In War discussion thread

[Susan Delgado]

Welcome to In War, by Ransom! Here follows his proposal as accepted:

In War RPG

The Laws are silent in time of war.
[Cicero: Pro Milon IV.XI]

Basic Storyline:

The purpose of the story:

Story

The storm is coming. While the orcs of Sauron have been amassing in Mordor for as long as anyone can remember, the march of Mordors allies seem to indicate an assault on Gondor during the next campaigning season. Supplies and men begin to pour into Minas Tirith as Denethor and his generals begin to prepare for what will probably be the largest siege in the Third Age. While most of the infantry on both sides of the Anduin are caught up in feverish preparation, the war has already begun on several other fronts. The Rangers of Ithilien have begun to make a serious dent in the number of troops and oliphants coming up from Harad. The Order of the Black Rose, the front for Gondorian Intelligence, has been a vicious and brutal war with the Cult of the King, the spies of Sauron.

Recently, the Cult of a King has gotten their collective hands on a very important piece of information. Three Errand Riders with information on Minas Tirith's defenses will be riding between Minas Tirith and Pelargir in a week's time. Should Sauron get the information, the city of Minas Tirith would probably fall within a week of the first attack. A group of spies from the Cult of the King has slipped across the border and set up an ambush. All three riders left the White Tower on the appointed day, and not one arrived in Pelargir.

Denethor's temper was never very good in the best of times, and his fury when he learned that vital information would soon be in Sauron's hands knew no bounds. After appeasing the irate Steward, Lord Turgan, commander of the Order of the Black Rose, has begun plotting ways to recapture the information. Luckily for Gondor, a blizzard has begun to travel toward Minas Tirith, preventing the spies from traveling. No ferryman or fisherman would dare to risk their boat in the bad weather, so the ambushers are stuck on the western side of the Anduin River. Furthermore, the bloody interrogation of a captured spy placed one of Sauron's most skilled agents in the area. The intelligence war could quickly shift toward Gondor's favor if she is captured.

Sir Barak Mindalel, a childhood relationship of Turgan, has been given command of a mismatched team of soldiers and mercenaries. His orders are to recapture the information at any cost. Should the group recover the information, Barak will proceed to capture or kill the remaining spies.

This means the story will end when?

The information is recovered and Caitlyn captured or killed.

Starting Location:
Great Gate of Minas Tirith

Likely destination:
Arbrook, village where the Errand Riders were last spotted.

Timeframes:

i) This game takes place in the Third Age at around year 3019.

ii) The story itself or plot covers one week

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

Characters
<PC Characters>

Scouts and Rangers of Ithilien

Decades of skirmishing on the eastern front has given birth to a whole generation of soldiers skilled in guerilla warfare. Most likely, you are skilled in wilderness survival, some knd of ranged weapon, and some sort of hand weapon. Sometime today, you received a note bearing the seal of the White Tower.

Sir-

You are ordered to report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before sunlight tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be in the inside of the gate. Speak to him for more orders. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow and combat. Horses will be provided.

Denethor, Steward of Gondor

The note bore the royal seal, and it was a crime punishable by death to forge the name of the Steward on an official document. There is little doubt that you'll be presently taking a nice winter trip in the near future.

Agents of the Order of the Black Rose

Perhaps you are a mercenary who receives a salary from a mysterious employer in return for information. Maybe you were a criminal that was saved from the gallows at the last second in return for service. Your skills are not set in stone like the Hosts of Gondor, but can range from mastery in one weapon to the competent usage of many. Sometime yesterday, you received a note from the person or group you normally work for.

<Name of PC>-

Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses
will be provided.

<Name of employer>

If nothing else, the raise certainly caught your eye. You know that your employer rewards his or her workers greatly for efficient work, so you ignore the falling snow and begin to pack. This job couldn't be that hard.

Secondary character types likely are:
Gondorian soldiers, villagers, bandits, cultists, and a few merchants.

Character types that would not belong:

Hobbits have not arrived in the lands of Gondor. Indeed, first cultural contact will not take place for a few months.

Most elves of Lorien or Rivendell would never accept employment by humans.
However, if you can make a very, very, very good case for why your PC is employed, I might accept it.

The game owner will play 3 character(s) and a few passing secondary characters as needed.

++Protagonists++
<Order of the Black Rose>
Sir Barak Mindalel
Age: 28
Height: 6'5"
Birthday: February 28, 2991
Hair color: Black, shaved close to his head.
Eye color: Grey.
Notable possessions: Worn suit of partial plate, Lochaber axe, saber bought during exile in Harad

History/Personality:
Barak was the born to the second son of a minor noble that lived near Dol Amroth. Because the possession of the family lands would pass to his elder brother upon his father's death, Barak was sent to train as a priest at a young age. During the training, the young man showed a particular aptitude for using his brain more than his brawn. The Order, ever in need of competent members, approached the young man and his family. His father, unable to pay the high cost to make his son a knight, jumped at the chance.

The training was even more vigorous than normal knights. Not only did the initiates learn the art of war, but also learned the arts of spying, thievery, philosophy, etiquette, deception, and downright murder. Over three fourths of the initiates were eliminated by the age of fourteen, leaving only the cream of the crop. These men were then placed under the dual care of a knight and a clergyman. The knights further instructed their pages in the various arts of the Order. The clergyman cared for their faith, protecting their souls from the snares of Saurun. The end result was a man who could feel equally at home at a fancy dinner with the nobleman and in the slums with thieves and murders.

Barak preformed reasonably well during his training, and was knighted at the age of eighteen. He married his childhood sweetheart, a peasant girl with brilliant red hair and hard emerald eyes, despite the howls of outrage from his family. They lived together for four years. Barak rose through the ranks of the Order, attaining the rank of Exarch at the age of twenty-two. In due time, his wife conceived. Their daughter was born in winter, but perished shortly afterwards. His wife, crushed by the turn of events, passed away after a brief illness. Stricken with grief but still bound to his duty, Barak applied for and was granted permission to relocate to Harad to oversee the Order's activities there.

Harad taught the young knight far more about survival and spying than the best teachers of Gondor. Because of the difficulty infiltrating Mordor, most of the information on the Dark Lord's activities was obtained in the dusty land to the south of Gondor. Throwing himself into the service of Gondor with reckless abandon, he turned the small office into a wide-ranging network that provided no small amount of information for the betterment of Gondor. It was here that he met and subsequently emancipated Mara from the clutches of one of the depraved
overlords of the criminal underside of Umbar.

The upper echelons of the Order recalled Barak and his companion as the threat of war with Saurun intensified. Sir Barak and Mara have been serving their country abroad for a year before the War of the Ring begun.

Barak is the flower of Gondorian nobility mated with the darker realities of life. His dedication to the interest of Gondor is overwhelming to the point that he truly believes that the ends justify the means. Most of the people he worked with found him fairly amicable, though not entirely outgoing. His dedication to his work masks his grief at the death of his family. The knight's relationship with Mara, while strong, is somewhat awkward because of the fear that he is dishonoring his late wife's memories.

Mara
Age: 18
Height: 5'3"
Birthday: January 3001. Exact date unknown
Hair color: Bright red hair. Usually worn loose.
Eye color: Green

Notable possessions: Various articles of clothing with hidden compartments for
all manner of dangerous and possibly illegal implements. Collection of sharp, pointy, and dangerous objects. Schlaeger (Heavy fencing sword) Chain mail shirt.

History/Personality

To the best of the combined knowledge of the Order of the Black Rose, Mara was born in January of 3001 to a pair of peasants who lived to the south of the city of Pelargir. That following summer, numerous raids from the pirates of Umbar ravaged the coastal region where the new family lived. Mara and her family were sold to Ul, one of the criminal lords of Umbar. At this point, Mara was separated from her parents and taught the tasks of a house servant. As she grew older, she frequently became the center of Ul's perverted attention. Reasoning that the mute girl could not gossip, the fat man used her as his personal servant. By the age of fourteen, he began to lend the redheaded girl out his friends-for a price.

Mara's parents died shortly after her fourteenth birthday, removing the only hold Ul had over their daughter. She became willful and troublesome, forcing her master to constantly beat her. Ul began to look for a buyer, preferably foreign, for his troublesome slave. Barak had met the merchant in an alley behind the local safe house, and invited him inside to continue their negotiations. Half an hour later, Mara had been sold to a new master. Three hours later, Ul's head was separated from his body by one stroke of Barak's axe. It took another two weeks of constant conversation to convince Mara that she was free, and that they could send her back to her home if she so wished.

Mara, ever the unloved child, absolutely refused. She adored the knights for the unconditional love that they showed her. Having no clue on the care of a teen-age girl, the knights shrugged their collective shoulders and took her under their care. Her first year under their care consisted of long days of exercise and training in addition to long nights of philosophy and theology.

Dismissing her wish to train in the use of his battle-axe, Barak secured the services of one of the local assassins to educate the girl in the use of lighter weapons. She became skilled with the Schlaeger as well as daggers, knives, and various thrown weapons. The next two years were spent in the field with Barak, learning how to survive and use her natural gifts for the good of the whole.

Mara is a complicated character, forever teetering between cocky and withdrawn. While she can be assertive and even waspish in the company of others, being in close quarters with strangers seems to reawaken troubled memories from her childhood. She loves the knights of the Order, earning the title of "little sister". Because of her small stature, she prefers to avoid open combat. Mara does disapprove of the harsher tactics of the Order out of respect for Nienna.

++Antagonists++
<Cult of the King>

Caitlyn Agramar, Mistress of Minas Morgul
Age: 24
Height: 5'11"
Birthday: 2995
Hair color: Black hair. Worn loose.
Eye color: Brown.

Notable possessions: Mace. Suit of chain mail.

History and personality:

Caitlyn, Priestess of Saurun and Bishop of the Cult of King, was born in Minus Morgul in the two thousand nine hundred ninety-fifth year of the Third Age. Her parents were true Gondorians, and Caitlyn's face has helped her evade Gondorian authorities on several occasions. She was taken away from her parents at the age of four and placed under the care of one of the senior members of the cult. Under the harsh glare of her master, she learned how to out-fight and, more importantly, out-think both her friends and foes.

Contrary to the theories of the Order of the Black Rose, it was not Saurun but the Witch King who oversaw the extensive intelligence operations carried out by the Cult. Unlike the Order, the Cult emphasized numbers and teamwork over training and independence. As noted earlier, this unusual mode of operation has limited the Witch King's operations to Ithilien and Minis Tirith. The Witch King was understandably enraged when the Order of the Black Rose threw a wrench into the Cult's activities after a childhood of only five years. To combat the better-trained and better-equipped knights, the Witch King began to train the most promising cultists himself before turning them loose on his foes.

Thus, Caitlyn was placed under the Witch King's care at the age of fourteen. While she could recite a butcher's list of crimes the Valar had supposedly committed and betray her friends with surprising skill, her actual experience in espionage and open combat was limited. The Witch King quickly corrected these oversights. She learned how to gather information by any means necessary. As King Theoden later learned, the Witch King was well versed in the use of maces and passed this information to his students. Her first mission onto Gondorian soil was in 3013, and she quickly climbed to the top of the Order of the Black Rose's hit list.

Years of bribes to various nobles finally paid off when Caitlyn leaned that three Errand Riders would be passing through the village of Arbrook on the same day. Correctly deducing that their cargo could be immensely valuable to Mordor, she and four expendable cultists infiltrated the village a week ago. The operation got off to a fairly good start, with a member entering the village each day. Meanwhile, Caitlyn secured the services of various bandits to keep pursuers and the Order off her tail. As planned, the three messengers were ambushed and killed. However, the snowstorm has shut down the roads and, more importantly, the various ferries that ran across the Anduin. Not wanting to swim the river, Caitlyn and her increasingly nervous group is stuck in Arbrook for the time being.

While new to the game, Caitlyn is a shrewd player. Years of constant strife in Minas Morgul has embedded the idea that all mankind must change or die deeply in her mind. She never does the same thing the same way twice, a trait that has annoyed the Order of the Black Rose to no end. As a priest of Sauron, she can recite a list of charges against the Valar and Gondor. Her enforced delay is beginning to make her nervous and jumpy, and too much pressure could have unforeseen and fatal results.

History of the Order of the Black Rose

"Ecthelion II, son of Turgon, was a man of wisdom. With what power was left to him he began to strengthen his realm against the assault of Mordor. He encouraged all men of worth from near or far to enter his service, and to those who proved trustworthy he gave rank and reward."
-Appendix A, Return of the King, page 1030

Perhaps because of her national identity, Gondor always suffered from a dearth of information about her foes. While nobles, merchants, and even the Stewards had small number of personal spies, their efforts were largely devoted toward their political enemies. The only information about the movements of Gondor's foes usually came from merchants. This information, when obtained, was often embellished to a great degree. Ecthelion viewed the chaotic state of Gondorian intelligence a severe annoyance. His solution was extremely unconventional and
the howls of outrage from the nobles echoed off the walls of Minas Tirith. Ecthelion gathered two hundred men who had proven their loyalty to the White Tower both physically and mentally. On New Years Day of 2970, he knighted all two hundred and formed the Order of the Black Rose. Its organization was that of a religious order, with the members supposedly sequestered in a handful of chapter houses scattered throughout the land of Gondor. To further strengthen the false image of the Order, he attached half a dozen priests and priestesses
of Namo and Nienna.

In reality, the order was given control of the Steward's large but inefficient intelligence network. It took five long years of purges and training before the first pieces of reliable information began to flow in from such places as Harad, Laketown, and even Bree. The order continued to expand, adding more knights and spies with each passing year. Denethor II spent part of his youth with the knights, and its excellent performance greatly pleased him. He placed the order under his direct command, merging it with the elite Citadel Guard that held the White Tower.

History of the Cult of the King

To the best of Gondor's combined knowledge, the Cult of the King was founded shortly after the return of the Witch King to Mordor in 1980. The name of the original founder is lost in the haze of time, but the extralegal interrogation of several former members has given some insight to the group's twisted theology. Maintaining that the Valar have selfishly abandoned Middle Earth, the group believes that Saurun will become the new God after conquering the last of the fallen Valar's servants. While their theology is somewhat unstable, their dedication to the downfall of Gondor is unquestionable.

Unlike the Order, whose agents generally operate independently, the Cult rarely has less than five members in any given place. While group's leader is usually a member of their priesthood, their cells have been known to pose as anything from a family to a merchant train. This teamwork had the unexpected side effect of severely limiting the group's operational areas. While over three-dozen cells are known to be active in eastern Gondor, the cult shows no interest in any country besides Gondor.

They have a large amount of monetary resources, most of which is dedicated to bribing and subverting various nobles and merchants. Over the last three months, acts of sabotage and assassination have been attributed to the cult.

[ May 05, 2003: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Ransom]

Hello-

I am very excited about RPing with you all. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

First a note on format. I will be leaving for a pre-college camp at the end of June, so we'll probably looking at a (relatividly) quick game. After initial introductions, we will probably use a modification of the scripting system Palando uses very successfully in the Betrayal of Trust RP. I'll PM clues and whatnot to various participants, which they can choose to include in their posts. Hopefully, this will allow ad hoc submissions while keeping the plot focued.

If you're interested in joining, please submit a character sheet with the following:

Name:
Age:
Nationality:

Short physical description:

History/motivation:

Posessions:

First post:

Cheers,

Ransom

[ April 15, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[DayVampyre]

Name:Reed
Age:21
height:5'3"
Race: Gondorian
Hair: black/worn in a kinda loose ponytail
Eyes: light blue

Clothes: longsleeved white shirt, all though the sleeves have been cut off half way with a knife, black rough spun heavy pants and black boots, and a long black cloak as weather permits

Notable Posessions: Her two swords. One hangs off the left side of her belt, made of a silvery, metal mixture covered with dwarven runes. The other is a shorter sword, more of a dagger. Same style as the longer sword

History/personality:

Reed has lived in Gondor her whole life, while she had the potential to live among the upper echleons, Reed was not content to live her life that way. Her parents were well established figures of society and they were determined to have their daughter be the same. However, when Reed was 13 her parents disappeared while they were traveling along Gondor's borders. News reached Reed very quickly and while she was saddened by the loss of her parents, she realized that this was her chance to break away from her doom to a boring life. A week later, she vanished from society and fell between the cracks of the city. Reed used her brain to study the arts of theivery and deception and soon rose high among the city's greatest con-artists. However, at the age of 17, one of her plans went wrong and she was captured. Sentenced to hang the following day, Reed was approached by a tall dark-haired man. The man ofered her a chance to get away from death for awhile. Reed asked of him how this was possible and he tols her that all she had to do was agree to work for him in the Order of the Black Rose. Anything was better than dying, she thought and agreed to help him out. His name was Cyrus and has since always given Reed the kind of deceptive work that she seems to have a passion for. Since her joining the order, Reed has never failed at a mission given to her.

Other distinguishing marks: wears three small silver hoop earrings in each ear, since her joining The Order of the black rose Reed has a tattoo of a medium sized rose on the back of her neck.

OoC: Mr. Ransom, may I make a first post later? I don't have one ready right at the moment.

[ April 16, 2003: Message edited by: DayVampyre ]

[Ransom]

DayVampyre-That's fine. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Everyone:

I just noticed that my first post wasn't included in the posted proposal. Said post is enclosed in this post for your referance when writing your first post.

The reflection of moonlight on the white walls of the Tower of Minas Tirith gave the ancient tower an aura of sadness and mystery. Meanwhile, the same cold January breeze that caused the numerous banners to flap in the winds chilled the soldiers of the Citadel Guard to the bone. None of the various staff and soldiers in the White Tower had anything resembling a reasonable amount of sleep for several weeks. Fair Gondor’s enemies were stirring, and her very existence would soon be threatened. Messengers and servants ran hither and thither, carrying messages about everything from the city’s food supplies to the readiness of the Hosts of Gondor.

Lord Turgon grunted angrily as he threw the latest report into the outbox on his desk. The Chapter Master of the Order of the Black Rose and chief of intelligence began to pace in front of his desk. The simple fact was that Gondor was unprepared for war. True, she had the second largest standing army in Middle Earth. True, years of successful harvests had left her economy strong. But her foes were too many to count. The corsairs of Umbar were raiding the coastline, and an invasion from the sea would probably come soon. Easterlings streamed into Mordor. The roads from Harad to Minis Morgul were clogged with oliphants and troops. Worst of all, the numbers and boldness of the orcs seemed to increase with each passing hour.

Gondor had few friends, and what few reports Turgon had gotten from his agents in Rohan seemed to indicate that Theoden of Rohan seemed completely under the thumb of the trained ape named Grima Wormtongue. Even more troubling was the reports of orcs near the Wizard’s Vale. Could Saurun have overthrown Saruman and amassed an army in the north? If so, Gondor would have to fight on too many fronts to count. Several dozen knights and twice as many agents had died in the last two weeks, putting a dent in Gondor’s intelligence service. And if this news wasn’t bad enough, three Errand Riders had disappeared on the road to Pelagar with the fabled Mistress of Minas Morgul nearby.

Turgan glanced out the small window at the moon, attempting to discover the time. Much to the knight’s chagrin, the moon was almost directly in the center of the dark sky. It would be another long night. The lord quickly buckled his long sword to his belt before blowing out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

***

While designing the fortifications of Minas Anor, the Numenoreans had obvious lavished a great deal of attention on the Great Gate. The massive structure was almost a fortress in its own right. About as long as it was wide, it gave the impression of having been carved out of a solid piece of rock. Two towers, rising twenty feet above the battlements, silently stood watch by the main weakness of the city. All of Gondor was nervously anticipating the coming war, and the pacing of guards seemed to come from every direction. Even the inch of bright and cheery snow that coated the city did little to alleviate the general feeling of doom and gloom.

The guards had opened the inner gate, allowing those waiting to leave the city shelter in the fortified tunnel sandwiched between the inner gate and the outer gate. Because of the snow and the biting wind, very few people would be inclined to leave their houses today. Despite the over cast sky; the faintest hints of morning were beginning to shine over the eastern horizon. Soon, the outer gate would open and citizens would begin to wake. Sir Barak Mindalel intended to be far away from the city by then.

For one who took pride in stealth, Barak’s six foot six inch frame was painfully obvious as he paced back and forth at the mouth of the tunnel. The knight shivered at the touch of the cold winter wind, which had somehow managed to bypass his suit of partial plate armor. On the bright side, the ornate helm with its heavy cheek guards and a nose guard kept his shaved head warm. His boots made soft clicking noises on the cobblestone as the Gondorian headed toward the ten horses tethered just inside the gate. The knight carefully moved down the line, examining each animal before stopping in front of a black warhorse at the end of the line. Fara nickered softly at the approach of his master, his eyes betraying a fair amount of annoyance at being forced to stand in the snow. The creature had always been ill tempered in the morning, so Barak paid no heed to the horse’s complaints. He drew his Lochaber axe from the saddle sheath, carefully searching for the smallest knick on its two-foot wide long blade. This was a largely futile gesture since the axe had been checked by one of the finest blacksmiths in Minas Tirith last night. Still, it paid to be prepared.

He grasped the four-foot long blade in both hands before turning and marching back toward the iron brazier the thoughtful guards had lit on the other side of the tunnel. The only other human in the tunnel was warming her thin hands over the dancing flames. She was a small woman, standing a mere five foot three inches above the ground. Her thin frame was covered by one of the heavy green cloaks issued to the Rangers during the winter. Without the slightest twinge of surprise, Barak noticed the familiar black tabby peering out of the hood that was supposed to be covering her long red hair. He could swear that Mara would take that cat into the middle of a battlefield without a second thought. The soft clink of metal against metal gave away the light suit of chain mail she wore when traveling. The iron basket hilt of her Schlaeger, a heavy fencing sword, almost sheepishly poked out from beneath her cloak. There were probably half a dozen knives hidden on her body, but Barak didn’t want to expend the energy to find them.

Mara ignored her friend’s approach, much more intent on keeping her thin body warm. She nodded her greetings before turning her attention back to the fire. It wasn’t that she was ignoring made her Barak. To the best of her knowledge, she hadn’t said a single word since her birth. She slowly way to the other side of the brazier, allowing her to gaze out into the still deserted streets.

The rank of Lieutenant of the Citadel Guard had been rewarded to Barak several years ago. Considering that he was away from the White Tower for most of the year, he didn’t fulfill many of the requirements. The tower over the golden shield was embroidered on the back of his cloak, marking him for all to see as an officer of Gondor. Whoever Turgon had hired to assist him would find the knight quite easily. Barak began to fiddle with his axe, throwing it from one hand to another as he waited. In truth, he had no idea who the Lord had chosen. The recent losses on the intelligence front had lead to a new obsession with secrecy. The knight glanced at the sky again. With Nienna’s blessing, this unpleasant mission would be completed as quickly as possible.

[DayVampyre]

-First Post-


While the night had a sting of bitter coldness to it, Reed was not aware of it. Being inside one of the city's pubs and sitting by the fire she was taking in the revilery of the friends that had gathered for a celebration. Not that there was much to celebrate, but there was no reason to not enjoy some merriment. Reed thought that she had earned a night's repose after all she had just finished a very important bit of work for her 'benefactor' Cyrus. Taking out a bit of silver to by a round for drinks a young man approached her. The lad had wiry brown hair and carried a envelope, which he promptly handed to Reed. She took it and handed him two silver pieces. Excusing herself from her friends, Reed took the letter and a pint of ale with her into a quiter side room of the pub. She lit a candle and flipped the letter over. On the back was a wax seal bearing a very ornate 'C'. It was Cyrus' mark. Reed flipped open the envelope and pulled the parchment out...

Reed:

Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses
will be provided.

Cyrus

Reed stuffed the letter back into the envelope. The letter was dated yesterday.
"Incompent little fool, I could have used this yesterday, I doubt now I have much time." Reed muttered to herself, quite angry at the lateness of her letter. She finished the pint off and stormed out of the bar making her way to the Great Gate of Gondor.

[*Varda*]

Well, here's my profile, if you'll have me.

Name: Rosanna (but normally called Rosa or Ros)
Age: 24
Nationality: Gondorian
Short physical description: Dark brown hair, normally loose or braided. She is about 5’6, usually wearing brown pants, white shirt, leather brown boots and a hooded brown cloak over this. Her eyes are hazel.

History/motivation: Rosanna had an ordinary upbringing with her parents and two older brothers until she was 16. Her brothers fought for Gondor, but one was later killed by men of Harad in Ithilien, and the other she has not seen or heard of for 8 years. Because of this, she now hates the enemy with a passion, and would do anything to help Gondor against them. Having doted on her brothers, when they left she became rebellious, and stayed away from home constantly, defying her parents. By the age of 18, she became a thief and a spy, learning many useful skills. Ros managed well in this way of life for 4 more years, but when she was 22, she was caught stealing from a shop, but was not punished as an young woman, Morgan, intervened and promised to deal with Ros herself. Ros found herself indebted to the woman, and in return for the favour, Ros promised to work for her in the Order of the Black Rose. She is now good friends with Morgan, and her work mainly involves spying. She has no problems betraying a friend if she feels it’s for the greater good, but she has few friends anyway, as she is unable to trust easily or open up.

Posessions: A short dagger and an old, slightly notched sword, given to her by her brothers. She has some skill with it, although her skills mainly lie in spying and tracking, rather than fighting.

First post:

Rosanna -

Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses will be provided.

Morgan

A smile curled on Ros’ face. More money, potential rewards…this seemed like a job worth doing, should she make her services useful. She sat on the hard bed in her empty little room, gazing around. A break from this place would do her no harm. Getting up, she threw a few silver coins and personal belongings into her bag, and pulled on her warm cloak.

She stood by the window, staring into the inky darkness of the night sky, and watching the white frost of the snow begin to settle around the window pane. She should set off soon, she thought to herself, or the snow would be falling too fast and thick to journey at such a time of night.

Her bag over her shoulder, and her sword by her side, she wrapped her cloak tighter about her, descended the creaky wooden stairs, and set off towards the Great Gate.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Ahh, ya'll got here before me! I see there are many little women here. If it is alright with Ransom, I'll sumbit for consideration two whole characters (yippee, clap clap!).

Name: Rhys
Age: 25
Nationality: Gondorian

Short physical description: Short, thick, curly black hair is cut close to his neck. His eyes are a deep brown color, and he is almost six feet tall. Wears comfortable clothing influenced by the weather. Musclular and lean, Rhys is just the typical Gondorian man.

History/motivation: Rhys and his family moved from a small village north of Minas Tirith shortly after his ninth birthday and his sister's third. The family was well-to-do and had little problems with the move. When Rhys' parents died of a disease that passed mildly through Gondor, Rhys and his sister were left alone to care for themselves. It didn't take long for the jobless children to lose their cozy home, and Rhys was thirteen when he and his sister were left to roam the streats of Minas Tirith. Rhys was determined to stay strong though, for his sister, and did his best to find a job. No one wanted a practically unskilled northerner child for work though, and the siblings were soon down to the level of 'nicking' and stealing.

Rhys decided it was time to do something to get the two out of the hole they had dug for themselves, and found someone willing to take him on as a stablehand when he was fifteen. He was paid little, but it was enough to buy bread for the siblings. One of the other stablehands happened to be a former soldier-in-training, until an unfortunate accident left his right arm useless. Rhys, worried for the well-being of his young sister, brough Jisela to the stables every day to get taught something by the warrior.

One day it happened a man involved in the Order of the Black Rose came to the stables to give his horse a place to stay temporarily. His name was Javon, and he noted the skills and the potential in Rhys and his sister. He recruited Rhys into the Order, and in return Rhys and his sister would have somewhere to sleep and enough to eat. Rhys agreed.

Rhys is, to some degree, the kind of person who cares for someone else more than himself. He is also self-contained, never letting anything on the outside hurt him. His parents could die, he could be sent onto the streets, but Rhys would never change. Nothing would ever effect Rhys in the ways it did others. Rhys had always thought that as long as he didn't let something bother him, it wouldn't.

After joining the Order, Rhys became specially skilled (like many other men) in different types of swords. He had never bothered to try anything with a bow, and preferred the steel of a blade to the wood of a bow.

Posessions: A heavy sword dirty with age, despite Rhys' failed attempts to clean it.


Name: Jisela
Age: 19
Nationality: Gondorian (I seem to be following a trend...)

Short physical description: Long, curly black hair is almost always tied back at the nape of her neck. Her nondescript brown eyes are set on tan skin. Wears comfortable breeches and tunics, and usually goes barefoot unless the weather forces her to wear her brother's old boots. Short and slender, or enough so to fit into nooks and crannies her brother can't.

History/motivation: (Same beginning as Rhys) After her brother Rhys brought her into the stables routinely, Jisela became extremely and mostly interested in hand-to-hand combat. Fist fighting (unless I am allowed to call it boxing) became her thing, and she became quite good at it. The disabled warrior-boy tried to teach her how to swordfight, but Jisela wouldn't have it. She preferred her fists. If Jisela couldn't use her fists, she decided she was also pretty good at using the long bow.

When Javon 'discovered' the siblings, Jisela was glad to be off the streets. She was technically not part of the Order though, at that time, since she was only about ten or eleven. In her spare time (since she had a lot of it, in those times), Jisela often practiced fighting or using a borrowed (as she calls it) bow. When she turned sixteen, she was officially recruited into the Order of the Black Rose, and began her training.

Jisela, not the type to give up, would always sweat it through long, tough practice time. She did learn fair skills with a blade, but many hours were spent sharpening her skills in fist fighting (grr. boxing. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]), as that was where her talents and love lie. Jisela is more determined than most, she's a big show off and easily gets into small fights, though she's been trying not to make people so mad.

Posessions: A (stolen) bow and a few old arrows, with some sort of writing etched in them in a script she can't read. Jisela typically carries around a roll of gauzy, tough wrap for practices in hand-to-hand combat.

First post:

Rhys jogged down the corridor, looking for the room his sister would be practicing in. He needed to tell her something...something important. Rhys stopped when the hallway came to a fork, and then he wandered aimlessly down the left hall. Rhys had no clue which room his sister would be in, and cautiuosly opened random doors, hoping to find a familiar face. When the long left hallway came to an abrupt halt, Rhys ran back up the corridor and then down the right hall after the fork.

The first door he opened brought success. He found his little sister in a makeshift ring, along with some other man Rhys had met once. One punch from the man brought two jabs from Jisela, his sister. Rhys chuckled. It was sink or swim with her, and she always turned out to be a pretty good swimmer.

"You could use an uppercut once in a while, Jis!" someone called to Jisela from the sidelines. Jisela nodded, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her opponent was almost a blur to her as her eyes stung with sweat. Light jumps to and fro brought Jisela ever closer to the idle opponent, until it was too late for the man. Jisela sent an uppercut his way, sending his chin and head flying upwards. Satisfied, Jisela waited for her next opening.

Unable to see the man's sly move as he inched towards her, Jisela let out a slight yelp as she came crashing to the ground after her feet had been swept from under her. She stood up, and before she could do aught else, a fist came flying at her face. Jisela was sent flying backward and onto the floor again.

"Ouch. I bet that hurt. Take a break, Ganar," came the voice of Rhys, Jisela's brother. Jisela wiped the trickling blood from her chin as it streamed from a cut in her lip. Jisela was suprised...Rhys almost never came to her practices. He was usually too busy with a mission from the Order. Rhys handed Jisela a square of cloth for her cut, and sat down beside her.

"Something wrong, Rhys?" Jisela asked, wiping the blood onto the once clean cloth.

"No, not really. I've got a message though, for the both of us." Rhys replied, and handed Jisela a piece of parchment. Jisela opened it, and her eyes widened as she finished reading its contents.

Rhys and Jisela,
Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses will be provided.
Javon

"You better clean up there, Jis. Bring the old boots, alright? There's snow involved. Might want to bring that bow as well..." Rhys would have continued on chiding his sister, if Jisela had not shot him an annoyed look. Rhys raised his hands in defense, then got up and left his sister. "I'll see you later tonight, and we'll go together tomorrow."

Jisela nodded, and went to get clean and ready. Triple payments for a week would be a lot of money between the siblings, or enough to seem like a lot. Jisela also fully planned on 'performing well', as she tried to do on everything she undertook. Jisela only hoped that Rhys was up to the challenge too.

Aylwen

[ July 29, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Orual]

This sounds wonderful, Ransom. Do you have room for a Ranger?

Name: Almarien

Age: 32

Appearance: Tall and broad-shouldered, with a stocky build, Almarien is just over six feet tall. His hair is deep red, looking to be black in some light, and his eyes are a vivid green. His skin is tanned and weather-beaten, and his face is pocked with small scars, giving him a fierce look.

Personality: A man of few words, on the surface Almarien appears to be shy and almost antisocial. He is, however, a highly loyal and very compassionate man once his trust is won (which takes some work). He is very fond of young people, especially since the births of his children.

History/motivation: Brought up in a large family, Almarien was the eldest son of a Ranger in a long line of Rangers. He was large as a child, always bigger than his peers, and he was very reserved, which resulted in a lack of people skills, but a keen sense of his surroundings. With his family, however, he gained a fierce sense of loyalty and dedication, which he redirected to his wife and children after he married a young woman named Talanna at twenty-six. As a boy his father trained him, and it became obvious that he had an unusually sharp eye, meaning that he excelled in both archery and tracking. His swordwork, while passable even by Ranger standards, was not up to par with those fields.

While he spent as much time as possible with his family, his dedication extends to his duties as a Ranger, and he never shirks from duty.

Possessions: A bow and a longsword are his weapons. He travels light, but always wears a ring on chain around his neck. The ring is a round, dark-brown stone, clutched by a golden claw. It has been given to the eldest son in his line at the day of their acceptance as a Ranger for generations.

First post:

"Almarien, this message just came for you. It's from the Steward."

Almarien looked up from where he sat, rocking his infant daughter, and saw his auburn-haired wife walking briskly to his chair. Her green eyes were worried, but also curious. A letter from the Steward was a rare occasion.

"Let me see," Almarien said softly, reaching for the letter. Talanna gave it to him, and he turned it over in his hands.

The royal seal. He exhaled slowly. He had only half-believed that it was truly from the Steward, but no one would dare to forge the seal. It was punishable by death. He fingered it, felt the wax, felt the markings. What could the Steward want with him?

He looked up at Talanna, whose eyes were begging him to open it. He did so.

"Sir-

You are ordered to report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before sunlight tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be in the inside of the gate. Speak to him for more orders. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow and combat. Horses will be provided.

Denathor, Steward of Gondor"

He sat back, stunned, for a long, silent moment. Talanna frowned at him. "Almarien, what does it say?"

Wordlessly he handed it to her, and stood up to go into his room. Reading it, she followed him.

"Tomorrow morning! Such short notice, Almarien! And combat? Has it come to that already? Oh, but it's the dead of winter. How--"

Gently laying the baby on the bed, Almarien put a finger on his wife's lips. "What must be, will be," he said softly. It was a phrase that Talanna used frequently. A single, hot tear ran down her cheek, and Almarien felt a matching one on his own face. "I need to pack."

So many things to prepare. He had to make sure that his sword was sharpened, that his bow was in good condition, that his boots were well-oiled and in proper shape. He ran a hand through his red hair. Such short notice.

He would have to tell his children good-bye. Six-year-old Talormé, who he had been teaching to shoot a bow. Four-year-old Alanai, who would watch, utterly absorbed, as Almarien sharpened his sword. And the twins, Talômi and Talmérië, who were just barely rolling over.

He touched the engraved sheath of his sword. His father's sword, and his father's father's. Just like the ring, it was an heirloom of his line. One day it would pass to Talormé. Would he live to see that day? Would he live to see the twins walk and talk?

He fiercely shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. It was not for him to question the Steward's decisions; it was for him to do his duties. And his duty was to be at the great gate of Minas Tirith, the very next day, before dawn.

And he would be there.

***

And, if you're interested...

Prior RPG experience: A Hobbit's Gift, Holiday in the Sun, Search for the Book, In the Shadow of the Lonely Star, and Quest for the Ainereg.

[ April 15, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[Ransom]

Blarg. >_< Finally managed to fight off my work long enough to post. Sorry if I’m sound like I’m in a hurry.

DayVampyre-Everything looks fine. I’m sure Reed will be an interesting character. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

*Varda*-Welcome! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Your profile and post look fine.

Aylwen Dreamsong-As usual, your characters are very well written. I look forward to Rping with you again.

Orual-Welcome to the RP. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Almarian (and his family) look like very interesting characters. Out of curiosity, have you read C.S. Lewis’s Till We Have Faces?

If any of you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, feel free to PM me or post here.

Cheers,

Ransom, Under the influence of Allegra

[Orual]

Allegra? Hath thou allergies? I sympathize completely. Breathing is taken for granted until you can't do it anymore.

Yes, I loved 'Till We Have Faces.' Enough to name myself after Orual. I really enjoyed the way Lewis took the story of Cupid and Psyche and made us look at it from a whole new perspective.

Anyway, gracias. I look forward to playing with everybody (And by the way, does anybody frequent the Green Dragon? If so, Almarien ought to be a little familiar...or at least a couple of his kids...:hint hint: )

Edit: By the way, Ransom, does your own name have anything to do with Lewis? Perelandra? "My name, too, is Ransom" and all that?

~*~Orual~*~

[ April 16, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[DayVampyre]

<ahem>
I've just noticed your 'short' comment, Miss Aylwen...there's nothing wrong with having a height deficientcy [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

incidently here's pic of my character, don't know if ya'all want these or not, but what can it hurt?
Don't click if you don't want to look

[ April 17, 2003: Message edited by: DayVampyre ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Eh? Of course there is nothing wrong with being vertically challenged, I for one like being short. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Anyways...thankee Ransom [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]. I don't really frequent any of the inns, Orual, but I have heard a lot of talk about Talmérië, I believe.

Aylwen

[Arvedui III]

This looks fun, erm, could you all possibly have use for a secondary character?

Name: Galn
Age: 28
Nationality: Gondor

Apperence: He has short, kinda flat black hair, green eyes, and usually is seen wraped in a wet brown cloak.

History: Galn was orininally of Minas Tirith, born to a middle-class family; and at one time began training to become a guard of the citildel. However, a nasty accident on horseback made that imposible. After a few years of doing nothing, at 21 he removed to a small village and made a boat. Since then he's been fishing on the Anduin, hopeing for some kind of adventure to come his way.

Motivation: Galn still thinks he can be warrior, despite the inguries he suffered and the pain they sometimes still cause him. Just the word adventure makes him jump.He has a need to prove, if only to himself, that he is brave since he's never gotten a real chance to do so.

Posessions: His boat, the whitecrest, a net, two throwing knife, and his old rusty sword, not that he can wield it anyway.

Herm, um, I don't really have a first post since Galn wouldn't be a main character and I dunno where he'd turn up in the story. Um, hope that's alright.
Arvedui

[Manardariel]

Hi there, would you have room for another ranger?? This rp sounds really interesting!

Name: Estel (Estellinde)
Age: 17
Nationality: Ranger from Ithlien
Gender: Female

Short physical description: very small, delicate person. Dark hair and skin, big hazel eyes. A small face that usually looks grave

History/Motivation: Estel's father is a ranger like herself. Her mother died at her birth, and from that day on her father tried to protect her from every possible harm, especiallzy because she is so small. She pent most of her life in a small and peacefull villge in northern Ithilien, until it was raided by Sauron's forces. Ever since she had the strong wish to fight against the peole who destroyed her home, and so she became a ranger. She's taking this quest because she still has the strong desire to prove something to herself and to the world. She wants to show everyone how good a ranger and a fighter she can be: her small features are made for creeping around unnoticed and spieing out enemies; she is an exellent fighter, with the sword as well as the bow, nd she has a wonderfull conection to all animals.

Posessions: Rangercloak, sword, bow&arrows

First post: *coming up*!!

OK with you guys???

[Ransom]

Orual-Yes, I got my SN from the philosopher/wanderer Ransom in Lewis's Space Trilogy. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Next to Till We Have Faces, I think its probably the best of his fictional works.

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[DayVampyre]

Woohoo, Everybody, lets hear it for Allegra!


**says she currently influenced by Claritin**


stupid outdoor pollen and junk "ahchoo"

[Ransom]

Erm...looked over the thread again today and would like to make a few more comments. Sorry about any confusion. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Arvedi III-Its perfectly fine if you want to play a secondary character. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Could you please suggest how you would integrate your character into the posted storyline? For example, define your character's role in the town. Is he a local leader? Do the people dislike him? Also provide a first post to introduce your character and give us a little peek about daily life.

I'll PM you a few details about the group's destination.

Manardariel-Sent you a PM about your character. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Arvedui III]

Erm, sure. Well, I thought maybe my character could have been the last to see the errand riders or have him see the attack or something along those lines.

Ok, um here's a first post:

A blast of cold air swept over the deceptively sunny landscape. A man stepped out of his house in time to see a small figure heading toward the riverbed below. "Right on time." He muttered, and ran to the man now struggling with a little boat. "Galn, Galn" the man called to the figure who in turn looked up. "Thurin, not now please." The figure called Galn said as curtly as possible while trying hard to shove the boat into the river. "I know you had a letter." Said the man called Thurin as though this proved Galn had done something terrible. "Good for you, um, is there something incredibly important going on, or did you come down at this hour to tell me I got a letter?"

Said Galn between clenched teeth, now forcing all his might into shoving the boat out of the sandy bank. "Well," said Thurin embarrassed, "well, you know. Since you're the one with all the news, I thought," At this Galn chuckled. "Look, help me with the boat and I'll tell you what the letter said." "Really?" Said Thurin breathlessly, and then he also began struggling with the boat. Suddenly, the boat slid gently into the already icy water and both men fell forward into the sand.

"Hope your well, much love, mother." "Huh?" "That's what the letter said." Said Galn chuckling, before picking himself up gingerly. "Errand rider brought me it on his way to Pelargir." "Oh." Thurin muttered dejectedly, now also getting up. "Look, if you want to know, the city's getting worried." "About what?" "Mordor" said Galn darkly, now lowering his voice. "They think, I dunno, but things are getting strange. That's all" and Galn hopped in his boat. "I'm more worried about Umbar, you know Nin's cousin got kidnaped." Thurin added. "Umbar won't do anything but kidnap unless Mordor does something. Just stay away from the coast and you'll be fine." Galn called, the hard winds already taking his boat away from shore.

"You're daft, you know. That boat will break, if not today, then sometime soon. You should stay home." Thurin yelled back, inwardly proud he knew something that Galn didn't. A storm was coming.

Um, hope that works.

EDIT: Ahhh, I think I defined ridiculously long post. Sorry ‘bout that.
Arvedui

[ April 19, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Name: Darian
Age:37
Gender: male
Nationality: Ranger of Ithilien

Short physical description: Due to the mixing of the northern and southern lines during the reign of King Eldacar, Damien has diry blond hair(south line), and grey eyes (north line). He is of medium build. Not really muscular, but his muscles are tough and lean. His skin is weathered; evidence of his many journeys. That makes him look older than he really is.

Personality-He is typically reserved. He prefers to study people first before he interacts with them. He likes to let talkative people talk, which lets him gather more information about that person without having to do a lot of work. Some habits of his is that whenever he needs to think deeply, he smokes his pipeweed, which is common among men. He also enjoys lore of the Numenoreans and of wars long fought. He is a quick thinker when the occasion calls for it(you kind of have to be if your a Ranger), but when he has the time to think through decisions, he considers all options to make sure he chooses the best path. He has been in quite a lot of fighting, so death doesn't really quite bother him. A few years after his father died, his mother became sick with grief and also passed. So,he was on his own when he was 17. He is loyal to his companions, but if you betray his trust,it is hard for him to trust you again. He would gladly sacrifice his life for a worthy cause, and his friends.

History/motivation: His motivation is to defend his home and to help in the overthrow of Sauron. But on a personal note, he wants revenge for his father, who fell to an orc arrow while in the mountains that border Ithilien and Mordor. He is also bound by the the oath of the Dúnedain. Mainly, though, he is motivated by the memory of his father.

Possesions: He bares the sword of his father, which was brought back by one of his father's companions. Many of his other equipment belonged to his father-his green weather stained cloak, and his belt. His two fighting knives are of Lorien origin. He has black and brown traveling clothes, the kinds that all Rangers possess. He also bares a bow and quiver of arrows, when the circumstances allow.

Skills-Since he is a Ranger of Ithilien, he has been trained in tracking and stalking. He is quite good at both. He is highly skilled in all the weapons he possesses (knives, arrows, sword) but he prefers the sword. Since it was his father's, he wants to slay the foul slime of Sauron with the weapon that his father used.


[ April 21, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[ April 21, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[ April 21, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Earendil Halfelven]

I just decided to post my first post just in case I got in. So here it is:

Darian cleaned off his sword in the secret refuge of Henneth Annûn. They had just returned from ambushing a band of orcs that had entered into the woods of Ithilien early that morning. Now, word had come of a company of Southrons that would be heading up the Harad road towards the Black Gate the next day. Darien replaced the arrows that he was unable to recover, and placed his sword back in its scabbard. He looked at it and it reminded him of his father. His father had bore it, and under his care it had slain many a foul orc. He went and watched the sun rise over Mindolluin. That always helped him calm himself after a fight.

Footsteps behind him came to his ears. He turned to see his friend, and fellow Ranger Mablung, come up bearing a letter.

"For you, my friend. It comes straight from the Steward." He handed it over and waited.

Darian opened the letter. It read:

Darian, Ranger of Ithilien-

You are ordered to report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before sunlight tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be in the inside of the gate. Speak to him for more orders. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow and combat. Horses will be provided.

Denathor, Steward of Gondor

Mablung stood there watching him.

"What does it say?" he asked.

Darian handed it to him.
"I need to report to the White City tomorrow morning. It looks as if I'm heading on another journey." It looked as if he wouldn't get the rest he wanted after all.

"Did you receive one also?" Darian asked.
"Nay. It looks as if you shall be setting off alone. Damrod did not receive one either. The other Rangers are needed here, I assume."

"Well then, I shall gather my gear and head off. I have the rest of the day to get to Minas Tirith." Darien headed off to his quarters. Mablung followed.

"You need not report to Captain Faramir. He has already seen this letter."

They entered Darien's quarters. He quickly gathered his equipment, which wasn't much; just his weapons, a few extra clothes, and some rations.

After he geared up and was ready to depart, he turned to Mablung.

"My friend, I fear this is where we depart. May the grace of the Valar protect you and preserve you until our next meeting." Darien said.

"And may the Valar speed your journey. May your journey to Osgiliath go unchallenged. I doubt that once you reach Osgiliath, that the rest of the way to Minas Tirith will be dangerous." Mablung replied.

The two Rangers clasp hands for a moment. Than without another word, Darian headed off to find himself a horse, while Mablung returned to his post.

[ April 21, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Ransom]

All-
We probably won't be accepting any more main characters at the moment.

Arvedui III

Your first post is fine, but it would probably help if you added a description of your character to help the rest of us get a better picture of your character. In Rohan, depth in posting is generally encouraged. I've yet to find a post that's too long. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Where does your character live? In the town/outskirts/etc?

Earendil Halfelven-

It should be noted that the Rangers of Ithillian were significantly different from the Rangers of the north. The Rangers of Gondor were hand picked veterans from the former occupants of Ithillian, sent back to harass and observe the enemy. Race and nationality had nothing to do with their membership.

The Dunedain were descendents of the northern kingdom of Anor who still lived in the area and served as a sort of interm police force until the restoration of the kingdom under Aragorn. It is highly unlikely that they would leave their homeland to join a foreign army, unless there was special circumstances involved.

Otherwise, your first post would be fine in the Shire. However, in the Rohan we generally request that people try to expand the depth of their posts. For example, providing a long physical description of your character help the rest of us post. Try adding some unusual habits or slices of every day to spice up your posts.

Just as a side note, most games in Rohan ask you to submit a post *before* acceptance so the game owner can get a good idea of your writing level, etc.

Cheers,

Ransom

[Arvedui III]

Yesh, sorry. I'm an overly large, lazy hobbit, which would probably explain why I'm playing a secondary character. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Anyway, here is a post 2.0

Post
A blast of cold air swept over the deceptively sunny landscape of Lebennin. A man stepped out of his house on the edge of an agreeably small town in time to see a small stocky figure in a brown cloak heading toward the pale riverbed below. "Right on time." He muttered, and ran to the man now struggling with a little boat. "Galn, Galn" the man called to the figure who in turn looked up. "Thurin, not now please." The figure called Galn said as curtly as possible while trying hard to shove the boat into the river. "I know you had a letter." Said the man called Thurin as though this proved Galn had done something terrible. "Good for you, um, is there something incredibly important going on, or did you come down at this hour to tell me I got a letter?"

Said Galn between clenched teeth, his green eyes flashing as he forced all of his might into shoving the boat out of the sandy bank. "Well," said Thurin embarrassed, "well, you know. Since you're the one with all the news, I thought," At this Galn chuckled. "Look, help me with the boat and I'll tell you what the letter said." "Really?" Said Thurin breathlessly, and then he also began struggling with the boat. Suddenly, it slid gently into the already icy water and both men fell forward into the sand.

"Hope your well, much love, mother." "Huh?" Mumbled Thurin, shaking the silt out of his hair. "That's what the letter said." Said Galn laughing, a broad grin visible on his sand plastered face. Then, picking himself up gingerly he said,"Errand rider brought me it on his way to Pelargir." "Oh." Thurin muttered dejectedly, now also getting up. Thurin was like many in this town, eager for any word from the great city, and too concerned with pigs and ale to know what it might mean. Galn was different, though. He sighed, "Look, if you want to know, the city's getting worried." "About what?" "Mordor" said Galn darkly, now lowering his voice. "They think, I dunno, but things are getting strange. That's all" and Galn hopped in his boat, eager to fish away the idea of the black land that was becoming all too real. "I'm more worried about Umbar, you know Nin's cousin got kidnaped." Thurin added. "Umbar won't do anything but kidnap unless Mordor does something. Just stay away from the coast and you'll be fine."

Galn called, the hard winds already taking his boat away from shore. "Um, bet your cabin isn't feeling half so cozy now a real winter's setting in." Said Thurin, keen on prolonging the conversation. Galn put his hood back up, concealing a smile. "I'll manage," was the last thing Thurin heard as the little boat spead up the icy river. Still, he called back, "You're daft, you know. That boat will break, if not today, then sometime soon. You should stay home." And as Thurin headed back home to catch a little more sleep before he had to check on his field, he felt inwardly proud he knew something that Galn didn't. A storm was coming.
--------
Hope that's better.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Nice observation, Ransom. After further study into the heirs of Anarion, I found this info:

"...the blood of the kingly house and other houses of the Dúnedain became mingled with that of lessar Men...the people of Gondor were replenished by great numbers that came from Rhovanion."-Appendix A, Gondor and the Heirs of Anarion

Rhovanion is the area where Mirkwood is which also happens to be part of the area that the northern Dúnedain "patroled." And, also in App.A, it refers to "the Dúnedain of the South" which probably refers to heirs of Anarion.

So it is possible for some southern Rangers to resemble those of the northern lineage, since it would be in the bloodline, you know, part of those recessive genes.
[img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

I made the character description short because in the character sheet, it asked for a short description. But, I shall add to it, to provide further depth into my character and to aid the other players. I'll edit it accordingly.

Sorry about the mistakes, though. I had just finished my pre-cal homework, so my brain was kind of fried. [img]smilies/cool.gif[/img]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Ok, I went and added more to my character description stuff. I hope it suits everyone just fine. Now,I've gotten the feel of Rohan [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]
Ransom- I also edited my first post. Where it said, "the two Dúnedain clasp hands," I changed it to "the two Rangers clasp hands."
So,does that mean that Darian gets to join?

[ April 22, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[Ransom]

Sorry for dropping off the radar like that. If I see another acronym for a test, I think I'm going to go on curl up and cry in a corner.

Arvedui III-Everything looks much better now. I'll PM you with details when our party gets close to Galn. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Earendil Halfelven -Everything looks fine now. Darian's in. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Earendil Halfelven]

YEAH!!!!!

[Manardariel]

Hi! I just wanted to let you know that I have a new character... Working on a first post!

*********New profile for new character*********

Name: Eorlyn
Age: 19
From: Minas Tirith, though Half Rohan
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Short physical description: Tall and slender, blonde braids down to her waist with a hint of copper, dark- green, lively eyes: she´s quite a beauty. Well aware of this, she sometimes uses her looks rather than a sword to get her way.

Backround/Motivation/Character:

Eorlyn´s father is from Rohan but, after marrying a girl from Dol Amroth, setteled in Minas Tirith. Obviously being an exellent rider, he trains the cavalery of the city and is a rather important person in the White Tower´s military order. Eorlyn, his only child is the apple of his eye. He keeps her safe and sound, and is despertate to have her married to a good husband as soon as possible. Especially after her nother´s death he is anxious to do this quickly, for he wishes to have grandchildren as soon as possible. In all these calculations he doesn´t seem to have thought of his daughter herself. Eorlyn is a true daughter of Rohan; proud and indepentent, yet she also loves life the way her mother did. She wants to live her life the way SHE pleases, passionatly, and yet sternly. Eorlyn can ride as well as any daughter of Rohan should and swordfight well. Yet she is also a lady, and a bit of a flirt. She´s not a dreamer, she takes what she wants, and right now she DOES NOT want to end as a married woman before her twenties. Thus, she seeks adventure, and adventure arrives in form of an order that her best friend´s brother –a ranger- gets that he should join the quest. Eorlyn, seizing what appears to be an exellent oppurtunity for adventure and not quite realizing the seriousness of it all, steals the order and fakes a new one with her name instead.

Flaws: Being her dather´s princess, she´s pretty spoiled and tends to take things FAR too easy.

[Ransom]

Just waiting for Manardariel to get her first post up. Hopefully we can start by this Monday. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

-Ransom

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Oh yay! Is there a certain order that you want us to post in?

Aylwen [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Manardariel]

Oh dear, I´m sorry. First post is here and ready! Hope yu like it!

>>>>>>>>>>>>&g t;>>>>>>>>>>>> >>>>>>>>>>>>&g t;>>

Eorlyn walked outside on the porch. She clenged her fists, trying hard not to scream. How could he??? How could he do this to her? She was stunned. She was shoked.

"Eorlyn, please come here." A voice rang out of the house. Deep, inpatient. Patronizing.

"Yes, father?" she called back, totally the dutiful daughter he wanted her to be. But behind her forehead, her brain was working up an excuse to get out of here.

"Father, Nightmane may be foaling tonight. I´d like to check on her," she said. She had him, and she knew it. Her father was a true Rohirimm, and his horses were his prized property- his horses and his daughter. His daughter who, at the moment, was dissappearing into the dusk of Minas Tirith, walking to the stables.

Five minutes later, Eorlyn entered the stabels of the "Steward Cavalery Training Acadamy". It took her one look at the pregnant mare to see she wouldn´t be foaling untill next week. But, of course, she had been sure of that. Nightmane was merely an excuse, a beutiful and proud one, yet nevertheless an excuse to get off her father´s hands. Her father who had finally gone to far. Who had dared to choose a husband for her. And one she didn´t even know, let alone approve of! Eorlyn felt fury risng up with her again. What did he think she was, a prized horse he could sell to some rich bloke of his choosing?? Eorlyn knew she couldn´t go home and play dutiful daughter now. Instead, she walked over to her best friend´s house. She and Estel had known each other since childhood, and were like sisters to each other. Eorlyn was all set to tell her friend about her father, but it was Estel who had the bigger news.

"Guess what?" she exclaimed. "Naryion´s home!"

"Really??" Eorlyn was so delighted she forgot about her father this instant. Estel´s oldest brother, Naryion, was a ranger of Ithilien, and -to the girls- a welcome divertion from their usual lives.

After a wonderful night of tales and laughter, Eorlyn left. She grabbed her cloak, and only then saw a role of parchment with the seal of the steward. Couriously, she grabbed it. It was an order to Naryion. The girl´s eyes flew wide opn as she read it, and when she had finished, her mind was made up. Carefully making sure no one was looking, she grabbed the order and ran home.

Her room was dark, but for the small candle burning. She had survived her father´s tirade. Next to her foot she had a bundle of clothes, food, and her own sword. Now for the hardest part. Word by word, Eorlyn copied the order, careful to use a male, cold sort of handwriting. When she was done, she looked at it in a pleased sort of way. The order now read:

Eorlyn,

Report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before dawn tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be inside the gate. Speak to him for further instructions. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow as well as combat. Your normal wages will be tripled for the duration of your service. Further rewards will be forthcoming should you perform well. Horses
will be provided.

She decided not to add an empolyer. Her lips formed a half-smile at the words "further reward should be forthcoming". She would have her reward: an adventure out of the city. She would be rewarded.

In the middle of the night Eorlyn stole herself out of the house. She silently bade farewell to house and father. "I´ll be back soon," she wispered. Then she walked to the Great Gate.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Ummm, I don't want to seem impatient but when are we going to get this RPG on the road?

[Ransom]

Aylwen-I think the posters who will be going with Barak and Mara will post first. Those playing a secondary character can choose to post their intro post now or to wait until our group nears their character's home.

Manardariel-Much better. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Earendil-I'll PM Susan Delgado tonight and ask her to open the RP thread. Sorry about the delay--HW and trying to write for the BD birthday party have conquered my time. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Helkahothion]

It's not too late for me to join I hope. My RPG's are rounding up and I am looking for a new one. Things are kind of on a low fire in the RPG section since the party started. Things are kind of on a low fire everywhere. Oops, I'm babbling. Here is my character:

Name: Sir Alewine Wayfarer
Age: 26
Nationality: Ithilien Scout

Short physical description: About 1.89 meter high. Circle beard around the mouth. Wears green clothing and a brown cloak. Long white hair, mostly tight down in his neck, but loose if possible.

History/motivation: Sir Alewine was born out in the wild. His parents raised him as a civilian from Gondor, although he never saw it much. He has sworn loyalty to the city after a Gondorian soldier saved him from an Orc raid, which sadly cost the life of both of his parents.

Alewine now travels along with a group and tries to kill the soldiers of Sauron at any likely possibility. When the letter from the steward arrives, he does not think twice and goes to Gondor head over heals.

Possessions: A long bow, short sword, buckler and a chainmail fest. He has a waistbelt that contains al type of herbals that can cure wounds and cuts inflicted with nasty weapons. Quite skilled with handling potions as well.

First post:

Alewine walked trough the rugged bushes of Ithilien, keeping in mind the message he had been given. It was like it was yesterday when he got the letter that bore the seal of the white tower. Actually, it was yesterday. The letter had stated:

Sir Alewine Wayfarer,

You are ordered to report to the great gate of Minas Tirith an hour before sunlight tomorrow. An officer of the Citadel Guard named Sir Mindalel will be in the inside of the gate. Speak to him for more orders. Prepare for a week of riding in the snow and combat. Horses will be provided.

Denathor, Steward of Gondor

He was so excited. It was two years since he had sworn loyalty to Gondor. And he was not forgotten. As the growing got thinner, he saw the great walls of Minas Tirith growing. It had always impressed them, the way they looked. Not even twenty Orc armies where going to break that thing down. Minas Tirith was surely the safest haven in whole of Middle Earth. As he went to the gate, he saw others standing there. It appeared that he was not the only one who was not forgotten. He reported at the gate and soon afterwards, Sir Mindalel came walking out to greet the others.

There you have it. It would be an honour to write with you all.

*Bows and salutes*

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

*Coughs*

Helka, I'm not the owner of this game, but Alewine? Has someone been drinking too much on the BD Birthday thread?

[img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Can't wait for the game to start, Ransom!

Aylwen

[Helkahothion]

Hm maybe your right. It was the best I could come up with. I almost considered calling him Bacardi hahahahaha. Hm a name eh? I know:

Sorry to change this at the last moment Ransom.

Name: Krosan Wayfarer

[Ransom]

Unfortunatly, I've been off in Bio land and college hunting. >_<

Helkahothion-Krosan looks fine. If you have a bit of extra time, adding a physical description in your first post would probably make it quite a bit better. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Everyone else-Fell free to put your first post up in the game thread. On second thought, if you're playing a secondary character, please wait until I PM you before posting your first post. It would give the story a bumpy feeling if characters that show up in the last half of the story mysteriously appear in the beginning before droping off the radar. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[*Varda*]

We're starting? Great! I'll get my first post up some time before I go to bed.

[Ransom]

Just waiting for Helkahothion to get his intro post up before we start. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Helkahothion]

Sorry I'm late. (again) I will do that tonight. Just have this much time for a short post. See you all tonight.

[edit]Done[/edit]

[ May 09, 2003: Message edited by: Helkahothion ]

[Ransom]

We’re finally on the road. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Feel free to talk amongst yourselves as we head south. After about an hour of riding, the pace will probably slow to a fast walk as the group spreads out across the road. You can write up an encounter with a pedestrian or throw in false leads. Have fun!

Cheers,
Ransom