Here There Be Dragons - Discussion/Planning

[Child of the 7th Age]

Esty,

All of this sounds good to me.

Regarding your question....

I have another question – what is the purpose of shapechanging, other than flight?

I will defer to Bird's example here as she has greater experience than the rest of us.

First, Bird used certain forms to fight. She has been known to crush a man to death as an Ent(ahem, that was my character!)and to attack as a dragon. Alternately, certain forms can be used for doing advance scouting in the countryside, or in securing needed food. Some of my favorite memories of her character was when she attacked and killed prey and happily popped something truly repulsive to humans in her mouth! Or the time she helped guide a herd of seacows back to the ship so the hobbrim children on board could have some milk.

She's also done spying as a neekerbreeker (a tiny insect). The latter made an interesting storyline, since she was so tiny it took her a long time to get from one end of the cave to another unless she hitched a ride on someone's shoulder.

And, as a dolphin, she had an interesting form of transportation, and went down to visit some underwater mermen who just happened to be living in the sunken city of Gondolin. I can even remember her cavorting in the water in her dolphin form for the sheer joy of being alive and swimming alongside a merman with whom she had a friendship!

So there is some variety here in addition to pure "flight". Others may come up with additional examples or ideas. The one thing to remember, however, is that until a SC gains mastery over his/her forms, they may pop on at any time--even inappropriate ones! The SC controls his shape only if he/she is skilled. The first instances of changing generally take place in the proximity of the particular beast. Bird, for example, was only able to transform into a wyrm after prolonged exposure to the dragon Angara who fortunately happened to be on board the Star.

I do remember Bird saying once that extreme need could also play a role in helping a SC shift. If someone is being attacked, for example, even an inexperienced SC may take on the form most appropriate for fighting.

Since Wyrma is the head of the clans, she would obviously have perfect control over all her forms, unlike someone like poor Ráma who has yet to shift into a single guise.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:17 AM January 06, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Nerindel]

I have added the last paragraph of Korpúlfr's bio. Esty please take a look and see if this fits with what we discussed.

I will try to have Korpúlfr's first post up as soon as possible.

[Mithadan]

I have moved Hilde and Esty's first posts to the RPG thread and will be adding my own new post shortly.

Nerindel, your first post should still be placed on this thread brfore it goes up on the RPG thread.

Everyone, Elora has informed us that real life prevents her from participating in this RPG at this time, though perhaps she may join us later. Kuruharan is in the process of moving but will hopefully be with us shortly.

Feel free to start moving forward with posts on the RPG thread. You may communicate with your cohorts via PM to plan ahead.

Have at it!

[Child of the 7th Age]

I searched the game thread up and down, but can not find my post for Ráma. Did someone forget to include it?

I have been known to miss things before even though I stare straight at them. If it's there, please tell me, and I apologize.

I am inserting a save at the end of the game. I will put my post there if it doesn't turn up elsewhere in the game. Also, I have made a save with a brief description, which I will fill in by tomorrow afternoon.

Can we use such saves judiciously?

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:05 PM January 08, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Mithadan,

Should you erase your post of December 29, 12:10 pm which put a hiatus on the game over the holidays?

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:07 PM January 08, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Mithadan]

Thanks for the reminder. If you need Rama's post placed earlier, please tell me.

[piosenniel]

I wrest the waters, fight Ulmo's waters
Sail through the sorrows of life's marauders
Unrepenting, often empty
Sail on, Saelon, sailor


I work the seaways, the gale-swept seaways
Past shipwrecked daughters of wicked waters
Uninspired, drenched and tired
Wail on, wail on, sailor

Saelon, sail on sailor . . .

Sail on, Saelon, sailor . . .

~*~ ad infinitem . . .

~*~ Brian Wilson, The Beach Boys, with minor edits . . .

[img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

[Mithadan]

It may be a bad pun but it is a perfectly good Sindarin name. It comes straight out of The Tolkien Society's Sindarin Lexicon and means Wise-heart. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Expect Baran to visit you soon Pio.

[Kuruharan]

I must apologize to one and all for my egregiously lengthy absence. I have managed to get moved, and hopefully I have my computer problems under control (for the moment).

I will get something useful done by late tomorrow, but I wanted to let everyone know that I was finally alive and kicking.

[Mithadan]

Welcome back Kuruharan!

[Kuruharan]

Name: Pharno

Age: Unknown

Race: Maenwaith

Gender: Male

Appearance: Small stature, only a few inches over 5’ tall. He would be considered a rather weedy fellow, but he is deceptively strong. Nobody knows what he looks like because he wears a black face cloth at all times. On his head he wears a helmet, but nobody knows what it looks like either because it is wrapped in a black turban. The only part of the helmet that is visible is the gold spike that projects from the top of the helmet out of the folds of the turban. He wears a purple-lined black tunic that terminates at the thigh. He also wears purple-lined, flowing black trousers. Pharno is belted with a long purple sash, around which goes his sword belt. He undoubtedly wears armor under his clothes.

Weapons: Primarily twin scimitars, but he would never let himself be limited to any particular weapon.

Personality: Everyone trembles in Pharno’s presence. He lurks in the shadows on the edge of Maenwaith society. To the world he is a phantom, and a terrifying one at that. He has no mercy, he will only exercise clemency when there is a specific reason for doing so. He is a brutal and bloodthirsty individual who it is wise to fear. As far as anyone can tell he cares for little beyond killing. Little more is known about his personality.

History: He belongs to no clan, he mysteriously appeared soon after the fall of Sauron. It is suspected that he is tied to several particularly heinous assassinations. The most infamous of these was a year prior to the story at the Great Gathering of the Clans. At this gathering an almost sacrilegious string of murders took place; to the tune of 25 clan leaders and their immediate followers. The large number of Wyrma’s opponents that died in this purge would have caused suspicion to center on Wyrma herself, except for the fact that a number of the victims were some of Wyrma’s own supporters. Before this, and continuing afterward, the remains of massacred clans of Maenwaith would be periodically discovered in the desert. These were always groups of Maenwaith opposed to Wyrma’s changes. No connection to Wyrma or Pharno could be proven, life in the desert can be dangerous after all. Any relationship between Wyrma and Pharno, if any relationship does exist, is shrouded in mystery.

Beyond this, there is nothing more that anyone dwelling in the Circles of the World can say about Pharno. However, after a fashion, we aren’t in the Circles of the World, so here’s a few more useful facts about him.

He is one of Sauron’s old experiments. Nobody knows his parentage, Pharno is the name the Haradrim in Sauron’s court gave him. Whatever it was that Sauron did to him made Pharno almost orcish in mentality. Not that he is filthy or foul in any way, as is probably evident from his clothing he has a certain appreciation for the finer things in life. However, this appreciation is superficial. Deep down he really likes killing things.

Obviously, nobody knows what forms Pharno can take, but it is virtually obligatory that they be vicious and predatory in nature.

He is not a person to be trusted for he would just as soon kill you as look at you. This is important in his interactions with other characters, nobody is safe around him. He is probably a little unstable. He will kill oliphants for fun and rumor has it that he has even succeeded in killing a dragon or two. Aside from all the dangerous beasts that he has laid low, there is no sentient that he has ever fought that he did not kill with relative ease.

And now to turn this story down the grim road.

Pharno’s First Post

The sun blazed mercilessly in a crystal sky. The desert baked under its rays. No sane creature would willingly traverse this country under these conditions. However, it did not daunt insane creatures, or rather their insane and dangerous leader.

Across the desert rode a company of robed horsemen. They numbered just over three score. Their robes were white, to try and ease the dreadful heat. On their heads were turbans and all their faces were shrouded. In their hands they gripped lance and shield. Their shields were covered in leather and bore no device or marking of any kind. By the side of each warrior hung a scimitar. Over the neck of each horse hung two full quivers of arrows and a short recurved bow. All the warriors were equipped in this way, all except for the leader.

The leader of this troop rode several paces in front of his men. He was shrouded head-to-toe in black and purple. Out of the top of his turban shot the golden spike of a helmet. By his sides hung two scimitars and, similar to his men, over his stallion’s neck hung two quivers of arrows and the same type of bow. However, this rider carried no shield and bore no lance.

On and on through the shimmering sands of the desert rode this company. The troopers suffering in the heat and secretly wondering how their leader could continue on as he was, draped in colors that sucked in the heat like a magnet.

Finally, the leader rode to the base of a towering dune and halted. He raised his fist in the air. Five of the warriors rode to him and planted their lances in the ground. The rest of the company split into two parties and rode in opposite directions until they vanished in the dunes. The leader watched them go, and then turned and faced the dune for what seemed like a long time. The warriors took out water-skins and drank, but the leader continued to stare at the dune.

He suddenly stirred and rode up the dune, his warriors, abandoned their lances and followed at a respectful distance. They crested the rise and saw before them, another dune. They rode to the top of the next as indifferently as the first. Upon cresting the second dune a very different sight met their eyes.

Below them, in a deep hollow of the desert floor, lay a cool oasis. The water poured forth from a natural fountain into a large pool. The ground was carpeted by lush growth and there were several large clusters of palm trees. In the midst of this natural beauty spread several large tents. Each of the riders estimated to himself that the camp contained over one-hundred occupants. The leader made these calculations to himself with decided indifference, almost verging on disappointment.

The riders waited long enough until they could tell by the stir in the camp that they had been seen. After prolonging his pause until a large cluster of figures had gathered near the pool, the leader leisurely rode down the slope. His men continued to follow him, although with growing nervousness for their personal safety. The black figure rode at an even pace directly at one individual. Directly in front of the selected person, the dark rider halted. There was an uncomfortable pause as everyone eyed each other. At last, the dark rider spoke.

"Greetings, Nimlot," came a quiet voice from behind the black face cloth. "Do you know me?"

Nimlot was an old man with a long white beard. He wore simple desert robes and seemed what he was, a tired old man who only wanted to be left alone.

"N-no, stranger," he faltered as he tried to look the dark one in the eye. He quickly subsided and stared down at the ground.

The rider shifted in his saddle and waved his hand indifferently in the air. "No matter," the quiet voice said. "Why are you and your people out here Nimlot? You know that the Great Wyrm desires that all our people gather and prepare to move into the city."

Silence fell like a stone. There was a general shifting as hands moved closer to weapons and the encampment’s men moved closer to the riders. The women and children stayed back and watched from near the tents. The only one who remained unmoved was the dark rider. Unperturbed by the lack of response, the quiet voice continued, "Since this is the case, and since the Great Wyrm is the leader of our folk, I ask again, why are you here?"

Nimlot did not reply.

A strapping figure suddenly strode forward and stood next to Nimlot. The sun shown down on handsome features and dark eyes that glared at the mysterious stranger. "Father," bellowed the man, "bid these rude strangers to be off, and let the desert have them!" Nimlot stirred and looked nervously at his son, but still said nothing.

"Come now, Nimlot," resumed the quiet voice, "what is it you wish to preserve? A life of poverty and desperation, blown by the winds from one side of the desert to the other? Living your life in and forcing your family to endure a wretched existence, barely able to feed yourselves? Just think of it! If you will come with me you can have riches and wealth like you cannot imagine! A mansion for your family to dwell in, and human slaves to do your every bidding." A trace of sarcasm crept into the quiet voice. "You could even build yourself your own lush park so that you could go around and pretend to be a gazelle, as I know you love to do."

Silence fell again. This time Nimlot looked up toward the rider. Finally he spoke. "What do you know about this?" he sadly asked. "And what is it you wish of me? To live a life of imprisonment in a fixed city? To cruelly lord it over unfortunates in a household of misery? To help you carve out a great empire of suffering to engulf the world? To teach my children to follow in that way until I could get no rest at night for fear that they would kill me and take what I had plundered from others?" He paused. "No," he said softly. "I can see quite clearly that my life is over and will end here. However, I will tell you this, milord Pharno, since you were so courteous to offer me the choice, even though I must die for it I could never turn to your way. There are things more important than life itself and keeping my hands from aiding in the bloody conquest of a vicious empire is one of them. Do what you will! I have no doubt that you will succeed in all your schemes, kill thousands, and establish a regime of terror that will horrify the world for ten thousand generations, but in the end you will not gain by it. Someday you will be reduced to death, just as I am, and then you will see what all your life’s work has brought you!"

"Father," cried the son, "you’ll not die today!!!" He drew his sword and sprang forward toward the rider.

Quick as thought, Pharno sprang from his horse, scimitars in hand. He landed between Nimlot and his son and with a stroke from each sword sent their headless bodies sprawling on the ground. Turmoil erupted all around. Those of the shapechangers who could assume the form of dangerous beasts did so while the others drew their weapons and closed in on the riders. The riders slashed around them and tried to ride back. Pharno hastily killed a few men, some dogs, and a leopard before he charged straight for the women and children. The mothers of children too young to change form picked up their children and ran for their lives. The others assumed the forms of birds or another fleet creature. After mercilessly slaying several helpless mothers and children, Pharno, ignoring the rest, thrust his swords into the ground and drew his bow. He quickly started shooting the birds from the sky. The reason for his indifference to the land bound escapees quickly became apparent as the rest of his men surged over the dunes on two different sides of the encampment. They ruthlessly slaughtered all those who tried to flee before turning into the camp. When Pharno finished shooting the last fleeing sparrow, he turned to the fight by the pool. All of the other five troopers who followed him lay torn and dead on the ground. The surviving shapechangers moved warily to attack him. Without batting an eyelash he shot two of them before they moved two steps. Then they charged him, but Pharno remained unmoved. Before they could come to grips with Pharno they were suddenly caught and ridden down by the horsemen and every last one of them was slain.

Pharno retrieved his swords and placidly surveyed the grisly scene as he cleaned his blades.

"Burn your comrades," he ordered his men, "and take the best items from the camp. Leave everything else to the scavengers!"

As his men busied themselves about these tasks, Pharno inspected the bodies. When he was done he stood up and looked around.

"There should be one more," he said to nobody in particular.

Suddenly, he spun about, seized his sword, and slashed at the trunk of a nearby tree. The sword went clean through the trunk. The tree swayed and crashed down into the pool with a splash.

Pharno stooped down and picked up the forlorn remains of a butterfly. As he stared down at the sad sight he smiled to himself and thought, "And so Nimlot’s seed passes from the earth! My task here is done."

He dropped the remains of Nimlot’s daughter on the ground and strode to his horse. He mounted, turned to his men and said, "We ride!"

The troop rode off into the merciless desert that was their home and kin.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

I placed a new post for Wyrma directly on the RPG thread. Should it need to be relocated to have other posts first, I can delete and repost it.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Kuruharan- It looks like Surinen better stay far away from Pharno. Sounds like an automatic death sentence to catch sight of that one! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

[Ealasaide]

Pardon me for being a bit dense... but I was wondering if we are allowed to start posting on the thread now. I've got a post in the works, but was hesitant to move forward with it just yet.

[piosenniel]

Ealasaide

Yes - please do post! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

~*~ Pio

[Kuruharan]

It looks like Surinen better stay far away from Pharno. Sounds like an automatic death sentence to catch sight of that one!

Not necessarily. That was more of a rough draft than anything else. Sort of a compilation of ideas to see what is useable. About the only thing basically set about Pharno for the moment is his name and career choice. Other than that all sorts of twisted things will likely be done to him. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:21 PM January 10, 2004: Message edited by: Kuruharan ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Okay then, that is good to know. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Nerindel]

Korpúlfr's First Post

As the sun baked the quiet midday streets of Umbar, a heavily laden wagon rumbled through the dusty roads flanked by four well armed riders. It was not uncommon for trade wagons to be looted as they journeyed to and from the city, most of the looted wares usually finding their way to a Corsairs ship, to be sold on at some other port of call. The city itself was also a dangerous place to those who were not aware of the cities darker side. Many a novice trader had lost his purse and wares to the pirates and cut throats by taking a wrong turn and straying into the streets of the less desirable parts of the city, but the wagoneer and his escorts were no strangers to the city and knew to avoid such places when ever possible. The wagoneer himself was a short dark haired young man, his dark eyes emphasised by the black kohl that lined them. The fine cut and gold trim of his tunic, the fine silk of his shirt and the four man escort all marked him as one of Umbar's wealthier merchants.

As the wagon rolled steadily along, passing the empty markets and winding it's way up to the wealthier region of the city the young man sat with an air of confidence, but behind that facade he was contemplating, the events of the past few days. It was now three days since he received the invitation to attendant a banquet at Lord Falasmir's palace, to meet with traders of Gondor. Although the prospect of fresh trade meant more profit for him and his clan he could not help but be suspicious, why now after so long, what are they really up too?

"Woooh!" the wagoneer called pulling hard on the reigns of the four horse team, as they neared the large ornately carved wood framed house that was his Umbar abode. Then dropping the reigns he leapt down, but before he even spoke the four riders had dismounted and began unloading the wagon and from the stables they had pulled up infront of, came the stable hands to take the horses. The stable hands were all Haradwaith men and behind his friendly and confident demeanour he always looked on them with suspicion, but it had been necessary to hire local people to insure the pretense that he was a Haradwaith merchant, though nearly all of the in-house staff were of his own clan or those of other clans that he trusted.

"Make sure, they get plenty of water!" he told the nearest stable hand who nodded his understanding, before continuing to unhitch the team. He turned again to those unloading the cart, his escort were all members of his family people he trusted as he and his father insured their loyalty by keeping them in the comfortable lifestyle they had all become accustom too.

"Take the first five barrels and those three chests to the store then load the rest onto the other cart for tonight," he told them.

"But Korpúlfr, are not these our finest goods!" his older cousin, Hasrim exclaimed, a puzzled look crossing his bearded face as he lifted one of the barrels his younger cousin had indicated was to be taken to Lord Falasmir's palace. The young wagoneer smiled wryly and whispered, "My father wishes us to make a good impression on the Gondorian merchants, we may not trust them, but open trade will not only be good for business it will enable us to keep a closer eye on the doings of their King, it is said that he controls most of the north lands, who is to say that he does not think to control the Southland's also?" then lowering his voice further, that the Haradwaith stablemen could not over hear he added, "or if our lord Falasmir himself is not up to something that may jeopardise our new way of life!"

Hasrim nodded his understanding and went back to unloading the rest of their cargo, Korpúlfr turned from the wagon and made his way to the house where he was greeted by his cousin's Isram and Jahr, the two young men who were entrusted to look after the house and the city business while he attended business in their own city, the as yet secret city of the skinchangers.

"Isram, Jahr, how is business, are the wealthy ladies of Umbar still impressed by our fine goods or do they just come for the charm and wit of my cousins?" he laughed putting his arms round the two men and letting them lead him into the house.

"Business is well, Cousin" Isram grinned, "But what news of home?" Jahr interjected hopefully.

"Is this what you look for cousin?" Korpúlfr laughed pulling a sweet smelling vellum parchment from his tunic and holding it aloft.

"See, I told you she would write, brother!" Jahr laughed to his brother as he snatched the parchment from Korpúlfr's raised hand.

"Now, Cousin if you will excuse me, I will leave you and my brother to discuss the important matters of trade in the city, while I see what fair words my lady seeks to impart, good day to you both" and with a short bow he left.

"If he were not my brother I would swear Hestra has cast a spell over him, making him act like a love sick fool" Isram laughed as they continued on to the study.

"But he should be careful Isram, although we both know that Hestra has not the cunning to have any other interest in the handsome young Jahr, her uncle the leader of the scorpion clan would see a gain in such a union."

Isram nodded his understanding as he filled two goblets with a rich red wine, "Now enough of my brother and his recent infatuation." Isram grinned handing one of the goblets to him.

Korpúlfr held the silver goblet for a second waiting for Isram to drink first, he did not distrust his cousin, the action was one of habit, born of his distrust of the Lords and Corsairs he frequently traded with.

"You know why I am here?" he asked absently admiring the engraving of the goblet he held, smiling as a hidden image of a wolf revealed itself amidst the intricate design as he slowly turned it in the dull light of the study.

"Yes! the Gondorian merchant ship that has been berthed in the commercial harbour for several weeks now!" Isram replied taking a sip from his goblet before continuing, "There has been many fellow merchants and their wives at our door wishing to purchase our finest silks for tonight's banquet, weather to impress the foreigners or their Lord Falasmir is yet to be seen."

"Likely both" Korpúlfr yawned

"You seem unimpressed cousin, but perhaps this will interest you, The Gondorian captain and his crew are being escorted everywhere by Lord Falasmir's men" Isram paced the room to stand infront of the window, something clearly troubling him.

"So he wishes to impress by seeing that none of the unwary foreigners get themselves mugged or killed, by straying into the wrong side of town," he shrugged, finally lifting his goblet to his lips, the warm flavour of the spices adding a pleasant edge to the fine quality wine as it smoothly slid down his throat.

"So, their safety is why two Corsair warships are berthed either side of her!" Isram said dryly, turning from the window to regard his cousin.

But Korpúlfr burst out laughing, "The fools have walked into a trap of Falasmir's design." But his laughter stopped abruptly as he remembered why he was here, " Why if he already has them cornered does he continue with the facade, why are we to meet and discuss trade with them?" he mused aloud.

"My thoughts exactly, perhaps you shouldn't go!" Isram counselled.

"Nonsense! offend our esteemed Lord, by refusing his kind invitation!" he answered sarcastically. "No, I will go, I would like to get a look at these so called traders."

But as Isram began to object he raised his hand, "do not worry my friend I will be cautious as always," he grinned confidently. Now I wish to get changed I promised Tinar I would show him the city."

"You still suffer that young whelp!" Isram snorted, his disapproval quiet clear.

"Now, Now, Cousin that young whelp may one day succeed his mother to be the next Wyrm, we would do well to encourage him on that path."

"your room has been prepared," Isram said quickly changing the subject.

Korpúlfr nodded his thanks and setting down his now empty goblet he made his way through the house to his room, sure enough the room was readied as promised. Laid out on the bed was his attire for the evening, loose black pant, a light cream shirt and a reddish brown silk tunic, inlayed with fine gold embroidery.

Once washed and changed, he pulled on his light black boots and leaving his raven black hair loose so as it covered his neck he tied a scarf of the same reddish brown colour of his tunic about his head, the scarf was tasselled and four thin gold coins hung across the front, he reapplied the black kohl that highlighted his dark eyes then added a gold stud to his right ear, before making his way to the stables.

The cart he intended to take to the palace was already prepared and ready to leave, both Isram and Jahr were there ensuring all was in order.

"I what stalls set up at tonight's market, father would be pleased if we returned with full coffers, from both the market and the palace!" he grinned relishing the thought of the lords and ladys of Umbar lining the pockets of their soon to be rivals.

"Now have some one take this to the palace at once! The paper work!" he said holding out his hands, into which Isram placed a scroll and a fine quill, quickly scanning the inventory list to insure it was correct he signed it and handed both back to his cousin.

"Make sure the deliverer stays with the cart until I arrive or until he receives a note of delivery."

"Do not worry cousin I will stay with the cart and ensure that none of Falasmir's men even think to steal from you." Jahr reassured him.

"You are to take the cart my young friend, then I am reassured, indeed I pity any fool who would try to steal something from your care" he laughed jovially with the young man.

"Well, you men have work to do and I wait for a guest, so... " just then a small brown sparrow swooped by his ear.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
I already had this post prepared before seeing Esty's latest post including Tinar, so I have altered it slightly to fit.

Esty what age is Tinar he sounds a little younger than I had imagined?

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:11 PM January 11, 2004: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Tinar is in his late teens, grown-up by desert standards, but not yet old enough to have authority. Wyrma's oldest is about 30, the other brothers in between.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Thorn will be carried by both Hilde and myself. He is a thirty year old Skinchanger, with complete command of his forms, including that of the Eagle. He is Ayar's designated choice as a successor, should any misfortune occur. He is also, as can be seen, deeply in love with Ráma's twin sister Narika. At the present time, he is spying at the palace.

This character is still evolving so we will let you know when we figure out more about him! I have altered Ráma's profile to reflect the fact that Narika is a twin sister rather than younger by several years.

[piosenniel]

Nerindel

Your post is on board! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

~*~ Pio

[Child of the 7th Age]

The fat sand rat is actually a type of gerbil. See this.

*****************************************

I have given the palace a rather modern plumbing system based on some things I've read about the Moslem world in the middle ages. If anyone feels it's a bit too modern, I will revise.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Quick question here. Are the rebels the passive resistance type of rebels, are more like insurgents? Or none of the above?

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hilde,

My guess is this. The maenwaith have long been the "passive resistence" types, using their forms to slip away to safety and avoid unwanted confrontations. Speaking personally, Ráma likes to talk and think big. In reality, however, she has done little more than slink away, just as she is now slinking out of the reception hall.

However, there comes a point when anyone with a bit of backbone begins to get angry and starts acting more like an insurgent.

If Wyrma was to threaten violence,for example, I think that might push many of us over the edge. But, for each SC, that would be an individual choice -- when and where that shift would come.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Once again, thank you!

I am also wondering if they are aware of the Valar, since they have avoided men and elves. Perhaps they would think them foreign. Their ability to "wear" different forms, being reminscent of the Valar (on a very small scale, of course), I wonder if they would even see a bit of the that.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

I have a question about the ongoing reception - are we waiting for something to happen? I'm not sure how to continue posting...

[Mithadan]

Nothing will happen at the reception (unless you want something to happen).

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

I've been asked if I could fill the place vacated by Kuruharan, and since the character in question was an assassin I could hardly refuse. Since I've been informed that I can rewrite the character I've done so, but I stress that the profile is by no means set in stone; so feel free to suggest changes if it will help.

Name: Hazad, to most who know of him simply Moradan or the Man of Shadows, although he never uses these himself.

Race: Human (Haradrim)

Gender: Male

Age: Somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. He does not know it himself.

Profession: Assassin

Height: Five foot nine

Appearance: Like all men of Harad, Hazad is brown-skinned and brown-eyed with long black hair, which he wears braided and usually thrust beneath his clothes. To deny his enemies purchase, he goes clean-shaven and when denied the use of a razor wears his beard short. By the standards of his people he is unremarkable, although he seems outlandish to those of more northerly lands. His main distinguishing features are his eyes, which seem unnaturally soft, almost gentle, and his completely impassive demeanour. Few have been able to detect even the faintest flicker of emotion in him, which has served him well in business negotiations.

His dress is usually dictated by circumstances. In the deep desert he adopts clothing similar to that of the Bedouin: loose and light both in colour and weight, with a burnoose over his head; when plying his trade, usually deep black silks and satins, chosen for silence and invisibility. His chosen garb on the rare occasions when he is given the opportunity to wear it, is mainly reds, with loose pantaloons and a long tunic; his taste for gold jewellery is cultural rather than a sign of ostentation. He never wears this when working.

Weapons: Hazad chooses his tools for the job in hand. He is most proficient with bow and knife, but he will use poison, either on darts or placed in food, if it suits his purposes. He is rarely called upon to fight with a sword, but can use one in a pinch with passable skill. He rarely carries one, however, since they are normally too unwieldy for use in his work.

Personality: Hazad is a cynical and bitter man, cold and ruthless. He feels no pity for his victims and regards them as a means to an end: that of earning a living. No job is beneath him if the price is right, and he takes no account of age, sex or race when he accepts a contract. If he is particularly ill-disposed towards the King and his subjects this is only understandable, given his past; but he would still gladly kill one of the King's enemies if he were paid to do so. He restricts his conversation with clients to business matters and has no obvious friends or associates, spending most of his time alone and seeking the company of none. He will actively discourage any attempt to talk to him unless it concerns a contract.

History: Hazad was the son of a farmer in Near Harad, but was called from his father's land to serve in the War of the Ring. Although he played no part in the major battles of the time, he fought with distinction in a number of skirmishes, mainly around the southern border of Gondor. When he returned home, he discovered that fleeing and panicked Orcs had raided his home and killed his parents; later he discovered that his brother had been killed in Ithilien (in fact in the very ambush witnessed by Frodo and Sam, although he does not know this). Embittered and disillusioned, realising that he had been betrayed by his masters and attacked by their allies, he made for the nearest city, where he was soon involved in petty crime. When he killed a wealthy merchant during a burglary, he was forced to seek protection from the man's business rivals, who used him for a number of political killings before he was offered money to assassinate one of them. He used the money he earned from this act to flee the city, and began to wander Middle-earth, accepting whichever killings paid the highest. In the difficult early years of the Fourth Age, he is seldom short of work, and has enough of a reputation that his services are often in demand. Only low payment will cause him to refuse a contract, however repugnant the client or the task may be. His stealth, discretion and calculating personality make Hazad the ideal assassin, and he is as proud of his abilities as he is of anything, not that he ever talks about that either.

Hazad is mostly known by nicknames that he has been given over the years, most of them with unpleasant connotations. Few if any know his real name, which is given here for the sake of completeness. In fact nobody knows more than the merchants with whom he anonymously deposits and invests his money; and they know next to nothing. Several former clients are not prepared to trust in his discretion, and numerous powerful people have sworn vengeance against him. Naturally King Elessar wants to see him brought to justice, so he avoids the King's dominions when he can. Secrecy and mobility are the keys to his survival, and few can tell where he will be at a given time. His clients seek him out in the seedier inns and if they are lucky they find him. He has enough money that the loss of business does not trouble him overmuch.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:38 PM January 20, 2004: Message edited by: The Squatter of Amon Rûdh ]

[piosenniel]

Welcome, Squatter!

_____________________________

Point of general info:

Rôg and Aiwendil are now bound northeast from a spot just below the Havens of Umbar for the city . . .

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:52 PM January 21, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Thanks, pio. It looks like it'll be a lot of fun being on the wrong side.

Hazad's introduction is up, leaving him rather undeservedly sleeping the sleep of the just. I'll be happy to answer any questions about him via PM, and I'll post anything more general here if it seems necessary. Here's to a great RPG.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Squatter,

So glad to learn you'll be joining us!

We need a good assassin around here causing trouble.....

However, my character Ráma, who is one of the "good" SCs, may not be a fan of Hazad!

Child

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:59 PM January 21, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

A good assassin? Hmmm.... And a convincing one too! Makes me want to check to see the windows are locked. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Mr. Squatter, Greetings and I have sent a PM along to you.

[Child of the 7th Age]

I will be away a few days without access to a computer. I went ahead and did a save for Ráma, since I wanted to reserve a space for her to receive the news from Thorn regarding the proposed attack on Mithadan's ship.

This will likely not be filled in till Monday.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:44 AM January 23, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Hilde

Is Surinen north or south of the present Eagle encampment? And about how far?

~*~ Pio

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Pio That would depend where the Eagles are, I suppose. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] But I will arbitarily say south, at about a day's ride.

[Mithadan]

Child, I took the liberty of editing Thorn's letter to Rama, changing the day that the Star is to be seized from "tomorrow" to "within two days' time". This matches Esty's earlier post regarding timing.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Mithadan,

Thanks for the edit. I was going to check with you on the timing, but didn't get to it yet.

I've also sent you a pm to ask for further timing clarification on one or two points.

Child

[piosenniel]

Hilde

Rôg is about to drop in on Narayad and Surinen . . . [img]smilies/eek.gif[/img]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hilde,

You raised this question about a week ago:

I am also wondering if they[SCs ]are aware of the Valar, since they have avoided men and elves. Perhaps they would think them foreign. Their ability to "wear" different forms, being reminscent of the Valar (on a very small scale, of course), I wonder if they would even see a bit of the that.

My guess is that most maenwaith know very little about the Valar, since they have spent their whole life in the Southlands (unlike Bird, for example). Perhaps only those who have extensive ties outside the clan (and these are mainly the baddies) would have heard of the Valar.

On a related note.... Perhaps the Eagle clan would have some stories about a Great Eagle who looks and acts suspiciously like Gwaihir, but would know him by a different name. But names like "Manwe" or "Varda" would mean nothing to Ráma.

I do think the clan has a respectful attitude towards their own ancestors and see them as offering some form of protection (though not as "gods"]. Like the Rohirrim, they might view death as a return to the "meeting tents of the ancestors".

Do you remember the tiny statues that Mithadan found in the marketplace of men with heads like beasts? I have a feeling that those might be representations of these venerated ancestors -- not beings to worship, but someone for whom one has respect. (Ráma may even keep one nearby for good luck!)

At some point, Aiwendil should come into the main storyline, and he does have the ability to change shapes. That is, if he ever regains his former skills!

If anyone else has any other ideas on this, just chime in....

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:03 PM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

Hilde

Can Surinen or Narayad throw a rope down the well? [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]