known, Rhând was certain of it. Why else would that filthy Gondorian have smirked so annoyingly at him that day? He clapped once more, jumped up and down, dancing. He broke into a song; which touched every aspect of his life now and what it had been before. He grabbed the dead rat, held it in is tail, and swung it in the air.

Some would call him crazy, but the months locked up in the cell had made him different from what he had been like. From the very first day he had been brought to the Tower, or rather; from the day he had been interrogated, Rhând had been tortured. He usually screamed, asked for mercy or tried again to tell the truth about being set up, but this only made it more enjoyable for his interrogaters. However, as Rhând got to know their ways of tormenting, he was more aware and tried to make friends with his keepers. Sometimes, he found it good fun to learn about their miserable lives, even though they probably never spoke the truth. By doing this, he also made them forget about him, as they all believed he was both crazy and harmless.

"This is good fun," he muttered to himself, still having the rat in his left hand, swinging it back and forwards. But he was interrupted by a terrible uproar. He cast himself to the floor, slightly afraid that they were coming to get him. What was he supposed to tell them today? He wondered. He had already listened to their pathetic lives; he would have to figure out something new, creative. Maybe the torture would stop completely then. He lay down, covered his head with his rags, casting the rat towards the bars. Rhând focused, trying to hear what was going on. There was shouting, no; roars, coming from .... somewhere. Rhând even got the odd feeling of whoever it that was shouting, weren't coming his way. He frowned; almost disappointed that no one was visiting. It was after all quite lonely staying here day after day in this dark hole.

A few minutes had passed, when at last Rhând realised that someone was coming. He cursed, and regretted that he had even thought that some of these nasty, treacherous creatures, could be good company. He curled together on the floor, making himself look small; hoping that whoever came by, would just leave again; thinking that it was just an empty cell. He spent his mucles, in case they would burst into the room and grab him. He felt the bite on his neck burn with pain, and he cursed the inner circle, before letting out a sigh.

"Anyone there?"

A voice from the other side of the bars muttered silently. Of course, Rhând heard the whisper quite well, but grew uncertain about what to answer. This did not at all sound like the voice of the orcs who guarded the Tower or any other he had got to know through the torturing. Gritting his teeth, he realised that if it was indeed someone else, something terribly wrong was at hand in the Tower. How could possibly a normal man or woman, who weren't prisoners, walk freely around in the Cirith Ungol? Unless.... they were prisoners, he thought.

Next thing he knew, he was out of the cell, trotting behind a man he had never seen before; named Grash.





*****

That was it. I'm happy to edit if there is anything.

Cheers,
Nova

[The Perky Ent]

Hello everyone! Today, I will be applying for the position of the jailed dwarf. So, without any further delay, here is Dorim, my dwarf. BTW, good luck Himaran. Now I only wait for your post

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG before? Yes Which?
Last Hope for Moria
Last Ride of the Heir

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in?
1
List them, please:
Last Ride of the Heir

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES – Which one? Both

_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME: Dorim Stonehewer

AGE: 55

RACE: Dwarf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Currently nothing. However, he needs very few weapons, as his fists are deadly when provoked.

APPEARANCE: Dorim is relatively tall for his race, and has the muscle to back it up. His eyes were once a bright blue, but are now dark and bloodshot. His face is very rough and filled with scratches. He has a large scar ranging from the right side of his brow to the bottom of his cheek. Dorim is clothed in tattered rags, sleeves stopping at the shoulders. Dorim’s bulging muscles are a site, as they always seemed to be flexed. His baldhead has many patches of black on it, and his brown, unclean beard droops down to his chest. His complexion is very dark and unclean, as he is deprived of sanitation. Dorim also has another scar running the length of his left arm. His fit to bust shoulders are a site, as they seem to pop out of his shoulders. Without a smile, Dorim’s face is relatively neutral, giving very little emotion if any. His tattered pants are unevenly ripped at his knees, making his legs and feet even dirtier than his head. Dorim’s body is filled with millions of bruises, scratches, cuts, and blisters, as he doesn’t take very good care of himself and walks barefoot. Although not poise, his posture is very strait and rock like.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Originally a jolly, naive, merry dwarf, it seems that 15 years of imprisonment have broken his spirit. All humor that was in his body is drained, and Dorim’s compassion for others is as soft as the tip of a sword. Like a stereotypical dwarf, his priorities are strictly about himself. Gaining much experience from 15 years of imprisonment, Dorim has learned many things about the Dark Powers of Mordor and their allies. This, in turn, has given him a fearless personality, thinking no force of Mordor or beyond can make him quiver. Dorim’s hatred of Sauron and all his minions are as pure and powerful as the light of the two trees. Sarcasm no longer enjoys him. He now uses his energy for one thing. Revenge. Dorim is incredibly strong, stronger than the average dwarf, yet this is not something that deserves recording. His multiple labors have given him bulging muscles, especially on his arms. Unlike his former personality, Dorim is no longer full of himself. He knows there are far better things to waste time on. Dorim’s only “weakness” is mercy. A lack of it. Imprisonment has made him so stone hard, there is little left of him for mercy. It would take a display of monumentous proportions to make Dorim show mercy. And when it comes to servants of Sauron, mercy is not a word.

HISTORY: Dorim was born in 2964 of the Third Age under the Lonely Mountain. His parents weren’t very rich, and did little to help Dorim’s future. Born in a time of peace for Erebor, Dorim quietly lived there, making a living as the owner of a tavern, making many friends. He became very wealthy, and was soon one of the most popular places to go around Erebor. His parents, however, died soon after his success, seeing their son amount to something they never achieved.

In 3004, when Dorim was twenty, he decided to see the world. He asked his friend Doram to watch over his business while he was gone. Dorim’s original plan was to hike up to the Grey Mountains, then travel down the Anduin, and come back up the same way. He visited Minas Tirith and made numerous amounts of friends. He was almost convinced to live there. Staying for a long time, he learned much of the world. The only thing that stopped Dorim from moving was a message. Dorim was shocked to find out that Doram had lost a large wager and lost Dorim’s tavern. Furious, Dorim quickly continued on his trip, so he could try to save his business. Returning on his journey, Dorim traveled along the Anduin until he reached the Bay of Belfalas. At the beach, Dorim took a flask and filled it with sand. Then he started his journey northward.

As Dorim started back up, he traveled on the eastern side of the river. Moving upward he traveled the wild, and then got on the Harad Road, walking along it for many miles. One day, while walking, a large group of Haradrim was marching south and found Dorim. Dorim fought bravely, but was overcome. In the fight, he lost all his weapons, lying helpless as the Haradrim surrounded him. Without another weapon, he threw his flask of sand at one of the Haradrim. The impact was so strong it knocked him out. Dorim then took a shard of glass and killed the man. Enraged, another Haradrim took his sword and knocked out Dorim. In the process, he face was brutally cut, giving Dorim his scar on the right side of his face.

When Dorim awoke, he found himself in bound, being carried by a group of Haradrim. Apparently, they decided not to kill him and take him prisoner in Harad. There, Dorim was left to rot in a cell, without any care. There, in his cell, Dorim hardened. His soul was crushed, and it seemed his very essence was taken from him. Dorim was nothing but an empty shell. There, he only took in things he heard from the Haradrim guarding his cell. This filled him with a newer, stronger spirit. Although not filled with evil from the Haradrim, he was filled with the strength of their tolerance for goodness. By ten years, Dorim was a rock solid, hard-core fighter.

Then, after ten years, Sauron summoned the group of Haradrim holding Dorim captive. They traveled up to Mordor, taking Dorim with him. There, they decided to enslave the dwarf in Cirith Ungol, along with other prisoners. There, he was tortured, where he got his scar on his arm. After brutal torturing, he was sent to a cell in the Tower. Five years later, his opportune moment has come. The gates of freedom have been opened.
__________________________________


The Perky Ent's post:

The festering odor of orcs emanated through Dorim’s cell. The constant darkness that filled his prison remained its putrid hue. Dorim’s back was firmly against his wall, where no light could reach him. Drops of water dripped from the damp ceiling and landed in front of Dorim’s barefoot feet. Inside his head, nothing passed through Dorim’s mind. No thoughts of heroic escape or fantasies of love. Nothing, as he had nothing to live for. In the last 15 years of his life, he was deprived of purpose. The only things that could move his in-animate body was either if someone opened his cell, or if Sauron decided he was worthless and should be killed. Fortunately for him, fate would choose the first option.

Hearing a giant crash from the ceiling, Dorim didn’t bother to look up. Whatever it was, it surely wasn’t important enough. Soon after, Dorim began hearing even more loud sounds. He could hear people of all races mumbling in their cells. All races of Middle Earth had somehow found their way into the hell that Dorim waked up to every day. Then, as he closed his eyes, Dorim could feel sand from Harad beneath his feet. What little light crept into the cell vanished, as a pillar of light smiled down on Dorim. Behind him, he sensed something, and behind him was a lone Haradrim, holding a dagger. Dorim reached for his ax, finding nothing. The man was facing the other way though, not looking at Dorim. Then, another, larger beam of light came, and revealed a large group of Haradrim in a circle. They all pulled out their daggers, and began to make the circle they were in smaller. Suddenly, there was a shout, and a red bead of light shot upward from the center of the circle. Suddenly, the lone Haradrim dropped to the ground, revealing a dwarf with a piece of glass in his hand. Dorim. Suddenly, one of the men sliced Dorim’s head, and all the lights went out.

Suddenly, Dorim heard something he never thought he would here. The opening of cell doors. There was a confused merriment being flushed through the cells. It flowed past Dorim, having little effect. There were still rumbles in the ceiling, but they were significantly lighter. Suddenly, a dark figure ran to the barred door of his cell. Dorim could faintly hear the jingling of keys. Suddenly, in an instant, the dark figure opened the cell door, and ran. Dorim, if he were still as foolish as he used to be, would have stood there in amazement, pondering the occurrence. Dorim rushed out of his cell, cutting his foot on a rock. It didn’t matter. Freedom was in his grasp.

Looking out of his cell, Dorim noticed several others had been released. The fact that no guards were in sight troubled Dorim. “Maybe it’s a trap?” Dorim thought, wondering why fate had chosen this to happen. Dorim always believed in fate. He thought his capture was meant to be. That like his parents, he wouldn’t be remembered. His pessimistic thought came through Dorim’s mind every time something happened. It was just his way of looking at life. “It must be a trap! It must be! That blasted spider must be hungry!” Dorim thought, starting to back away from the exit. Then, he heard the scream of an orc, and realized something was wrong in the tower of Cirith Ungol. This was no mass feeding. It was freedom.

[Himaran]

Hi everyone,

I finished my bio but I didn't have time to get my first post done. I will post both here tomorrow.

Himaran

[CaptainofDespair]

CaptainofDespair

Character Description Form: Applying for Silvan Elf Position

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES/NO - Which one? No

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

List them, please:

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES/NO – Which one? Yes. The Green Dragon Inn.

_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME: Morgoroth Aranur

AGE: 1,567

RACE: Silvan Elf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Since his captivity, Morgoroth has wielded no weapon, save for his bare hands.

APPEARANCE: Morgoroth is not the fairest of elves. He had long made a recluse of himself, staying far from his brethren in Mirkwood. His hair is dark, nearly black, and the atmosphere of Mordor has not helped its once glorious sheen. Since his confinement, he has left himself go in that respect. But nevertheless, he is still an elf, tall and lean. But due to the fact that he is more reclusive than the rest of his kind, he has had to fend more for himself, and thus he is slightly more muscular. His face bears sign of his travels, and of his captivity. He bears a small scar behind the left ear, a blow from an orc scimitar, and he has a small gash above his right eyebrow.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Morgoroth is one of many strengths, and many weaknesses. He is a strong elf, both in body and mind. He has not let his physical prowess deteriorate due to his imprisionment, and most certainly not his mind. He often makes excerises out of nothing, in primitive attempts to keep his body fit. He reminisces of the days of old, singing softly of the battles with Morgoth, and keeping the lore of the day fresh in his mind. High and noble he is, and seeks to stay a path of righteousness, preparing to do his part against the evils of Middle-Earth. He will do anything for the cause of freedom, even if it means his own death.

But for all his strength, he is flawed. His belief that the cause of all that is good must be upheld, makes him extremely impetuous. Through this, he ends up thrusting himself into situations he cannot use his blade to free himself from. He is also a merciful soul. Should an enemy repent their hateful ways before his blade can fall on their necks, he will free them, and give them safe passage. Even in his dungeon cell, this has not changed. Though he knows the Orcs must die, any evil Man who he comes across that repents, will be given freedom.

HISTORY: Morgoroth was born on a beautiful spring morning in T.A 1452 in Mirkwood. His mother gave him the name Morgoroth due to the darkness of the hair upon his head. She could see from the moment he was born, that he would become a warrior. The fire in his eyes, even at that moment, was burning brighter in him even more than that of his father, who had died fighting alongside the Last Alliance in the Siege of Barad-dur.

For years Morgoroth was seen as a distant child. He kept to himself around other children, and he seemed along interested in the machinations of war. He spent much of his time around the Elders of the Halls. He would sit patiently for hours, listening to them discuss the past, and present. It was here he learned of the evils of Gorthaur the Cruel. He wondered why one so great, would turn to such ways, and he continued to inquire more about his evil.

As he grew older, Morgoroth seemed to become more and more reclusive. He no longer went out, save for those dire times when his presence was required on the borders, defending Mirkwood from the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. Instead, he would sit for hours, studying the history of his people, and learning more of Sauron.

Finally, one autumn morn, at the age of 719 he left the home of his mother, and armed only with the blade of his father, he struck out to find his place in the world. He traveled through many differently lands in the East. During his travels, he encountered many folk, both good and evil. From these peoples, he learned much of the happenings in the world at large.

He was fascinated by the Easterling peoples, but seeing that many shunned him, he sought to live a distant life from them, but still close enough to study their ways. And so for two centuries, he lived as a nomad, wandering from region to region, studying the people he encountered.

But now, a change had come over these people whom he had spent so much time amongst. They became more war-like, more savage. Morgoroth quickly learned that Sauron had arisen again, and was using the Easterlings as part of his war machine. He detested this, and he despised Sauron. And so he left his wandering life, and journeyed to the Ash Mountains on the Northern Border of Mordor. Upon viewing that which was the Black Lands, he could not perceive why any would choose such a location as their homeland. The atmosphere itslef was a bane on him. It hung over him like a heavy fog. For a time, he could barely manage to breath in the clouded, volcanic air of Mordor. And so he thought it wise to rest himself, so that his journey back home to Mirkwood would be made easier. He moved little during the day, and went out only at night to hunt for any prey he could find. It was on one of these expeditions that he was captured. Seeing as he was an elf, the Orcs knew better than to kill him. So, they took him to Cirith Gorgor. He remained confined there for a brief time, until word from Barad-dur came that he was to be taken to Cirith Ungol. And there he was taken, and held as a prisoner for 18 long years.

__________________________________


CaptainofDespair's post:

Morgoroth awoke in his cold, dank cell on a dark morning. His unusually long captivity in Cirith Ungol had made him aware of everything that went on in Mordor. He had learned to tell, just from the sounds an orc made while moving, what was going on. He was kept alone, segregated from the other prisoners. This was ordered out of caution on the Tower Guards' part. He was dangerous, not because he could free himself, but because his calming allure, and his intermittent singing, would act as a bolster to the captive population, and might allow for a rebellion.

But this day felt strange to him, for he perceived many new guard detachments being sent farther down into the Tower. He wondered what was going on down the depths of the dungeon. He could make out the faint sounds of screaming prisoners.

"Most likely they are being beaten or tortured", he muttered to himself. "They won't last long."

Suddenly, the horrid shrieking stopped. A another detachment of orcs went scurrying down the hall past his cell. Two of the guards stopped outside his door, and began conversing in their gutteral language. Morgoroth had managed to decipher some of which the orcs had said. One of them had, before the two had moved on down the hall, spoken of a small uprising on the third cell block. A few slaves had freed themselves, and were now in the process of holding of the orc contingents sent down to quell their revolt. A thought crossed Morgoroth's mind at that moment.

"Hmm...maybe this one will succeed where the others have failed..." He paused for a moment, and then continued where he left off from. "However unlikely it may be." He chuckled softly to himself. "And if the revolt has lucky on its side, the Orcs will kill each other over some paltry trinkets taken from a haul elsewhere."

Again, screams were heard reverberating from the lower levels. The orcs were dead no doubt, and many had probably turned to killing each other. The captains of the tower had never seen eye to eye, so even in a small rebellion, if they had some previous conflict, they would not aid one another. What seemed like an hour passed by quickly, and now, a hurried scampering of feet echoed up the hall, slowly making its way nearer to his cell. Morgoroth could hear the hushed mumbling of voices a few feet outside his wooden door. Slowly, he heard the clanging of keys approach. The movement hastened, as the being on the other side of the doorway searched frantically for the right key. At last, they found it, and inserted it into the lock. The mechanisms within the lock could be heard moving, as the key was twisted in its place. Silence then pervaded the area. But the thud of the lock hitting the stone floor interupted the aura of serenity that had overcome the Elf in that instant. The door was then flung open by a mysterious man standing the doorway. Morgoroth knew he was no orc, or mannish guard, but a prisoner of the Tower, awaiting his fate with Shelob. The figure quickly left, leaving Morgoroth to make his own exit from the cell. He gracefully got up from his hay-covered, stone slab bed, and bolted out the door.

[Himaran]

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES
Which ones? The Hobbit’s Gift, The Road to Erebor, Quest for the Ainereg, Sailing Away, The Summons, In the Shadow of the Star, Flight from Rohan, Resettling the Lost Kingdom, The Ambassador’s Son, Search for Rhun.

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? One. Search for Rhun finishes in two days, but Resettling the Lost Kingdom is not quite done.

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

_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME: Dwali - he cannot remember his last name.

AGE: 43, young for a dwarf.

RACE: Dwarf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Dwali carried only a steel axe with him on his travels, but it was taken from him after his capture. Although he lacks experience in hand to hand combat, he is deadly with a knife; and after stealing one from a guard (who was slightly too close to the cell door) Dwali hid it in his cell. Perhaps it will eventually come to good use.

APPEARANCE:

Dwali is of average height for a dwarf and fairly thin. His eyes, once a piercing green hue, have slow decayed into a dark grey; which now display nothing but emptiness and sorrow. Numerous scars cover his strong frame, as he underwent particularly painful torture after he refused to give information to his captors. His hands, always slightly out of proportion with the rest of his body, now look anything but normal on his skinny wrists. Although several years of travelling had rewarded him with a muscular body, the young dwarfs appendages have lost their luster from lack of food and exercise. Dwali's clothing is better than most in the prison, as he has been their a shorter time. His brown tunic and pants have several tears, but are far from tattered rags.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

Hate is all that Dwali has known for his entire existance. The day that he returned to his camp as a child and found the mangled bodies of his two parents, a seething passion was woken in his heart; one of rage and anger. The dwarf is still young, and his emotions flunctuate; sometimes he can be quiet and thoughtful immediately before flying into a loud tirade while attacking animals and even trees with his weapon. He does not understand suffering or death, nor does he even know who he hates. The dwarf wants revenge to the point that it has become a general mindset in his life; one not directed at any single being. Spending three years in a dungeon has somewhat improved his behavior, and calmed him to the a point near sanity, but his new personality is one of sarcasm and pessimism. He believes that his and every other being's death is imminent, causing him to be virtually fearless of darkness and death.

HISTORY:

Dwali devoted five years of his life to hunting down the orc band which destroyed his family, and became a skillful tracker and warrior in the process. But after savagely killing every member of the orcish party and retrieving his parent's few stolen possessions, he did not find the rest his inner soul so longed for. The dwarf became a drifter and a wanderer, without knowledge of his relatives or of current events. Nor did he care about such things; for in his mind the act of loving something was but a weakness. Thus it was that Dwali continued south; and he past though many lands over many years. Eventualy he came to Gondor, but
decided to avoid it and instead passed through Ithilien. It was there, on the eastern edge of that great forest, that he was captured by a scouting party from Morder. All the dwarf can remember after that fateful day is darkness. The all-encompasing blackness of stone, dungeons, and death.

__________________________________

Himaran's post

Dwali sat in the back of his small cell, listening to the sounds of battle coming from all directions. Such a horrid clamor did not bother, nay, even affect him; for it could only mean that some worse evil was approaching. Perhaps it is finally time to die. Time to leave this world of darkness... and enter another. Relaxing against the cold stone in a relatively calm fashion, Dwali contemplated what was to come.
Maybe it was the great spider they had spoken of, Shelob, or another rival orc army. Then the thought that it was a force from Gondor flickered through his mind, but the dwarf tried to ignore it. The mind is deceitful. It leads to hope, and hope slowly turns to reality. He shifted his postion, trying to find a comfortable spot on the rough prison wall.

And reality... is darkness. And death.

Although only a prisoner in Morder for three years, Dwali spent much of his time brooding in the inky blackness of his underground cell. He had been tortured for information about his race after arriving at the tower, but had since been left alone to guess his painful end; fed on scraps more putrid than orc fare. The dwarf's personality, already frayed since the murder of his parents, had molded into one of pessimism, sarcasm, and an assurance that his death was imminent. But on that particular day, Dwali's demise was not to be.

As the screams and clangs of metal began to fade, another sound caught the dwarf's keen ears. It was that of a key turning in a lock, and a rusty door swinging open. And then realization dawned -- it was his door! Dwali stood quickly, trying to recognize his rescuer (or murderer, more likely). It was a young man, but his other features were hidden by the darkness of the cavern. "You are free," he wispered. "Follow me, there are others."

Ignoring the nagging thought that it could be a trap, Dwali stepped out of his chamber. It was probably all some sort of trick, and he would soon be beaten and returned to his tiny prison; but even to be out for a few minutes would be worth it. Then he stopped, and hurried back inside. The dwarf felt around the bottom of the wall, hands digging and feeling about in a frantic manner. Then his left hand hit cold steel, and he pulled it out gingerly. There, it a hidden crack, was the knife he had stolen from a nearby guard over a year before. Perhaps it would be of some use afterall.

_____________________

Hope this works! And thanks for being patient.

Himaran

[The Perky Ent]

Fordim - I fixed the small problem. Hope it helps. If I need to fix it more, say the word.

[piosenniel]

CHARACTERS/PLAYERS:

• Slave of Mordor - Fordim Hedgethistle
• Slave of Mordor – Durelin
• Slave of Mordor – Sarin Mithrilanger
• Slave of Mordor – Novnarwen
• Southron – Aylwen Dreamsong
• Southron - Bethberry
• Easterling – alaklondewen

~*~

• Silvan Elf – Amanaduial the archer
• Silvan Elf - CaptainofDespair

~*~

• Dwarf – Kransha
• Dwarf – The Perky Ent
• Dwarf – Himaran

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

All right Himaran, we shall be sure to carry your character along without too much damage coming to him. . .

[alaklondewen]

I just want to apologize for not filling my SAVE on time. My little town was hit by a series of really bad storms yesterday, and the entire town suffered a blackout for close to 19 hours. Anyway, power is on now, so I'm working and it will be filled in very soon.

~ Alak

[The Perky Ent]

Alright Fordim! I'll read up on Kransha and Hilmaran's posts, and well as info in the DT concerning where we are now and get a post up!

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

My apologies in advance, but I will probably be able to post only sporadically over the next week or so, as my town has been placed under a state of emergency after we got quite a bit of flooding. I have about 5 ft of water in my basement, and one of our trees came down, but everyone is safe.

At any rate, I will be back -- if sodden!

Keep posting away, however -- you're a great group of writers who I'm sure can survive my sporadic attention.

[Durelin]

I just realized my post might need a little explanation...just a little. Jordo is unconscious...I hope someone will find him. If not...

I would also like to let you know, Fordim, that I will be pretty much absent as well. For five days, I will be on vacation, and I leave tomorrow. I will have access to a computer and will post as often as I can. But this will not be too often, I'm afraid.

Thanks Fordim!

-Durelin