Defense of the Poros discussion thread

[Bêthberry]

Orual invites you to play her game, Defense of the Poros.

Title: Defense of the Poros

Basic Storyline: In the years before the Haradrim's attack on Gondor in 2885, Gondor has erected a settlement south of the Poros river, hoping to extend its borders. It is a small settlement, with around a hundred settlers. Young Captain Anhelm is put in charge of it, and all goes smoothly until one of his soldiers informs him that a marauding band of Haradrim are heading directly toward them. Anhelm must protect his settlement from the invaders.

The purpose of the story is to ... protect the settlement from the Haradrim.

This means we will know the story is over when ... the assistance from Gondor comes, and the battle is over; no outcome is certain.

Starting Location: The Poros Settlement
Likely destination: The Poros Settlement

Timeframes:

i) This game takes place in the Third Age at around year 2860.
ii) The story itself or plot covers two weeks.
iii) This game requires a time commitment of 6-8 weeks from me, the Game Manager, and from the major players.

Characters:

Main character types are ...
3 defenders (Gondorian; soldiers or settlers)
3 attackers (Haradrim)
Haradrim captain

Secondary character types likely are ...
None

Character types which would not belong ....
Any not listed

The Game Manager will play one character, Anhelm, Captain of the Stward's Guard and in charge of the settlement at the Poros (character profile and first post to follow in next post on this thread).

Other information of special interest that you would like to include:
The attack referenced in "Basic Storyline":

: 2885. Stirred up by emissaries of Sauron the Haradrim cross the Poros and attack Gondor. The sons of Folcwine of Rohan are slain in the service of Gondor.

From Appendix B

Info on Harad.


Map of Rohan and Gondor, including the Poros (at the bottom right of the picture), scanned from Karen Wynn Fonstad's "Atlas of Middle-earth": http://lotrmaps.middle-earth.us/maps/r3t_M63.jpg


Contact: Please submit character profiles and first posts on this thread, for consideration by Orual.

When Orual has accepted all Game Players and the character positions have been filled, she will open the game thread. Date and Time to be announced here.

Please remember to disable your signatures on the game thread.

Have fun, Writers of the Mark!

Bêthberry,
Moderator for Rohan


Edit: The link to Harad is now fixed.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:16 AM January 14, 2004: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Bêthberry]

Character profile and first post for Anhelm, Orual's character.

Name: Anhelm, Captain of the Steward's Guard

Age: 28

Appearance: Tall, strong, and fit, Anhelm is every inch a soldier, and the very image of an ambitious young captain. His dusty-brown hair hangs down to his mid-neck, and his gray eyes hint at his vast stores of energy. His movements are quick and almost ceaseless, and when he must be still he has nervous habits like cracking his knuckles or drumming his fingers on tables.
As Commander of the Poros settlement, he is rarely seen in anything but his uniform. His sword, Glindraug, was passed down to him as the eldest son, and he is the sixth generation weilder. He almost always wears it.

History: Anhelm came from a long line of Gondorian soldiers, serving under the Stewards and, before that, the Kings. Under his father's tutelage he made his way swiftly up the ranks of the guard, due to the uneasy times as well as his skill in leadership and battle, and his loyalty to Gondor.
His father was an excellent soldier, charismatic and very well-liked, and close to the Steward. Anhelm fought his way up the chain of command, making his father very proud, but part of his reasoning was his desire to get out of his father's shadow, and to make a name for himself, on his own merits.
His priorities shifted when their home was attacked by Haradrim invaders, and his father was injured. Though he survived, he would never walk again. Fury fueled his loyalty to Gondor, and he became one of the best soldiers in the army, and was promoted to captain for his efforts. At twenty-seven, he was given command of the Poros settlement.

Personality: Anhelm's zeal for crown and country is what most people see when they first meet him, and it is indeed a large part of his personality. But he is also a dedicated brother, son, and uncle, and is known to his close friends as a boistrous and exuberant man. To others he appears stern and hard-working. He takes his duties very seriously, and feels intensely the burden of the settlement, and of the lives entrusted to him. He is wary and shrewd, with a brilliant tactical mind, courageous with a healthy sense of anxiety about the perilous location of his settlement. His flaws include a keen hatred of the Haradrim due to their raid on his house, which obscures his vision sometimes and skews his judgement. Also, though he is talented, he is young, and has trouble dealing with the responsibility of commanding the Poros settlement.

The first post for the game:

The sun crept slowly to meet the horizon, peering out over a grey morning and a bleak landscape. Captain Anhelm, Commander of the Poros Settlement, was already up to greet it. Dressed in his uniform, his sword sheathed and set carefully on the desk in front of him, Anhelm shivered a little and looked out of the window. He stood up and grabbed his cloak from a hook on the wall of his modest office, and went out into what was the beginnings of his village.

"Morning, Captain," a young soldier said amiably, touching his forehead in respect. He glanced at Anhelm's cloak, and his smile slipped. "You might not need that," he said, a touch of gloom entering his voice. "It's warm again today, and Telpe says not to hope for a cold wind any time soon."

Anhelm laughed, then smiled. "Take what Telpe says with a grain of salt," he suggested. "She is no more an expert on the climate here than you or I. We may get a reprieve from the heat yet." The young man smiled gratefully, touched his forehead again, and left.

"Good morning, Uncle Anhelm!" cried a young girl, running up to him. Her brown pigtails trailed out behind her, and she had a string of white winter flowers in her hand that would be made into either a necklace or a circlet. Her name was Mavi, short for Vidumavi. She was his only niece, and he loved her dearly.

"Good morning, love!" Anhelm replied, picking her up and giving her a kiss right on the top of her head. "How are you? And where are your shoes? Don't your feet hurt?"

Mavi laughed and wiggled her way to being put down. "Telpe says that she's got some tea and soup for you for breakfast, and she sent me to tell you. And my feet don't hurt. I'm like the Wild Men! I don't need shoes." She pulled a fierce face and, making her hands like claws, growled at her uncle.

Anhelm smiled. "You're a tough one, all right. I bet I could pick you up by the toes and your hair wouldn't get mussed. Let's see!" He grabbed her by the waist and tickled her until she shrieked, and at that point he put her down and kissed her on the nose. "Run along..."

She did, and Anhelm went and gathered the feel of the morning, which was fairly like the last few mornings: tense. A settlement right near the Harad Road was not the safest place, especially in these uneasy times. The Haradrim were getting uneasy, egged on, some said, by darker forces, though Anhelm was hard pressed to believe it. He was a practical man, who believed in more or less only what he could see. Some vague "darker forces" were not enough to make him nervous.

But the Haradrim did make him nervous. His father was bound to bed because of them, never to walk again; his people could not let their children stray far from the settlement proper because of them. How could he not be nervous? He was in charge of this settlement; all of these lives were in his hands.

"Captain?" An older soldier came up to him. "I have some reports from the scouts. Would you like to come read them?"

Anhelm took a deep breath. It was time to start his day; brooding would not stop the Haradrim. Only action would. He nodded. "Lead on."

~~~~~~

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:57 AM January 13, 2004: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Manôphazân]

Name: Lan’kâsh

Appearance: Lan’kâsh is classic example of a mixture of Black Númenorean and Low Harad. Tall and thin, with the fine-boned look of ancient kings and the swarthy, mottled complexion of an Umbarian beggar. Among his own people he might be called ‘interesting’, but travelers from the north find him somewhat disconcerting, a reaction he often uses to bully merchants into excessive tributes (which go straight into his pocket). His eyes are dark, like his hair, which hangs shoulder length but is covered with a conical metal helmet and connected aventail.

Though he usually mans his post along the Harad Road in a sleeveless tunic and a pair of loose trousers over sturdy boots, he also has a mail jacket and a set of bracers, which he dons now and then when it isn’t too hot (which is seldom). Over it all he wears the official jacket of an officer of the Army of Harnen, which bears an emblem of crossed black swords on a field of white. He is armed with a vicious iron tipped spear and carries a medium sized banded shield with which he has killed almost as many enemies as he has with weapons.

Background: Lan’kâsh is the third son of a minor priest of Doburl, a coastal city more than 200 miles south of Umbar. Because only the oldest son of each of a priest’s wives were expected to continue in the clergy, Lan’kâsh was automatically enrolled in military school at age 11. At 18 he killed his first enemy, a Variag bowman, and by the age of 25 he had participated in no less than a dozen battles. All of his life was dedicated to war, and he spent several years rising through the ranks until finally obtaining a garrison of his own in the far south desert stronghold of Lo’dreth. There he led over 300 men, but Lo’dreth was a conquered land, and it quickly grew boring.

Stranded without an enemy, Lan’kâsh found another – himself. Within six months of taking over the massive sandstone keep, he spent every evening deep in a bottle and every day deep in slumber. Only in his dreams did he find battles and enemies, until one morning he woke to a nightmare and discovered that the desert town was not as isolated as he had thought. Without warning, his garrison was overrun by dark nomads wielding deadly spears, and he was forced to abandon Lo’dreth. Less than half of his men survived the attack, and only by the influence of his father’s temple was he permitted to live. He was demoted to the rank of Lieutenant and reassigned to a customs post at Harnen Crossing. Today his life consists of inspecting merchants traveling to and from Harondor and the lands to the north.

Personality:
At 30 years old, Lan’kâsh is a recovering alcoholic who used to be good at soldiering but now has grown weary of hot assignments in barren lands. He would like nothing more than to return to Doburl, meet a nice girl or two, and open a shop selling fine products from around the world. In his current post he has made many good connections, and he is sure he would make a fine merchant. For now though, he knows that is only a dream because rumor from the south hints that the Army of Harnen has plans of pushing north soon.

Though he dreads the idea of yet another battle, he likes the thought of killing a few more Wingers (as his people often call the knights of Gondor) before he retires. It has been a long time since he has been up North, and there is sure to be profit in it. He is still an expert with a spear and shield, and he is very proficient with a sword or dagger, but he has always been a terrible shot with a bow.

As far as personality goes, Lan’kâsh at one time was angry and loud, but now he has become angry and quiet. He is usually lax with discipline but will punish a perceived transgression against him or his authority with sudden violence. Surprisingly, he does have a sense of humor, but he keeps it well hidden. And though his family is religious, he does not actively practice the faith he was born into, but he respects others who do. He treats members of the priesthood with honor, occasionally donating to various temples in hopes of the favor of the spirits he normally ignores.

First Post
A small mote of dust on the horizon at morning turned into a churning cloud by midday as a company of lancers approached the border outpost of Harnen Crossing. They formed the forward contingent of the Army of Harnen that would be moving through the area within the week. Just before reaching the town they broke formation and quickly began to bivouac on the sandy plain. A small group rode ahead of the main mass and stopped at the southern picket where the garrison commander greeted them.

Lan’kâsh raised his hand in salute and invited the company leader, a young captain, to the comfort of his headquarters. Walking together, the two made small talk until they reached a two-storied brick building overlooking the river just to the north. Once inside, Lan’kâsh commanded a shirtless slave to bring refreshment, and the two officers sat down on a shaded balcony where a cool breeze blew in from the surface of the water. The slave brought tea and fresh fruit, as well as a plate of various meat delicacies, and then moved to a corner where he stood in silence.

The captain drank the tea without speaking for several minutes, looking across the river at the rising hills and the occasional tree.

“Not a tree in sight for the last 50 leagues,” he grumbled, holding his cup out for more tea. The servant rushed forward and filled it. “I do so like trees but seldom get to enjoy them. It seems the few forests we do have near the city shall all be cut down by the shipwrights soon.”

Lan’kâsh held his silence. Though he had much more experience than the young captain, he knew that he must continue to show him the proper respect. The rank of lieutenant was an embarrassment to wear, but he knew that he was fortunate to wear any rank at all.

“Over there,” the captain pointed north to the hills, “are miles and miles of forest.” He smiled and took another sip from his cup. “Forests for the shipwrights.”

Lan’kâsh nodded and waited for the captain to continue. Hopefully he did not go on about the forests.

“As you know, we intend to cross the Harnen tomorrow when the rest of the division gets closer, so I thought I’d ride ahead to have you gather your men to fall in.”

Lan’kâsh finally spoke. “Fall in, sir?.”

The young captain smiled a crooked smile and answered, “Yes, of course. Did you think you would be staying here while we rode through?” He did not give the lieutenant time to answer,a nd snickered, “As of this moment the border is sealed, and since this is no longer the ‘front’, your services and those of the rest of this border patrol are required in the real army.”

Though he had began their meeting with civility, the captain had quickly changed his tone to one of condescension. Being from a good (and rich) family, the young officer falsely assumed that the dirty looking lieutenant was the unlucky son of a merchant or maybe the rare man that had rose from the ranks. But he never considered that the man in front of him had dealt out more death than he had ever yet imagined. Lan’kâsh looked up quickly and caught the captain in a cold stare that lasted only as long as it took him to imagine running his spear through the foolish youngster’s throat, long enough for the captain to wonder if he had made a mistake in taunting the odd, dark skinned lieutenant.

The moment passed, and with a long outward breath Lan’kâsh let his anger pass and said quietly, “It will be our pleasure to join the invasion of Harondor.”

“Yes,” said the captain uncertainly, “Yes, you shall be joining us. Muster your men outside this building first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lan’kâsh stood to salute, but the sudden move startled the captain so that he nearly dropped his teacup. The young officer stood quickly, returned the salute sloppily, and retreated down the stairs, deciding that he had definitely made a mistake with the real army comment. The look in the lieutenant’s eyes had sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted to distance himself as quickly as possible.

As the captain’s footsteps thumped down to the first floor, the lieutenant sat back down and held his cup up. The slave filled it and sat down heavily in the seat the captain had recently vacated. He was smiling from ear to ear.

“That one ain’t gunna last long, ‘tenant,” he said, showing a gap-toothed grin. The slave snatched the captain’s cup and filled it for himself.

“No his isn’t,” said Lan’kâsh laughing, “but we are, sergeant Benel. Get our things ready and pass the message along to muster in the morning.”

“Yes sir,” said the slave, standing and giving a snappy salute. He snatched his jacket from where it hung on a hook and put it on. “I’ll take care of it right away, sir.”

Lan’kâsh looked across the river where trees were throwing long shadows in the late day sun.

“Look out Gondor, here we come.”

[Orual]

Another villain as the first role taken...this is becoming more common! Interesting.

Wonderful profile, Manophazan. I like Lan'kash's attitude: nice twist. Welcome to Defense of the Poros!

One question, though: I couldn't tell from your profile whether Lan'kash would be a Haradrim soldier, or their leader in this battle. Could you clear that up for me?

~Orual

[Manôphazân]

Thak you, Oural. This looks like a fun game. I hope others sign on soon.

Since the settlement is attacked by a 'band of marauders', with the set-up I've suggested of a full-scale invasion, I was thinking that Lan'kâsh would lead the smaller group that assaults it. Since he does have a reputation in the army as a good leader (or he did have such a reputation) some general could decide to give him command of a company and order him to assault the settlement while the main army passes northward to Poros Crossing. This would allow us to control the scale of our battle, plus it will give the good guys the extra challenge of avoiding the entire Army of Harnen (at least until the good guys army arrives - we don't want things easy for Gondor, do we. After all, they have no busines in Harondor [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img] ).

[Orual]

Awesome...I wanted to make sure I knew where Lan'kash stood in the hierarchy of our villains(forgive me for the lack of accent marks, I'm a little short of time to look it all up--gotta get some stuff done before rehearsal tonight).

Once we get closer to opening the game, I'll have some ideas to share with you. I'm glad to have you aboard, Manophazan!

[Bêthberry]

Great ideas here, Orual and Manôphazân.

Writers of the Mark, this is a fun game with lots of action. Go for it!

[Imladris]

Hi! I hope that this is suitable:

Name -- Jinan

Race -- Haradrim

Age -- 21

Appearance -- Jinan has dark brown skin, shoulder length black hair that is allowed to hang loose, and wiry muscles. He is fairly short, no more than five and a half feet, but his proud words more than make up for that. He likes to wear loose clothing, and is often seen with a scarlet sash about his waste. In his right ear there are three golden earrings: one on the lobe, one in the middle, and one at the top. On his second finger of his right hand he bears a heavy ring with the seal of his father upon it. A wooden bow is slung across his back while an ornate dagger hangs from his side.

History -- He has not had much chance to make a history for himself. His father was a rich and influential personage in Harad and had Jinan began his training in arms early in life. When he was young his mother died, and he learned to hang around the older men, copying the older men in speech and actions. It was during this period that he developed a passion for the bow and arrows. The other weapons did not interest him, so he spent his time developing his skill with the weapon.

Personality -- Frankly, Jinan is a pain in the neck. He is proud, arrogant, and thinks he knows everything there is to know. Hidden under his somewhat pleasant face, is a cold cruelty that lashes out at the slightest provocation. He is not vain, and has a disgust for those who are. Overly confident, he is eager to make his way through the ranks of the army, and will do anything in his power to do so. He now regrets his foolishness in not acquiring more skill with other weapons of warfare, and it is a sting to him that he cannot handle a sword or a dagger as well another. He is impatient that Harad has not conquered Gondor before this, and he wishes that he can soon can join the forces against them and crush them into oblivion.
--------------

First Post

Jinan swaggered down the dirt road of the outpost of the Harnen Crossing, kicking at tufts of dying weeds ( As if it could be called a road , he thought, remembering the mighty cities of Harad). Dust clung to the golden fringe that lined his scarlet sash, and his black leather boots were scuffed from hard traveling. A simple wooden bow was slung across his back, while his hand rested casually upon a gem studded dagger.

Another man passed him, paused, scrutinized him and called out eagerly, “Jinan, good friend of mine!”

The lad paused in mid-stride, and turned to looked at the man who so called out to him. He was but a few years older than Jinan, and was a shipmate upon a corsair vessel. A friend I am to you, but you are no friend of mine , he thought, resentfully remembering old rivalries of the past. A toothless smile carved itself upon Jinan’s face and he said, “How goes it with you…friend…well or ill?”

“Ill,” the corsair said glumly as he shook a leather pouch absently. The faint tinkle of coins reached Jinan’s ear.

“Monetary troubles I take it. I’ve always said you shouldn’t gamble,” Jinan said evenly, eyeing the money bag with a cocked eyebrow.

“I hear ye’re in the army,” the man said, hastily changing the subject and hooking the bag onto his belt. “I also hear rumours that you can’t fight worth beings and that you’re only in because of your father’s money,” the man added with a leer.

The smile vanished from Jinan’s face. It was true that he could not handle a dagger well, but naturally the rumours had ignored his skills with a bow and arrows. “Don’t believe everything you hear, friend,” Jinan said coldly, patting the corsair upon the shoulder. “Until we meet again.” It was the only possible way to get rid of the fellow politely.

With a farewell nod, the corsair continued on his way, leaving Jinan behind. A soft chuckle escaped him as he tossed the bag of money in his hand. Slipping the dagger back into its sheath, he whispered, “No skill with a dagger, eh? Obviously enough to relieve you of your money.” He grinned as he imagined the shock and horror when the corsair discovered his money gone and his inability to pay his debts. “Never trust to rumours, friend.”

Tossing the bag at the feet of some passing priests, Jinan made his way to the young captain of his brigade. Entering the headquarters, he paused when the captian said absently, “We’re transferring you, Jinan. There is going to be a small expedition against the Poros to drive the Gondorians away --”

The voice of the officer droned on, while Jinan’s face broke into a wide grin. An attack upon Gondor! Finally the rats would know who was master. They transferring him which naturally meant that he would be the captain of the expedition and…

“…and you will be under the command of a Lieutenant Lan’kâsh.”

Jinan’s jaw dropped slightly and he shook his head, his black hair falling into his eyes. “You mean, I’m not going to lead this attack?” he asked with a forced laugh.

“Responsibility must be earned, not given,” the captian said. “You’ll find him at the building over looking the river.”

Jinan stumbled through the door, his thoughts a surging turmoil of anger and confusion. Turning, his brows meeting in a jagged frown, he glowered at the captain’s office. Obviously the captain didn’t know quality when he saw it. With a snort, he swung upon his heel and soon found the building. Climbing the wooden balcony, he saw Lan’kâsh sipping a bit of tea and nibbling at some fruit. So this was the lieutenant who was to command him. This thin distant man who probably didn’t even know the word battle. As Jinan stared at him and Lan’kâsh lifted his eyes into those of the younger man’s, a chill passed through him.

Shaking himself, Jinan said, “I have been transferred to your authority, sir.” Putting his own thoughts of resentment behind him, he flashed a toothless smile at the man who was to be his superior officer.

[Manôphazân]

It's not my place to approve or disapprove characters or players, but I think Jinan would make a great addition to our attack on Gondor. His skills with a bow will compliment Lan'kâsh's blades, and together they will send hordes of paleskins to their maker!

[Orual]

Lovely job, Imladris. Jinan is a very interesting villain...very original. Anhelm is getting more than a little nervous. Welcome to Defense of the Poros!

~Orual

[Imladris]

Many thanks to the both of you!

[Orual]

Well, guys, I know this is going a little slowly, but let's not lose hope. I've sent out some invites, so hopefully some people will check the thread out and maybe post a profile.

~Orual/Anhelm

[Daniel Telcontar]

After receiving an invitation to check this out (thanks Aylwen) here is the character I hope to play in this game:

Name: Khalad

Age: 24

Appearance: Khalad resembles a Númenorean as much as is possible in these waning days. He is tall with dark hair, dark blue eyes and in good shape, like any soldier should be. His face is somewhat innocent since he has only been in minor battles a few times and thus has little experience. He likes the feeling of being in armour and often has his sword hanging by his waist even if not needed, also because it is an heirloom his father gave him when his son became a soldier like himself. He is not too fond of wearing the helmet though and only does so if he must.

History: As said, Khalad's father is a soldier and when he felt he was too old to fight anymore he received a job as captain of Pelargir's city-guard, and many of their ancestors were soldiers as well, or city-guards. Khalad's sword has the words "Peace and Justice" inscribed in Quenya, and is something his forefathers has strived to uphold since they came to Pelargir. The sea-city is where Khalad grew up, and all his life he has aspired to step in his father's footsteps. Since Pelargir does not see action often Khalad chose to join the army rather than the city-guard and proud of this, his father presented him with the sword. It is ancient from Númenor and has been in their family since it was forged. Khalad has fought in a few skirmishes to the south and was then transferred to the Poros settlement.

Personality: Khalad was brought up with stories about the splendour of Númenor and Gondor, and the Elves of old, and of his forefather Khalad who dishonoured himself, but then redeemed himself by fighting for the Last Alliance. His greatest wish is to see the glory of Gondor restored in these waning times, and become what his ancestor of the same name was, and that is why he signed up for the army; he is thus fiercely loyal and will allow nothing to come between him and his Codex, "Justice and Peace". He is thus eager to prove himself, but also young and has little wisdom, nor much experience with the ways of life. Also his strong sense of duty and justice can sometimes make him rather stern and without much compassion.
He has several younger brothers and a sister, and loves them all much; and so far from his beloved him all that reminds him of it is his sword, which he is very protective of.
He has been well-educated and knows much of both swordplay and tactics, though it is mostly theory since he has had so few battles, and he has not been able to test it much in actual combat.

First post:
Khalad beheld the buildings in front of him, reflected slightly in the sun. Marching along with the rest of his company, he held his head high as he clutched his spear and shield.

It looked rather peaceful, and he wondered slightly why he had been sent to this outpost rather than stay in the south where trouble was brewing. But he assumed that the officers had their reasons for sending him so far away from his home.

When he closed his eyes he could almost smell the sea, and hear the noise from it; and if he concentrated, he could summon forth a vision of the white marble house that was his home.

He quickly opened his eyes again though, not wishing to day-dream upon this day. It mattered not if Gondor desired him in Minas Tirith or Poros; he would remain the same, and would not allow anyone to accuse him of neglecting his duties. Though he had to admit, he would rather be in Minas Tirith now, than this small settlement.

His left hand slid down to his belt and although wearing the shield he was able to touch the hilt of his sword. He could feel its scabbard with every pace he took, but it felt good to touch it with his fingertips, even if it was the wrong hand.

He smiled a grim smile when thinking upon the few times he had been allowed to draw it with proper reason; to use it in defence of Gondor, and not merely for child's play. He feared though that the only reasons he would have for drawing that blade, would be to oil it.

An unnecessary precaution, since it was forged by metal that would not perish in such a way; yet after seeing the rusty blades lingering on old battlefields, he felt most comfortable knowing that something protected his blade.

This character may seem a bit odd, but I have been playing a Númenorean called Khalad in the RPG "Brotherhood" which takes place during the Last Alliance. I thought it interesting to now play a descendant and sort of continue that story, so I hope you will bear with me in this character who may appear somewhat different (for instance the heirloom sword that I hope you do not mind I transferred to this RPG as well).
If Khalad is accepted as a Gondorian soldier, then his rank may be whatever you deem best.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:21 PM January 20, 2004: Message edited by: Daniel Telcontar ]

[Orual]

Another good guy! Anhelm breathes a sigh of relief. Very nice profile, Daniel Telcontar. Welcome to Defense of the Poros.

~Orual

[doug*platypus]

Greetings All

Hail and well met! as I might well say, this being Rohan and all. I thought I should signal my intention to fill up the third 'baddie' position, before all the spots are taken! Thanks for the invite, Orual, I have recently been thinking about doing some writing and wasn't sure what to put my energies into! Great timing... [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

My character isn't fully-formed yet, but I'll provide you with a few hints and details. The amount of information you will all find out about him will naturally be less than everything. I will construct enough backstory for him to seem realistic, but it will mainly be currently relevant things that come through. For instance, you may never discover his mother's name (among many other things), unless the fact somehow becomes relevant. Not that there is any great mystery to the character, just that I will only post details that I feel to be pertinent to the topic at hand. Wow, that made no sense. [img]smilies/frown.gif[/img]


Gimilzôr of Harad

Probable name for the character at this stage is Gimilzôr. He will be a lower ranking commander in the army, equivalent to a modern sergeant. He will command a section of infantry, presumably placed under the direction of Lan'Kâsh, but could be changed to a horseman if the situation dictates that we need cavalry. I would think not, however, as that will probably complicate the battle unnecessarily, and horsemen seem to be rare among the Haradrim (based on accounts of the Pelennor Fields).

It is my belief that the armies of Harad would come from diverse tribal backgrounds. Gimilzôr is the name of my character in what I assume to be the common tongue of the south (derivative of Adûnaic or Númenórean), but not his name by birth. He does not come from a noble background, being basically a peasant that has found a career in the army. He does not speak overmuch, and says more with a laugh or a gap-toothed, sometimes wicked smile than he does with words. He is one of the older and more venerable sergeants of the Haradrim, mid-30s at least, with a large disfiguring battle scar showing his experience in warfare.

He is well-versed in smaller village-type warfare, though not experienced in the type of full-scale conflict that may result if the Army of Gondor is called out to help the settlers. In fact, most of his battles to date have been against poorly armed villages, quelling revolts and gathering tribute. The spoils from these type of attacks are often great, and Gimilzôr is not above any of the more depraved acts that are committed in the name of war. It is not for nothing that the settlers fear the approach of the armies of the Southrons.

Gimilzôr takes great pride in his position in the army, and in his arms and armour. His motivation in the attack on Gondor is duty and love of battle more than any deep-seated resentment towards the Men of the West, although his demanding gods require that the infidels of the North be destroyed by his people one day. He will remain loyal to his superiors as long as he perceives they are brave, following orders and fighting for the glory of Harad. Hope this is enough to go on for now.

[maikafanawen]

Hello! I got Orual's PM and decided to come check it out. It looks like a good RPG. Here's my vignette for consideration.

(I had hoped to get away with playing a woman, but if you prefer, Orual, I will most certainly alter it).

*****
Name: Daran Confelder

Age: 29

Appearance: Daran is tall and broad-shouldered, lean and fit. She has thick, knee-length, dark blonde hair that is worn braided down her back. Her eyes are a penetrating blue and her skin is moon-pale. She is very plain looking, and her small bust allows her to pass as a man whenever is necessary.

Personality: Daran is tough but not overbearing. Quick to earn people's respect, she treats others with a good deal of courtesy and esteem. She expects people to put forth their best effort and display good manners at all time. Daran has a good sense of humor but knows when to be serious. Impatience is among her faults but she keeps it hushed out of civility. She is a great asset in battle with her strong arms, unwavering courage, and impressive skill with a sword. And though Daran is very loyal to her homelands, she has an open mind and often questions things that she has been taught to accept or take for granted. She can read a little bit, and she is somewhat nearsighted.

History: Daran grew up with her two older brothers as the daughter of a widower soldier named Gurian Confelder. Gurian's sister looked after his children until she died during Daran's fourteenth winter. By this time, Daran's brothers (Realge-16 and Anton-19) were old enough to join the army. Gurian didn't know what to do with Daran until he saw her teaching Realge how to throw a knife with his opposite hand. He decided to pass her off as a boy and enter her in the army as well. It worked, not because the officials were fooled, but because her strength and skill were greatly valued in a Gondorian militiaman. So she has served for fifteen solid years and swears that she'll go on serving for as long as she is needed.


FIRST POST


Daran sat cross-legged atop a hill that over looked the Poros River and the village that was taking a solid shape under Captain Anhelm's hand. A warm breeze moved across the plains making waves in the tall grass that banked the river. The woman dressed in a pale green tunic, secured with a simple rope belt, and brown breeches narrowed her eyes and tried to determine how many meters stretched out from the first battlement to the second and then to the center of the village. She counted eighty and then blocked off the section of houses and pictured the finished fort where the captain's tent was. It would be a fine settlement with the ability to defend the area around the narrowest part of the Poros River.

After a while she pulled her sword out of its scabbard and set to sharpening it. She'd begun to wear it again since she was moved to the Poros so she liked to keep it looking nice. It was a plain sword really: a wooden grip dipped in metal wrapped in black leather with a metal crossguard that's nicked and has none of its original shine. The blade is thirty-six inches long and forty-seven overall. She wields it two-handed but doesn't loose any of the agility or swiftness she'd have with a one-handed grip.

As she looked at it, she almost wished the old weapon had some sort of special quality to it. It was no heirloom, and she didn't have it specially made for her, she'd simply claimed it from the weapons rack fifteen years ago and it's been on her hip ever since, put through all the blood and gore of raids and battles she's seen. There was no crest, no design, nothing that marked it as hers. She finished sharpening it and wiped it down before sliding it back into its sheath.

Daran rubbed her eyes and stretched out her long legs, flexing her toes inside the sturdy black leather boots. The row of three buckles on either shoe glinted in the sun and she tightened each strap so it was snug against her calf. Then she stood and draped her black cloak over her back, tying it under the left armpit and walked down the hill towards the village. She had to see what the Captain needed done today.
*****

Hmm, kind of short. I can make it longer, I just wasn't exactly sure what I should do. I could develop her relationship with the others more I guess. But I was wondering if Daran could have a sort of rank. I looked up to see what was underneath Captain in the military today and the only really significant one was Lieutenant. Do you have any knowledge on Middle Earth, or, Gondorian ranking?

Thanks!
-Maikafanawen

[doug*platypus]

Roleplaying the Haradrim

For the upcoming Defense of the Poros RPG, several of us will be playing warriors of Haradrim. South of the Poros is a great civilisation that, while created by Tolkien was never described to the extent that we require for a roleplaying game. This is great, because it gives anyone scope to bring in their own ideas of what the Haradrim would have been like. However, it could also lead to inaccuracies or at least inconsistencies, as most people will have slightly different views.

I thought that we could make a place to discuss the attributes of the Haradrim. The ideas we come up with here could then serve as a basis for roleplaying games involving what is IMHO the most fascinating of the underdeveloped cultures of Middle-Earth. These would naturally only be guidelines, and individuals would still have plenty of room to add their own character nuances.

Among the many aspects of the Haradrim we could discuss are:

Arms and Armour

General Appearance

Geography

Government and Class System

Religion

Language and Names

Battle Tactics and Army Organisation

The Corsairs of Umbar

The Influence of the Black Númenóreans

For the purposes of this game, the discussion would be limited to players from the Defense of the Poros. We could later write up the ideas or post links to the Rohan Resource thread.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:28 PM January 20, 2004: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Orual]

I'm glad to see the increased interest!

Very thorough. doug! But let's not jump the gun...let's wait until the game's cast (for lack of a better term), and then we'll discuss the details. I look forward to seeing your full profile.

maika, please check your PM's. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

So right now, we stand at:

Defenders:
Anhelm (Orual)
Khalad (Daniel Telcontar; ACCEPTED)
Daran Confelder (maikafanawen; DECISION PENDING)
ONE SPACE OPEN

Attackers
Lan'kash (Manophazan; ACCEPTED)
Jinan (Imladris; ACCEPTED)
Gimilzor (doug*platypus; DECISION PENDING)
ONE SPACE OPEN

Regards,
~Orual

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:56 PM January 20, 2004: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Imladris]

I'm having a thought here...

Orual, what rank do you want Jarlyn to be? I don't really care, in fact, I think it would be rather cool to have him go down another notch. My thinking is this: though quite competent with a bow, he's not use for much else. He's also a royal pain in the neck so there could be a respect issue there (could go with the whole Haradrim culture as well). That would also add conflict between the characters as well.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Glad to see I am accepted! Will Khalad be the rank of a lieutenant, sergeant, knight or infantry warrior?

The only info I have about Gondorian ranks are that Roqueen (knight) is higher than Ohtar (warrior, infantry unit). Don't know more than that, I am afraid (though, no offence intended, not sure if there were women in the Gondorian army).
From the list above about Haradrim, I believe their religion was centered around Sauron as their god, perhaps with a portion of superstition (also difficult not to be with all the creatures roaming Middle-earth). Their appearance I assume is simply that of the inhabitants of Northern Africa today. As for arms and weapons, there are some descriptions of it in RotK, I believe.

[Orual]

Imladris and Daniel,

I was planning on letting each player decide his or her character's rank, unless you'd really like me to intervene. However, I would recommend lower ranks, as both of your characters are very young (even younger than Captain Anhelm's surprising age of 28). Perhaps, Imladris, Jarlyn (name-change?) would be a little higher, since he apparently got into the military, as you said, riding on his father's money.

That said, I'll leave it up to you.

Sorry so short, but I have to go.

Regards,
~Orual

[Imladris]

Oops, sorry...was thinking of another Haradrim (actually Corsair) character...same name.

Hmm...good point Orual...I must think on it...

[Orual]

Okay, I just got a PM from maikafanawen, and she's overbooked right now, so the tally stands at:

Defenders:
Anhelm (Orual)
Khalad (Daniel Telcontar; ACCEPTED)
TWO SPACES OPEN

Attackers
Lan'kash (Manophazan; ACCEPTED)
Jinan (Imladris; ACCEPTED)
Gimilzor (doug*platypus; DECISION PENDING)
ONE SPACE OPEN

I've gotten one PM expressing interest, but I'm not sure if that'll develop into anything. But we're moving alone...only three spaces left...

~Orual

[Bêthberry]

Nova, your mailbox is full. Please clear it so you can receive PMs. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

I'm very sorry to hear that maikafanawen cannot join this game.

Bêthberry

[Daniel Telcontar]

Since Khalad is young like you said, and has only been through a few skirmishes, I think the best rank for him would be Ohtar or Roquen. Roquen if I may decide myself (always fancied knights). Because he does not really have much IC explanation for being higher rank than that (I believe a Númenorean achieved this rank if he had as Ohtar been through some battles and thus had some experience with war).

Oh, and sorry to hear that Maika won't join us... not sure if I know anybody to recommend, except perhaps Cuthalion, not sure if he is interested to join though.

[doug*platypus]

Orual and Others

On Monday or Tuesday I will make a longer post on this discussion thread. This will contain firstly a character profile in a more standard layout, with all necessary information. Secondly, there will be a brief telling of an incursion by Gimilzôr and his men into a native village, to provide a writing sample. Lastly, there will be a paragraph or two to tie in with the Defense of the Poros story, to show how the character can realistically be integrated in with the rest.

Hopefully you don't mind waiting until then to make a final casting decision. Cheers...

[Orual]

doug,

Take your time. We still have three spaces open, and it may well take until Monday or Tuesday to fill them. Novnarwen has officially expressed interest, so perhaps by the beginning of next week we'll only have one position open (crosses fingers).

~Orual

[Novnarwen]

Hi!

Yes, I have expressed my interest... [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

I'm currently working on a profile for the last spot for the attackers, the Hardrim. I expect to finish it by the end of the weekend.. But I'll try my best to finish it sooner. Is that ok?

Thanks in advance,
Nova

[Orual]

Novnarwen,

The end of the weekend is fine. Like I said to doug, even with the two of you sending profiles, we'll still have an empty spot that needs filling, so I don't expect all the spots to be filled until the beginning of next week anyway.

I look forward to seeing your profile.

~Orual

[Osse]

Is that last haradrim position open still?
Wrapped up in resettling atm, but would love to take part, if it's still available i'd LOVE to write up a character [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

If the last Harad has been decided, I'd also love to play a gondorian, this game looks awesome!

Hopefully yours,

Osse

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:13 PM January 24, 2004: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Orual]

Osse,

Check your PM's. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

~Orual

[Nerindel]

Hey, I know I told Awylen that I didn't think I would have time to particapate in this story, but I have since re-thought my decision, one of my rpgs is about to end and this story and its characters looks to interesting to pass up, so here is my submission for your perusal. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Name: Astalder

Age: 32

Race: Men (Gondorian)

Appearance: Tall, with dark shoulder length fine wavy hair, which is usually neatly tied at the nape of his neck. His complexion is tanned from Gondors warm summers and his eyes are a soft and thoughtful greyish blue.

He wears the usual attire of a requen of Gondor, though he finds armour restrictive he relents to his wife's pleas and wears a shirt of light chain mail under his uniform and a Gondorian helm when the need arises.

At his left side he carries a Gondorian long sword and on either side of the blade, just below the guard is engraved the white tower of the fallen city of Minas Ithil, with a full moon risen above it, an heirloom from that once great city. Around the black leather bound grip is tied a white ribbon, a favour from his wife, a reminder of his promise to always return to her. Astalder also carries a standard issue Gondorian dagger.

Personality: Through both his mother and his marriage to Fëawyn he can claim the title of lord, but he chooses not too, believing that Gondor has enough lords to contend with. He is strong in his belief that he can serve his people better in his current position as a Requen in Gondors army.

He is fiercely loyal to those he serves under and along side. When performing his duties he is diligent and meticulous. At first meeting he seems quiet and reserved, but once a person gets to know him, they soon learn that he is a good man to have around, always thinking things through, When in battle he always seems to be one step ahead of his enemies.

At home he is a kind and loving husband and father, who would do anything to protect them.

History: Astalder was born in the year 2828 in the Gondorian capital of Minas Tirith, his mother is the daughter of a minor lord and his father a commander in the cities guards. At the age of eighteen, like his father he enlisted into the cities guards, but when trouble began to brew in the east and for their allies in the north he drafted to the army, fighting minor skirmished on their borders he worked his way up to the position of Roquen.

In his fourteen years of service he has fought many battles and was even dispatched with his company to aid King Folca of Rohan, against the orcs that troubled his lands.

It was in Rohan that he met and eventually married his wife, Lady Fëawyn, the youngest daughter of a minor horse lord of Edoras. When Lord Belecthor the steward of Gondor recalled his men, Fëawyn consented to return with him to the stone city. For many years they lived happily in the white city, but after the birth of their only son, Falmir, He began to notice that his wife missed the wide open plains of her homeland. Although he loved her very much he could not bring himself to desert his homeland as trouble again began to brew in the south.

But his wife being as wise as she was beautiful, suggested a compromise. There was a new settlement being established along the poros, which like her homelands had vast open grasslands, where she could rear horses, but the situation of the settlement so close to the Harad road troubled him. But Fëawyn excited at the prospect of again breeding and caring for horses convinced him that with him and the stewards men protecting them they would be quiet safe.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

First Post

Standing at the window of his new home Astalder looked east to watch the sunrise over the distant looming mountains of Ephel Dúath, as he did every morning since they arrive at the small settlement they planned to call home. The dawn's first rays painted the sky in pale hues of orangey red and to him the mountains seemed dark and ominous against that back drop.

"Red sky at morning, Soldiers warning!" he frowned remembering the Gondorian proverb, But his frown faded as he felt the loving arms of his wife wrap around his waist.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she sighed contentedly. looking again, but not so far a field, he saw that she was right, the river glistened in the soft glow, the open grasslands swayed in the dawn breeze and the new buildings of the settlement gave the feel of a quiet sleepy village. But even as he turned away several of the sleepy houses opened their door and in a few hours the village would be alive with the bustle of people going about their daily chores. As he turned he took his wife into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

"Now what was that for?" she grinned as he released her.

"Does a husband need a reason to show his affection and gratitude!" he laughed.

"Indeed not" she replied with a laugh of her own.

"Now you best be getting dressed or you will be late!" she smiled, then turned and went down stairs to finish preparing breakfast. With a contented smile he quickly washed and dressed, then lifting his belt and sword he made his way down stairs to join his family for breakfast.

"Papa!" an excited voice cried as he entered the kitchen, putting aside his sword he was assailed by his young fair headed son.

"Good morning little one" he smiled down at the child.

"Captain Falmir!" His son exclaimed pulling away and puffing out his chest proudly.

"A Captain eh! Well good morning Captain Falmir" he saluted playfully.

"At ease soldier!" Falmir laughed then threw himself into his fathers arms, laughing Astalder threw the boy onto his shoulders and circled the large wooden table in the centre of the room, pretending to be the lads mount. But on their third pass they were blocked by the smiling face of Fëawyn.

"It's time for my brave soldiers to eat their breakfast," she laughed, gently lifting falmir from his fathers shoulders and sitting him at the table. As he took his seat Fëawyn took the kettle from the fire and poured him some tea. "Thank you!" he whispered appreciatively as he listened to all that his son had planed for the day. All too soon breakfast was over and it was time for him to leave. Lifting his sword he buckled it about his waist and pulled on his boots.

"I will see you both tonight" he said, kissing his wife's cheek, "And you my young captain, keep out of trouble and help your mother!" he grinned with a wink, then lifting his saddle bags from the hook by the door and went to the stable to retrieve his horse. They had arrived in the village just over a month ago but he was due leave and he took it so as to help with the building of their cottage and the stables and paddocks for Fëawyn's horses. Leading his horse from the stables he looked around pleased at his work. Both his wife and son had made new friends and it was time for him to make sure they remained safe in their new found happiness. Mounting his horse he set out to meet his new captain and begin his new post.

[Novnarwen]

Okay, here it is: Profile and post. I hope it's alright... If not... then.. just let me know, and I'll change it or something. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

***

Name: Frôzhal

Age: About 27

Appearance : Frôzhal is a stout and masculine man. He is quite pale, but he has the typical Haradrim features. His small face gives one the impression that he is younger than he really is. Frôzhal's eyes are hazel brown and his hair, which reaches him to the back of his neck, is dark brown with this dreadful mix between grey and black. His mouth is thin and small, not in proportion with the eyes or the nose. His nose is long, ending with a huge tip, pointing upwards, and his eyes/eyeballs can almost get annoyingly big.

Personality: Frôzhal is definitely the man in Middle-earth who is most dependent on people around him. He does nothing on his own, or rather, he can’t do anything on his own. He basically needs help for everything. People would describe him as unintelligent, helpless, pathetic, but loyal. He never objects to anything anyone says, and is therefore 'easy' to be around. However, he is slightly respected among the Haradrim, but only because he has a wealthy father. Frôzhal is naive, kind and tries to be very humble.

Frôzhal's hates doing something new. His negative attitude to all sorts of changes is unbearable. When he first starts to complain, it'll take him a while to stop and think about something else. Frôzhal has few own opinions, and those opinions he has are all stupid. He chooses to follow the crowd, simply because he doesn't know what else to do. Both Frôzhal’s lack of opinions and the fact that he is so dependent on others, wouldn't make him a good leader. It wouldn't even make him a good role-model. His tactic skills are even worse. Frôzhal would, honestly, believe that a Haradrim army with 100 men could bring down a Gondorian army with over 1000. (As you see, he is extremely naive.)

He tends to suck up, which may get him in trouble, but it has helped him a great deal. Actually, it helped him get where he is today, a part of the Haradrim army. Frôzhal is very superstitious and believes that pride is ones biggest flaw and will eventually be ones downfall.

Even though he is simple minded he is skilled with the sword. This is perhaps the only thing he is actually skilled at.

History: Frôzhal grew up to be a man, depending on everyone else. In his child hood, he always had his two sisters around (older) or his parents, who all were eager to please the youngest in every way. Frôzhal became spoiled and in many ways helpless. He could do nothing on his own, because he was always used at being entertained or that others would do things for him.

From early age he was thought that Sauron was the only Master. Frôzhal has always looked up to this powerful individual, even though he has been 'inactive'. He though, is convinced that Sauron is the true master and he will return.

By the time he was fifteen, the only thing he could do by himself was handle his sword in a proper way. His low skills within everything else have kept him getting the position in the Haradrim army he originally wished for. Now, however, he lives by sucking up and doing what the head of the Haradrim commands. Frôzhal dreams of climbing the ranks, even though everyone knows he'd only lead the army to its destruction. Believing such a thing also proves how naive he really is.

***

First post

Frôzhal straightened up as he felt his patience coming to an end. A company had arrived at the headquarters a while ago, and the Haradrim was starting to get curious about it all. He made his way away from the trees, where no longer he was 'protected' from the annoying sun rays, and towards the two storied building. He shivered as he saw Lan’kâsh on the balcony. There was at least one more sitting there, but Frôzhal couldn't see who. This especially, made him even more curious. The man hesitated for a few moments; what on earth was he doing? Sneaking up on Lan’kâsh? He shook himself, trying to avoid looking any further at the balcony. Again, he straightened up, keeping his mask.

He made his way away from the headquarters. It would certainly not be wise of him to lurk around here, in hope to overhear what was going on, if he wanted to get a better position. What if he was getting a better position? Why else gather at a balcony? Frôzhal frowned by this. A better position, he thought, smiling to himself. A man came running pass him, shaking Frôzhal.

"What are you smiling for?" he asked rudely. Frôzhal despised this man, but couldn't do anything but to answer politely. "I was thinking about... when I am getting promoted," he said, giggling even more. The man broke into an evil laughter, shaking his head so hard that Frôzhal expected to see it fall off from the man's neck, any minute. "Promoted?" he said, gathering himself. Frôzhal nodded.

"Listen up, guys!" the man announced, after a few moments with silence.

Quite a few men, who stood nearby, turned around and looked towards Frôzhal and the man, who was named Ringlâsh. Some of them started to laugh already, even though they didn't know what all this was about. Frôzhal felt uncomfortable about the whole situation he suddenly found himself in. He sighed, as Ringlâsh started off, telling the others that Frôzhal thought he was getting a promotion soon.

There was a roar of laughter. Some laughed so loudly, Ringlâsh had to calm them down before continuing;" So, when do you expect it to happen?" he asked, staring at Frôzhal innocently. Frôzhal grew red, shaking. He didn't want everyone to know that he was getting promoted before he actually had been.

"Calm down guys," he started. "I haven't been promoted, yet" he said, grinning, forgetting that everyone was giggling.

This would be a day to remember for many of them. Such great fun as this was seldom nowadays and most of them knew they would have loads of fun in the time to come, mocking Frôzhal about how naive he was.

"I just want you to know," Frôzhal said, after his long pause. "That you are still my friends even though I climb the ranks," he finished.

Again there was a roar with laughter and Ringlâsh waved Frôzhal off. "See you soon," he said evilly. Frôzhal turned away, being satisfied about how he had managed to make the situation less uncomfortable. His promotion would only mean that he was more in charge, their friendship (Frôzhal believes that is called friendship) would never end.

"Good luck with your promotion!" someone called after him.

Frôzhal was happy they at least supported him, yes; wishing him good luck was a sign of support. A few minutes had passed before he realised that he had been proud. He had been proud when telling the others that he expected to be promoted soon. This was ones biggest mistake. He shook his head, trying to think of a how to make this to something positive. No, it's wasn't possible! This would definitely be his downfall. He huddled together, leaning his back to a huge tree trunk. He was full with regret and his conscience made him shiver. Frôzhal gulped as he saw Jinan come out from the headquarter building about hundred paces away.

Had Jinan been promoted instead of himself?

As this thought struck him, he realised that if Jinan had been promoted, he surely wouldn't. Within a minute's time his dream had been crushed, there was no promotion! He made a grimace, how in the world could Jinan get promoted and not him?

With clenched teeth and determination he stood up, held his head high and wandered off to the headquarters in hope to find out about this... this... Jinan and how he had got a promotion.... This just had to be a promotion, right?

***

Cheers,
Nova [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:51 PM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Orual]

Nerindel, very nice profile. I like the inclusion of Astalder's family. Welcome to Defense of the Poros!

Novnarwen, nice job as well. Welcome to Defense of the Poros.

So now, we stand at:

Defenders:
Anhelm (Orual)
Khalad (Daniel Telcontar; ACCEPTED)
Astalder (Nerindel; ACCEPTED)
ONE SPACE OPEN

Attackers
Lan'kash (Manophazan; ACCEPTED)
Jinan (Imladris; ACCEPTED)
Gimilzor (doug*platypus; DECISION PENDING)
Frôzhal (Novnarwen; ACCEPTED)

~Orual

[Nerindel]

Thank you Orual, I'm glad you liked it. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

I was wandering about the village and its defenses? Are the buildings wooden or stone and is the village walled or fenced in, in anyway?

In my post I called Astalder's house a cottage, as I was thinking of english medevil cottages with stone walls and thatched roof's with wooden stables. I chose stone buildings as most of the villagers I assumed would be gondorian, but If you see the village as having wooden structures more like those of Edoras, let me know.

I know that this may not seem important but it helps to make the writing more descriptive.

Thanks
~Nerindel

[Orual]

Nerindel,

I'd say that it would be something of a mix. The "state buildings", ie the building housing the soldiers' offices, the town hall, etc., would be stone and more in the Gondorian style, as well as some of the homes of the officers or the wealthier settlers. Some of the less wealthy settlers might have wooden homes, for cost reasons.

Also, if it helps, the settlement was founded not long before our game begins, so many of the buildings would be in various stages of construction.

~*

Status report: right now we're awaiting doug*platypus' profile for a Haradrim, and we have one space open for a defender(Gondorian).

Looking forward to playing with all of you,

~Orual

[Nerindel]

Thanks Orual that will help alot. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[doug*platypus]

Character Profile

Name: Gimilzôr of Harad.

Age: 34 years.

Occupation: Commander of a troop of foot soldiers in the Army of Harad.

Appearance: Average height and build. Dark brown skin, black curly hair cut short. Ugly scar running from temple to chin on the left side of his face. Grins often, but has several teeth missing.

Equipment: Armour of bronze plates covering torso, bronze helmet with cheekguards, no crest. Short double-edged sword, spiked shield. Can also fight with scimitar, spear or halberd.

Background: Born in a rural setting, Gimilzôr was conscripted for military duty as a young teenager. He found his calling in the army, eventually becoming the equivalent of a modern-day Sergeant, in charge of a troop of infantry. Gimilzôr is his given name in the common tongue of the Haradrim. He no longer uses the name he was given in the language of his own tribe. He has returned several times to his people and his village when on leave, but much prefers the honour and excitement of being a commander in the infantry.

Personality: Gimilzôr takes great pride in his position in the army, and in his arms and armour. His motivation in the attack on Gondor is duty and love of battle more than any deep-seated resentment towards the Men of the West, although his demanding gods require that the infidels of the North be destroyed by his people one day. He will remain loyal to his superiors as long as he perceives they are brave, following orders and fighting for the glory of Harad. As a soldier he respects his comrades and enemies alike, but has a mean streak, and can be unnecessarily violent or sadistic at times.


The Army of Harad

Gimilzôr raised his head and looked around, as a fresh scent came to his nose. The acrid stench of fire momentarily gave way to a new smell. A pleasant one. He thought for a second and then it came to him. “Pomegranates!” he thought, and smiled. With a nod to one of his soldiers to oversee the now burning village, he strode off in the direction of a nearby hut.

Stooping low, he entered, sword in hand but not at the ready. The veteran commander expected no more resistance from this particular settlement. Not anymore. That was the key, he knew. Arrive in formation, impress the villagers with military precision. Give your orders: in this case for every able-bodied local man of fighting age to assemble in the square. Find the rebellious types and make examples of them. Then, usually, there would be no futher problems.

His eyes strained to accustom themselves to the gloom of the hut. The first room was empty except for a few caskets of food, a bare table and some simple wooden implements. On the table was a fine wooden platter holding perhaps a dozen pomegranates. Grabbing one, Gimilzôr was suddenly aware of a slight movement and noise in the next room. The voice of a woman. Fruit still in hand, he narrowed his eyes against the dark of the interior and stepped through the low archway. Inside he found her, hidden almost completely in the corner by her long garments, wound in many folds around her body. Her face was uncovered, and her gaze was strangely resolute even as she trembled with fear at this man who had come unbidden into her home, naked weapon in hand.

Gimilzôr then noticed that she shielded a young child, a boy of perhaps seven or eight summers. Too young for the long march back to the capital. His lord demanded the armies of the Harad be filled quickly. Before the moon was full some two weeks from now, Gimilzôr and his troop must be back with fresh strong recruits, at least one for every ten men in every village he encountered. As well, there were supplies to be thought of. Tribute to be given by the villagers, or rather taken by tax-collectors or the army. Gimilzôr turned his attention back to the mother, still trembling in the corner while keeping a protective arm around her son. The woman’s face was a beautiful dusky brown colour, uncommon even this far north. She spoke as the soldier regarded her, a string of words that he could not understand.

“Quiet!” he shouted in the common tongue, not expecting her to comprehend. She kept babbling and did not obey.

This was but a peasant, a worker of the fields, and she would know only the language of her simple tribe. Gimilzôr had learned enough of the language of the capital to get by in the army, to communicate with his men or his superiors, who came from vastly different backgrounds and far regions of the Empire of Harad. Although he had been born as another villager in a desolate place much like this one, he was now commander of a troop of foot soldiers in the most feared fighting force in existence. He could speak in the common tongue, he had seen the glory of the capital and its temples, and he could wield sword, shield and spear. He wore armour of brazen plates, a fine bronze helmet and an ring of gold in his ear, and was now far above the likes of these peasants.

He pocketed his fruit, grabbed the woman’s wrist fiercely and pulled her to her feet. When she tried to pull away, Gimilzôr looked her straight in the eye with pure menace, as he pointed his sword towards the child. There was no lack of understanding this time. The woman silenced herself immediately, holding her hand up for her son to do the same. They were both too shocked to weep as she followed Gimilzôr into the first room. Still clutching the woman’s wrist, he led her to the table. Then, forcing several of the caskets and the platter of fruit into her arms, he pointed to the door. As she walked out, he pulled the pomegranate out of his pocket and chopped it neatly in half with his sword. Juice flowed out and into the deep cut he had made in the table. With a grinning face, Gimilzôr picked up both halves in his hand and put one up to his full red lips. Sucking the juice, he casually strode out the door. He was pleased with his latest capture, who was now standing mutely outside the hut. She would earn him great praise from his commanders when he turned her over to be a servant. If, that is, she survived the long march with the cruel soldiers of Harad.

In the village square, Gimilzôr’s troop had picked a dozen or so fit-looking young men to take with them. The best blood of this small village, he supposed. He scanned their faces, walked closer and examined their well-muscled torsoes. They would make fine soldiers, he thought proudly, once they had been toughened up. There were also many sacks of provisions, some caskets and two mules to help carry them. Several soldiers were busy about a well, filling as many skins as possible for the return journey. Gimilzôr smelled fresh, unleavened bread from several of the caskets as he walked around congratulating his men and asking about the resistance. It had been only minor. Earlier that day, the soldiers had badly beaten a man who had tried to prevent them taking grain from his store. It looked doubtful he would surive the next few nights, but that had stopped the rest of the village from fighting back and suffering needlessly. Every man that Gimilzôr had to make an example of was one less soldier for his lord’s armies. And as it turned out, only one hut had been fired. An accident in the bakery when his clumsy men had stormed in, and the fire had not spread. Nevertheless, a thin layer of smoke now gave the scene a ghostly feel.

Gimilzôr gave orders to all to begin moving out, and walked back to fetch his prize captive. He was ten yards or so from where she stood outside her hut, when he heard a shout and the rush of hooves. Turning, he saw a young man charging towards him on a small patchy-looking horse, a short sword in his outstretched hand.

“Don’t shoot!” Gimilzôr called back to the soldiers.

The fire of this man’s youth should not be wasted, and in any case he would hardly be able to take down the experienced Gimilzôr. Sword at the ready, the commander let the horse come closer. The rider started to stoop down in his saddle, ready to swing, showing his enemy too early what he had planned. Just before the horse came into range, Gimilzôr leaped away to his right, rolling on the hard earth with his sword under him. The untrained rider was not able to attack on his other side in time. Gimilzôr drew himself up on one knee as the horse was racing by, and slashed out as far as he could. The horse cried in pain as the sword slashed across its middle. Belly strap cut loose, the boy flew forwards and off his stricken beast, hitting the ground hard. Before he could recover, two soldiers were on him and had hauled him up, holding him. The soldiers were jeering and yelling, praising their leader.

Stepping around the wounded and useless horse, undoubtedly the only one in the village, Gimilzôr came face to face with the youth. His black curls bore some traces of blood, but he was otherwise unharmed. Expecting a swift death for his valour in defending his people, he stared defiantly at the man before him. For a moment he was taken aback, as he noticed the ugly scar running from temple to chin down Gimilzôr’s face. Then he recovered, his eyes burned with white-hot rage, and he spat. Gimilzôr, sword still in hand, punched him across the face viciously. The heavy pommel scored a painful wound across his black face. Losing strength and close to weeping, he sunk limply into the arms of his captors.

“Pick him up. Make him walk,” Gimilzôr instructed his men. It was high time they left. He pulled the youth’s chin so that they were looking eye to eye. “You’re in the army, now!” he grinned evilly.


A New Post

A week after returning from the outlying villages, Gimilzôr was summoned to meet his superior. He strode across town to where a headquarters had been set up, in a two-storied brick building overlooking the river to the north. His helmet was off against the heat of the late morning, and his forehead was beaded with sweat before he reached his destination. Once inside, he was shown to a small room that served temporarily as an office. His superior sat at a desk inside, fanned with a large palm frond by a woman with a light, dusky brown complexion and a downcast face. A cup of deliciously aromatic tea was before him. Gimilzôr saluted, clenched fist clanging against his bronze armour. The captain did not motion for him to sit, preferring to leave a distinction between him and the lower ranking Gimilzôr, despite the mutual respect between them.

“Eleven villages, one hundred and thirty conscripts,” he said matter-of-factly, reading from a parchment in front of him. “Well done. And my personal thanks for… the other tribute you gathered.” He indicated with a wry grin the woman standing nearby.

Gimilzôr smiled as the bonus he expected was pushed across the table to him; a small purse of coins which he took with a slight bow.

“As for your next post,” the young officer continued, “a small expeditionary force will shortly be pushing north towards the forest.” He waved casually behind him, in the direction of the river. “It will be led by an officer called Lan’Kâsh. I want you and your men to march under him. You will be joined by two relatively inexperienced sub-commanders. Jinan and Frôzhal are their names: you would do well to learn them. These two are capable, but ambitious, and may need keeping an eye on.”

At this point another man entered the room, attired also in the fashion of an officer of the Haradrim. He was tall and thin, with swarthy skin, and his hair hung down (in a scruffy manner, thought Gimilzôr) to his shoulders. The captain introduced him as Lan’Kâsh, and he and Gimilzôr saluted then clasped arms in formal military greeting. The man smelled slightly of ale, but that was to be expected in a town such as this between battles. And although he was a little unkempt at the moment, there could be no doubting the man’s experience and vigour in battle. Once Lan’Kâsh had taken a seat, the captain continued to brief Gimilzôr.

“I want you to see that your superior’s orders are carried out. Any northern settlements you find are to be wiped out completely. You have been chosen for your experience in this kind of warfare. Myself, I wouldn’t go near such a lowly assignment. Within the next month I will be leading a strong force across the River Poros to test the strength of Gondor. I expect you both to have completed your mission by then. Then maybe you will have some small share in the glory of Harad. You are dismissed, Gimilzôr.”

“For glory, my lord!” Gimilzôr cried, his eyes lighting up with the promise of battle to come.

The talk of great plans for extending the reach of the Empire had made his heart quicken. Most of his experience had been with small village conflicts, and a part of him strongly desired to be in a great battle against the Men of the West, such as those of old that he had heard tell of, when the Dark Lord himself had led the people of the south into battle. Excited like a brash young soldier, as he had not been for many years, he saluted his superiors once again, turned on his heel and walked out. Without pausing, he left the brick building and headed for his encampment, to ready his men, sharpen his sword, and pray to his gods, so that he might be their tool in bringing death to Gondor.

[Orual]

doug*platypus,

Good job. We have our last Haradrim spot filled. Welcome to Defense of the Poros!

A question, though: which of your two posts did you intend to be your first post on the game thread? I'm guessing the second one, but I wanted to make sure.

Now all we have to do is fill our last Gondorian defender spot, then we'll be ready to play.

~Orual

[doug*platypus]

Excellent! Thanks very much, Orual. Glad to be aboard; it's a great idea for an RPG.

I think that the second part, titled A New Post should be the first post for Gimilzôr on the game thread. I can alter it to suit if need be, especially if I got the geography or timing of Lan'Kâsh's post mixed up.

The first part of my post was just a bit of backstory that I really wanted to tell. Also, the second part was too short and incomplete to give any real insight into the nature of my character.

Thanks again, see you soon...