The Ambassador's Son Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

Title: The Ambassador’s Son

(If you liked Pirates of the Caribbean, this should be just the RPG for you!!)

Basic Storyline:

A corsair enthusiast is gaining power and respect in an Umbar now under Gondorian Rule. He swears that his piracy days are over and appears to dedicate himself to the renovation of the southern, coastal town, and opens an ocean trade route becoming close friends with the ambassador. However, he is a fraud. While he does one thing in the eyes of the public, he is planning quite another in the privacy of his home and within his large group of companions (mostly loyal crew members with a handful of other captains) who want the same thing he does: Umbar and a new community of brethren corsairs.

There is a Gondorian ambassador who is stationed in Umbar to oversee the renovation of the city and altering of corsairs and outlaws into Gondorian citizens. He is a pompous and dull-witted man who is completely unaware of what one of his political allies is up to. But his youngest son, Devon, knows. It is up to the ambassador’s son to stop the enthusiast, but he has little power and no backing of other political figures. Who are his friends in this rustic city and will he be able to save Umbar from the clutches of the imposter?

_____________________________________________


The purpose of the story is to: Reveal and defeat the corsair enthusiast so that the ambassador and Gondorian loyalists can continue with their renovation of Umbar.

This means we will know the story is over when: Jythralo Doran (the corsair enthusiast) is captured/killed/stopped in one way or another.

Starting Location: Umbar

Likely destination: Umbar

[ October 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Timeframes:

This game takes place: Fourth Age - Year 25

The storyline itself or plot covers: About a month.

This game requires a time commitment of - 3 ½ months (14 weeks) - from the game owner and from the major players.

Please make sure you can commit the time if you wish to play.

[piosenniel]

Main characters are: - 9

pro-Corsair

* Jythralo Doran – male - Corsair Enthusiast – for Corsairs – played by Earendil Halfelven

Need Players for these 2:

• 1.) Co-conspirator – male – I’m going to leave this open for broad consideration; so please be very creative (but realistic)
  
• 2.) Co-conspirator – female – I’m going to leave this open for broad consideration; so please be very creative (but realistic)

See below for the extra characters the co-conspirators for the Corsairs will also carry along.

~*~*~*~

pro-Gondor

*Devon – male - Ambassador’s Son – played by Maikafanawen

*First Ally – male - close friend - Calnan – played by Nuranar

*Second Ally – male – close friend; same age; best childhood friend - a commoner - played by Amanduial

Need Players for these 2:

• 1.) Third Ally of Gondor – female - friend; same age; childhood friend of Devon; (could be a love interest); BE CREATIVE but realistic
  
• 2.) Fourth Ally of Gondor – PREFERED male - You may submit the bio of any race of any history for me to decide from. (Chose from Dwarves (must have a realistic reason for being in Umbar), Silvan Elves (also must have a realistic reason for being in Umbar), men from Rohan, Gondor, and Eriador—includes Rangers and Dúnedain). MUST BE CREATIVE and REALISTIC
  
  About 4th Ally’s First Post:
  
  He is on his way into town for a reason that must be descriptively portrayed in the first post. Remember he can come by land OR sea. His actualy arrival will be in his second post according to the OUTLINE that will be posted by Maikafanawen when all players are assembled.

*Fifth Ally – male - retired Gondorian Naval Captain – played by Maikafanawen

See below for the extra characters the pro-Gondor Allies will also carry along.

_____________________________________________

Secondary Character Types Are:

1.) *Pro-corsair* - Extra crewmembers and allies of Jythralo Doran – (these will be made up and carried along by the 3 pro-corsair players).

2.) *Pro-Gondor* - Extra acquaintances and helpers of Devon Thrann & Company – (these will be made up and carried along by the 6 pro-Gondor players).

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Character types which would not belong: hobbits, Southrons, Easterlings, Dunlendings, and Sindar or Noldor elves.

[piosenniel]

Owner's Note:

*** REMEMBER: Just because you get here first doesn’t mean you get the part. You must use your imagination and spend some time on your character. You will need to be VERY descriptive and creative on your character bio and on the First Post that is required (see below). ***

*** IMPORTANT: You must have posted in the Green Dragon to be accepted for this RPG.***

*** IMPORTANT: Make sure you will be able to be available for the entire game (see time of commitment above) before you submit a bio. This is very important since each character wanted is specific and indispensable until the very end of the RPG when heroes can do their thing. ***

[piosenniel]

About First Posts for the Game - from Maika:

I do want first posts. The first posts do not have to be interaction with other characters unless specified why they would be in interaction. The first posts should incorporate a typical event in that person’s life that will help the other players to get to know that character. (Allies 1, & 2 should be somewhere where Devon can find them and tell them what he knows at the end of their first posts. Same for #3, but she’ll find him while #1, #2, and Devon are all talking—probably by the stables. Ally #4 will be entering Umbar for his said reason and getting an inn. His second post will include his views on the chaos).

*** PLEASE READ ALL THE INFORMATION BEFORE SUBMITTING A CHARACTER BIO AND FIRST POST. THANKS! ***

[piosenniel]

Maikafanawen's Character - Devon

NAME: Devon Thrann, the Ambassador’s Son

AGE: 17 ½

RACE: Mostly Middle Man, Númenoréan on his great-grandfather’s side

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Devon’s weapon of choice is his cut-and-thrust sword. The pommel, cross-guard, and knuckle bow are made of a light steel and weighs perfectly with the rest of the weapon. The single-edged blade is well tempered and balanced at thirty-seven inches long, forty-four overall. Sometimes, in a mêlée with local brigands, Devon will employ the use of his sword-hilted dagger in his left hand while he fights with his sword in his right. The double-edged blade, crossguard and pommel are made of steel, and the leather-wrapped grip is of wood.

APPEARANCE: Devon is a handsome young man of medium height. He has chin-length reddish-brown hair and a goatee that covers just above the upper lip and the base of the chin with a bit of stubble under the bottom lip. There are also side burns that run down in front of the ear to just under his jaw-line. Devon has soft grey-blue eyes and a honeyed complexion. Not being knowledgeable in politics as his older brother, Geoffrey, is, Devon wears the garb of a regular boy his age as he wanders around finding ways to occupy his time. Over his crisp white swordsman’s shirt with billowy sleeves and open neck, he usually wears a dark brown jerkin with split sides for easy riding and fighting and four frog-knot closures in the front. His trousers are of a snug brown colored material that tuck into his black fold-over calf-high boots.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Devon cares little for the political tribulations but has a tremendous sense of honor towards his kingdom. Even though he is extremely talented at swordplay, he is not allowed to fight against the occasional outlaw corsair. Instead, his father dispatches the royal guard, keeping his son safe inside the embassy. Personality-wise Devon is a carefree boy who yearns desperately for sea-faring adventure. He talks often with the sailors who come in from Harlond, Edhellond, and other ports along the coast of Middle Earth. Occasionally he has met a sea captain who is willing to take him on board as part of the crew. His father refuses incessantly and Devon is left to occupy his time else wise listening to the fascinating stories and walking about with his few friends. He reads often and sometimes writes his own fantasies of sea faring adventures.

HISTORY: Devon is the second son to Maurice and Rhoriel Thrann, and the younger brother of Geoffrey Thrann. Rhoriel died when Devon was three to an illness; she was never a strong woman. At age seven, his family moved to the embassy in Umbar where his father was to take on the role of Gondorian Ambassador to Umbar where the city was being renovated under Gondorian rule after the assertion of King Elessar to the throne after the War of the Ring. He is educated strongly in history, astrology, language and other such subjects by a tutor and scholar from Gondor. He has been taught the way of the sword since he was very young and is the best of his age and has been known even to better those older and sometimes stronger than he in a fencing match.

His interest in the sea began at age nine when his father entertained a rich merchant and his family for a spell. The most respectable of the merchant’s crew was asked to dinner one evening and later, when they had gathered around for stories and spirits, they had told young Devon of many adventures—greatly exaggerated—and sparked his interest in the sailing profession.

Since then, young Mr. Thrann has read many books on the subject and spoken with many a mariner about their experiences. He even learned how to read nautical charts and work the many instruments. His friends poke fun mostly, but say that should he ever have an adventure, they’d be sure to hear about it when he returns instead of join him.


Maikafanawen’s post - First Post for the game:

Jythralo stood in the office of his seaside townhouse, staring absently at the message that lay open on the desk before him. His sea captain’s jacket was draped across the armrest of his settee and his ruffled shirt was un-tucked. The captain hadn’t been able to sleep and a half drunk glass of rum sat nearby. The moon’s beams shone into the room lit by a single candle, leaving shadows on the floor and cushions of the unkempt window seats. The almost inaudible sound of crashing waves drifted in and Jythralo’s nostalgic feeling of sea faring returned.

Abandoning his seat behind the desk he walked out the door onto the balcony overlooking the beach. It was dirty from storm debris that had been left unattended and the perceptible crunch of dead leaves could be heard from under his boots as he walked. A light breeze blew, rustling the diaphanous curtains that flitted out of their open windows, and brushed some of the rubble from the railed in balcony.

He began to hum...Drink of the finest rum around,
Drink it up until it’s gone.
Me bones are wake me Captain!
Aye would it were dawn!

Aloft I’d climb to see across
The sea below so perilous
Though sleep is scarce I shan’t fuss
Heyho me Captain! Privilege us!

Yo ho...yo ho...yo ho...

Jythralo sighed a breath of release and made his way back into his office, taking a hearty gulp of his rum, finishing off the beaker, he looked over the notice. He had read it over countless times that evening and was contemplating its immediate importance.

We bring to the attention of Captain Jythralo Doran of his trial tomorrow evening at the city court square issued by the representatives of Gondor and the ambassador himself, Maurice Thrann. His crime is close interaction with the corsair peoples of Umbar who have committed countless acts of piracy against the free peoples. He is accused of identity standing in such a delegation. At this trial he will be given the chance to deny his past of disobedience and pledge allegiance to the new kingdom of Gondor.

Cordially,

Maurice Thrann,
Ambassador of Gondor to Umbar

The corsair captain ran his fingers systematically through his hair as he thought of the appropriate course of action. He couldn’t run. He’d tried three times already and had always been caught up again soon. The only way, he decided, was to join them for the time being until the watch upon him was lifted. Only then could he continue with his plan of recovering his beloved Umbar to its rightful state. Folding up the letter he walked over and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his captain’s coat and wandered into his room.

His bed was unmade and the pillows were flat. He hadn’t had anything decent of his own since he’d been caught for the third time by Gondorian authorities two and a half years ago spending the last year and a half in jail. Now that he was back he wouldn’t dare send for his things aboard the Rapscallion, safely harbored leagues south of Umbar. He’d wait patiently this time.

*-- -*- --*

*Five years later*

Seventeen-year old Devon was coming home from a party one night when he first discovered his father’s delegate, Jythralo Doran’s true identity. The indigo sky was covered in lavender clouds, signaling the coming fall of rain. No stars were visible and the moon found an opening every so often in a cap between the thundering fog. As his booted feet walked quickly down the cobblestone road, Devon pulled his coat fixedly around his body to keep out the spiraling wind. He had refused a cap on his way out so his auburn hair was pulled back in a short ponytail that whipped incessantly against the wind.

He was a block or two yet from home when he heard the two figures approaching. Thinking them to be local footpads out for the hunt, Devon hid in an alleyway and waited for them to pass. As they drew closer, however, their voices began to be distinguishable over the wind and the boy identified the two as Captain Doran and one of his men.

“But Cap’n, Master Thrann is sure to catch ye should ye be doing yer dealings right thar under his very nose! The crew and I is very concerned Cap’n if I’m not too bold to say so.”

“No, Agdar, not bold at all,” answered the Captain. “But I’ll hold ye remember one thing.” The ambassador’s son had to strain in order to hear and decipher their hushed southern accents. “I’ll be the one to keep the politics under me control and ye’ll be the one ter keep your head in the care of me ship and let me deal with the politics. Savvy?” Agdar nodded timidly and the two continued to walk closer.

“Hows’a everythin’ comin’ then if I might ask,” whispered Jyrthralo’s companion. The captain shrugged.

“It’s just fine. I’ve got the ambassador put in me pocket, and no one suspects a thing. Umbar shall be restored to its proper glory under our administration yet again mate. The corsairs have ne’er been routed, and ne’er shall they! Not as long as I’m Captain!” They were close enough now to the boy hiding just in the shadowed street to see triumphant grins spread across each of their weather-hardened faces.

“ ‘Umbar shall be restored’ says you,” Agdar began nervously. “ ‘Not before we’re caught’ says I. Anxious I am, Cap’n.” The barrel Devon was standing behind took that moment to topple and roll into the path of their feet.

Picking up his feet, Devon ran down the alleyway as the two men pursued. “Get ‘im!” shouted Jythralo. Young Thrann ran down the next street and turned a sharp corner trying the first back door her came to. Locked. He ran on, keeping to the shadows. The thunder cracked as a cloud burst open and the rain came down in torrential sheets.

“Here now! Boy!” yelled Agdar. “Come back ‘ere!” Devon’s footing gave way on the slick rocks and he fell, hitting the street with his shoulder. He scrambled up again and continued to run, holding his right shoulder now with his arm and Agdar gaining on him. As Devon turned a second corner he caught the glint of steel of Agdar’s knife in the light from the window he had just passed.

Just then, Devon ran into a guard, who was out patrolling the streets, toppling him over. The boy got up and ran again while the guard scrambled to his feet just as Agdar came around the corner.

“Say now!” said the guard, grabbing Agdar’s collar. “What’s this? A brigand! What is the manner of this? Who is that boy?” The shouts of the guard were drowned out in the pouring rain as the boy ran towards the embassy.

The black iron gates to the estate were open on orders for the late return of the ambassador’s son from his party. They clanged shut as he ran through them and up the stairs to the large double doors of the house. Two imposing statues of grim looking historical figures were there to meet him towering ten meters above him.

Devon finally pushed poen the doors, and entered the foyer where he was met by Adolfe, his father’s servent. The man looked down his crooked nose and peered at him with his beady black eyes. His thin hair was, like always, plastered back on his head and tied with a small ebony ribbon.

“You are positively filthy Master Devon,” he drawled in oily tones. Adolfe hadn’t ever liked Maurice’s youngest son for his independence and apparent disregard for his father’s rules. Any chance the man got to discipline the boy was gratifying.

“Not now Adolofe,” said Devon earnestly. “I must see Father!” He ran past the servant who pursued.

“Your father’s engaged at the moment Master Devon! Wait!” Ignoring the shouts, Devon ran on until he got to his father’s study
.
“Father!” he shouted to the mahogany door. “Father quick please! It’s Devon!”

“Calm boy,” said Maurice as he opened the door to reveal a man in his mid-forties standing in the smart uniform of the Gondorian nobles. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he held a small beaker of sherry in his right hand. He was a no-nonsense man who had a great “sense” of devotion to his sons, even though it was very misguided. Maurice Thrann was very intent on etiquette and the political situation of his family and spent little time indulging in the frivolous luxuries of letting go and getting out with his boys. His view of devotion and paternity was focused completely on raising them to be successful and well-learned gentlemen.

“What is it? I’m sort of busy,” he said motioning to the men waiting within. “Can it wait?”

“No! It’s important father,” said Devon. “They can hear too,” he added as an afterthought.

“Son, why don’t you tell me once they leave. It shan’t be long.”

“But—!” The door to the study closed and Devon was left standing in front of it, a very put out Adolfe staring at him.

“Now come with me Master Devon and we’ll have ye cleaned up before your father’s delegates leave so you’re at least presentable.” The boy slumped his shoulders and followed the servant reluctantly allowing to be cleaned and changed into a soft and comfortable tunic with split sides and a pair of loose trousers to be ‘presented’, as Adolfe so bluntly put it, to his father.

“It’s too late for that sort of meeting,” protested Devon. “The men will be gone now, I’d like to hurry!”

“Your father insists your clean and not offensive to look at when he sees you,” said Adolfe cheerily, thoroughly enjoying making Devon uncomfortable. At fifteen after ten—as it was—Devon made his way back to the study and waited for the gentlemen to leave. At ten and thirty they finally did and Maurice permitted his youngest son into his small conservatory next to his study.

Maurice Thrann took a seat in a plush chair with fine embroidery and brass nail heads, propping his feet up on a matching foot rest. Devon, to make a point that he was terribly serious, took up the most uncomfortable chair across from his father and looked at him imperiously as he spoke.

“Father, as I was walking home from the social this evening I encountered Jythralo Doran and his man Agdar walking my way. Assuming they were footpads, as I could not see them just yet, I hid in an alleyway for them to pass since I was without my sword. As they drew nearer I could hear of what they were speaking. Agdar began talking nervously and asking Jythralo—”

“Captain Doran, if you please Devon.” The boy, beginning to get frustrated consented and continued what he had to stay.

“Agdar asked Captain Jythralo if he knew what he was doing and telling him that he should mind where and when he conducted his business so as not to let you, father, know what he is up to.” Expecting his father to lean forward in interest, Devon was quite disappointed to see his father take just a lingering sip of his sherry and mutter ‘go on’.

“Then, when asked of how his dealings were coming thereupon, Captain Jythralo said something of this sort, ‘It’s just fine. I’ve got the ambassador put in me pocket, and no one suspects a thing. Umbar shall be restored to its proper glory under our administration yet again mate. The corsairs have ne’er been routed, and ne’er shall they! Not as long as I’m Captain!’” Devon’s temper flared as his father began to laugh.

“There, there boy. I’m glad to see that you certainly enjoyed yourself at the social but I think that a good sleep and a cup of coffee in the morning should do you well to cleanse your mind of the wine they were serving.”

“You don’t believe me?! Father I’m not jesting! I swear it!!” Maurice chuckled and ushered his boy, now rigid with rage from the room.

“Go on Devon. Goodnight,” he said and walked his way to the room.

Furious, Devon took off down the corridor until he reached his own chambers, and stormed to the very back window where he looked out over the wall of the embassy to the sea. The waves came and crashed against beach as the gulls cried in the darkness, diving into the sea for their late suppers. He then walked to the window that faced the south towards the docks and looked down into the harbor. No ships were coming in this night and all were secured in place. The crew of The Silver Wyrm had been kept aboard for repairs after their encounter with the sea-storm and Devon could see them bustling around in their wet cloaks, kept awake by the spirits they hid in their shirt pocket flasks.

He untied the top of his tunic and pulled it off over his head replacing it with the billowy shirt he slept in. Then, after removing his boots and trousers, slipped under the covers, watching as the rain continued to fall. His mind swirled with the thoughts of Jythralo and the threat he imposed on his father’s joining up Umbar with the rest of the Gondorian kingdom. Even though there was much he’d have liked to think about, it wasn’t long before he fell asleep.

In the morning he dressed quickly and skipped breakfast going out early to tell his friends of what he’d discovered. Hopefully they’d believe him...

*-- -*- --*

Merriment filled the inn on the westernmost corner of Styrn Square that evening as Jythralo passed by. The gaiety had only just begun to die down as he and Druks Agdar made their way towards the docks. Their words were hushed, but not so much as to keep them from reaching the ears of a boy hidden in the alleyway. The identity of their eavesdropper was unknown however as they continued to walk on.

“ ‘Umbar shall be restored’ says you,” Agdar was saying as the two men walked by the place where their listener hid. “ ‘Not before we’re caught’ says I. Anxious I am, Cap’n.” At that precise moment, the barrel had rolled into the street as the sound of feet slapping the ground ran in the opposite direction.

“Get him!” shouted Jythralo, giving Agdar a shove into the alleyway. The sailor pulled a short knife out of his boot and gave chase as the boy ran. The captain’s extensive knowledge of Umbar’s layout told Jythralo the probable course the runaway would take and he hurried in that direction. As he passed the guard house he rapped quickly on the door. “Authorities!” he bellowed. A smart looking man in his early forties opened the door.

“Why Captain Doran! What’s the trouble?” The rain had begun to fall.

“Footpads,” said Jythralo importantly. Immediately five guards shuffled out of the house and followed the captain as he led them to the place he expected his man to chase the fugitive. Not half a minute after they’d arrived a teenage boy came running around the corner and barreling into the first guard. He was knocked clean off his feet and it didn’t take any time for the boy to scramble up again and run on his way. Then Agdar came, trying to skirt the guard to get after the boy.

“Say now!” said the guard, grabbing Agdar’s collar. “What’s this? A brigand! What is the manner of this? Who is that boy?”

“Ah, Mr. Deffins, that’s my man Druks Agdar. That boy is a pickpocket,” lied Jythralo. “I sent Agdar after him for his legs are faster than mine.” The guards believed him on account of his authority in the city and went on their way back towards the guardhouse.

“Sorry Cap’n,” said Agdar, walking stiffly up beside his master. “I slipped along the way.” But Jythralo wasn’t listening to the man’s excuse beside him. His mind was reeling at what he was to do now that someone had overheard his conversation. “Did ye see him anyhow?” Oh yes, he had seen the boy very clearly.

“Yes, Agdar. I saw him alright. And we have ourselves a bit of a predicament,” he turned and began to walk quickly back to his townhouse, a very anxious Agdar on his heels.

“Who was it?” he whispered.

“It was Devon Thrann,” Jythralo answered stiffly. “The ambassador’s son.”

[piosenniel]

Maikafanawen's Character - Capt. Kent

Name: Captain Kent Avershire

Age: 45

Gender: Male

Race: Gondorian, from Dol Amroth

Weapons: His sword is very old but trustworthy. It’s a standard cut-and-thrust much like Devon’s. The pommel, cross-guard, and knuckle bow are made of a high carbon steel and weighs perfectly with the rest of the weapon. The single-edged blade is well tempered and balanced at forty inches overall and a 34” blade. This is his only current weapon at the start of the game.

Appearance: Kent has dark blue eyes, thick, shoulder-blade length, dark brown hair and tan, leathery skin. His handsome features are very pronounced and he has that rugged manly façade about him. He wears the tough clothes of a sailor: a white, billowy shirt; beige, knee-length breeches; a wide leather belt; black, calf-high fold-over boots; and because of his former status, an old-fashioned styled cuffed and collared coffee colored corduroy captain’s coat (yes that is the best unintended alliteration ever!) with delicate gold and black trimming.

Personality/Strengths/Weaknesses: He is a very brilliant man with cunning ideas and a bewildering intellect. Avershire knows things about the sea one would never find in books. His agile frame and incredible strength is valued in every mariner. However, the past five years of drinking and self-neglect, Kent’s steadfast assuredness have faded slightly. The purposelessness of his current situation is very depressing for him and he is quick to anger at anyone to poke fun at him (this might be a problem when Devon comes to ask for his help).

History: Kent grew up the son of a pirate—no kidding. He was a cabin boy on his father’s ship and learned the ways of the sea at a very young age. However, unhappy with his life of rampage and destruction, he fled to Dol Amroth and later offered his service to the king after the War of the Ring. For twenty years of captaincy, Kent would hunt the pirates whose ships hadn’t been taken by Lord Aragorn after the Paths of the Dead. His ships would escort merchants traveling up and down the coasts and send search and rescue parties out for missing vessels.

All this stopped when a jealous rival uncovered his pirate lineage and he was dismissed from the navy. He now takes up residence in Gondor’s new Umbar where he sits in his townhouse by his self mostly, just reading, drinking, and telling stories to anyone who will listen in his pub of choice: the Beast’s Lair. Deep in the back of his mind still dwells the nagging thoughts of sea faring adventure and the life he led five years ago. He hasn’t forgotten a thing and yearns to be able to captain a crew just once more...

No First Post Needed For Kent Yet

[piosenniel]

Nuranar’s Character - Calnan

NAME: Calnan, son of Terendul, attaché to the Deputy Secretary of the Department of Umbar

AGE: 20

RACE: Gondorian - Man of Ithilien

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: He is most skillful with his longbow. Following the traditional pattern, his is made of yew and fully six feet long. In Umbar, however, he scarcely uses it and almost never carries it. Most of the time his only visible weapon, when he bears one at all, is his sword. Calnan wields it proficiently, but gets only infrequent practice, most often from thieving Umbarians who see a vulnerable target. When outside the embassy he always carries – usually concealed – a short, single-edged hunting knife given to him by his father. It, too, has more than once been an unpleasant surprise to would-be highwaymen.

APPEARANCE: Calnan is fairly tall, about 6’3”; in build, lanky without awkwardness. His hair is dark blonde, bleached lighter on top by the sun, and trimmed short. His eyes are dark brown. His face is naturally fair, despite its suntan, and his expression calm, if not serious. Casual observers often dismiss him as placid and bookish, overlooking his firm chin and the strong lines of his jaw. When fulfilling his duties as attaché, Calnan wears black trousers, a fine white cambric shirt, and a dark over-tunic with long sleeves slit a short way up. When traveling or otherwise off-duty, he favors dark brown suede breeches, a tan or colored shirt, and well-worn brown leather knee-high boots. For rougher conditions he has a dark green lace-up jerkin and a navy cloak as well.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Calnan is valuable to the Deputy Secretary, for he is hard-working and intelligent. Fair-minded and judicious, he is also a quick thinker and makes up his mind rapidly. Once a decision is made Calnan sticks to it with a tenacity that has before earned him the soubriquet ‘stubborn.’ He is politically aware and astute, yet he is now sure that politics is not his calling. After years of city life he has come to the realization that his love for the outdoors and elbow-room is a deep longing that cannot be eradicated. He thoroughly enjoys archery; from his childhood his father has trained him in the use of the bow. Even before Calnan reached maturity his skill with the longbow had become celebrated in his part of Ithilien Although for the last several years he has had little need to use his bow, in private he continues to hone his ability. Yet Calnan has little combat experience. His desire for all the facts might hinder his decision-making in stressful situations, something else that only experience can remedy.
HISTORY: Terendul, his father, is of the gentry of South Ithilien and served as a Ranger during the war. Calnan was born there. When he was young he occasionally visited his aunt’s family in Minas Tirith. Calnan and his cousin spent many hours in play with the boy next door, Devon Thrann. They became good friends, as small boys will, and despite the three-year differences in their ages.

At home, Calnan’s father trained him in the arts of war, but encouraged him to find a nonviolent occupation. Thus at age 16 Calnan left his parents and went to live in Minas Tirith with his aunt’s family, believing that to be the best place to be fitted for a peaceful life. There he entered upon society, made friends and contacts, and trained in diplomacy. For the last two years Calnan has been the attaché to the new Deputy Secretary, living in Umbar.

There he was brought into close quarters once more with Ambassador Thrann’s household. Calnan and Devon immediately renewed the friendship that had been severed ten years before. Devon’s exuberant desire for adventure often leads the two into interesting situations in and around Calnan’s duties.

These duties are beginning to weight heavily upon him. In the diplomatic universe his star has begun to rise, and he feels satisfaction at the success his hard work has met. Nevertheless, Calnan has begun to feel a stronger pull than the distant prospect of status and reputation. His periodic forays with Devon on intensify this realization. He knows his father Terendul would have him be free to find his own employment, and he will try to keep to the path of peace. But Calnan realizes that finding-elbow room may compel him to take up arms in earnest – just as his father did.
_____________________________________________

Nuranar's post

The just-risen sun was shedding its golden rays on the city when Calnan let himself out the front door of Secretary Ciryatan’s house. The crunch of his footsteps on the gravel drive was the only thing to disturb the stillness of the elite residential neighborhood. As he strode briskly into the narrow lane between high estate walls, Calnan noticed the scarcely-cool morning air. It’s going to be a real scorcher, he reflected.

A small object in the road, opposite a wooden gate in the wall on his left, caught his attention. As he drew nearer he identified it as a small change-purse. Without breaking stride he shot a suspicious glance at the impassive barrier next to him. Reaching the purse, he dropped to one knee and stretched out his hand for it.
Abruptly he threw himself back, just as his ready ear caught the rustle of clothing on wood. As he rose he contemplated with interest a large jet of water that had apparently launched itself from the private side of the gate. Soaring gracefully through the air in a gentle arc, it finally alighted squarely on the abandoned purse with a resounding splat.

A small boy’s head and upper body now extended above the gate, both hands clutching a small pail. Calnan chuckled at the eloquent mortification on his face.

“Julius, did you seriously expect to catch me with that? Why, it’s the oldest trick in the book!”

Impudence replaced mortification. “You know I’ll get you sooner or later, Mr. Calnan. Why don’t you surrender? The sooner you surrender, the easier it’ll be for you.”
“Right, Julius, right.” Still chuckling, Calnan deliberately turned his back, took a step – and then dodged to the right, hearing a projectile whiz viciously past his ear.

“Never give up, young man! Until the next time, farewell!” He raised his hand in a mocking salute, then swaggered jauntily but circumspectly down the road to the corner that marked the limit of his young assailant’s range. The youngest scion of a noble Gondorian house, Master Julius was possessed by the imp of mischief day and night. His recent vendetta against Calnan had afforded that gentlemen much amusement and kept him on his toes for the last several months.

* *

Thirty minutes later found him treading absently up the Embassy drive. Thinking about the day’s work ahead, Calnan was blind to the impressive façade that rose before him. While halfway up the steps he was brought quite down to earth by another object which force itself upon his notice in no uncertain manner, to wit: A scarcely-remarked blur resolved into an agitated ambassador’s son careering precipitately down the house steps and climaxed in a magnificent collision.

Flung backwards for the second time that morning, albeit this time not of his own power, Calnan flung out a desperate arm and seized the iron rail. Pivoting around with his antagonist’s momentum, he grasped the young man’s arm in time to prevent him from executing a head-first dive to the ground.

Within two seconds both had regained their balance. Calnan grimaced at his friend, having recognized Devon in that split-second of revelation that invariably precedes a disaster. “You lunkhead, don’t you ever look where you’re going? You—” The unaccustomed grimness of Devon’s usually cheerful face stopped him. “What’s going on?”
_____________________________


Maikafanawen's post

"I'll tell you what's going on," said Devon rather heatedly. "That Captain Doran is what's going on!" Calnan shook his head. He had misinterpreted the source of Devon's anger. "No," Devon interrupted. "It's not the usual government nonsense I can't stand, and no I haven't been assigned to apprenticeship with him—thank Eru! It's something much worse." Calnan raised a concerned eyebrow. "Come on," Devon beckoned. "Let's go see Callath. I'll tell the both of you when we get there. We won't be overheard in the stables."

_____________________________________________

[ October 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Amanaduial’s Character - Callath

Name: Callath Harres

Age: 18 (6 months older than Devon, only just 18 a few weeks ago)

Race: Man

Gender: Male

Weapons: Callath has skill with both a slim, flat bladed fencing rapier of medium flexibility (not as solid as a usual sword blade, but with a little flexibility, as suits such a blade, but will with much power); the blade, in width, is about an inch, narrowing to the top, and just over 40 inches in length, an extension of his arm when he fights with it; it was made especially for him, as an 18th birthday present, and so is perfectly balanced, made of light steel. At the hilt, his knuckles, most of his fingers, and about half of the back of his hand are covered by a curved, silver filigree cover, and the small pommel is perfectly round, set in with a misted glass crystal through which the light comes through in a perfect circle, something Devon insists is perfectly impractical. When practising with Devon, Callath will use a blade similar to Devon’s own, and he wields more than adequate skill with it from so much practise with his rather zealous friend, but prefers the lighter flexibility of the rapier. In more ‘below board’ fights, Callath is less of a fair fighter though – he carries a small knife with him at all times, insisting it is a pen knife, but rarely is a pen knife quite so sharp, and, being ambidextrous when fighting, the young man can switch between hands with both sword and knife, and doesn’t have a problem with picking up anything else that’s lying around if desperate.

Appearance: Medium height, about 5 ft 10, and with what might be called an athletes build. Callath has flaxen blonde hair which he keeps quite short, down to just above his jaw line mostly, with softer, longer curtains; he leaves his hair down usually, as it is really too short to properly tie up. His dark, earnest brown eyes usually contain more than a hint of a smile, and his strong boned profile, with high cheek bones and an sharp nose, and strong jaw line, is rather striking, making him quite handsome. Quite fair skin, but unfreckled or burnt, to match his light hair, and mostly clean shaven. He, like Devon, wears a loose, rather billowy sleeved swordsman’s shirt, with a short, V-necked tunic over it (down to about four inches above mid-thigh), split from the waist down. Underneath this, he wears dark, quite tight trousers, with high boots resembling riding boots, which reach up to just below his knee.

Personality: Callath is a good friend of Devon, and has been almost ever since he came to Umbar at age seven, when there seemed a much bigger gap than six months between them, something Callath used to tease Devon about, and still does, but simply jesting. He is usually smiling, or grinning rather, as he loves to jest, and possesses what might be seen as an overly sharp tongue; although he usually means no harm with it, he can be excessively catty if he wishes. His anger is not easily sparked off, and he will put up with a lot, but if anyone attempts to put down or physically harm his friends, they generally come off worse. Not a rash individual, he will think his actions through quickly, but for all of this, his plans usually end rather sharply at a point, so he has become accustomed to making things up – as his friends have found, the trick is to work out exactly when his plan has come to an end. He is usually quite mild with the older generations, finding that if you are polite, they will not usually question your actions with too much fervour, and Devon’s father the ambassador seems to like him in a confused sort of way, as Callath is always perfectly well mannered. But when the young man is fighting, it is quite a different story – Callath seems to go wild when he is fighting in ‘less conventional’ spots, although he often practises fairer fighting with Devon. He writes well and reads often, and his passions also include horse-riding and sword fighting, both of which he does well. He is rather popular in Umbar, as there is something about him that is immediately appealing, but has just a few very close friends. Easily trustworthy, but not so easily trusting.

History: Callath has lived all of his life in Umbar, apart from a very few brief trips to Gondor. He is the only and therefore oldest son of his father by his father’s late wife, who died a few years ago when Callath was fourteen, something he and Devon share. Since then, he has never been particularly close to his mother-of-step, confiding scornfully to his few closest friends that he can never regard as a mother one who is young enough to be his wife. He and his father have drifted apart, his father being a rich merchant who travels often and far, taking with him Callath’s younger brother-of-step, who shows much more interest in trading, although occasionally Milar Harres will remember is oldest son and come back to the estate with a birthday gift such as the rapier, but mainly Callath is as happy as can be staying in the estate. He is constantly either the bane, or the best of friend, of the servants in the largish house by the sea, but generally is a good master, as he doesn’t make any pretence of having any power whatsoever.

Since he met Devon, they have got on together, after an initial stage of competition through sword fighting, a competition which remains between them. The younger boy’s enthusiasm with all things nautical by the time they were nine has become contagious, although Callath insists he would be entirely useless should Devon’s plans to have a ‘sea-faring adventure’ ever get off the ground, although this is probably mainly a lie, as the youth is a strong swimmer and can more than defend himself, although his experience of being on a boat is rather little, but so, he points out, is Devon’s own. However, he would back his friend all the way. (He is rather taken with the idea of the corsairs, as something in him is appealed to by this, thought…) He has been tutored since he was young in history, English, and maths, and other such subjects, and he speaks several languages other than the common tongue well, as he is naturally bright, and has an inquiring mind into many things other than what his tutors may wish often.

_____________

Amanaduial’s post

Callath was up as early as ever, and was in the stables only two hours or so after the cock crowed. But this morning the stable-boy had had to rise even earlier than usual, much to his annoyance. Still, it couldn’t be helped; there was a new horse in the stables and, much to Callath’s chagrin, it was he who had been assigned, unwittingly, to look after it.

Wrestling with the wily stallion’s head, the young man fought to get a halter over his ears – he had given up trying to soothe the horse long ago, deciding there were quite probably dragons more good-natured than this horse. Not that it wasn’t a magnificent animal; a bay, his dark brown fur silky smooth and darkening around his nose and legs, nearly seventeen hands high and quite obviously Rohirrim. But, despite having the looks of a god, it had the temper of a demon.

“Get your head down, you bleedin’ monster,” He muttered angrily through gritted teeth. The horse glared at him, continuing to toss it’s head, before it made an attempt to escape the youth’s grasp altogether. “I swear, Captain Doran chooses his horses on bad tempers as well as looks.” He continued as he glared after the horse, halter in hand and arms crossed, as it stood quivering at the back of the spacious pen. The stallion glared back. The staring match did not last long as, with a derisive snort, the horse seemed to dismiss Callath and began to sniff at the hay which had been hung up for it, as if wondering whether it was good enough for him to eat. Shaking his blonde hair out of his eyes, Callath leaned against the door, wondering how exactly he was supposed to get the accursed halter onto the bay, and cast a angry look skywards…and inspiration came to him.

The central stables of Umbar were used by many, and also kept horses of it’s own, and so was no small matter. There were usually five or six stable-hands scurrying around the place seeing to the animals, from mighty stallions from Rohan, kept in livery for the nobles of Umbar, to mules and goats, kept overnight for a sailor who would be taking them off on a ship tomorrow. Because of the vast range of beasts it catered for, and the sheer numbers of them, the stables were no small matter, sprawling out over quite a wide area, with a paddock in the centre and a fields surrounding it (although not all of them were owned by the stables). There were two central buildings running side by side, with the tack room at the end of them. These buildings were partly stone, but mainly wooden, and all the way along, wooden rafters were above the stables, easy to get up to, if you knew how.

Callath himself knew all the ins and outs of the stables, and the rafters were often a good place to relax; they were quite shadowed at the sides, and people often wouldn’t spot him as he sat up there, the soft, soothing sounds of horses moving around beneath him. But he would not be using them to relax today…sighing angrily at the horse as if giving up, Callath left the pen, careful not the turn his back on the stallion – he wouldn’t put it past this one to give him a kick as he left. Then he cut sharply around into the empty pen two down from that one and, grabbing one of the ropes that always stayed there, he weighted it with an unused, but full, hay net. Swinging it around three times, he let the rope go, swinging it up to go over the rafter just above the wall of this pen, and got it the second time he tried. He fed the rope over the rafter until the hay was level with his head again, and took the hay net off it. Attaching the halter to his belt, and then attaching one end of the rope to his halter, he got a firm grip on the other end of the rope, braced one foot against the wall and, in the manner of absailing, began to walk up the wall.

Reaching the top, the stable-hand balanced there precariously, arms out for balance, then, wrapping both ends of the rope around his hands, he pulled down, pulling up his legs, and effectively swung himself up, upside down, onto the rafter above him. He paused to catch his breath and thanked providence that he was agile, then, standing, he began to walk very carefully along the rafter which ran down the middle of all the others down the centre of the room, biting his lip in concentration. Turning so he was above the stable of Captain Duran’s ‘monster’, he continued along, then stopped, just above where the beast was now placidly munching hay. The distance between him and the horse’s back was about six feet. If he managed to swing down, then drop the last few inches onto the stallion’s back, he would be able to get the halter onto the horses head from behind. A good plan. A good plan with a few points left out, such as how the horse would react, but ah, you can’t be expected to cover everything.

Crouching down, Callath took hold of either side of the rafter, preparing to drop under, before a voice nearly made him lose his balance all together.

“Callath!”

Almost jumping slightly, Callath managed to hold onto the rafter. The horse, however, looked up at the voice, in a way Callath suspected was suspicious, and the stable-hand, poised above him, froze. He could still do this.

“Callath Harres! Where are you?”

“Well, now you’ve given the game away…” Callath murmured, closing his eyes and cursing all at once the horse, the horse’s owner, and the voice’s owner, before standing. Looking down the length of the long stable building, he saw the owner of the voice, a young man whose face was as familiar to Callath as his own. Devon. And beside him was Calnan. He put his hands on his hips, and replied, just as Devon seemed about to turn and leave, or to shout again.

“Thank you Devon, you could not have come at a better time,” he replied, exasperated. Beneath him, the horse’s head shot up, then up again as it realised Callath’s voice was coming from above, before it started to move away to the other corner of the stall, where the stable-hand absolutely could not get onto it. Callath glared at it, before walking briskly and light-footedly along the rafter at the centre of the stables to be almost in front of his friend. Devon watched him all the way, one eyebrow raised.

“Can I ask why exactly you are up there?”

“I was trying to outwit Captain Doran’s monster, actually,” Callath replied evenly and with utmost dignity, sitting down on the rafter. “And may I ask why exactly you are down there, at such an early hour? Hello Calnan." The attaché nodded his greeting.
“Captain Doran.” Devon spoke angrily, his fists almost clenched. Wondering what it was that had got his friend so irritated, Callath nodded sagely. “We have something in common then.” Looking around, he sighed, then looked back at Devon. “You want to come up here, or shall I come down?”

[piosenniel]

Earendil Halfelven’s Character - Jythralo

Name: Jythralo Doran

Age: 47

Race: Man (Corsair)

Gender: male

Weapons: He carries a sword with him, from his days of debauchery as a corsair, and also a dagger inside his coat. He is very skilled with both. He has no arrows, but he has some skill with them when he needs them. He doesn’t attack people though. He does have hitmen from his corsair allies that do his work for him. He has many powerful allies in the pirating business, but also a few enemies.

Appearance: Jythralo has brown eyes and black hair with light streaks of gray hair on the sides, giving him a kindly grandfather look. He is 5’11’’ tall and his lean muscular appearance is evidence of his corsair days. Since he makes a good living as a politician in Umbar, he wears clothes common to the Gondorian nobility, but he doesn’t like to flaunt his riches, so I guess you can say that his clothes are the ones that the nobility “might” buy, if they felt like it. He wears black leather boots, dark green pants, a very nice shirt, and a long black coat with gold trim. His clothes are plain clothes of the nobility. Overall, he looks like a pretty nice guy, but looks can be deceiving…

Personality: He has two sides to him. One side is that he is a kind man that is a politician to help the common people of Umbar. To all the citizens of Umbar, he is looking out for them. But to the corsairs, he is his true self. His true side is that he is dishonest, cares only for himself and the corsair population, and is a little greedy. So I guess you can say he makes a good politician. His motto is- “Once a corsair, always a corsair.” His plans for Umbar will ultimately end in the fall of the Gondorians and the rise of the corsairs, with him in charge. He is loyal to the corsairs and to the corsairs only. He does consider human life expendable if it will help fulfill his plans. If you do stuff for him, he’ll do stuff for you, but try and betray him… let’s just say that if he was alive today, he’d be the Godfather of the Mafia. He is willing to do anything to help his people.


History: He is the son of a corsair. Him and his mother lived in Dol Amroth while his father made a living aboard the pirate ship, but she wouldn’t allow him to go aboard with his father. His mother died when he was 9 years old, so he left with his father to become a corsair. He was the cabin boy, until he was 15, when he killed his first man. During a battle with an enemy ship, his father was killed. He killed the man who slew his father, and his ship was able to win the battle. He took his father’s place onboard, and when he was 27, he became captain of the notorious “Black Wayfarer.” After the War of the Ring, he “retired” from a successful life of pirating and become something even worse-a politician. Despite his favorable political views, they are a little part of his plan of retaking Umbar and making it into the port city that a corsair has always dreamed of.
_____________________________________

Earendil Halfelven’s post

He sat at his desk, rummaging through the many papers that sat there. The candles burned dimly among the furnishings of the room. It wasn’t that nicely decorated; just a few things here and there to give the room a little personality, but not much. Not many of his possessions had survived his past, and the few things that had, he kept at home. It was late, but he had to finish the day’s agenda.

Umbar, his beloved city, was being turned back over to the Gondorians and their new king, Elessar. He knew of the legends of the Heir of Isildur returning one day to retake the throne, but he didn’t expect it to be now, his time. The Gondorians had re-entered the city after the War and had declared it a part of the new kingdom. In order to peacefully change the city over, a council was created to form the new laws and policies of the city. Since then, refugees that had been displaced from the War had resettled in Umbar to start anew. But the corsairs still remained, and they weren’t happy with the change that was being forced upon them.

That’s why Jythralo Doran had been appointed to represent the corsair population within the Council. He was an experienced corsair captain that had been on many an adventure (some of the Gondorian Councilmen preferred to use the term “murder spree” in reference to his days of debauchery). After his captain days were over, he had settled down in Umbar as a respected and liked member of the community. He had grown to high political status among the people and things were looking good for the city. Rumors of the Shadow in the East had grown and a great battle fought in the northern land of Rohan had spread but Jythralo did not worry, that is until ships had passed by on their way to Minas Tirith with banners bearing the White Tree. He knew then that Gondor’s problem was going to be his problem soon enough. As Umbar began to muster a defence in preparation of the fall of Minas Tirith, word came that the King had returned and that Mordor was overthrown. Then, the Gondorian Army came knocking on his door. Some wanted to resist, to fight against the invaders, but what could they do against a battle-tested and veteran army? So, peacefully, Umbar had been taken.

When the Council was formed, all of the men appointed to re-organize Umbar were from the nobility of Gondor, not one a citizen of Umbar, or in that case, a corsair. They had protested, and they had been heard. Some men of Umbar, corsairs, had been appointed to the council also, Jythralo Doran being the first among them. Now, he sat at in his office within the Council building, going over more proposed policy. To him, it seemed that all this new policy, (the word “tyranny” suddenly popped into his mind), was slowly constricting the corsairs ability to do business within the city. And with each new policy, (tyranny), Jythralo felt that the rights of the corsairs, his people, were slowly being smothered. He did have allies within the Council. Other corsairs had been appointed to the Council, but the Gondorians outvoted them. They were the minority in a land of majority rule.

Well, despite his small amount of allies within the Council, he did have allies elsewhere with power unlike political power. There was a soft knock on the door.

“Enter,” he said. He looked up to see his young aid enter the room.

“Sir, it is past midnight. Shall I summon your carriage?” the young man asked.
Jythralo sighed and placed the papers down. All of this can wait, he decided.

“Yes, go ahead and summon the carriage. I think I shall retire for the night.” The young man nodded and closed the door softly.

Jythralo rubbed his eyes. He did not realize that it was so late. He had been lost in his thoughts and concerns regarding Devon's awareness of the Captain's true loyalty position. Well, tomorrow was a new day, a new plan. The war with Sauron was over, but his was just beginning.

[piosenniel]

Here is the list of needed characters:

Characters Needed

FOR CORSAIRS - 2:

1.) *Co-conspirator – male – I’m going to leave this open for broad consideration; so please be very creative (but realistic)

2.) *Co-conspirator – female – I’m going to leave this open for broad consideration; so please be very creative (but realistic)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


FOR GONDOR - 2

1.) *Third Ally – female – friend of the Ambassador’s son; same age; childhood friend; (could be a love interest); BE CREATIVE but realistic

2.) *Fourth Ally – PREFERED male - You may submit the bio of any race of any history for me to decide from. (Chose from Dwarves (must have a realistic reason for being in Umbar), Silvan Elves (also must have a realistic reason for being in Umbar), men from Rohan, Gondor, and Eriador—includes Rangers and Dúnedain). MUST BE CREATIVE and REALISTIC

Note:

Once your character has been accepted for play, then you will need to be thinking about the carry-along characters that the owner has requested:

*Extra crewmembers and allies of Jythralo Doran – (these will be made up and carried along by the 3 pro-corsair players).

*Extra acquaintances and helpers of Devon Thrann & Company – (these will be made up and carried along by the 6 pro-Gondor players).

Each will need a very brief character bio:

Name:

Age:

Race/Gender:

Weapons:

Any pertinent personality traits:

Any pertinent history the other players need to know:

[piosenniel]

Here is the Character Description Form for your main characters:

It is a requirement that all potential game players will either have posted in one of the RPG Inns (preferably in The Green Dragon) or have played in an RPG on the Barrow Downs.

Please use this form for creating your character to post on the discussion thread.

Those who have not played before in a Barrow Downs' RPG will be given preference. Final preference, though, will be at the discretion of the Game Owner.
_______________________________________

Character Description Form:

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

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

List them, please:

Please note you may play in only 3 games at one time.


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

_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME:

AGE:

RACE:

GENDER:

WEAPONS (No magical, super-hero, mithril weapons. Just good solid Middle-earth weapons and armor only that is appropriate to the race of the character and the time period.):

APPEARANCE:

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: (No half-Elven characters. No mixed-type characters. No super-heroes. No assassins. No one all powerful, martial arts proficient, or having any magical traits. Just regular characters with normal abilities for their races only):

HISTORY:

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

A FIRST POST FOR YOUR CHARACTER MUST ACCOMPANY THIS FORM.

It is a requirement for this game. Character Descriptions without a First Post attached will be sent back to the writer. They may be submitted again, once there is a First Post to go with them.

~*~*~*~

About First Posts for the Game - from Maika:

I do want first posts. The first posts do not have to be interaction with other characters unless specified why they would be in interaction. The first posts should incorporate a typical event in that person’s life that will help the other players to get to know that character. (Allies 1, & 2 should be somewhere where Devon can find them and tell them what he knows at the end of their first posts. Same for #3, but she’ll find him while #1, #2, and Devon are all talking—probably by the stables. Ally #4 will be entering Umbar for his said reason and getting an inn. His second post will include his views on the chaos).

*** PLEASE READ ALL THE INFORMATION BEFORE SUBMITTING A CHARACTER BIO AND FIRST POST. THANKS! ***

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

This Discussion Thread is now open to take on characters.

Have fun! Let's make this a good game! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

~~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arien]

Maika, for your consideration.

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? Yes

Which ones? Road to Erebor, Quest for the Ainerg, Escape from Nurn, Dark Seduction, Truth in a Dark Place, Sailing Away, Corsair and Corsets and The Fall of Greenwood the Great.

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

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

Yes – Which one? The Green Dragon Inn.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

Maika, here is Acacia’s new bio and post below:

Name: Acacia-(pronounced- a-KAY-sha) Ratan

Age: 30

Race: Corsair

Gender: Female

Weapons (No magical, super-hero, mithril weapons. Just good solid Middle-earth weapons and armour only that is appropriate to the race of the character and the time period.): Acacia wields a sword that was inherited from her father. The hilt is plain and wrapped in worn brown leather, and the pommel and sharp short blade are both made of light steel. Though she could get her hands on a much better weapon she seems to be attracted to this one. Acacia also carries two daggers, both have a rosewood hilt and both blade and guard are made of similar steel to her sword. Acacia is also skilled at using throwing knives and carries a small set with her when she deems them needed. She hates to use bows and axes, as she was never taught how to manipulate and is too set in her ways to learn now. Acacia prefers to wear no mail to protect her as she feels that is restricts her movement.

Appearance: Acacia reaches a height of 5ft 9, and is of a medium build. Her hair is a dark brown, and has a slight wave to it; her hair reaches her waist but is seldom let loose as it cause great annoyance to her. Her eyes a brown, with a soft hew of green that accent her skin. It is lightly bronzed from the sun and free from blemishes and marks apart from a scar that reaches from her right ear to the base of her neck.

Acacia either wears a selection of dresses. They are often plain in colour with a simple skirt and a sung corset. She does have one or two dresses with elaborate designs but they are rarely worn. However when at home or away from authorities eyes she prefers to wear plain, tight brown trousers with brown light leather boots. She wears a white shirt over her trousers that come ¾ length down her arms and then is held tightly with cuffs. Shirt has a plunging neckline but it is tied with a series of strings. She wears no coat, as there is no need for her to wear such a garment

Personality/Strengths/Weaknesses: (No half-Elven characters. No mixed-type characters. No super-heroes. No assassins. No one all-powerful, martial arts proficient, or having any magical traits. Just regular characters with normal abilities for their races only): Acacia has a very misleading personality; which is dangerous to someone who might take advantage of her. Upon the surface she is merely an average member of the council and her only real purpose there is to please those who wish there to be Corsairs on the council. Acacia comes across a timid being with no real personality or emotion. She rarely speaks her mind and agrees with everything that is put forward for suggestion

However under the camouflage that she holds over herself she is a vicious woman. She believes in Umbar and the Corsairs and those who dominate them in the name of Gondor should all be eradicated. She is strong-minded and succeeds at everything she sets her mind too; and ever since Gondor has had control she wishes to over throw them. Acacia is also loyal to Jythralo Doran and has faith that he will be the man to lead them against their oppressors.

Acacia’s main weakness is her sarcastic rage. She will speak her mind and if she feels that the other person is wrong she will reply to them with the lowest form of wit: sarcasm. Often it has gotten her into trouble both on the sea and on land. Acacia also had tendencies not to take others thoughts into consideration and will do what she feels right at the time; although that does not mean she is always right. . Acacia also has a tendency to flirt a lot, sometimes she cannot help herself and other times she is bored; so she does it for fun. She does not value this trait but considers it as a part of her and will not change.

Apart from her personality flaws she has a few physical flaws. Acacia’s first problem is that she is a woman; and although she is taken seriously by most; it doesn’t stop people overlooking her and her mind. Acacia is only used to use sword, daggers and throwing knives and finds herself in hopeless desperation when she cannot fight with any of these three weapons. But with them she is quite skilled for a woman.

History: Acacia was born and bred as a Corsair; with both her parent as Corsairs it was hard for her as a child to escape their influence and their way of thinking. Therefore Acacia grew up with the values and the power of the Corsairs in her mind. Acacia’s father had been the first mate of a Corsair ship until he was caught by the Gondorian authorities and was put into jail for a few years until Acacia was 15.

Meanwhile her mother, Veda, taught her various things concerning ships and weapons. Veda basically brought her up as a child. She believed strongly that one day her daughter would be able to ride upon the waves of the sea without Gondor chasing behind them condemning every act of piracy that they did. Acacia often was able to go upon smaller boats when she was young but it was never as large as the ships that both her mother and father had served on. She was a natural and instantly loved it.

At the age of 15 Acacia first met her father, Solomon, when he was released from imprisonment. Even at such a young age she was bitter towards those who had jailed him and swore she would avenge their time lost together one day.

As soon as her father stepped out from the jail he was aboard another Corsair ship; and naturally both Acacia and her mother joined him. This particular Corsair ship was under the charge of Jythralo Doran a corrupt and dishonest captain and he immediately entranced Acacia. He cared for the Corsairs and Corsairs only and Acacia loved how his mind worked.

For five years she served on his ship and she absolutely loved it; to be free and to do what you wanted was her idea of peace.

The lives of others did not concern her and she cared not for the people that they terrorized. Unfortunately both her parents were killed in the five years by men of Gondor and her hatred for the bubbled
beneath the surface.

Then when King Elessar came to the throne she was forced to give up her glorious lifestyle and withdraw to a more sombre occupation.

Acacia eventually became part of the Council that governed Umbar. She quickly became a respected member of the council and Gondorian Sociaety. Acacia was forced to make friends with the various council members and keeps herself busy during the day with matters of Umbar. And although she hates it with a passion she has to keep the veil covering her true wishes. For under the covers she is still loyal to Jythralo and she hopes to help him to a victory over Gondor.
_____________________________________________


Arien's post

Acacia let the sand run through her right hand as she picked up again. The sea breeze blew softly across her face and caused the sand to blow on to her midnight blue skirt. She sighed and brushed away the sand and leaned back on both her palms. The sunk slightly into the sand; but she stayed upright. The moon shone brightly and caused silhouettes on the waters surface.

Acacia listened as the waves broke slowly onto the beach and she glared out into the ocean. Oh how she would love to be out there now on a Corsair ship again! But of course it was not possible; at least not yet. Soon they would rise to power and she would be able to rejoin the Corsairs, she could not wait. To be rid of the burden of pretending would be bliss and to be rid of those idiotic Gondorian Councilmen would be bliss.

The breeze picked up again, but it was stronger and it ruffled the leaves on the trees near by hard. Acacia shivered and slowly rose brushing the sand from her skirt and bodice. She looked sorrowfully out to the sea and the whispered, soon. Soon I will be free from this life! and then she left and made her way back to her estate. It was only a few minuets walk through the dark winding ally’s until she reached the front gate of her home.

It looked marvellous at night; the torches lit it up and the grounds expanded into the darkness. Sometimes she wished she did not live here; but with the rest of the Corsairs, in squalor. It was not enough for her to have all this and not be able to sail. However her estate was a main ground for meetings between the various Corsairs and not only was Acacia part of the council, a lot of Corsairs held her in high regard.

Acacia pushed the iron gates open and made her way to the entrance. With a brief goodnight to both her maid and butler she way up the stairs and to her bed. She fell asleep almost instantly and was woken by her maid calling the next morning.

“Madame Ratan, you have a visitor.” Came Blaine’s voice into the room.

“Yes, I’m getting up now,” she replied wearily wishing Blaine could leave her in bed for another hour at least. “Blaine who is it?” If it were a visitor of no importance then she would simply bid them go away and tell them that she was busy.

“Madame it is Jythralo Doran; it seems as though it may be urgent.”

Acacia waited till her Blaine had closed her door; then she got out of bed. Her hair fell limply in knots to her side and she scratched her head in thought. She cursed softly under her breath as she donned a crimson dress with a matching corset; Jythralo better have had a good reason for coming so early in the morning. And she did not doubt that he did.

Acacia quickly tied her hair back and freshened herself up; and before leaving she took a drink of water from a flask on her bed. Acacia walked casually down the stairs as she could see Jythralo’s back turned on her. Her was staring at a large painting of a ship that hung a wall opposite.

“So you are up?” He said turning slowly on his heels to face her.

“Yes I am,” She replied leaning on the banister when she reached the step bottom step. She looked over his face briefly, “I was told it might be urgent, is it?”

“I deem that it is,” he replied walking closer to her.

“Oh,” Acacia raised an eyebrow.

“You of course know Devon Thrann?” Acacia nodded and wonder what anything had to do with that boy. He was rarely ever mentioned in their conversations and he was no one of any importance to them. “Well he knows…” Jythralo’s eyes were cast downwards and then meet Acacia’s. Her face was stony and showed no shock, in fact there was nothing.

“How much exactly…”

“Enough,” sighed Jythralo turning his back from her and walking away.

_____________________________________________

[ October 12, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ October 17, 2003: Message edited by: Arien ]

[piosenniel]

Durelin

Please check your PM's.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Just to drop in to say I'm present, and get notifications going.

I am looking forward to this game so much!

-Aman (Callath)

[Durelin]

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – Yes. Wolf Run, Search for the Lost Messenger, Quest for the Ainereg, Truth in a Dark Place, Gondorian Housecall (sort of), Dark Seduction, Corsairs and Corsets, Brotherhood, Resistance

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - 2 (I'm pushing my limit… [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

List them, please:

Brotherhood
Resistance

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – Yes, the Green Dragon Inn.
_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME: Rytin (long 'y', 'i' pronounced like 'ee') Cristale (short 'i', long 'a', e pronounced like 'a')

AGE: 16 and three months!

RACE: Gondorian, of Minas Tirith

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Table dagger, and her stubbornness.

APPEARANCE: Rytin is of normal height and build, with shoulder-length, thick dark hair, brown eyes, and thin lips. She is quite pretty, though she definitely does not see herself that way. Her milky white skin and darkness of other coloring gives her an exotic beauty.

In her choice of dress, Rytin will always choose red first, her favorite color, usually bedecked with white patterns. Red and silver is her choice in jewelry. Besides red, she stays with dark colors, dark blues, greens, purples, and black. The only light color she likes is white, and it is usually found somewhere in her dresses. Light colors on the darker make for nice patterns and such, though she does not like much décor, or she feels it is overdone. Plain, unadorned dresses of a rich and lavish style are what she desires. She detests frills and low necklines, as she feels straight cuts and high collars give her a stately image. Occasionally, though, an oval cut out below the high neckline makes up for the lack of a low cut one.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: An inborn stubbornness overcomes any other characteristic, and though it impedes her very often, it is the only thing that gives her spirit. The stubbornness overwhelms the self-consciousness, and does a great deal of good. She is able to assert herself, regardless of what she thinks of herself. Still, as she has lived all her life with a good deal of money, she is a bit selfish, and is all too used to an easy, city life (not that all city life is easy). Her father loves her dearly, and she can usually get anything she likes from him. It has developed her into a very materialistic person, and a very 'grabbing' person. She loves to have lots of expensive and inexpensive things, though, truly, she is not all that reluctant to give a few things away. She does not get along well with her mother, who wishes to marry her off. Rytin has always had a great interest in many men, but especially in Devon. Unfortunately, many other young women hold that interest too, and Devon doesn't seem to return any interest (he doesn't seem to with any, though, which heartens Rytin). Consequently, Rytin's mother wishes her to marry Calnan, whom she met through Devon. She and Devon have been friends for a good number of years, though Devon has always treated her as a sort of younger sister, and one that needed watching out for. Calnan has also been a friend for years, and he too treats her in this way. Her age, in comparison with her friends, is another thing that annoys her.

Though she was never educated as much as her brother, Rytin has a sharp mind, if not one filled with knowledge. She is cunning, even if she lacks a bit of common sense. She is able to read and write, and is very interested in many of the romantic tales of old. She is embarrassed by this, as well as by her daydreaming. Her imagination seems to have grown because of her lack of knowledge. When she is not daydreaming, Rytin can sometimes come across as haughty. Really, it is because of her lack of self-confidence that causes this. At times, Rytin will feel the need to glow with pompous arrogance, reacting indignantly to the smallest infraction upon her 'rules,' and staring down at those below her, equal to, and even above her. Most people survive these moods fairly easily, especially those who are accustomed to them.

Thought it may be surprising for many people to find, Rytin is extremely patriotic, strongly supportive, if not loudly, of Gondor, and its rise in power. She has listened to the Gondor extremist with interest, never truly considering joining that party, but interested all the same. Much of it might have to do with living in Umbar most of her life, a conquered region of Gondor. She knows of the Umbar extremists, and loathes them, as she grew up hearing the horror stories surrounding them.

HISTORY: Born in Minas Tirith to a very successful merchant, a rich, upper class household. She spent her early childhood there (living there till she was 6), and then moved to another large city, to another luxurious household: Umbar. Her father wished to expand his trade to new boundaries, and, though she was quite unhappy about it at the time of their move, Rytin is now very glad her father did so. There she met Devon, and later Calnan.

Rytin was raised to be nothing but a good wife to a rich man, and knows this. Her own ambitions make her father's career appealing, as well as her friends'. Whether debating diplomacy or haggling a sale, it is very interesting to Rytin. Unfortunately, she is also beginning to find the twists and turns, the webs, the backstabbing, the frauds -- all of these awful dealings of politics. In her tales of romance, the sad stories or stories with problems are becoming more interesting than the 'happily ever after' ones. All of these things, and so many more, make her uncertain of what she wants out of life, what she wants to do with her life, adding even more to her self-consciousness and lack of confidence.

Her father is Nicean Crystale, a well-to-do native of Minas Tirith and the son of a merchant who aspired to his father's career. Nicean is far more successful than his father was, though he did have much more to begin off of. He married Farinthaeil when he was thirty-four and already successful, and she twenty-two. After building a strong financial foundation beneath him, Nicean looked to new horizons, and saw a newly conquered Umbar as the newest. Farinthaeil would go wherever her husband wished, clinging to the man in a mix of love and greed. Coming from a farmer's family, of which she is ashamed, she did her best to rise up in society, and has accomplished many of her goals, the greatest one being riches. She has always despised the life of a pauper, and has tried to bestow that disposition upon her children. To a certain extent, she has been successful in that, too. Her brother, Calithai, was raised as an educated man, but turned away from his parent's hopes to begin the life of a soldier at age 17, four years ago. His name is hardly spoken in her household anymore, and it has been quite a while since she has seen him. She misses her brother, but almost hates him with jealousy. He has gotten away from their dreadful parents, and has pursued his dreams of being a soldier. In the past four years, she has received five letters from him, each containing news of a promotion. Startlingly, he has made his way in this career, and much to his parent's dismay. Unfortunately, Rytin has no dreams and hopes matching those her brother did, and also lacks the ambition. Plus, there is no reason to abandon luxury just yet.
_____________________________________________

Durelin's post

Lacquered fingernails making soft clicks against the oak, Rytin unlatched a small chest, plain wood but for a gold lock and a thin border of imprinted gold, that rested on a large writing desk. It was the most unadorned object in the large bedroom. Large rugs of a heavy material covered the polished stone floor, with delicate patterns of birds in flight and flowers in bloom. Mainly there were swans on cool, slow rushing streams within the deepest part of some magical and mysterious forest. Perhaps it was supposed to be an elfin wood, those were always filled with magic. Silk tapestries of any of the same things draped upon the walls in various places. One in particular had always stood out to her: one of a scarlet rose, but without thorns. It seemed so real, even lacking the thorns. It seemed…natural, that a rose was meant to be this way, that roses were not supposed to have thorns. Perhaps they had been a mistake, thorns.

Thin lace hung covering a large canopy bad that four people could have slept in, and velvet pillows of a soft but deep purple lay atop silk bed sheets. The winter months were coming on, and so were the night chills, but Rytin refused any other blankets. She just had sixteen silk sheets, and they kept her nice and warm. An ornate oak door led to her anteroom, carved with a variety of shapes, mainly those of flowers that Rytin was not sure existed. The anteroom was less ornate, if not less luxurious. Mainly, it had been decorated to be more sophisticated, not flaunting wealth, but certainly not hiding it, and with straight lines and edges giving it a elegant, yet demure, feel. Chairs and couches, also of oak, with scarlet satin cushions and silk feather pillows, and severe vertical patterns racing up the arms and legs. Tapestries lined the walls in there also, but all were a plain, and matching the cushions and pillows.

Rytin stared at the contents of the small chest. Smoothing her dress, she wondered just why she had opened this box. And why she had all those times in the past few days. It was just a letter, and yet… She glanced down at her skirts. No wrinkles among that sea of red. Rytin was quite fond of red. Red and white went best together, she thought, and a white vine pattern ran down the sides of her skirts and around her high collar. Wide sleeves, a trailing skirt, and white slippers made it one of her favorites. But, there were so many. A ruby encased in silver hung on a silver chain to dangle in the middle of her forehead. It was just a letter…

Plucking a piece out of the carefully arranged stack of folded parchment within the chest, Rytin turned it in her hand several times before unfolding it. She did not have to think to pick out this paper. She did not even need to read it. She thought her heart skipped a beat as she ran her eyes down the page, skimming across round, careful, small script, so delicate, she ran some of the words through her head, the important part. And, for some reason, the part that lay closest to her heart, deepest in her memory.

My father is now blind, and it is hard for me to cope. I must adapt to this new lifestyle, aiding my father so, or doing his duties myself. The latter is the simpler path, on both our parts. But to do all his duties myself? I seek aid in this, friend. It is the simple thing of friendship that leads me to address my plea to you, and I hope that simple thing will lead you to my side.

Now, Rytin was not a lackwit, and she was well aware that much of what the letter appeared to be was, in truth, a shroud. The true content of it had taken time to decipher, but she had discovered it, and was very proud of herself for that. Luckily, she had connections. Her father sat high in status in the city, and he knew the goings-on, especially high up. It was a simple matter to get him to speak of them in a dinner conversation. Devon did need her help. She only knew a bit, as her father didn't hear everything -- or perhaps did not voice everything at table -- but she did know that if the little she knew sounded a bad situation, the whole of it must be ten times worse. Ambassador Thrann really was muddling this up. Rytin was not entirely sure of what 'this' was, but she got the gist of it. That told her enough: 'this' was a very large matter.

With a sigh, Rytin replaced the letter. Her heart had not skipped a beat. The boy had been encoding a message. She felt a tingling form at the pit of her stomach. No! He had not said that he wished for her at his side. She knew what it meant, she had deciphered it. The box slammed shut with a clomp of strong wood, and Rytin rose from her writing desk. Running fingers through her hair, she calmed herself, and straightened the ruby hanging down on her forehead. Oh, why couldn't he have meant it! her mind cried out. For a moment she stood there, slumped over and frowning starkly. Devon… She shook her head, coming to her senses, and whooped a laugh. She laughed at herself, a silly little girl. Calnan was right to treat her like one. Now, but Devon was not! A new heat of anger rose up. He was barely over a year older!

The door slammed shut behind her, and Rytin mumbled in growling undertones using some very rare and remarkable words. She barely saw the long hall she walked through, wide and well lit, decorated with tapestries and small stands holding porcelain and other fine, precious materials. All in this home was made to delight the eye, just as Rytin liked it. It had always been that way for her, after all. Soft swishes of her skirts resounded off the stone walls, echoing down the hallway, though the fall of her steps was not heard; she was a graceful young lady. And she would soon be married… Her mouth was set with a grim determination, and she brought her head up high, so she could stare haughtily at anyone passing by. She felt the need to, today.

Her father was not in his chambers, of course. It was late in the morning, and there were fine objects to sell, and to buy. Still, it was easy enough for her to get into them. Nicean Crystale's anteroom was much plainer than his daughter's, though much larger. Plain, dark colored tapestries lined these walls too, but the furniture lacked any decorative carving. It was quite boring, in Rytin's mind. It needs much more red, she thought with a smile. But what was not boring, was what lay behind the beautiful stained glass doors: the garden patio. There was red there, Rytin's rosebushes, as well as her mother's lilies, along with a wide array of flowering plants. Really, the rest consisted of whatever the gardener wished to plant.

Rytin strolled aimlessly, letting her mind be wiped of any real thoughts, escaping from all the troubled ones that threatened her. Whenever she allowed it, her mind would wander back to memories, mostly of Devon and Calnan, but also of her old home, of Minas Tirith. It was her birthplace, had been her home until she was nine. She had told herself and others that she was glad she lived in Umbar, but…what would her life have been like in Minas Tirith? Who would she had known, whom then would her mother wish her to marry. She could hardly remember the place, except that it was very beautiful, and, yet, she wished to live there again. Perhaps it was just that she could not. She had always wanted what she could not have, as well as what she could.

A stirring behind her made her jump, dropping the white lily she had just picked. Turning around in a whirl of red and white silk, Rytin came face to face with a very skinny, comely old woman in servant livery, frowning in a very apologetic and, at the same time, worried way. "Shari! Please, do not do that! You startled me out of my wits!"

Rytin's maid's frown grew even more worried. Anxiety overcame remorse. "Forgive me, please do, young Mistress." Rytin sighed. There was that word 'young,' again. I would not have come up on you so, but was not certain if I should disturb you. You see, when I found you not in your rooms, I came here." The old woman hesitated. She did not sound too sorry, or too worried about disturbing her Mistress. Shari did not care all that much about the expected lowliness of servants. But she was worried about something. "Mistress…" Rytin was thankful for the missing word. "Yes," she said, rather impatiently. After giving Rytin an indignant look, Shari continued. "You had said you wished to see Master Devon today, on important business."

"Oh yes!" Rytin stooped to pick up her lily. "Please, notify Jinto. It is very important business. Oh, and have a message left for my father," she added as an afterthought. As the maid turned to go, Rytin said a hurried "And thank you, Shari," before rushing off herself. As she walked those all too familiar halls again, she placed the lily in her hair, styled in a neat, somewhat ornate bun on the back of her head. Lilies certainly were not meant to have thorns, and Rytin would just bet that Devon liked flowers without thorns. Suddenly she frowned, stopping in her steps. Actually…she hoped he did not. She may not have been meant to have thorns, but they were there. Soft swishes began again, this time sounding at a much faster pace.
_____________________________________________

Okay, you said 'be creative,' and I hope I was. You also said to be realistic, and I hope I was that too. I tried very hard in both aspects, I assure you! But, if anything in my bio or post is unrealistic or not in synch with the plot or other characters, I am sorry. I had trouble deciding how Rytin would meet different people and when in her lifetime and etc, etc. Still, I hope you like her!

Thanks!

-Durelin (who is excited, because this is her first 'good-guy' female character!)

P.S. - Please forgive that very childish earlier post! [img]smilies/frown.gif[/img]


[ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[ October 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[maikafanawen]

I'm really not supposed to be on the computer but I simply had to! I'm just really looking forward to this RPG.

Anyways, I looked over the two bios submitted very briefly. They have spectacular potential and I will be on either later tonight or tomorrow morning I believe to go over them and get to each of you, Durelin and Arien, with comments/questions etc. Thanks for submitting them!

I look forward to more creative bios from anyone else out there! Remember that bios may still be submitted for any of the four characters not yet etched in stone. I also will not turn away a bio pointblank. I will most definitely go over what I was looking for and find a way for one to weave it in with their character before he/she is dismissed entirely. It's just the nice thing to do. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] I'm really just shaking w/ excitement! I am obsessed with pirates...

Oooh fudge I was caught! Later!

-Maikafanawen

[Brinniel]

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – Yes- The Blue Mountains, The Shadows of Umbra, and Escape from Nurn

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

List them, please: The Threat of the Trees

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – Yes – In the White Horse, though only briefly

_______________________________________

My Profile for Third Ally of Gondor:

Name: Adeline Montrés

Age: 17

Race: human

Gender: female

Weapons: Adeline has little knowledge in weaponry. What knowledge she does have was taught to her by Devon. Adeline does not own a sword, though she does conceal a small knife beneath her skirts at all times, and is ready to use it if ever need be.

Appearance: As a girl blooming into womanhood, Adeline is considered rather pretty. Her skin is fair, her eyes grey, and her hair is a wavy deep brown that falls to her waist. She rarely leaves her hair down in public though, and prefers to tie it back in a delicate fashion with strands of hair falling down in ringlets. Adeline stands at 5’6”.

Clothing- The dresses Adeline wears are long and flowing, but still practical. They are made from simple fabrics and patterns, yet they remain elegant. The colors Adeline is usually seen in are faded blues, greens, and crèmes. Occasionally, she will wear deep reds and violets, but only on special events, as these dresses are her finest garments. All of Adeline’s dresses are low cut and are suited to the latest fashion in Umbar. Due to its discomfort, Adeline refuses to wear corsets, except for special occasions. Adeline owns a tunic and pair of trousers, but has almost never worn them, save for the few sword practices she has had with Devon. Though she finds this type of clothing more comfortable and practical than her regular garments, Adeline does not wear them in public, as it is considered improper for a lady to wear trousers. On her neck, Adeline displays a precious silver locket, given to her as a child by her father.

Personality: Adeline is the type of person who is easily liked. She is patient, respectful, and an attentive listener. If anyone is ever feeling down, she is always there to cheer them up. Often Adeline is seen with a smile on her face. Despite her sweet personality, Adeline has also been known to have a quick temper. When she is angry, she is unable to control herself. Those who have managed to get on Adeline’s bad side know she has a fiery tongue and a swift hand. And if there is something she disagrees with, she is not afraid to publicize it. She has a tendency to blurt out words before she thinks, which she discovered can often cause trouble. Adeline is also a bit of a loner. She has few friends, and what friends she does have are male. She dislikes all other girls her age, thinking them as conceited.

Having been educated in a variety of subjects, Adeline is a highly intelligent girl. She is able to speak in several languages, and like Devon, she is an avid reader. Many of the stories she has read, have left her wondering what an adventure of her own would be like, though Adeline does not desire to participate in any type of adventures. In fact, she has only stepped foot on a ship once in her entire life, which some find rather odd considering her father was a captain. The reason is this: Adeline believes the sea was simply meant for looking, not for sailing on. Her single experience on a ship was not a pleasant one, for Adeline had never quite managed to develop her sea legs. Since then, she has kept her feet on land.

History: Adeline was born in Umbar and it is there she has spent her entire life. She is the only child of Captain Gareth Montrés and his wife, Rhoswen. Montrés was well known as a captain, and more than that. Not only had he participated in the War of the Ring, but was known for capturing many corsairs at sea, who had been troubling the shores of Umbar for some time. He was the first person able to catch Jythraro Doran and see him locked away. It was because of Gareth Montrés that the renovation of the city began.

Though Gareth was often busy with his career, he always found time for his wife and daughter. Adeline adored her father like no other. She admired his bravery and his talents. Unfortunately, Gareth Montrés’s life came abruptly to an end when one his ally ships wandered astray one foggy morning and collided with his own vessel. Adeline was only eleven at the time. The peoples of Umbar were very apologetic of this accident, and large donations of money were given to Adeline and her mother. For many years, the two of them lived well money-wise, but since Rhoswen and Adeline did not earn their own wages at the time, save an occasional trading, their money has begun to run short. Though they have not reached the stage of being poor quite yet, they both fear they are on the verge of doing so. Lately, Rhoswen has been working as a seamstress, while Adeline searches for her own way of earning some wages.

Adeline first met Devon when she was nine years old, two years after he had first come to Umbar. The Ambassador Thrann had invited Gareth and Rhoswen to supper one night, and he thought it best for them to bring Adeline along as a playmate for Devon. The two became fast friends and have been close ever since. Adeline’s mother often comments on how the ambassador’s son would make a fine suitor, but Adeline has never thought of Devon as anymore than a friend, or so she claims.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
_____________________________________________

Brinniel's post

The sun hung low on the eastern sky, revealing that the day was still young. The air was damp and cool, and delicate white clouds were scattered throughout the sky. On the shores of Umbar, sailors and fishermen could be seen preparing for the new day. And as all this was happening, a young woman stood on the southern beach, a solitary figure gazing out at the vast sea. Adeline Montrés was her name, and it was often that she came to stand on these beaches to watch the sun rise.

Adeline closed her eyes, allowing a slight breeze to blow across her face and tousle the ringlets that descended to her jaw line. She licked her lips ever so briefly, and could taste salt. Adeline had lived in Umbar her entire life, but it wasn’t until recently that she was able to appreciate the beauty of the city. The beach was a peaceful place and often Adeline came here not only to stare at the sunrise, but also to daydream and read her favorite stories.
“You waste too much time of your life dreaming,” her mother once commented, “much like your father did when he was a young man. I swear, you get to be more and more like him everyday.” Adeline had simply smiled at this.

Adeline was brought back to attention by the sound of a child’s laughter. She turned around to find two young boys chasing each other with sand, both with large grins planted on their faces. Adeline gave a slight smile, remembering the days of her childhood as she absentmindedly fingered the silver locket that hung around her neck. Then, lifting up the hem of her long, pale blue dress, she turned away and left the beach, before she could get hit by any flying sand herself.

As Adeline strolled past the docks, she could see out of the corner of her eye Captain Jythralo Doran speaking privately with another man. Adeline had never met Captain Doran, nor did she care to for she always had feelings of hatred towards him, for Doran had once been a corsair. When she was just a toddler, her father had managed to capture him, though that was not enough to stop him. Once Adeline’s father heard the news that Doran had agreed to give up his corsair ways, he only chuckled grimly.
“A pirate will never surrender his ways,” he had once told Adeline. “Especially not Jythralo Doran. I do not know what he is up to, but I don’t like the look of it. I honestly believe Ambassador Thrann is making a mistake, allowing Doran to live a free life. Doran is not a man to trust.”

Adeline remembered those words and made sure to pay heed to them. At all costs, she had avoided Captain Doran and his men, which had not been difficult. She often stated her opinion of Doran to her best friend, Devon, though he had never said much in response, perhaps because he was the son of the ambassador.

Adeline saw Captain Doran’s eyes shift towards her direction when she realized she had been staring at him. She quickly averted her eyes, then glanced back at him, giving the captain one last dirty look before continuing on.

When she left the beach, Adeline had intended to head straight for home, for she had many chores to attend to. She hated to neglect her duties, especially now that her mother was so busy working as a seamstress. But as she passed the stables, her ears picked up the sound of voices coming from inside. Though, she could not make out what they were saying, Adeline could easily recognize the voice, one of them belonging to Devon. Strange, she thought to herself. Why would Devon be out at this hour? Curious on what Devon was up to, Adeline forgot about her original plan of going home and stepped inside the stables.

_____________________________________________

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

If anything needs to be added, removed, or edited, just let me know. Hope you like it. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[ October 12, 2003: Message edited by: Brinniel ]

[ October 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elfwine]

-Apllication for the role of Fourth Ally- {I’m currently involced in the Setting Sails for Valinor RP, and it will be my first, and I do believe that answers all the questions}

Name: Talis Doran

Age: 19

Race: Man, of mixed origin

Gender: Male

Weapons: As a child wandering the docks of countless coastal seaports, he picked up various arts of weaponry at a startlingly young age. As it was the only thing he owned, young Talis became most familiar with the short blade; something between a dirk and a cutlass. Later in life, when he traveled inland for his own reasons, he reverted to using the long blade, as it was more appropriate for the woodland setting and the enemies lurking within. The sword he wielded and still wields is a fine one, two inches wide at the base, and crafted of white metal – tainted in old age. The hilt, wrapped and rewrapped in stalwart bore’s hide is both comforting to the hand and pleasing to the eye, capped with an ornately carved knob of ivory bone, also stained in old age.

Appearance: Tall, as it would seem appropriate, he stands at an even six feet. Long legged and lanky in figure, he is of muscular build and fit as any wanderer of the wilds should be. Hair of wheaten blonde (like his mother’s) falls evenly in an unintended bowl cut, parted at his brow, and slightly longer at the nape of his neck. His eyes, however, he inherited from his father; a soft, nut brown, rich in color and emotion. Sun-touched in complexion, with tall and angled features, he is an attractive young man. His attire is that of a wanderer’s, composed of a worn leather jerkin with braided collar and buttons, over a sag-sleeved shirt of creamy hue – tall black-weave boots cause his dark leggings to bunch at the knee, and a heavy weather-beaten travelor’s cloak, drab in color, hangs back against thin shoulders, providing a small bit of protection for all.

Personality/Strengths/Weaknesses: On the contrary of a harsh upbringing, Talis is really quite genial and understanding towards others. Though he is not as bold and boisterous as some, he is quick-minded and in control of a quick tongue. In turn, he is rather smooth with his words and can, more importantly, hold them. His greatest weakness, as he perceives it, is his belief in his luck and his love for money. The blood of the Corsairs and their ‘culture’ in running fluently through his veins, he can’t help but once in awhile put his fortune and future on the line for a few gold pieces in a game of dice. He knows full well that it is an inhonorable habit, and his being concious of his wrongdoings like so is perhaps another one of his weaknesses. His virtues, however, lie in his strength of spirit, his perpetual poise, his faith in others, and his ability to understand the feelings of those around him.

History: The illegitimate son of the Corsair and current prominent politician, Jythralo Doran and his young ‘misstress’ Iyevnna, Talis’ childhood was one of unpleasant memories. From the moment Jythralo knew of the child Iyevnna carried, the pirate decided then and there that no one else must know, that this child was merely the brat of some wench, a ‘motherless goat’. And so, Iyevnna was mistreated and shunned during the nine long months of her pregnancy, only
to pass on, a wary, hollow creature, at her son’s birth. The bawling infant in his hands, Jythralo could not bring himself to kill his son. And so he left young Talis in the care of a trusted sea merchant, to hire him as a hand just seven years later.

There were no secrets kept, and though he did not understand it, the boy knew that Cap’n Jythralo was indeed his father. Stern glares and a few belts across the jaw helped conceal the fact, and quickly, both father and son became professional players on deck, around the crew. A few years passed, and adolecence plagued their masked relationship – harsh words brought on a bitter parting, and Talis, at fourteen years, left the deep blue for the north; inland.

In the wilds where it was pure forest, untouched by the wrath of civilation, he uncovered a new side of himself; a new way of life. It was there that he rid himself of Corsair ideals and set for himself his own morals. It was there that he honed is skill with the blade, and discovered his connection to the wilderness; his ability to survive. Days to months, months to years, he became a self-christened ranger, and has been ever since.

Gossip traveled throughout the country as quick as lightening, and news of the mysterious contender Jythralo’s election reached the Talis’s open ears in the blink of an eye. A politician. He was not surprised. No doubt the old man was planning something nasty. Perhaps it was time for the young man’s return to the coastal region.

_____________________________________________


Elfwine's post

The sound of silence, which was so familiar, was but a distant dream. Even as the red sun woke the moon and its children, the city buzzed with life and the distant waves of the ocean crashed. The comfortable darkness that had become his blanket on lonely midsummer evenings was weakened by the blaring lights of center town. As far as the young man’s keen eyes could see, nothing had changed at Umbar. Sighing a heavy sigh, Talis reslung his satchel over a tired shoulder and continued down the cobblestone path towards the tavern ahead, bursting with merry yellow light.

Nearing the entrance, sharp ears caught the tidbits of peoples’ conversations; gossip on the Ambassador, whose name was apparently Thrann, and one of his kindred called Devon. Another name also caught his attention, that of Lord Jythralo’s. “I’m impressed, old man.” He mumbled to himself as he reached for the rusted latch on the double doors of the Inn. Inside, the tavern was busseling with energy; a roaring fire reached its many arms towards the heavens, while faces, flushed with merriment, bobbed about gleefully to the sprightly music coming from the bearded man managing a fiddle.

This brought a warm smile to the wanderer’s pale lips, and he took a seat at a table near the door. As soon as he felt the hard wood, a young barmaid emerged from the throng of customers, a wide grin stretched across her pretty face.

“What’ll it be, outlander?” She asked in a perky voice, strained with youth and too much cider.

Outlander? I haven’t changed that much, no?, he thought to himself, staring down at his heavy clothes and hearing his voice, which had long since adopted the northern accent. “A pint.” –he nodded, confirming his decision- “Yes, I’d like a pint.” He looked up at her from his stool at the hardwood table.

She smiled foxily and winked at him, “Right away!” With a muffled giggle, and the twirl of her long skirt, she was lost in the crowd.

His ears the picked up the same voices babbling on about the government and lords and ladies, “I ‘ear the boy master hates ‘im, what with risin’ to ‘is pater’s level an’ all. I say it’s about time that someone from the slums make it with them high-nosed politicians…”

“But ar’n’t them pirates nasty people? Inhuman even! Real ruthless they are, says ol’ Gran; manslaughterers!”

“Ol’ Gran’s a bag ‘o rubbish, and a rotten one ‘o that. Now them pirates might not be the properest people around, but this Jythralo character, I 'ear says ‘e took some oaf-“

“Oath?”

“Aye, aye ‘sposed t’be one ‘o them sacred ones that cause ye to burn t’ashes if ye break’t.”

“Ashes? …” The conversation trailed on, but that was all Talis heard.

Your supporters may be blind, but I can see, I can see. -His eyes narrowed and became distant- What’re you up to, old man? No good, that’s what… And I’m going to stop you.

_____________________________________________

{ Lord, now I wish I had started one this character earlier. I really had no idea what to do, and I really don't think what I did was the right thing. All right, so it isn’t the best of what could have become of the idea, but I thougt a lot about it, and spent a good four hours on my rump trying to figure it out. I really do hope you like it, and if there’s anything, anything at all, let me know and I’ll to’t, ESPECIALLY you, Earendil. Anyway, thank you for your time.
Waiting and hopeful,
Elfwine}

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[maikafanawen]

Wow! Yes, yes, this is, absolutely fantastic!

Brinniel: VERY nice. It's almost exactly what I had in mind. I'll get back to you as soon as I can with questions. Brilliant!

Elfwine: I love this idea. I absolutely love it. I'm not sure if that's how I want the Fourth Ally to be used but I like the idea so much that I think I'm going to find a way for it to fit in. I think, to keep the drama level in this RPG at a minimum, it would work best if Talis kept his identity a secret when he joined Devon's party. He could possibly overhear their conversation in the pub that one night and work something out in his head. I do have a question real quick before I go: Is Talis interested only in personal vengence? or Is he sort of half in half, he wants political justice and personal vengence? Either one's fine I'm just trying to figure out how I can put him in the story. Excellent job!!

Arien: Check your PMs in about five minutes after I post this! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Splendiferous work everyone! Keep them coming!! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

-Maikafanawen

[piosenniel]

Maika - check your PM's please.

[Elfwine]

Maika,

That is exactly what I'd intended! - to keep Talis' relation to Jythralo a secret. And how personal you want his yearn for vengeance to be is all up to you, but how I perceived it is that he himself wants only to have nothing to do with his father, but hearing of his election, this conversation, and knowing him so personally drives him to return to the Umbar and save it and the people in it. Finding out about the details of Devon's plan one way or another (this will be later, obviously) will play into his mindset, and ofcourse, push him to conceal his being Jythralo's kin even more.

...??

[maikafanawen]

Thank you for bringing that to my attention Pio. Your words of advice have not fallen upon deaf ears. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Elfwine: Please check your PMs. [img]smilies/frown.gif[/img]

Arien, Brinniel, & Durelin: Please check your PMs.

IMPORTANT: I really want to bring everyone's attention to the required time of commitment for this RPG. It says 3.5 months. If this is impossible for you I strongly advice reconsidering submitting a character layout. Also, because of the level of involvement that I've packed into this story, it's going to be important that you can check up with the RPG and Discussion thread every three out of four days. If you are unable to commit to these time constraints then you should reconsider joining the RPG. Thanks!

-Maikafanawen

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Arvedui III]

Heheh, this look awesome. Might you guys have need of a corsair?
-----------
Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Road to Erebor, Reclaiming the City, Truth in a Dark Place

How many RPG's on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? 2- Resistance, Resettling the Lost Kingdom.

Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? –NO
_______________________________________
For your character please include:

NAME: Menelcar

AGE: 38

RACE: Gondorian Male, Middle-man.

WEAPONS: Menelcar wields a double-edged dirk with some skill, but his weapon of choice is a ironwood mace slug comfortably across his back at all times.

APPEARANCE: Bowed with a myriad of scars, most of them disfiguring his once handsome face, Menelcar's eerily tall and powerful form is not something one would wish to come across in a dark alley of Umbar, where he is wont to spend his nights. He stands about 6'3"; and his cropped black hair, stiff with spray, and even darker eyes help him blend easily into the shadows when it suits his needs.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Menelcar has the look of someone used to frequent outbursts of rage, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Reserved and calculating, Menelcar likes others to fight his battles if he doesn't have to. And therein lies his essential failing: Laziness. Menelcar, unless he uses great strength of will to turn his resolve to other purposes, would like to do nothing else besides lean back against his great sandalwood chair and do nothing. Amazingly jocular if given the right amount of rest, Menelcar would make any hobbit proud. However, he does know when to put his nose to the grindstone, and once he commits to something, Menelcar is unrelenting in seeing it through.

HISTORY: Born in Dol Amroth, Menelcar was originally the son of a widower fisherman, but was taken in bloody corsair raid along the coast of his home at the age of twelve; and enslaved as a cabin boy on the infamous corsair vessel, "Back Wayfarer" In time, the love of the sea his father imbued in and the thrill of life onboard a ship mixed, and Menelcar willingly gave up any desire to escape and return to Dol Amroth. From that time on, he served one Capt. Jythralo Doran, moving up though the ranks and eventually becoming a coxswain. The war of the ring came and went, and, like all his brethren corsairs, Menelcar renounced his life as a buccaneer and settled on the isle of Umbar. After a few years of wandering aimlessly throughout the island, he began working as a harborman, finally giving in to the fact that he would have to labor legitimately for once. However, with the help of his former captain, he was quickly promoted to the rank of harbor master, and allowed in on Doran's plot to return to the sea. Now, sitting comfortably in his warf-side cabin, Menelcar waits patiently, not noticing certain activities and taking stock of others when it suits the plan, the plan foremost in his yearning mind, now alight with a new fire.
_____________________________________________

Arvedui III's post

The harbor stunk; It was a simple fact.

However, to the ruddy figure settled comfortably behind a worn and slovenly desk, the rotting planks, waste-filled shore, and ships bobbing evenly outside his cabin produced the most intoxicating aroma ever to be taken in by men. The honorable harbor master Menelcar couldn't have been enjoying himself more when the rat crept almost reverently into his office. Well, perhaps office was too strong a word for the disorderly mess of a room he called his cabin. The sticky, sea green shades suffered no light to pervade through the room, save a hungry yellow torch stuck on the right wall that seemed to leer at all who entered. Smiling wryly as the rat tripped over a pile of cargo reports he had been meaning to organize, Menelcar rolled his shoulders back, creating an ominous snap that seemed to echo.

Satisfied with the effect, the harbor master took up his usual act, one that he had perfected long ago. He grabbed a disjointed quill and began to scratch out the heading for the report that would inevitably follow whatever information was coming. At the sound of the rat's timid, "Pardon Sir," he looked up in annoyance and barked, "What?". Eyeing the bedraggled boy bitting his lips was more enjoyable than he had thought, and Menelcar did not bother holding back the smirk that crossed his face. As if encouraged, the rat gulped and started speaking. "Sir, well, Mr. Rolen wanted to report, sir. The Estel's left sight of port now, and," "When?" Menelcar barked tersely. "At first light, sir." Came the prompt reply.

Oh, of course. While I'm still asleep.

"Who gave it clearance, then?" He said, narrowing his eyes in distaste. "Mr. Cullom, sir." "Cullom?" Menelcar echoed, brows arching in surprise. "Yes, sir." Licking his lips, the harbor master made a mental note to question Cullom later. No ship was supposed to leave port without him knowing, and if Cullom was getting sloppy, or even worse, getting cold feet...

"Is that all?" Menelcar sighed, dipping the broken quill into ink and continuing to scrawl on a tattered piece of parchment. "Well, sir, well, there is, that-I," The rat began to stutter, "What?" He barked, showing more ire than he intended to. "The cove, sir, Mr. Rolen thinks that," "Oh does he now?" The harbor master hissed dangerously through gritted teeth. "Well, you tell Mr. Rolen from me that I don't pay him to think, I pay him to do, and if he's so set on thinking, you tell him that he can think about doing without this job. Fathom that, ye worthless cull?"

At that last statement, the boy's eyes expanded to the size of saucers and Menelcar winced and cursed himself inwardly. This rat had never heard him dip back into his seamen's tongue, and would no doubt report that to Rolen. He would have to watch his temper. "Well? Aught else for me, boy?" Menelcar barked, looking up from his notes to the harbor rat again as if nothing out of the ordinary had been said."Nn, no, sir." The rat bumbled, still looking at his master in shock.

"Then get you gone." He ordered and didn't give the boy another glance. Mayhap that would be enough to keep the lad quiet, but Menelcar doubted it. Silence ruled the office for the next hour, the harbor master plotting who best to deal with Cullom and Rolen, and maybe that harbor rat if the price for such a deed was good this time of year. Then a rap on the knobby door jerked his attention away from the report he had just finished with a flourish."Enter" He drawled imperiously, wondering if he wouldn't have to pay for dealing with Rolen after all."You know," Said an amused voice that Menelcar recognized immediately and sent shivers like cold water down his spine. "Were anyone important to stop by the honorable office of the harbor master of Umbar, you'd be out on your arse, ‘Car."

"Captain!" Menelcar cried happily and rose quickly out of his chair. "What an unexpected surprise, sir." "How's business?" Jythralo asked his former thrall as if he was a father inspecting a son's new trade store."Can't complain," Menelcar beamed, "May have to find a new west warden, though." "Tolram Rolen?" "Yes, sir." Dalon nodded sagely. "Well, I trust you have the contacts to take care of that,"Then, adding a lopsided grin to his face, he continued, "Or mayhap ye'd liefer add a notch to that club ‘o yours, belike, coxswain?" Both men chuckled at the statement, each reminiscing about a time when such speech was heard all over Umbar. "Aye, sir. I've not chosen which yet, but I'd love to take the latter, so I would. But, why are you here, sir?"

At this Dalon frowned. "Mayhap ye'd do me the pleasure of adding two notches to that club of yours ." He said conspiratorially, arching an eyebrow.

The harbor master only smiled in response.

_____________________________________________

I hope that works.

[ October 15, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]

[ October 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Arien]

Maika, My new post and Bio are up after the revisions. They are situated in the original posts place.

[maikafanawen]

Thank you Arien.

Just to recap here let me organize my thoughts for a moment before I to bed.

Characters Needed / Players Interested

- Female Corsair -
Arien's Acacia (Replied)

- Male Corsair -
None

- Female Gondor Ally -
Brinniel's Adeline (Replied)
Durelin's Rytin (Replied)

- Fourth Gondor Ally -
Arvedui's Menelcar

All right, I just feel better organized having that up there. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] I haven't missed anyone have I? I took Elfwine out because I cannot consider her *sniff* vignette for reasons PMed to her. Sorry again. [img]smilies/frown.gif[/img]

Arvedui: I don't have time right now but I will get to your character bio asap tomorrow.

...d'accord...oui...

Bon soir!
-Maikafanawen

[Himaran]

This game is so incredibly awesome, and has so many of my gaming aquaintices in it, that I couldn't help but play....

Note: I put this together pretty quickly as I was worried the place would be taken. I will do as much editting as necessary to make it fit if need be.

I will be applying for the Male Antagonist position that still remains open.


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

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in - 1

List them, please:

Resettling The Lost Kingdom.

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

For your character please include:

NAME: Jurex Quetell

AGE: 30

RACE: Man, (Corsair)

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Jurex is a knife fanatic, and has an enormous collection (many of which he has taken from his victims). As a rule he carries three with him at all times, hung individually on a strap across his back and chest. A hefty scimatar is his battle weapon, but it is usually kept at his small hut along the docks.

APPEARANCE: Jurex gives off a sense of a battle-hardened warrior that has seen far too many winters at see. Both his piercing brown eyes survived his years of warfare, but his left ear was lost and his entire body is covered in deep scars. His long, black hair is braided, and his three golden teeth add to his fiersome appearance. Tattoos are frequent over his arms, chest and back. His clothing is slightly better; there are few holes in his pants and shirt, but there is a gash out of right boot. His swashbuckling appearance is added to by the black bandana that is held tight around his forhead; the sign worn by one of his past crews.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

Jurex is a man who cares for no one but himself. He is not purely evil, but the fact that he murdered his father and elder brother over a miniscule heirloom does not paint him in a very good light. Though he is not a well-known criminal, most honest citizens give him a wide berth. This appeals to Jurex, as it makes him feel power over them. He is fairly quiet, and ignores anyone that cannot bring him profit.

HISTORY:

Jurex grew up living and working on the docks of Umbar, as his father forced him to do so. Neglected by his remaining family, he grew up in a world of loneliness and despair. However, the treatment slowly taught Jurex how to survive on his own, and he became a notorious thief at a young age.

After the family dispute that ended the lives of his last two bretheren, Jurex left Umbar and began his life as a corsair. This career continued for nearly ten years, until the fateful battle with a Gondorian cruiser which sunk his vessel and destroyed the entire crew; leaving Jurex floating on a hunk of the wreckage in a hostile ocean.

Eventually reaching land, Jurex began to scrape out a living as a handyman on the docks. But his fortune began to turn when he met a man that became his greatest ally. Together with another conspirator, the corsair was confident that they could carry out their scheme successfully.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
_____________________________________________

Himaran's post

The knife sped out of his hand and into the target on the wall. Dead in the center.

A mixture of cheers and boos ensued, and the challenger reluctantly pushed the pile of gold and jewelery across the table. It was but another successful bet for Jurex, the champion knife thrower of the Black Keel Tavern. Chuckling inwardly, he patted the man on the shoulder and snatched a sack from another table to collect his coveted loot.

The crowd dispersed quickly, the interested patrons soon moving off to watch and join in other card games and contests. Glad to see them go, Jurex retrieved his knife from the wall and gathered up his few posessions. Satisfied with his winnings for the day, the corsair decided to return home; but not before he had treated himself to a drink using his new earnings.

As he sat at the bar enjoying his mug of brandy, a new customer entered the room. From the corner of his eye Jurex could tell that it was a woman, but he did not recognize her until she got closer; Acacia. After scaning the room, she sureptitiously proceeded to amble over to the bar. Seating herself next to the man, she ordered a small drink and sipped it slowly. Speaking in a low tone, she addressed Jurex. "Jythralo wants to speak with you; he is certain that someone knows."

"How much does - "he" - know?"

"My exact words to Jythralo when I spoke with the man a few a hours ago. 'Enough,' he claimed; but more important to the problem is who knows." Here she paused, possibly for effect.

"Devon Thrann, Jurex ... the ambassador's son knows."

Jurex inhaled deeply, sucking air between his teeth. Lovely, the ambassador could be alerting the authorities as of this minute. "Strictly speaking, it Devon Thrann knows much at all, we're doomed."

Acacia continued; "Not true. We may be able to discredit the boy, or deal with the matter through a slightly more efficient method..."

Jurex nodded. "I will speak with Jythralo. Hopefully, we can develop a quick plan to effectively end the matter; whether or not the use of force is necessary." The conversation over, the two conspirators left individually, taking separate exits. But a single question burned in the minds of each.

How much is 'enough'?
_____________________________________________

[ October 21, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]

[piosenniel]

All who post a character and First Post will notice your posts have been edited - it's just me setting the First Posts up to be transferred to the game should they be accepted by Maika.

[Earendil Halfelven]

Himaran & Arvedui III-nice to see you two again. Its been awhile since Road to Erebor, but let the good times roll! Arvedui- too bad Rangar and Turthol can't be here [img]smilies/frown.gif[/img] but now I'm the bad guy!!!!! [img]smilies/evil.gif[/img] It's about time too!

[ October 13, 2003: Message edited by: Earendil Halfelven ]

[GaladrieloftheOlden]

A question: may I post a bio for co-conspirator number 2, or has the spot already been taken for sure?

Thanks. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[maikafanawen]

GaladrielOTO: Feel free to submit a character bio. I am not making my final final decision until Thursday. I really like a couple of the bios submitted very much already though so we'll see. But you may of course still submit one! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Characters Needed / Players Interested

- Female Corsair -
Arien's Acacia (Replied)

- Male Corsair -
Arvedui's Menelcar {In progress)
Himaran's Jurex (In progress)

- Female Gondor Ally -
Brinniel's Adeline (Replied)
Durelin's Rytin (Replied)

- Fourth Gondor Ally -
No one

Alright, I'm just checking up.

Now to PM Arvedui and Himaran.

-Maikafanawen

PS I'm sorry you won't be able to join us Eladain.

[GaladrieloftheOlden]

Character Description Form:
1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs?


Yes.

Which one?

Reclaiming the City, In the Footsteps of the Grey Company, and The Summons.

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

None.

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

Yes.

Which one?

Both, but it was a few months ago.

_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME: Hessa Taiel.

AGE: 21.

RACE: Corsair.

GENDER: Female.

WEAPONS: Hess owns a tiny but very sharp blade concealed inside one of her rings. She has never had occasion to use it, and nor wishes to, as she is rather squeamish of blood. It was given to her by her father when she turned 13. She treasures it more for how elegant it looks on her finger, and for the memory of her father that lies with it, than for its possible usefulness, but understands that as well.
She also has a small dagger, but does not carry this around with her, as she thinks it a nuisance, and does not feel that she will ever need it. She keeps it at home, under her bed, and rarely even takes it out to clean.

APPEARANCE: Hessa has long and flowing black hair, naturally tanned skin, brown eyes, and a small, often-pouting mouth. She is quite vain, and considers herself beautiful, often finding an hour to spend making faces at her mirror, but is really not more than just pretty. She is rather petite, standing at only 5’3”, but does not care, having never envied those taller than her their height. Hessa would like to wear bright dresses, or tight ones to show off her figure, more often, but, as, financially, this is hard, she makes due with boring and plain ones most of the time, unless she has a chance to do otherwise.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Hessa is a rather vain young woman, self-confident and self-centered often to the point of conceit, and feels that she does not receive all the admiration which, in her opinion, is her due. Hess is sometimes, when in the mood, a shameless flirt, but has only recently discovered this side of herself, and, though quite comfortable with it, tries not to let it show too often, because she feels that it is not worth a bad reputation. Occasionally, when she does not get what she wishes, Hess is not above throwing a hissy fit or sharply doing away with a friend or two with sarcastic, scathing words, snide remarks, and scornful glances. She cannot be said to be very intelligent, and is certainly rather featherbrained. She feels that books and studies are simply a terrible intrusion into her time. She is also very much a gossip, and will, at almost any given point, know all the talk of the town.
Hessa does not really have many strong points, but those that she has are readily noticable. She can be quite loyal if somebody is interested in achieving the same goal as she is (Umbar for the corsairs, in this case) for example. Also, she has a talent for loosening tongues and receiving all the information she could wish for. She can be quite persuasive when she wants to. And, occasionally, though rather rarely, she can develop attachments which help her become more determined- for example, she has a great love for her mother, and when she feels that she is dong something for her, she does it with much more conviction.
As mentioned somewhere above, Hess is vain, and often self-centered. This means that she is easily prejudiced against those who have obviously better clothes or looks, and also is vulnerable to flattery. By way of sweet talking, if it is well enough "crafted," almost anybody could win Hessa’s trust and esteem. Also, although she is good at hearing all that there is to be heard, she can often not distinguish between truth, rumor, and blatant lie. Lastly, Hess is very squeamish about blood or gore, and once passed out when she witnessed a street brawl, so, though she wishes for Umbar to come back to the corsairs, she knows that it cannot be done without violence, and secretly dreads the possibility of it happening.

HISTORY: Hessa was born to a well-off and moderately well-known corsair captain, a friend of Jythralo’s, and his wife, a constantly ill woman at least a few years older than her husband, somewhere in Umbar. When Hess was almost a year old, her father, who had left off sailing shortly before she was born, sold his ship and decided to accept a "mission" to spy in Minas Tirith. So he took the family (his wife, little Hessa, and his teen-aged son), changed his name, and moved them all to Minas Tirith. Things went peacefully for a long while. Hessa grew from an infant to a toddler, from a toddler to a child... she was spoiled and used to dressing well, and to getting what she wanted, and hungered always for more tales of the brave corsairs, to whom she knew she belonged. Her father and brother, meanwhile, were constatnly busy, working out strategic friendships with important officials, or reading stolen documents, or something of the sort. But when Hess was 10, the clouds began to gather. More efforts were being taken to root out spies, and all foreigners were suspect. Many were charged with spying, even those who were not, but somehow Hess’s father avoided apprehension for a few more years. When Hessa turned thirteen, her father gave her a ring with a tiny but terribly sharp blade inside which is still her only weapon, and which she treasures.
About 3 months later, Hessa’s father and brother were taken away on charges of spying and being unfaithful to the city where they resided. Hess never saw them again. She and her mother fled the city and came back to their homeland, Umbar. There, they found themselves a new home, and managed to scrape by with "donations" from old friends, though Hessa’s mother was continuousy ill. As Hessa grew older, she decided that she wanted to help out the efforts of the corsairs still left in the town to bring it back under control, but, though she asked to help, there was really nothing that she could do. However, being the social butterfly she is, she hears all the talk of the town and passes on any which concerns the corsairs or the Gondorian army to Jythralo, directly or through others, and is determined that if she can find something more helpful to do, she will do it.

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GaladrieloftheOlden's post

Hessa awoke to the sound of hacked coughing from the next room. She debated for a few seconds the idea of curling up and going back to sleep, but a louder cough pushed the measure to the other side, and, her eyes still heavy with sleep, she threw off the warm blanket and rose, shivering. Grabbing a worn shawl quickly from a chair she pulled it tight around her shoulders, over her slightly threadbare nightgown, and softly opened the door to the next room. "Mother," she called. "Are you alright?" Another bout of wheezing followed, and then her mother’s hoarse voice: "Quite alright, Hess, quite alright... go back to bed, dear." "Well, call me if you need me," Hessa said, unconvinced, in an unusually gentle voice. She walked out of the room and shut the door carefully behind her. Sitting back down on her bed, she wrapped herself again in her covers against the cold, but did not take off the shawl, brooding. Then, swinging her legs over the side, she lay down, hoping to catnap, at least. But slumber did not come, though her eyes were long closed. She strained to hear any noise from the next room, but it seemed her mother had settled down. She hoped so, at least. Concerned, she wondered how she felt. And why she even cared. She would not have cared had it been anybody else. Why should she? Nobody else mattered. She shrugged in the darkness of the windowless room, then chided herself for her silliness. Nobody was there to see her gesture to the walls. Finally, she slid into a doze...

She was 6 again, living in Minas Tirith. She was at home, twirling about in front of her parents and older brother, her crimson dress billowing about her childish form. Her mother was laughing, and her father was just sitting still, his dark eyes alive with humor. Her brother merely, stood, fidgeting. She was joyfully running into her mother’s arms and twisting her fingers into her dark hair. The picture changed. She was 9, reading from a piece of parchment, her brows furrowed, her eyes darting out every so often to check on her mother, waiting for her to doze. 11, running through the town and hearing news of traitors rooted out, spies caught, and then coming home, hearing tales of the brave corsairs to whom she belonged, whispered, from her brother. 13, her birthday, her father giving her, solemnly, the ring with the hidden blade... and then the day, a few months later, when the men had come to take away her father and brother...

She realized that she was no longer dreaming, but remembering, sitting upright in her bed, her teeth chattering still with the morning cold. She did not want to remember it all again, but the painful images seemed to burst through a wall in her mind, coming to a skidding halt just before her eyes. She remembered the days when she and her mother had run from Minas Tirith. She remembered how she had missed the half of her family that was now gone, in those first few months. She remembered how they had reached Umbar and settled down in the city, helped along by friends and relations, her mother now ailing. She remembered how she had wished to help the corsairs, because of her fiery hatred for the men who had taken her brother and father. And how, in time, she had forgotten most of it, and entered the life of a young woman in the town, and enjoyed it immensely. But she had not forgotten, she chided herself, she remembered it all... but really, her father and brother did not matter. Long dead, probably, she thought. None of it mattered. She couldn’t help the efforts of the corsairs, really, no matter what little things she heard in town and brought back to them, or what rumors she could spread for them, because she had no mind for politics.

But then, unused to such lengthy contemplation of serious subjects, she jumped off the bed, and, calling to her mother that she was going out for an hour or two, turned to find a suitable dress. She cringed a bit as she looked at those she had, because all of them had somewhere or other a worn spot or tear, no matter how skillfully stitched up. Then she wondered if she might find one somewhere else. Looking around the rather small room, she checked in the corners, the chest, even. Finally, sighing, she got down on her knees and reached under the bed, squeamishly and abruptly drawing back her hand at every dust bunny she caught by accident. Then, reaching what she had meant to, she grabbed hold of a basket and pulled it out. Heaving it upwards, she placed it on top of the bed, and began to look through its contents. There were a few dresses inside, two of them untouchable for the time, being those she wore only on special occasions. There was one, however, which was quite decent, clean and tight and a dark reddish maroon. She pulled it out, but did so carelessly, and a dagger clattered to the floor. She swooped down gracefully to pick it up, frowning. She didn’t know why she still had the thing. She was far too afraid of blood to ever use it, anyway. She dusted it off and put it back in the basket. Then, she went to change.

Emerging from a darkened corner a minute or two later, she cast a sidelong look in the mirror and smiled from under her eyelashes, as though flirting. Then, remembering her dream, she twirled, beginning to laugh. Taking a comb from her bedside table, she ran it through her long black hair, pushing its weight behind her shoulders, where it swayed softly. Then, putting on her ring, the blade inside hidden by a large stone, she took a last pleased glance and smile into the mirror and was gone before the door slammed, all thoughts, unpleasant and not so, left behind for the whirling and speeding world of gossip and the streets outside and screaming vendors in the marketplace...

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Hope that's alright. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

-Menelien

[ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: GaladrieloftheOlden ]

[ October 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[maikafanawen]

Salut

D'accord, I got done with Arvedui's critique and I was moving on to Himaran's when the computer froze at my dad's office. So Arvedui, your character bio and my little comments are on a disk at the offices downtown. I'll get them to you tomorrow. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Je regrette! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Himaran, I had time to do yours before 7:30 when I promised Mr. Schetski I'd do his art review. It should be in your PM box.

Menelien, I'll get to yours asap tomorrow. It looks good!

A demain!
Maikafanawen

(I'm studying for a French I exam tomorrow--every little bit helps!! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] )

[maikafanawen]

D'accord, Arvedui, you can check your PMs now. I got the disk with your "critique" or whatever one wants to call it.

I'm working on yours right now Menelien.

-Maikafanawen

[ October 15, 2003: Message edited by: maikafanawen ]

[Arvedui III]

Earendil:Indeed. Se le bon ton ruele! (Please forgive my horrible french.) [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Maika: I posted the corrections. Hope that works (again).

[piosenniel]

[img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] ~*~ Laissez les bon temps roulez! ~*~ [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

[Earendil Halfelven]

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Too much french! I had 3 years of that for HS. Please, no more...I beg you... [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[maikafanawen]

WHOA!! Lots of big french! I only know a few little things relating to school! Like telling people what classes I have etc ... [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

I AM CLOSING IN ON MY DECISIONS AND EVERYONE'S WHO'S SUBMITTED A BIO PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU WILL BE ABLE TO BE HERE FOR THE WHOLE TIME. Of course there will be a week or two when one has holiday vacations etc...but none of this multi-weekly absences that I'm not told about. This RPG cannot afford it. If you cannot be here the whole time please let me know!!!!!!

D'accord, finally I've gotten Menelien's thing to her. So you can check your PMs now Menelien.

-Maikafanawen