The Legacy of Traitors Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

Everdawn invites you to play:

The Legacy of Traitors


BASIC STORYLINE

After the War of the Ring, a young woman, Maén, learns a terrible family secret, driven by curiosity and the legacy the traitor has challenged to those who may find him. The “Legacy” is rumoured to be a large sum of gold. Against the wishes of her father and mother, but by the encouragement of an equally curious aunt who serves as Benefactor, She forms a party of those who would share the legacy and prepare to face-off against not only a traitor to her family, but a traitor to Gondor.

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PURPOSE OF THIS STORY IS TO:

Find the traitor, Guriel Il Galoth, collect his legacy as he challenged.

THE STORY WILL BE OVER WHEN: The company find Guriel Il Galoth and kill/turn over/ arrest/ set him free as the will of the company and Maén sees fit.


STARTING LOCATION: Minas Tirith.

ENDING LOCATION: Minas Tirith

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:38 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

TIMEFRAMES:

This game takes place: Fourth Age: Year 15

The storyline itself or plot covers: Around a month

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

[piosenniel]

Characters Needed:

• 1) Spy prefer male - Loyal to Those who hate Gondor - Has to want to find Guriel Il Galoth and see if his organisation is still working. Can have a change of heart towards the end/ or be arrested by the guards.
  
• 2) Guard - male –Gondor - Sent by the king, hearing of the legacy to arrest Guriel Il Galoth- Cant let anyone else know what he really is doing on expedition or that he is a guard, so he will have to make up an excuse.
  
• 3) Guard- Male- Gondor- Same as the above, but will be working together with him.
  
• 4) Ranger- Male - First meets Maén and is the first to agree to come.
  
• 5) Traveler- male/female- Any location – has own reason to come- possibly wanting some of the “legacy” thought at the time by everyone to be gold.
  
• 6) Traveler – male/female- Has own reason for joining the hunt – make interesting.
  
• 7) Traveler- male/female – same as above- make interesting

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Character types which would not belong: hobbits, dwarves and elves


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SECONDARY CHARACTERS: (played by Everdawn)

Arriten- Male- Old Guard (Loyal to Guriel) of Osgiliath

Aunt Lysia – female- Maén’s aunt who is the benefactor for the search

[piosenniel]

Everdawn’s Character

Name: Maén

Age: 23

Race: Man

Gender: Female Location: Gondor

WEAPONS: If a man has em’ why shouldn’t she? A sword that she boasts of but never carts around with her. Is kept above her bed on a shelf in case she is attacked during the night.

APPEARANCE: She is a woman of average height and average beauty. She has large hazel eyes and bright blonde hair. Pale completion, and of thin build. Always looks slightly older than she already is. (Which she either likes or dislikes, depending on her mood.) She also bears a four inch scar from when she was burnt as a child.

PERSONALITY: Maén, has a fiery personality, but also that of a woman who has been properly educated all her life. She is inquisitive and very independent. She believes that women should be equal to men, and chafes at the fact that for all intents and purposes, it is a man’s world. She is very sharp in her attention to detail. Maén has the attitude that you only live once. Things that are shocking to others she would consider tame. She is very liberal in her views and tolerant to a point - she is given to challenging views which she sees as unfair. She is often found eating with the servants at dinner to defy her parents and the rules of segregation between the rich and the poor. She is cheeky and unpredictable, some think her mad, but mostly she is eccentric her most important trait though by far is determination.

HISTORY: Maén grew up in the upper class region of Minas Tirith to her respectable parents Miradir and Marrwen who of course were of proper lineage. Maén had three brothers Omerin, Retantir, and Marrlad, all of whom served their time in the military before going onto even more respectable professions, (Weapons Maker, Scribe, Medicine.) Her father fought in the War of the Ring alongside King Elessar, and came home a stranger, detached from reality and his family. Maén made the mistake of slipping into his study one morning and came across letters written during the war. Her father caught her, and in a moment of intense anger, cuffed her hard with the back of his hand. The intensity of the blow sent her flying toward the small fire burning in the room’s grate. Her wrist still bears the red, raised scar where flesh met the hot metal.

Maén was always the black sheep in her family. As a little girl she was always persuading her cousin to sneak down into the town so that they could go and visit an old man who told stories. (Actually tales of his travels before the War of the Ring. When the world was still free.) Her parents had her properly educated, but under no circumstances did her military father teach her to wield a sword, this was something she had to get her eldest brother to do.

When her father went off to the War of the Ring, Maén was shipped off to Dol Amroth with her mother and her beloved Aunt Lysia where they waited until the end of the war. It was here that Maén understood why she was so different to everyone else in her family, she was much the same as her Aunt, and from then on they formed a strong friendship. As Maén grew older her attitude to society changed, according to her parents, this was due to her Aunt Lysia’s influence.

Most people rejected her radical ideas, and so Maén became silent once again, she did not take openly to deifying her father, in fear of him as she had been since he came home from the war. Her parents, however reacted strangely to the accusations that their daughter was crazy, they did nothing, much to Maén’s delight. And most people did think her mad.

After the novelty of this liberal girl with her odd thoughts wore off, people accepted her as simply a familiar curiosity - a woman of outlandish, and in their opinion, harmless, views. Maén took to studying antiquities and delving into mysteries. Often taking it upon her to try and solve anything that happened to her.

This now mentioned, brings us to the story…

[piosenniel]

Everdawn's post – First for the Game

I remember it as if it were yesterday: The sun was high in the sky, shining gloriously above Gondor. We were just collecting our lives again after the war of the ring under the reign of the King Elessar. My father Miradir Il Galoth had fought then, under the command of the Steward. My mother and I were evacuated along with the other women and children, my elder brothers stayed as they were a little older along with other boys to aid the soldiers and run errands, that type of thing.

Everyone thought I was too young to understand what was befalling us then, but I understood completely. We stayed in Dol Amroth, for my mother thought that was far enough away from the fighting. Heralds often sent news of happenings in the east, it was then only thing people questioned themselves with. One day news came of the battle of the Pelennor Fields, the big battle, we did not know whether father was fighting or not, or whether he was still in Gondor. The next time we heard any news was when Barad Dûr was taken and the war was over. I was relieved and the journey home was the longest one and I will remember it forever.

My father was alive when we returned home, but a changed man. He showed no sign of warmth to anyone but sat day upon day in his study in a remote wing of the house, alone and withdrawn. Perhaps it was my childish innocence, or a consequence of my curious and sometimes irrational nature which made my next actions possible.

One morning I was playing by myself when I stumbled into the dark corridor of my father’s wing. It was a formidable sight to my young eyes, rows of burning lanterns, and black drapes reflecting upon the polished marble floor. I was drawn to it like a moth is drawn to a flame. Slowly I checked for any sign of life before proceeding along it’s impedingly passageway to the end room which I knew was my father’s study. My small arms pushed open the heavy door and saw that the room was empty. A lamp burned brightly on his desk as well as the candelabras on the walls while the burning embers sat in his fireplace slowly dying. I walked over to his desk. I struggled to place myself upon the seat. Upon the desk sat a lone glass box which revealed to case a bloodstained knife. I lifted the lid of the box and extracted the weapon within and turned it over in my hands before placing it back where it had come from. I opened the top draw in my father’s desk and read over several letters which lay on top of various other pieces of paper, Still I sat I my father’s enormous leather chair as he would have done. Mostly the letters were unsent one which were addressed to my mother an others were to my father’s brother, though he had been killed in Ithilien, obviously my father thought it senseless to send them to him. Whilst raiding the other draws I came across one which hadn’t been opened As fast as I could I broke the seal and began to read, as fast as my young eyes could read then I ran my eyes across the letters, It was in my father’s handwriting and it did not have a receiver’s name on it. I read the letter more closely until one particular passage caught my eye.

“After months of not knowing, I have come to find that the traitor is none other than Guriel Il Galoth. I am in two minds whether we should pursuit him straight away or let him have his game until the right time that we can corner him. The course of action is up to you, whatever your decision; I will not let blood ties hinder your warrant for his arrest or execution.”

Eru only knows how long he had been watching me. I glanced over the letter to see my father standing in the doorway. I had never seen my father so angry before, so much so was his demeanour that he even looked like someone else. He yelled at me then, and I remember little of it but he kept saying this room was forbidden, and I should never have come there and that I wronged him by handling the knife, for he had pulled it from the chest of his best friend. He came in one swift move towards me and hit me on the back so hard that I stumbled and fell into the fire grate where my arm broke my fall, an accident. I screamed for what seemed like an eternity before my wrist was lifted. . I saw tears in my father’s eyes when he had realised what he had done. I knew there was something more to why my father felt the need to punish me, not jut his impending madness which had over come him since the war.

It was in that moment I first asked myself “Who is Guriel Il Galoth?” I was nine then and fourteen years later I am still no closer to the truth than I was then. Today is just like that day - the sun is shining gloriously on Gondor and I still bear a scar upon my wrist, a constant, ugly reminder of my question. Today I received a letter answering my message I sent to the king a while ago. I am hoping this will give some clue as to why my father went mad, and better still, where is this infamous relative of mine?

Maén placed her quill down on the top of the stone steps and closed the cover of her journal; straining her eyes against the setting sun she watched the birds flying in the sky on their way home to roost. In the fading light she rummaged through her robe pockets to find the note from the King’s court, she had waited to open it so she could write in her journal. Slowly and carefully she picked off the wax with her fingernails opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. Every word within was like a hot stabbing knife pricking her flesh. “Information Denied!” her face fell. “This is unbelievable” she remarked with an air of misery. The sun had now gone down and the cool air of the late evening had settled into the grounds of her home. Maén packed up her things and went inside, and headed straight for her chamber without dinner where she stayed till late night.

Now thoroughly annoyed with the monarchy of Gondor, Maén resolved that the only hope she had now of getting any answers or receiving any of the Legacy, was to go to her aunt who lived at the north of Minas Tirith, the one remaining relative who would help her. Now, any normal person would have accepted the truth that Guriel Il Galoth would now remain anonymous for the rest of time, until the day would come when the sun rose no more. But not Maén, her fiery personality and obsessive nature made impossible for her to determine when to leave things alone. After hours of storming around her bedroom she decided that tonight she would make a start to find out about her infamous relative.

Checking that all the lights were out in the house, she lit a lamp and in her nightgown she clambered as quietly as she could down the numerous halls of her families huge home, passing her brother’s old chambers, in which they had lived before they moved out and got married, everything that was expected by Gondorian society. “Fools and idiots, bamboozled brothers of mine… what fate shall befall them, those who seek nothing and in return gain nothing?” she smirked in passing, her shadow etching itself further in front of her.

Managing to come by the first floor unnoticed by the life that dwelled deep where dreams lie, in the rooms she climbed the marble stairs two more floors till she arrived at the same formidable wing she grew to hate as a child. Treading softly and swiftly she strode boldly through it to her fathers primary study. Slowly pushing open the door, and listening to it creak for a few seconds, she peered into the study. Her body froze for the slightest minute. The fire embers were still cooling in the fireplace. Maén pushed up the sleeve of her nightgown and peered at the underside of her left wrist. There still she wore a reminder of why she never came in here anymore. A four inch burn scar ran vertically down her arm. Shoving her hand away form her sight she placed the candelabra upon her father’s desk and began to raid the drawers for the letters she so vaguely remembered.

She had sat in her father’s chair for what seemed like an hour. Maén had moved to looking in the draws in her father’s library, throwing books across the room as well as the small statues which lay between the rows of books. Maén was on her hands and knees, she was about to give up until she stumbled across a new letters hidden within a box, concealed in the hollowed out middle of an eagle statue which stood at the base of the last bookshelf, adjacent to the wall. Feverishly she pulled them from their envelopes.

“Mr Il Galoth, we the shipmasters of Freverin & Sons Shipping Co. wish to inform you…”

“I don’t care what a shipmaster has to say!” she exclaimed with ill patience she moved onto the next.

“Miradir,

Give the guards a start towards the city, Osgiliath is waiting for you. I have run across some intelligence which would prove the enemy is weaker.

- Guriel.”

Maén almost dropped the letter with excitement. The next one read.


“Salome,

Pull the men out! Dwell not on the words of Guriel my cousin for he has betrayed us all! My brother is dead along with the other men, for Eru’s sake, do not come, or it will be the death of you all!

- Miradir”

“It’s true! He was betrayed.” She exclaimed. Before noticing one more letter, the seal was unbroken. Returning to her fathers chair she fiddled with it for some time before lifting the wax with her fingernail. Out fell a small piece of paper which in turn read.

“To my dear cousin,

I write to you this letter of gratitude. It was because of you and your noble men that Mordor has been able to get this far. I know now that I am wanted for treason again my country. And to this I tell you, try as you will, you can never find me. In fact the purpose of my letter to you is to warn the king, come not to me, or what will meet you will be even more hazardous than the day I took the lives of your men and your brother. You have seen what I am capable of, kinslaying, and I will never be found. I offer a grand legacy to those who may find me for their trouble and hence they will call themselves “Finder of the impossible” a title which grandly their heirs will remember.

For what I have said, heed my warning; death will come on swift wings to those of Gondor who come for my life.

- Guriel Il Galoth.”

“Dear Eru!” she exclaimed reading over the letter several times. “Kinslaying! My uncle was killed by him then! This is a lot deeper than I originally thought.” She sat and pondered, picturing the scene in her mind. “…Legacy..?” she started at once. “Wait a second, legacy, it has to be gold, like the people in the village said it was.” She dwelled on this thought for some time. “All the more reason for haste, I feel I have an advantage now.” She glanced toward the mantle and on it were the blood covered knife in its glass case, deciding whether or not to leave it in its place. Her fingers extended but she thought the better of it. Gathering up the letters and her father’s journal, a map and the candelabra she hurried from her father’s wing and back to her room.

A nervous excitement filled her body as she swiftly changed from her nightgown into another dress, (she would be riding, it was true, but still she wanted to look like a lady) and packed a bag full of her clothes, quills, and paper. Maén fleetingly looked at her room as she threw open the doors to her balcony. Her mirror stared back at her. She smiled at her reflection before throwing a paperweight at it from its place on her desk. An almighty crash rang out form it as the shards of glass covered the floorboards. She left the balcony for a minute and overturned her desk, cupboards and tea tables. Maén ripped her curtains from their rods and cast them from her terrace on the second floor so they dangled feet from the ground floor. She threw her bags over the edge and looked once more at the disaster she had created in her chamber and noticed her journal on the floor under several other clusters of paper. She recovered it and after making sure the sheets were secure, made for the ground and then away to the stables.

The stables echoed the neighs of horses unsettled from their slumber as Maén hastily searched their stalls for her horse. It was in the last one, a smaller red mare by the name of Hittai.

Maén now growing more optimistic by the minute rode from her home for her Aunt’s manor, slightly north of Minas Tirith, not the safest route for a young woman to be riding on in the middle of the night, or so was the opinion of her Aunt Lysia. Aunt Lysia was well dressed, even in the middle of the night as she stood with her servants to receive her. Lysia thought strange that her niece should visit her at such a time, but as always, she was pleased all the same.

“Why exactly have you come?” she asked Maén who sat fidgeting across from her at her table. Lysia had always been the confidant of her rogue niece, the only relative who did not shun her radical behaviour in the past.

Her niece’s eyes were dull in the light of the chandelier which hung above them, “Guriel” she said. At once Lysia sat up straighter than she already was (not once in her life could Maén remember her Aunt’s back hitting the rear of any chair she ever sat in)

“I thought this day would come, though I rather expected it sooner than this.” Lysia frowned and glanced at a clock on the wall.

Maén was glad that her aunt knew something about this man. “Well?” she asked impatiently.

“Calm child.” Lysia snapped and made her way out of the room to appear minutes later with a leather folder, rather empty but containing several sheets of parchment. “I recovered these from my bureau, Listen hard because I will only discuss this with you once.” Maén need no warning of this, her heat was already still with anticipation. “You know your father has never been the same since the war, and he has good reason. You know as well that my husband was killed along with him.” Maén nodded. “Your father is still suffering from the memories of that war, heavens knows it has changed the best of men, even after all these years. You must understand it makes him do things he wouldn’t usually do-”

“Like hit his little daughter hard enough for her to get trapped in the fire as her little arm began to burn in the embers in his fireplace until the skin had all but melted away?”

Even Maén was surprised by her sudden outburst. Lysia’s head snapped up, she was quiet for a second, and still, and old, so old that you could see all the years of grief and loneliness creep suddenly onto her face.

“Like that.” she murmured. “The government gave me no other reason as to why your uncle died than ‘he died as a hero on the battlefields of Ithilien fighting the enemy.’ Of course with your father back in his present state the only explanation I could get from him was ‘he was killed by the traitor.’ "

Maén was almost jumping out of her seat. “Guriel” Lysia nodded. “Not to be quick, I know that your uncle was in a regiment where a large number of the Il Galoth men were stationed. This is most unusual for a military family but not remote. Out of all the Il Galoth’s who went, only two lived, your father and Guriel. Your father was the only one to return to Gondor. Rumour came to me by the marketplace that they were stationed in an emissary- spy position if you will. And that Guriel, their own blood in fact, had betrayed the whole regiment to Mordor.”

Maén was stunned, “How . . . why . . . ? My father was in the intelligence sector?”

Lysia nodded again and drained the last of her port from her glass. “He was, appointed by the Steward, Few people know of this, I wrote to the Military to ask them and this is the reply I got.” Lysia’s frail fingers pulled one of the few pieces of parchment from the folder and handed it across the table for Maén to read.


Dear Widow Il Galoth,

The Gondorian Army has never heard of any corps such as you wrote to us in your letter. Your husband Miradan died as a hero defending Osgiliath during the War of the Ring, and I revile the people who have spread these untrue rumours, preventing you to grieve as you should. To add to that, we have never retained in our service, one, Guriel Il Galoth, or had him in the service of the city.

Eru be with you in these hard times,

The Gondorian Army

“Never heard of him?” Maén asked still dumbfounded staring at the paper.

“That’s what I found interesting.” Lysia smiled.

“He does too exist, and he was in the same sector as my father. It says so in a letter I found.” Maén tapped her fingers on the table.

“You are quite right, Guriel Il Galoth does live, or I think he does, his fate is unknown to me, but I happened to meet him on one occasion, at your grandfather’s funeral.” Lysia lit another of the fading candles in the chandelier. “So I did some research, which was very limited as your father was uncooperative, well he was sick…

From various sources I gained reports that a man had brought a horse with the same number branded onto its skin as the number given to Guriel during the war.” Lysia handed a stock report to Maén who read as she continued talking. “I also confirmed that a man had sold a large house in the very east of Ithilien to a man called Galoth who paid in a lump sum of gold, now I’m sure that it was a fair way off, but it was too close a match for me not to ignore.”

“A legacy,” Maén interrupted passing the letter which she had come across in her father’s study to Lysia.

“I see,” she said in her cultured voice after reading it. “This may well in fact mean what I think it does, Gold, I am suspect to think it would be gold, this ‘legacy’ Guriel speaks of, though it could well be property. Which brings me to my next point, you don’t even know if he is alive, or dead, you don’t know what happened and that there probably is a good reason your father and Gondor don’t want us to know what happened.”

Lysia paused which gave Maén time to speak. “You said earlier that you had expected me to come, why?”

Lysia breathed deeply. “Because I am too old to go looking, and I know that is why you have come, have you not? To look for him?”

Maén now reminded herself why she liked her aunt; it was because they knew each other so well. “It is.” she said as Lysia handed her the folder to replace the documents.

“I will warrant your search and serve as benefactor; all finance can be done through me. Collect who you will and bring them to me before going on your journey, if I pass them they may go and they will be paid handsomely upon their return.”

Maén was in awe. “Surely it will be too much, the cost!”

To which Lysia waved her hand aside, “I am wealthy enough, you forget, I too came from a well off family, Go now, rest. I will send a messenger to your home and tell them you are staying with me for some time. We will talk more in the morning when you will begin your search.”

Lysia would hear no more that night, and Maén was slightly glad, this night had brought many surprises to her, and now she would be able to seek the answer to her question which had not only plagued her but her aunt as far as she could tell, she now drifted off to a dreamless sleep and she would need it, for in the morning she would search Minas Tirith high and low for the people who would be willing to accompany her on her quest.

[piosenniel]

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.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:05 PM January 23, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

FIRST POSTS MUST BE SUBMITTED WITH YOUR CHARACTER DESCRIPTION

All character descriptions not accompanied by a First Post will be returned to their writers.

Players will NOT be chosen because they submitted their character earlier than the other players. The Game Owner, Everdawn, will read each post and character bio and then make the choice for players accordingly.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:06 PM January 23, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

~*~ Here's the list again ~*~

CHARACTERS NEEDED:

• 1) Spy prefer male - Loyal to Those who hate Gondor - Has to want to find Guriel Il Galoth and see if his organisation is still working. Can have a change of heart towards the end/ or be arrested by the guards.
  
• 2) Guard - male –Gondor - Sent by the king, hearing of the legacy to arrest Guriel Il Galoth- Cant let anyone else know what he really is doing on expedition or that he is a guard, so he will have to make up an excuse.
  
• 3) Guard- Male- Gondor- Same as the above, but will be working together with him.
  
• 4) Ranger- Male - First meets Maén and is the first to agree to come.
  
• 5) Traveler- male/female- Any location – has own reason to come- possibly wanting some of the “legacy” thought at the time by everyone to be gold.
  
• 6) Traveler – male/female- Has own reason for joining the hunt – make interesting.
  
• 7) Traveler- male/female – same as above- make interesting

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:09 PM January 23, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

The Discussion thread is now open to take on characters.

Have fun!

~*~ Pio

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:26 AM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Placed for Crystal Heart – member #10325
_______________________________________

Have you ever played in an RPG at the Downs before? No

Have you posted in the Green Dragon Inn or the White Inn in Rohan? Yes-Green Dragon

Character:

Name: Crystal Heart

Age: 23

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Weapons: A sword for protection from men, a small knife, and a small trap for game.

Appearance: Long red hair and green eyes. She is shorter, but she can run very fast.

Personality/Strengths/Weakness: She is strong, stubborn, and will always continue on. Her weakness is falling of the men that she is trying to swindle money out of. She is good at sword fighting. She can track only slightly.

History: Her father alienated her after her mother died. She ran away after he killed her love, Arthur Neuitmen (Nicknamed Arty). Since then she has been a traveler.

_______________________________________

Crystal Heart’s post

Crystal was heading for Minas Tirith after waiting silently for several hours. The riders from Rohan that bore the crest of her father's army had been searching for her. If she had moved she would have been found. As of late they had been using trackers, but because of the trees’ help they couldn't find her tracks. Crystal hoped that they never would and would one day give up trying to find her. She wouldn't go back, she would kill all that tried to capture her. She would be free.

Yet, this wanting freedom didn't come without a price. A heavy price. She didn't have a job and wasn't sure what a woman of her stature could really do. She had talents and interests as any being did, but talents and interests never seemed to make enough money. She would have to sit down and create a job and that would risk the chance of being captured by her father's men.

That would leave swindling men out of their money. A task that was easy, but her heart always got involved and stopped her from taking too much from the man she was seducing. She hated her heart, hated the way she was so kind. She wanted to be ruthless and take it all.

If only I could find a treasure of some sort that would pay for everything I would ever need for all of my days, Crystal thought wishfully. She knew that if she could find such a treasure then she could settle down somewhere, far away from the reaches of Rohan. Possibly the place she had once visited called the Shire. She was sure she could find a place to stay and live out her days in peace. She hadn't seen any riders there when she was there last, but then times have changed and it was a possibility that her father had thought of that. He always thought of every aspect. That's why he was general. He was ruthless and knew aspects of battle that most men over looked. He was devious and she knew she would have to be aware.

She smiled at the thought that her father would search the rest of his life and yet never find her. They wouldn't find her because she had become a traveler now. She knew the secret ways of the traveler and she knew that her father had no previous knowledge of travelers. He would never find her.

"You aren't anything to me," Crystal's father had said to her countless times in her life. She smiled at the thought. For someone that was nothing he was sure doing his best to try to find her. Maybe the old man had learned a valuable lesson that he wouldn't have learned if she hadn't left. She liked the fact that he was suffering, that he was in pain and in grief at his loss. He had certainly hurt her enough times in her life.

She hummed lightly to herself a song that her mother had sung to her before her death. She couldn't recall the lyrics to the song, but she could remember the tune. Just this general tune set her in a good mood. A good mood, something that she hadn't been in a couple of months. She was in a good mood because she had eluded the riders for the second time that day. This day had been very productive.

Crystal felt her pouch and knew that there was only a couple of coins left. She needed to get to Minas Tirith and try to swindle another man out of his money. She wished in her mind that there would be a treasure there that she could attain. She wanted a treasure to stop this life of crime and to come respectable once again in a nice place. Again she thought of the Shire, which would be a great place to settle down for the rest of her life.

She headed on towards Minas Tirith hoping for treasure and the future that undoubtedly waited ahead for her.

[piosenniel]

Placed for Hama of the Riddermark – member #10344

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – NO

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?

Green Dragon
_______________________________________

Character Description:

NAME: Roryn

AGE: 45

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: A bow, a quiver of arrows and a sword.

APPEARANCE: Looks weary, as if he is twice as old as he really is. He has a brown beard that is kept neatly trimmed close to the chin and a moustache of the same colour. He has shoulder length dark brown hair and dark green eyes which are always alert and restless, unlike the rest of his face.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: He dislikes people looking at him directly in the face, as it could lead to him being recognised and revealed by them later. He is slightly paranoid, but has a deep trust in those he knows, especially those rangers that he often works with. He often likes to slink off while nobody's looking, and then appear from up ahead confirming that all is clear. Morally fairly strong, enough that he knows where the mark is, and he always endeavours not to put a foot over it. He is a deadly shot with a bow, like all rangers, and it is rare for him to miss a declared target, at almost any possible range. He likes the simple pleasures in life, good food, good ale and good tobacco, and always tries to procure all three after a hard day's slogging across the woodland around Ithilien.

HISTORY: A loyal soldier of Gondor, he often skirmished with the other rangers in the War of the Ring. He attacked Harradrim convoys, easterling patrols, even the scouting patrols of orc trackers. His bow claimed many a victim in the enemy ranks, but he was completely unfazed by the seemingly hard life that a ranger had to live. That was, until, the end of the war. The months of fighting had taken their toll on Roryn physically and mentally. He is not as full of joviality as he used to be, and his bones are less supple than they used to be. In his eyes his finest moment was shooting a mumak in both eyes, blinding it and causing it to throw off the construction on its back, killing a score of Harradrim. In the siege of Gondor Roryn stood on the walls picking off orcs with his bow until all his arrows were spent, whereupon he ditched his bow and drew his sword. He retreated to the second tier with the survivors and braced for death. From the ramparts after the charge of the Rohirrim he picked off many of the remaining few orcs with his bow. He pursued the forces of the enemy long, only stopping when he had cut down those he could see. He returned to Minas Tirith and continued his life’s work of protecting Gondor, even though there were few foes, and they were far between.

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

Hama of the Riddermark’s post

Roryn sat in the high branches of the trees of Ithilien smoking his pipe. He was almost invisible to anyone that would have looked up, but there were few people to look up into the trees in search of enemies now. He settled himself with his back to the tree trunk, with his legs bent upward in front of him, outstretched to the extent that is was comfortable, but gave adequate support. His bow hung off a small branch next to him and his quiver of arrows with it. He knew it was reckless to leave them there, but then, he reasoned, it was reckless to go to war as he had done. He remembered the day well of the Pellenor fields.

He let a whistle escape him. He started to hum a tune. He didn’t know where it came from or what it meant; only that it was a nice song. He supposed it was one of his own compositions, but he couldn’t be sure, as he had heard so many songs…


Green be the fields of silver,
Green be the land of ours,
White is the tree restored,
White is the crown of stars.

He knew it was awful, but he chuckled anyhow. It was about Gondor and its beauty, and so it was good enough for a mid-day hum in the middle of a wood. He smiled to himself. He hadn’t really before now truly appreciated what a beautiful place Gondor was, he had seen it ravaged too much by war for that. He sat in the tranquil of the woods and took another long drag on his pipe. He smiled once again, then unhooked his bow and quiver, slung them over his back and dropped down branch by branch until he hit the forest floor. A leaf crunched under him and he sighed, he was out of practice somewhat.

He made his way through the undergrowth slowly, picking carefully his route so as to avoid making noise. There were still things here that would not look kindly on a ranger of Gondor. He reached the edge of the woods within a few minutes and surveyed the horizon, nothing, good. He set off at a run in the direction of Minas Tirith…

[Everdawn]

Hama-

I already have a ranger, id still love to have a proposal from you though, would you consider changing your character to a traveller? This is just so that you wont have to change the bulk of your post. Or maybe one of the soldiers?Is that ok?

-Everdawn.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:14 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

SAVED for COMPLETE Character Description and First Post for one of the Guards

Eorl

Check your PM's.

~*~ Piosenniel, Game Moderator

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:03 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

I'm not done, but I have to go. I'll post the history and the paragraph later.

Check your PM's, please.

Character Descriptions without a First Post are being sent back to their writers - re-post when you have everything ready.

~*~ Piosenniel, Game Moderator

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:58 AM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eladain Moruviel]

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES, 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, the Green Dragon Inn

_______________________________________

NAME: Delphinous, most people just call him Del though

AGE: 38

RACE: Man of Dol Amroth

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS : Delphinous’ main weapon is his lever-action, urak hai cross bow. It has been modified slightly to

add to accuracy, and rate of fire. Del was given the crossbow by his father, before the War; but how his father

came into possession of this weapon was unknown to anyone. Del carries a short scimitar that he purchased

from a trader as well, but his main weapon is the crossbow, with which he has become very skilled with over the years. He also keeps a small, bone handled dagger in his boot as a last-ditch defense.

APPEARANCE: Delphinous is a tall, dark-haired man, with a small goatee that has begun to gray long before it’s

time. He wears his raven hair slightly above shoulder length, and lets it hang loosely about his face. His features

are very pronounced, with high cheekbones, and an aquiline nose. This gives him a grim look, and long years of

tracking his particular kind of pray have only served to add to this grimness. His entire body was a road map of scars tracing the surface of his leathery skin. He wore the marks proudly, like medals; each one reminding him of a someone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of his crossbow or scimitar. He normally wears dark gray, loose fitting breeches, and an ebony colored tunic with a crimson rose over his heart. Around his waist, he wears a black

leather belt, studded with silver. He has his quiver, and crossbow slung across his back, and his scimitar hangs on the opposite side. His feet are clad in dark, knee-high leather boots. Over this all, he wears a long, travel-stained cloak.


PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Delphinous has a strong, commanding personality, which often comes off as gruff; and has been hardened by long years of "man hunting". He is very calm,quiet, and not easily disturbed, but when aroused to anger, he is a force to be reckoned with!

He mistrusts most people, and has never had reason to do otherwise, not in his line of work anyway. Del is always

patient, sometimes waiting days for a chance to catch his quarry. Never having been entirely comfortable around people, Del prefers to keep mostly to himself, only going into civilization when he has to.


HISTORY: Del’s father and older brother were veterans of the Great War, but Del had been unable to fight because he had been bed-ridden from a severe riding accident, and recovered some months after the war was over. He hadn’t known his father very well, he had always been a hard, cold man. After returning from the war, his father had been worse, spending most of his time wandering the forest out side of their manor.

His family had always been well off, his father being a knight in the King’s army, but after his father had died, Del’s brother had foolishly squandered all of his father’s wealth away. After that, Del had struck out on his own, and soon found out that he was well suited to bounty hunting

After some years of living mostly in the wilderness, tracking anyone with a price on his head, Del had amassed a fair amount of money. He traveled back home, hoping to restore his family honor and estates; but when he arrived, he found that his mother had long since died, and his ancestral estates had been destroyed by a fire. Grieved by this

discovery, he had returned to that which he knew best: bounty hunting.

That had been almost fifteen years ago, and he had been able to live off of the bounties he received, but it still wasn’t enough, he desperately needed a big job, one that would pay well,. So he decided to head for Minas Tirith to see if he could improve his fortunes any.

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

Eladain Moruviel's post

"I’ll give you fifteen for it, and not a penny more!" the shopkeeper shouted.

"Great Eru man, do you take me for a fool?!? I’ll take twenty-five for it and no less!" Delphinous retorted indignity. "I’ll give you twenty, and that’s my final offer!" Del knew that he would find no better offer anywhere in the city,

so he reluctantly handed over the ring his mother had given him so long ago. He had thought he would never part with it, something to always him of his mother, but it would do him no good if he was dead of starvation, and he had eaten the last of his supplies yesterday. Pocketing the money, he went to the large market in the center of Minas Tirith. Twenty silver pennies wouldn’t last him for more than a few days, he would have to find work, and soon too.

He had come to Minas Tirith hoping to find a job, but apparently, they’re weren’t very many wanted men in this part of the world. When his money ran out, he would have to move on. How quickly those few silver pennies ran out, and still no work, but finally, he got wind of something that could change his fortunes forever. The word on the street was that the widow Il Galoth was funding some sort of expedition to find a certain relative, and what’s more, she was paying very well. This wasn’t Del’s usual line of work, but perhaps he could make something out of it.

He went to the Red Fox Inn, where he had made a few "connections" sense had had come to the capitol. The Red Fox was not the most reputable of places, but in his kind of work, it was the best place to start. The suffocating smell of pipe smoke and ale was almost enough to crush him as he walked into the dimly lit interior of the Inn, but he soon spotted his man and quickly went over and sat next to him. "tell me Eladain,what do you know of this widow Il Galoth?" "Plenty, but it could cost ya." replied the man In one swift movement, Del had him face down on the table, arms behind his back "Now, how bout you tell me, and I won’t brake your arm?" He snarled. "Of course, I were only foolin’ I’ll tell ya anything ya need to know"


After finding out all he could, Delphinous headed to the Army department. After waiting several hours, he was finally admitted to see the head officer. "Word has reached me that an expedition to find Guriel Il Galoth. It has also reached my ears that he betrayed a troop of your men to the enemy, resulting in the death of almost all of them. Perhaps the army would pay to have said traitor brought back for trial and execution?" At first the officer looked confused, but then he broke into a smile. " heh heh heh, Now where did you get that idea?" He half turned to dismiss Del, but then he thought better of it "Wait here, I’ll be right back" he said as he left the room.

When he returned ten minutes later, he had a grim look on his face. "Well?" inquired Del impatiently? "what’s the news?" "I’ve talked it over with some certain people, and we have decided that we could pay you the sum of, say

10,000 gold if you could bring this Gurial Il Galoth back, unofficially of course, and no questions asked on your part" Chuckling, Delphinous replied "I knew you’d warm up to me, I’ll get in touch with the widow tomorrow, and then be on my way. A pleasure doing business with you sir! Good day" And with that, Del went out.

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

I’d like to submit my post, for character #5, the first traveler, but it could be edited to fit another character .

If I get the excepted, I’ll add to my first post the part where Del joins up with the group

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:49 AM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Alright, the slightly edited form of my profile and first post, as requested by Everdawn:

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

(the three Inns), Brotherhood, a story from the Last Alliance, Lets Have the Party Here!, Rivendell, Cirith Ungol, The Undying Lands, Last Hope for Moria, Wolf Run, Search for the Lost Messenger, Gondorian House Call, Shadow of Umbra, Ride to the Dark Side, The Ambassador’s Son, Escape from Nurn, An Audience with the King, Kidnapped!, Roll Out The Barrels

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? 3

List them, please: Brotherhood, a Story from the Last Alliance; Last Hope for Moria; The Ambassador’s Son

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES – Which one? Both
_______________________________________
For your character please include:

NAME: Atharen (ah-THA-ren)

AGE: 34

RACE: Man - Ranger

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: A two handed broadsword which he can wield with considerable strength and agility for its side is in a sheath at his left side, and is what he uses in a larger scale fight. However, he can fight primarily with his left hand, something which may deceive an enemy and buy him a few valuable seconds in a fight; he has a shorter sword, a dirk, at his other side, in a discreet, plain, black sheath as opposed to the more ornate one of his broadsword, which is the most valuable material thing that he carries. The dirk is about the length of his fore-arm, maybe an inch shorter than from the inside of the elbow to the wrist. Also, a few more pieces litter his person, including another dirk worn strapped to his back or his belt; when strapped to his back it is mostly hidden from sight by his usual dark cloak, apart from the hilt which protrudes from behind his right shoulder, an inch or two behind and to the side of his ear – this means he can grab it with his right hand (by reaching upwards across his chest to it) and fight with both if necessary.

APPEARANCE: His age would be hard to place; his face seems no older really than if he was in his mid-twenties, yet at times, such as in the telling of tales or in anger, his eyes would tell of many more years than his appearance shows. These eyes are so deep brown as to be almost black, unreadable, which is strange bearing in mind his hair, which is lightened almost to blonde in places from being outside so much; it comes down to his jaw, as he can’t have it too long for practicality’s sake. He is quite tall and could be described as gaunt, especially at the time when he meets Maen, standing at nearly 6ft, and, despite his obvious strength which suggests somewhere on that frame there must be muscles, he still looks like he could do with a few meals. His face is, unusually for one who spends much of his time outside, quite pale, something he inherited from his parents, and his bone structure pronounced, his chin covered in stubble. A white, slightly raised scar, runs slanted down the left side of his face, from his left temple to his jawline, about an inch and a half from his chin. He wears practical, dark clothes, mainly leather or hard-wearing, sturdy material; his breeches are dark, dark brown, covered to just below the knee with a pair of long boots of soft animal-skin; a high, v-necked jerkin of tough almost black leather covers his torso over a shirt of dark, hard-wearing Rohirrim cotton; over this he wears a long cloak, black and hooded. His right ring finger and little ringer are missing.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Atharen seems to view the world as an outsider, sometimes seeing it with a suppressed, anger or disappointment, and sometimes with a sort of bemused, cynical amusement. It is not a world which has treated him particularly kindly, naturally, and his ‘profession’ has led him a rough road (not as rough as some, he considers though – this is not the view of an optimist, simply that of someone who has measured out the facts and come to a logical conclusion. This may tell you something about the way Atharen’s mind works), and he does not expect much from it for himself, but he resents injustice of any kind towards others. A gentleman in courtesy. He has a sort of watchful stillness about him that, along with those dark, unreadable eyes, unnerves many who he meets, especially those rich merchants who have too many secrets; it is the air of a hunter, a sort of scrutinising interest before the pounce. Sincere and loyal to those close to him, he does not, however, give his trust easily, and his friendships are therefore long but rare; unforgiving to those who betray this trust, and unrelenting in anger.

HISTORY: His father was one of the Dunedain, but married a Rohirrim woman who was not of the same high blood. He knows little about his father; his mother was beautiful and only seventeen when she married the ranger so strangely unaffected by age, and his parent’s romance was passionate but too brief for both of them, as he rode to his death against the bands stubbornly remaining wild men within the first ten years of their marriage, nine years after the boy’s birth; his mother, Teris did not find it easy to talk about him, and as he grew, Atharen’s likeness to his father caused his mother both incredible love and terrible pain. She brought the boy up as best as she could, running an Inn with her oldest brother, and because of this, the boy was always surrounded by his many uncles, all five of whom (excluding the Innkeeper) were soldiers. Their tales of battle always enchanted him, and his mother, aging before her time, sometimes would join in with the stories Atharen’s father had told her. Between his father and his uncles, Atharen developed his skill with sword and daggers, and his mother taught him to ride when she could find the time. When he was nearly eighteen years old, his mother revealed to him what his father had left before he rose away for the last time and, safe in the knowledge her son had discovered the wild life that called to him as it had called to his father, Teris died, a strange disease taking her away before she has even reached forty.

After his mother’s death, the young man had nothing much tying him to Rohan; although he liked to continue to visit the Inn of his chidhood, running it was never what he had wanted to do so, allowing one of his older cousins to have his share, he departed. He was no shyling – he fought in the War of the Ring, alongside his mother’s brothers, two of whom fell, but not long after this, he departed to take a different path. Despite his uncles’ urgings to join the army as they had, Atharen deigned to take the same wandering existence of his father and ancestors and, through high and low, has continued to do so for the past fifteen years; acquaintances have passed in and out of his life, but he still has true friends of all sorts in many places, Gondor being one of them, and a place that he has always been fond of.
_____________________________________________


Amanaduial's post

The dark, cloaked figure marched grimly on through the drizzle of the early morning which was rapidly turning into a full blown thunderstorm. Not downpour though, with this wind, he thought abstractly. Maybe…sidepour. He smiled grimly to himself and continued to squelch on through mud until his feet met the more even land of a path.

Atharen looked down at the path and smiled wanly, before raising his eyes to his right, squinting against the rain and the wind. After a few moments of battling with the rain, he gave up, having been rewarded only with a face full of water instead of a glimpse of the city he looked for. But no matter; he could find his way to Minas Tirith blindfolded. Or, failing that, through enough rain to drown a small oliphaunt. Atharen made it his business to visit the citadel at least once every two years – he had friends there, and one of his mother’s uncles now lived there with his wife and daughters. Atharen smiled slightly, recalling that detail – Merien always gave him a fine welcome. A lady, she was, a fine lady; even though she was the daughter of a soldier and a seamstress, the young woman proved that it was not only high birth that could make a lady...

Distracted in his musings and memories, his hearing muffled by the rain, the man did not hear the hooves until they were quite close, and then they seemed amplified, the hooves of a mighty stallion. Whirling around, he pulled the two dirks from his belt and his back in his hands (the sword had the irritating habit of sticking somewhat in the rain, and until he could get warm and dry, getting it out would probably be rather ill-advised if he ever wished to get it back in again), and stood against the approaching horse, left hand in front so the blade was easily visible, the right held to one side, ready to help with the attack if need be. A crack of lightning striking the tableau would have given it a rather menacing look…

…if the horse had not been a rather small, plump mare, upon which was seated a young woman. Because of the rain now coming in sheets against his face, despite his deep hood, Atharen did not realise his mistake until it was too late; the horse reared, panicked, and it’s rider fell with a cry. The ranger sprung lightly to the side as the horse’s hooves started to come down, ducking underneath them and coming to rest by it’s left side, one dirk held to the throat of the fallen rider…and his eyes widened in shock as he realised who the rider was a young woman, in her twenties he guessed, her blonde hair streaming with rainwater, sprawled on the ground. Hastily sheathing one dirk, he held out a hand to the woman, bending slightly. “My lady, I apologise – I did not realise.”

The woman glared hostilely at the ranger and got to her feet herself, gracefully considering she had just fallen. She was some inches shorter than Atharen, but her hazel eyes were fierce. She looked at the ranger with a mixture of scorn and fear, and seemed to be scrutinising him; a man who looked only a few years older than herself, his blonde hair darkened by the rain and falling in bedraggled curls to his jaw, his skin pale from the cold with a scar standing out on one cheek. His eyes kept her gaze and after a moment he felt prompted to make a move; it was freezing cold and wet, and Atharen wanted to make it to the city before the full light of day was upon the city - already the first tendrils of light were appearing over the horizon. “This is a dangerous road for a young woman to be riding on at such a late hour.”

The woman gave a small, angry snort before turning and re-mounting the mare, who glared at Atharen quite as hostilely as it’s owner. “It is not dangerous unless madmen with two swords are lying in wait to terrorise young women.”

Atharen blinked at the comment, then smiled slightly despite himself. “I was not lying in wait. I was attempting to get to the city of Minas Tirith, coming from Rohan, although the weather has not been overly kind.” The woman was watching him again, and she was getting wetter and wetter still. What’s more, she was unarmed. Ever since he was young, Atharen had been raised to be courteous, and had always resented and acted against the way men often tried to treat his mother in the Inn when her brothers were away. In this case, it was partly his fault that the woman had been waylaid, so it would only be polite to…

“May I escort you back to Minas Tirith, lady?”

She stared at him. “Why do you think I am going to Minas Tirith?”

Atharen smiled slightly, but not patronisingly, the night-shadows on his face making his eyes seem even darker and more mischievous. “At this time of night, I hardly think you’d be going this way and travelling anywhere else. Please, you are unarmed, and this is not a safe road – after all, there could be all sorts of madmen with a pair of swords lying in wait.” He grinned and waited for her reply.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:53 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Aman and Everdawn

I removed Aman's Character Bio and Post from Everdawn's previous post.

~*~ Pio

[Kransha]

If there's room left, I'll slip a character in here. He can be one of the travellers.

Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – No

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

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

NAME: Idruil

AGE: 39

RACE: Man of Minas Tirith

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Idruil has very few possessions besides his weapons, so he values them greatly. He has a one-handed short sword with one half of the cross-guard missing, which he inherited from his father, his most valued object, a round buckler shield that he usually wears on his back that bears a crude family crest carved on it, and a pair of miniscule throwing knives, one kept in his belt and the other in his boot for emergencies. He’s quite frankly horrible with most ranged weapons and doesn’t bother with them, though he’s accurate enough with the knives.

APPEARANCE: Idruil is often mistaken for being older than he is because of his aged look. He has brownish hair with a few strands of early grey. His face is rough and hidden by a very full beard. His hazel eyes are often half closed and he seems to carry a strange weariness around with him. His skin is darker from years of being primarily outdoors and he’s not especially strong or fast.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Idruil seems like a very tired person when he’s not in combat. He speaks slowly but firmly and doesn’t like making tough decisions. He will get easily bored and ignores most everybody around him. He doesn’t care very much about others, unless they have something he needs. His strength is that, being so slow and precise; he is often very thoughtful and can usually see a good way out of most situations. His weakness is that being indecisive, he often reacts to something too late, which can be a fatal flaw at times.

HISTORY:
Idruil is a man weary of life. He has searched for a majority of life for some kind of adventure. His father, a Gondorian warrior of an old family, died during the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Though the two of them never shared any great bond, Idruil still honored his father’s word and took up the possessions he had as his inheritance. His mother, also a born and bred citizen of the White City, died years before. The only real thing he has of his family to remember is the stories that he was told as a boy. He always looked for an opportunity to use the blade of his father in something other than a bar fight, but has rarely seen such a chance. He didn’t go into the Gondorian military, as his parents had hoped, but simply wandered aimlessly looking for that goal. He has occasionally worked as a mercenary in Lebennin, spending time in Pelargir and learning what he could from the sailors there. Though he considers himself old, he would still jump at the chance to do something worthwhile.
_____________________________________________

Kransha's post

Idruil hummed quietly to himself, scratching nonchalantly at the stubble around his beard. He sniffed the air, letting the cornucopia of smells fill him. The mélange was not particularly savory so he continued, gently kicking the haunches of his steed. He goaded the horse to the side, tugging on the reins to turn him. He proceeded down the angled streets of Minas Tirith, occasionally glancing up at the upper levels and sighing, then returning his gaze to whatever empty patch of street lay directly ahead of him.

His eyes looked up from beneath the tattered red hood to see the other people on nearby. Many were on foot, and some were rudely staring at him. He dismissed them, not caring who noticed him or what they thought of him. That never mattered to Idruil, others’ opinion. He only cared for his own needs and how they related to him. Some would call that selfish, but he considered it minding his own business.

Riding aimlessly had grown tiring, though, and he resolved to get some exercise on his own two feet, rather than the four of a horse. The slow-moving steed halted and snorted impatiently as Idruil swung his legs over its side and narrowly avoided falling off. He dusted himself off for no particular reason and grabbed the horse’s reins again with one hand. He staggered forward weakly, getting used to using his legs again and walked on, still as aimless as ever, through the streets with the horse close behind. Perhaps he could find some place to sit down and get a drink, which he sorely needed.

He headed towards another clump of city buildings, talking to himself under his breath, and walked towards the foremost one.

_____________________________________________

Hope that works...

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:28 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

If you find an "edited by" on your submission - it's just me, setting up your First Post to be easily transferred to the game should your character be accepted.

~*~ Pio, Game Mod

[Saraphim]

1) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? One, in progress.

2) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? One, Last Hope for Moria

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

Name: Sethe Morrigan

Age: 24

Race: human

Gender: male

Weapons: Average, unadorned sword, roughly three feet in length. A hunting bow, and a knife, possibly the most expensive thing Sethe owns, which has a horse-head as the hilt and sapphires for eyes. He usually uses it to skin animals.

Appearance: Sethe has shoulder length, dark brown hair and eyes, average skin tone for one who is from Gondor. He wears leather armor and boots, and is six feet tall, with medium build.

Personality/ Strengths/Weaknesses: Sethe is the most unnoticeable man you could find. This comes in useful, because Sethe is a thief (actually, he is technically a kleptomaniac, but those kind of words don’t really have any meaning in Middle-Earth.). He never steals anything big or important, just things that may be annoying if found missing. This by no means makes him very popular, which suits him just fine. He travels a lot, and sometimes, if he has nothing better to do, (or no other choice.) he will fight orcs. He is not very good with his weaponry, but he is very agile and quiet, and relies mostly on his mind and wit to get him out of various fixes.

History: Sethe was born and raised in Minas Tirith. His family is not noble, but not poor either, he is just about middle class, or as close to it as possible. When he was seventeen he ran away to become a member of the Navy of Dol Amroth, but went the wrong way and ran out of money and means of travel by the time he reached the Westfold. He worked in a tavern there for a while, and tried to be a Rider of Rohan, but he found he could not ride a horse. So, in a fit of annoyance, he went north and had some minor adventures in the Bree Area.
_____________________________________________

Saraphim's post

Sethe looked about him. He breathed the air of his home. Smiling, he shouldered his pack and entered the low levels of the city, looking this way and that for anyone he knew. Failing to accomplish this, he moved through the evening crowds to an old building near the center of the city. He stood looking at it, at the sign that bore the name of his family, and his heart swelled with pride. It was an inn, and, by the looks of things, one of the busiest in the city. Sethe moved inside, jostled by the occupants, who were getting drunk and boisterous over something.

Approaching the bar, He recognized a man who was arguing with a customer over the price of his bill. The man finally got fed up and punched the customer in the nose. Stepping over the unconscious customer, Sethe whacked the man on the back of the head. This succeeded in getting Sethe a black eye.

“Heron! You stupid fool!” cried Sethe, clutching his eye. “Is that how you greet your brother?”

“Only if he attacks me in the middle of workin’!” bawled Heron, who, nevertheless, wrapped Sethe up in a bear hug.

A while later, they sat at a table in the corner, and watched the drunk travelers slowly finish and move upstairs to their various rooms.

“Well, Heron, it’s quite a hole you’ve made for yourself here, isn’t it?” said Sethe, who had a raw piece of meat on his eye.

“It pays for things, and gives Hildico a good life,” replied Heron.

“Hildico? How is my little niece?” asked Sethe.

“Well, not so little anymore. You’ve been gone for seven years, you know. She is sixteen now, and one of the prettiest girls you could find.” Heron said, full of pride, “ She’s got a decent education under her belt, and works as a maid for some extra money. I’m sure she’s upstairs asleep by now, but she may be reading. I can’t get that girl to stop with those books of hers.”

“Well, do you mind if I go see if she’s awake? I have something for her, and for you too, now that I think about it,” said Sethe, pulling something out of his pack. It was a large, leather pouch stuffed full of pipe-weed.

“Sethe!” Exclaimed Heron, then, looking suspiciously around the room, became much quieter “This is halfling’s weed, isn’t it? This would cost me…” His voice trailed off and he narrowed his eyes at Sethe. “You didn’t steal this, did you?”

“Heron,” said Sethe, looking hurt, “how could you accuse me of something so vile?”

“Because you do it all the time!” said Heron, but Sethe had already slapped the meat on the table and was halfway up the stairs before Heron could accuse him further.

In the dark corridor, Sethe listened quietly to the sounds of the sleeping travelers. At the end of the hall, there was another stairway, which led to a single door. He knocked softly, and said
“Hildico! Open up, lassie!”

The door slowly opened and a young girl stood there, dressed in a nightgown. When she saw Sethe, her face froze with fear, then she recognized him.

“Uncle Sethe!” she squealed, and leapt down onto him in a happy embrace. When he pushed her off of him, she pulled him inside, to a small, tidy kitchen with several rooms leading off. A single candle burned on the table and a tiny fireplace spread warmth throughout the dwelling.

“How are you?” she exclaimed. “My, it must have been three months since you last wrote!”

“Well, I was coming back home,” said Sethe, settling himself down at the table. Hildico busied herself making him some tea. “And I didn’t want to waste much time in writing a letter that would only get here a week before me. But I have a gift.” He drew a small, shining bracelet from his breast pocket. “This is for you,” He helped her clasp it around her wrist, and she gasped as he drew his hands away.

“It’s Elven made,” Sethe said proudly. “ I had much more trouble getting it than I had with your father’s gift, but it’s worth it to see your happy face.”

“Uncle, it… it’s beautiful!” Hildico said.

“But lassie, I’m dying to know what it was you wrote to me about! I came all the way back to hear it!”

“All right,” said Hildico. “You know that I’m working as a maid, for a noble family? Well, the family I’ve been working with for some time now has a daughter, about your age, I think, who has some sort of mission she wants to go on. She’s looking for participants. Apparently, there’s gold involved, so I immediately thought of you.”

“Why thank you,” said Sethe, whose interest had perked up. “I’d like to meet this lady and see what sort of quest she has in mind.”

“I thought as much,” said Hildico, "tomorrow, come with me when I go to work, and I will introduce you.”

Sethe smiled and drank his tea.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:49 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Thengal]

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? No.

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, The Green Dragon.

Thengal's Character

Name: Carathir

Age: 20

Race: Easterling

Gender: Male

Location: Gondor

WEAPONS: Carathir carries only an ornatly crafted scimitar that was a gift to him by his father.

APPEARANCE: Carthir stands about 5'11 and is phsically not very big. He is a handsome man with dark hair and big brown eyes.

PERSONALITY: Carathir has a good heart and likes to help people. He strives to seperate himself from his past, but he also has a dark side. He forgets himself at times and acts rashly. The lessons he learned as a child are heard to forget....

HISTORY: Carathir is an Easterling, a man from the Sea of Rhun, an enemy of Gondor. His uncle, Ulwarth, was the king of the Balchoth tribe. Carathir's uncle had adopted him when he was 5 years old, after his father had perished fighting at Minas Tirith. Carathir had left his uncle’s hall, on the coast of the Rhun, not more than a month ago.
_____________________________________________

Thengal's post

Carathir shook his head and banged his fist into his palm in frustration. Lysia had done so much for him, first by saving him from the Gondorian king’s judgment, then by befriending him over the last few weeks and teaching him the Gondorian customs. Carathir had been unable to return the favor, though he clearly saw that Lysia carried some great burden. Carathir wanted to rush into the library now, go to the woman, and make her speak her gloomy thoughts to him.

Carathir would not yet be so bold with his new friend, however. He would find the key to her pain in time, he vowed, but right now he had his own dilemma to overcome. Carathir made his way into his private chambers, which Lysia had provided for him, deep in thought.

Carathir was an Easterling, a man from the Sea of Rhun, an enemy of Gondor. His uncle, Ulwarth, was the king of the Balchoth tribe. Carathir's uncle had adopted him when he was 5 years old, after his father had perished fighting at Minas Tirith. Carathir had left his uncle’s hall, on the coast of the Rhun, not more than a month ago. The words of his uncle still echoed in his thoughts, “Go Carathir, my son, go and save yourself from my fate and the fate of all those who trusted the treachery the Dark Lord. Do not be caught in the snares of power and greed, like we all were. Leave this forsaken land and do not return. Go and seek your fortunes in the wide world. Hearts as pure as yours should not be bound here, to wither and die like those of our people.”

After much debate Carathir finally made the decision to leave the home he had known for the 20 years of his life. Carathir’s brother’s called him a “coward” and a “dog of Gondor.” They told him that his father would have been ashamed to call Carathir his son. They said that no man, of any worth, would ever leave his people to run off to the lands of the West because times were bad. After the War, the Easterling tribes had fallen into poverty and despair. They had put all their resources into the war against Gondor and lost everything, including an entire generation of young men. They had petty squabbles over barren pieces of rock, so that they could scrap out barely enough to survive. They were raided by roving bands of orcs who stole what petty land, around the Sea of Rhun, they had left. With the words of his brothers echoing in his head, Carathir rode from the land of his people never to return.

Suddenly, a knock came to his door that shook him from his daydream. He rose to answer the call at his door, but Lysia had already let herself in. “Carathir, I need you to do something for me,” she said suddenly. He was startled by her openness and the troubled look on her face. He wished much to do what ever he could for this kind woman, whom had showed him so much compassion. She paused and he waited for her to continue. “Well it starts like this…”

The entire tale was related to him from beginning to end, twice over. Carathir pondered over every word of her tale trying to fit himself into it somehow. He wished to do what he could, but getting tangled up with a traitor to Gondor, considering where he was from, was not an advisable course of action. “What do you need from me?” he finally asked her. “I need you to go with Maen, Carathir.” “She needs stout companions and you are a splendid choice, my young man.” She looked sincerely into his eyes searching for a reaction to the question. The request surprised he a little, but then the shadows of his past started creeping into his mind. Does this Gondorian wench what me to do her dirty work for her?. He tried to shake the thought from his mind, but it came back stronger.Take the Legacy. Take the Legacy. Carathir thought he left that part of him back home. That evil hate instilled in him from birth. He battled it all his life, he fought to become his own person. He lost the battle against it in a matter of minutes. “Yes!” he suddenly burst out. At first Lysia was startled by the outburst, but then a smile spread across her face. “Good, I thought that’s what you’d say,” she said as she patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll fetch Lysia and tell her she has a new companion!” she said as she scurried out of the room.

Carathir sat alone with his brother’s taunts echoing through him. His thoughts grew dark and clouded. He lost sight of the man he thought he was. I’ll show them. Then we’ll see whose laughing when I return rich and become a hero of our people! He wrung his hands with delight and a wicked smile spread across his face. Then, he rose from his bed and began preparing his things. So, a scheme began to hatch in his mind of how he would recover the gold and slip away without causing too much of an uproar. [img]smilies/evil.gif[/img]

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:45 PM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Melisil]

2 or 3) Guard - male –Gondor - Sent by the king, hearing of the legacy to arrest Guriel Il Galoth- Cannot let anyone else know what he really is doing on expedition or that he is a guard, so he will have to make up an excuse.

--Here is my guard's post, I hope you enjoy it!
_______________________________________

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Which one? Last

Hope for Moria

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

List them, please: Last Hope for Moria

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

YES – Which one? The Green Dragon Inn

_______________________________________

For your character please include:

NAME: Aelimur

AGE: 29

RACE: Men

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: He weilds both a shortsword and a longsword. A bow hangs at his back. He preffers not to use this unless needed though

APPEARANCE: Aelimur is a tall, Gondor born man. He has a long, stern face, with a look that shows he has seen too much for his time. Long legs and arms. He has brown, slightly wavy hair coming down to about the middle of his neck. Aelimur has fairly deep set, sea green eyes.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Aelimur has a very strong attitude: When he talks, people tend to listen. You can tell by looking at him that he knows how to get something done, and usually does fairly quickly. He is a born fighter, and is now, after just over a year of practice, and over 8 years experience in war, he is a very strong, and skilled soldier in the art of war. Aelimur is very determined to what he sets his mind to and usually very practical about it too. He has been trained in military tactics since he was young as well as having private tutors educate him from the time he was 7, 'till the time he was 16 years old.

He preffers to be with other military men, but if he is not, Aelimur knows how to get along with others farely well. The few times Aelimur tries to relax, he does so either by hunting, or being at the local pub telling a tale.

HISTORY: Aelimur was born and raised in Minas Tirith. His family was an extremely wealthy, and noble liniage. Because of this, he was brought up surrounded by three things: tutors, military men, and parties. From the time he was twenty, 'till he was twenty-one, Aelimur sharpened his sword handling with many of the greatest sword masters, so he is by now a very skilled warrior.

Aelimur is very loyal to King Elessar, and has met him on several occasions after the ring-war because of his family's social status. So naturally, when Elessar asked Aelimur and a fellow member of the guard to go on this mission of certain revenge, he was only too happy to accept.

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

Melisil's post

Aelimur marched into King Elessar's throne room. His uniform on, and his helmet under his arm. When he was a few feet in front of the throne he bowed lowly to his lord.

"You called sire?" he said, standing full height again, "What service may I complete for you highness?"

Elessar, also known as Aragorn by some, nodded. "Yes Aelimur, son of Dalemun. I wish for you to carry out a task for me. I have heard news that Maén, daughter of Miradir Il Galoth- one of our greater soldiers- retired now, is gathering together a group of men and woman to seek out Guriel Il Galoth, cousin of
Miradir, and murderer of Miradir's brother. I am most sure she wishes to seek revenge on him of one kind or another." Elessar stopped for a moment, "Aelimur, I want you and one other member of my guard- whom I will disclose to you later- to join their party. You cannot be known as a member of my guard though, as she knows I do not agree to this. Join them, as a traveller say, and find Guriel with them. If and when you do, I want the two of you to arrest him, before continuing back here at Minas Tirith for his proper... how shall I say... repayment?"

Aelimur listened to all of this very closely. "I understand sire. When will we go, and where will we be going?"

"You will be going to the house of the widow Lysia Il Galoth. That is where she is gathering people." Elessar replied, "When, I am not sure; Three days at most, hopefully two, and if you can, tommorow. In other words: as soon as possible."

Aelimur nodded. "Yes your highness. Shall I return to my watch now sir?"

Elessar nodded, "Yes Aelimur. And after your watch is finished, go to your manor and make ready for the trip you will be taking. Remember though that you should not be discovered as a member of Gondor's guard. And do not worry about the amount of time it will take, if you return him here, arrested(or otherwise in your command) you will be well rewarded. Either way though, I will be glad in you."

"No reward is needed for me to be honored in serving you my lord." Aelimur stated, doing a short bow to the King once more before turning around and marching out of the courtyard.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:28 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Kransha]

I would also be willing to switch from a traveler to one of the guards or even spies if necessary. Whatever is most convenient for the RPG.

[Everdawn]

I would prefer to have more character sheets for the guards, there are just so many people trying for the indipendents, i had no idea they would be so popular! A

nd can i tell you it is making it a very hard decision for me. When i do have the whole list of characters it will be those characters who i feel fit the story the best, and nothing to do with the individual writing capacity of the writer.

-Everdawn.

EDIT: Dear me! I almost forgot. A reminder to put into your first posts, something which suggests why your character should want to go to Ithilien to find Guriel, (gold/grudge/nice person?) etc.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:09 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: Everdawn ]

[Kransha]

As I said, I could switch to being one of the guards. In fact, I've already got a form ready. If that guard is needed, I will write a first post and submit that form in place of the other.

[Everdawn]

That would be great.

[Eorl of Rohan]

I'll now post my full post again. The first part is going to be revised a lot.

[Melisil]

I'll change my description to a guard too then, I've got an idea ready pretty much already.

[Kransha]

This guy should do as a guard.
If this is accepted, I will retract my other character, officially

Character Description Form:

Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – No

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

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

NAME: Verthinor

AGE: 45

RACE: Man of Pelargir, Lebennin

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Average short spear, gilded short-sword with an inscription on it and and two silver eagles carved into the crossguard and a single piece of mithril in the pommel; a gift from a Gondorian noble who he did a service to some years ago, and a standard round Gondor shield with the heraldic device of Elendil upon it. Also has a simpler iron shield, with no emblem, brown and green.

APPEARANCE: Has a grey-black beard, very short, and short hair as well. He was once tall and is technically still tall, but he has since been physically dwarfed by the new Citadel Guards. He is surprisingly fast for his age, but not strong or healthy enough. He often tries to hide his age in whatever way possible, but his habit of consistent coughing hinders that. He has hazel eyes and a pale-skinned face.

As a Citadel Guard of Minas Tirith, he wears the traditional garb and armor fitting that role: A tight-fitting helmet with white bird’s wings carved on the top, a black robe with the emblem if Elendil, a white tree beneath a silver star and crown (Note: Only Citadel Guards can wear that emblem), and a silver chain mail hauberk for general protection.

When disguised to prevent anyone from knowing his position, he would keep the hauberk, but retire the use of his helmet and robe, instead taking up the more common bronze helmet and brown leather tunic that his father owned. He might also dismiss his Citadel Guard shield for a generic shield, just to look common enough for the role.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:
Vernithor is one of the most conservative and law-abiding of the Citadel Guards, even though all of them are so. He is a bit grizzled, but still friendly and ever-ready. He is sometimes caught off guard and very touchy about any mention of Gondor’s nobility or royalty. His strength lies in his experience and cunning, but his conservative views and strictness sometimes get out of hand. He also has a quick temper, which is an irritating weakness for him, a person who considers himself beyond temper tantrums.

HISTORY:
Born before the War of the Ring, Verthinor was raised on sailor’s stories in Pelargir. His father was a mercenary and soldier of Lebennin who joined the army of Gondor during the Ring War alongside his son. Vernithor’s father was killed in Osgiliath while Verthinor himself was posted at Minas Tirith to defend. For his bravery and actions supporting Gondor years before, he’d been honored with the position of Citadel Guard of Minas Tirith. He fought during the Battle of Pelennor Fields and was thought dead by his mother back in Pelargir, who succumbed to grief before she learned the truth.

After the war, Verthinor remained a Citadel Guard, becoming one of the older members of the group. He often tells stories and ballads to the younger guards about Gondor’s glory, but they have stopped listening. Know Verthinor simply does his duty, hoping for a chance to win back the favor of Minas Tirith’s new generation and prove that he isn’t just a relic of the Third Age.
_____________________________________________

Kransha's post

Verthinor tore off his tall, close-fitting helmet and tucked it under his right arm as he walked almost aimlessly across the smooth white stones of Minas Tirith’s seventh level courtyard, sitting below the looming pinnacle of Ecthelion’s Tower. He stopped for a minute in his pacing to look up at the termination point of that tower and listened intently. At the exact moment he’d expected it, he heard the sound he was waiting for. The delicately crafted bell that hung aloft in the spire chimed firmly. Verthinor had stood in front of that tower for so long that he had the precise timing of that chime emblazoned in his mind. It was one of those strange routine idiosyncrasies that he’d picked up after years in the service.

He walked on, taking another passing glance at the intricate beauties of the White Tree of Gondor that stood before him in the Court of the Fountain. Just as everything else in the area, he’d nearly memorized every twisting, gently arching, gnarled branch of the tree so that he could’ve drawn a more accurate picture than any of the King’s scribes or tapestry-makers, if he had more artistic ability to speak of. He turned as nimbly as a middle-aged man could on his heels and stood, very still, contemplating.

It had been many years since he’d felt the warmth of combat, the excitement of battle. He chided himself mentally for thinking these thoughts. He knew there was no warmth or glorious fire in combat, only the cold sting of death. He knew that cold well, but he had forgotten its caustic bite. Now all that was left for him was yearning for another chance to feel that fire. What use was he to Gondor standing in front of a tree?

Again he scolded himself, more harshly. He was a Citadel Guard, a valued title for any warrior of Gondor, and a position he should be honored to fill. Yet, he still desired the feel of his sword twirling like a whirlwind in his hand, though he could no longer wield the blade as aptly as he had years ago. He knew how foolish it would be to give up such a position to go seek a fool’s adventure and a few more ounces of glory for a nation that needed none, but he could not resolve to continue standing in front of that tree, in the courtyard, listening for that chime every daylight hour.

There were no other guards on watch at the citadel. If he left, he might well be punished for leaving the doors of the great hall unattended, but he could not find a reason to stay within him. He would return as soon as he’d found an adequate retreat and tell the Guard Captain of his plan. Hopefully, after whatever use he found for himself was fulfilled, he would accepted back into his former role and resume his duty, with the satisfaction of knowing that he still had the fire within him.

He headed out of the Court of the Fountain, looking for adventure and muttering some random words to the tune of an old song he knew.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:32 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

Placed for Guard


1) no, I have not played in any barrow-down RPG

2)I am involved in no RPG

3)I've posted in the Green Dragon
_____________________________________________

NAME: Ferethor Amandil

AGE: 27.

GENDER: Male

RACE: Mankind

WEAPONS

He usually wields a slender bow, not the sturdy crossbows that men usually use, but made in an elven-fashion. And he also carries a quiver of red-shafted arrows. In close combat he wields a slender blade, scarcly longer then a knife.

APPEARANCE

He has a pale complexion that strangly contrasts with his dark-brown eyes. Even when his eyes twinkle with merriment, or gleam in hatred, sadness of some unknown wrong is never entirely subdued.


Of course, when on duty, he wears the standard Gondorian armour of silver and sable.

But when he is not on duty, his clothing is practical yet common, except for a sturdy boot with silver tassels. He wears a dark-green cloak over his clothing, which aids in disguise in forest glades.

PERSONALITY, STRENGTH, WEAKNESSES:

He is self-possessed, and his anger is hard to kindle - but once aroused it will not be quenched easily. He can be ruthless in need, but is moved quickly to pity as well.

However, people find it hard to discern his feeling, for his features betray not what he feels. He almost always saw an outward appearance of being cheerful, and people like him but never get close to him. He gives his friendship frankly and with ease, but hold to the friendship loyally.

He is skilled in woodcraft and in archery. However, he does not wield sword nor any blade but his knife, and that only reluctantly.

He is practical, and do not dwell in vague dreams. For him, life is here and now - and he tries to enjoy it as best as he can.

He is more used than he would admit to the easy life of the guards, and he takes harsh and long journeying hard. However, he would never lag behind, for he is proud.

He is used to hard and harsh weather, for he grew up far from Minas Tirith. But he has not much traveling experience.

HISTORY

He was born by the eve of Greenwood the Great, and early learned the way of woodcraft and hunting.

His father Menelen was a healer, one of the most famous in that district. Few years after he was born, his mother Emelyn fell sick to a sudden desease that swept over the forest with disastrous results. His father was not at home at the time, tending other patients. It was too late by far to save her when Menelen came back.

After seven days of silence that seemed so appalling to the eleven-year old Ferethor, Menelen rose and said, "This cannot be borne!" He took a vow that he shall never heal again, as long as he live, for all his work turned to disater. Next day, he enlisted for the hunt of Wargs where he died.

Ferethor lived rough, but decently enough and was loved. He tried his best to be likeable to all, and learned to not to show his feelings and always keep the appearnce of cheerfulness.

When he was seventeen, he asked to be accepted into the Guard, so he may die like his father. He was rejected on the basis that he was too young and inexperienced. However, he was not ready to desert the cherished dream he held for so long - he took a horse and his father's guard armour followed the next regiment of guards secretly.

For his valour and courage in the battlefield that day, he was given rank by the captain, believing him that he was transferred from another regiment. Confusion issued when later on, upon reaching Minas Tirith, that it was found out that he was a just a young boy.

He has been working for the guard ever since. He was good, but not wonderful in battle - however, he improvised quickly and was quick in response, therefore dependable to carry out a mission with success.
_____________________________________________


Eorl of Rohan's post

Ferethor reined in his horse by the eve of Greenwood the Great, which was once called Mirkwood. The sun cast it's last rays upon the forest ans sank beyond the Misty Mountains.

He was singing what snatches he could remember of a song of lore he once heard long ago, improvising the tune as he went.

"Grey as tears, gleaming silver
Red then it rolled, roaring water..."

When he dismounted and camped for the night, he had time enough to brood over what he was going to do.

"The legacy..." He rolled the thought around in his mind. Then he smiled. "Even if it was true, why wouldn't have the villain or whatever he is used it all?"

He was suddenly furious at the king, though he knew it was not loyal. "This, a special mission from the king? For Illuvatar's gaze! What use could there possibly be in following after a petty villain and the legacy he is supposed to have?"

"What of the Shire, from which I was sent?" He talked the the gathering night. His horse nuzzled up to his face, and was given a piece of carrot. "Even though the time of Darkness is past, orcs, Wargs and other evil creature prowl around the borders of Shire" Ferethor thought with anger. "If soldiers of Gonder does not patrol and defend shire, there would be no peace for these holbytlans. Whither shall they flee from the oncoming dread if we did not protect them? But now we are withdrawn, few as we are, to chase after daydreams!"

Nevertheless, he was wondering how to join the company under disguised name when he fell asleep.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:51 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Eladain Moruviel]

I'd prefer to stay as a traveler, but I could change if need be.

[Melisil]

I've re-done my post, it is now for a guard.

[Eorl of Rohan]

I've re-done my post, it is now complete.

EDIT: I love the position of Guard!

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:09 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

so, how many people are applying for a guard? Three? [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img]

[Eorl of Rohan]

*Jumps up and down*

Who's chosen?

[piosenniel]

No one is chosen as yet, Eorl. Except for the Ranger.

Everdawn will make her decision from among all the applicants for the various positions.

~*~ Pio

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:18 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Kransha]

Just an addition...
I'm actually liking my guard character more than my other, so I will retract the traveler to narrow the decision that Everdawn has to make. It makes more sense anyway since there are more candidates for traveler than guard. If Everdawn is really set of having Idruil as a traveler, I'm fine with that, but otherwise you can count him out of that ballot.

[SonOfBombadil]

I'm working on a post for a spy, and I'll hopoefully have it in later today

[Witch_Queen]

The Spy/ Anti-Gondor
Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – No

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? The Green Dragon Inn.

Name: Ruan

Age:24

Race: Man

Gender: Male location: Gondor

Weapons: He has a sword which he got from his father. Its the only thing special to him. He keeps his silver mail under his bed. He figured he wouldn't need it anymore.

Appearance: Ruan appears older than he actually is. He has brown hair that hangs down to his shoulders. His brown beard is neatly trimmed.

Personality/Strengths/Weaknesses: He's not much of a out going person. He keeps to himself. He likes to think nothing can hurt him. But deep down inside he just wants to have someone to love.

History: After the death of his father he joined those who were against Gondor. Ruan despises the King. After leaving Gondor for 5 years to fulfill his weapons training he returned to live the rest of his life out.

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Witch_Queen's post

Ruan looked out the window of his little home. I remember why I hate this place so much. He noticed that the sky wasn't its normal blue. It had been too long since he last looked at the sky. He wasn't use to the weather of Minas Tirith anymore.

"I have as much love for this place as the snow does for the sun." His home was empty with few dishes. He walked over to the door and opened it. The squeeking of the hinges made chills go up his spine. "I've got to get that fixed."

His horse was attached to the post outside. To him it didn't feel like a normal day.

So if what they are telling me is true then we should be leaving soon. Hopefully they won't figure out my loyalties before its all over with. He ran his calused hand across the mane of his horse. After so many years of sword fighting his hands had become almost completely calused over.

He took off towards the inn to see what news he could find out that the group might take as important. As he sat there sipping on his ale he thought he over heard someone mentioning a group of people leaving to go find "the legacy"

"So their going after Guriel Il Galoth."

He walked over to the men talking about it. "So whats this your talking about?" The two men continued their conversation. Ruan grabbed a chair and sat back to hear the converation. This should be interesting.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:28 PM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Thengal]

Everdawn,

I edited my post a little like you asked in the PM and by the way Carathir is spelled with two "a", Sorry I misspelled it before.