Assigned to Mordor Planning/Discussion Thread

[littlemanpoet]

Here's the phantom's list (I wouldn't have typed this but the system is telling me my message is too short, it needs at least one character ... go figure....

Originally Posted by the phantom

Okay then. I have copied every one of my Mordor assignements and pasted them here-

* People who "don't get" Strong Bad.
* People who "don't get" fantasy or sci-fi.
* People who drive really slow and stop at corners that don't have stop signs and generally act lost.
* Pedestrians who walk in the street when there is a perfectly good sidewalk ten feet away.
* All cats, except ones with no claws that can play without biting and come when you call them.
* People who think popularity equals quality.
* People who think everyone should get out and vote, even the people (about 40% of voters) who couldn't tell you who's running for what office, who the current vice president is, or what the capital of their state is.
* And yes, all you Brits, I just insinuated that soccer is the official sport of Mordor.
* I declare that all people who think Republicans should go to Mordor should go to Mordor themselves.
* I imagine Mordor's official television station runs nothing but soaps.
* People who are easily offended should go to Mordor.
* And also, people who are constantly worried about offending someone should go to Mordor, too.
* I believe I will send going to work on Saturday to Mordor.
* Anyway, off to Mordor with all teens who don't understand that parents see their children as extensions of their own bodies and souls, and are just as interested in and worried about their children as they are themselves, and want to spare their children as many bumps and bruises, physical and emotional, as possible, and help their children be better at everything than they were when they were young.
* But, people who tailgate when you are going the speed limit or above... yes, indeed, they should go to Mordor.
* So I say, off to Mordor with easy driving tests!
* I send working any time before noon to Mordor!!

Wow! This is going to take a while.

Here it goes-

* Suburbia (by you, lmp, you fiend )
* Milk (by Mithalwen)
* Britney Spears (assigned by lots of people, I secretly am glad she exists because she's got such a gorgeous body, what can I say?)
* People who don't give pedestrians the right of way (by Tinuviel, streets are for cars, not people!)
* People who threaten me with dire threats of unknowable doom. (you again, lmp)

Umm... this is taking too long. I'm only on page 2.

I'm just going to scan that list you made and stick things on it from there.

* bad weather (I like thunderstorms and blizzards)
* cell phones (I neeeeeed mine)
* dentists (I like mine, and I'd rather have a bit of discomfort in his office than a serious mouth problem later, and some of the dental assistants are hot)
* Disney (they've made some good stuff)
* fish (I love seafood)
* heavy traffic (I like the hustle and bustle sometimes)
* long road trips (some of my best memories were made on road trips)
* off-topic posts (I've done it, who hasn't, but in my opinion it's not off-topic if it's something that interests me )
* Yoda (how could anyone assign our little green friend?!)

Okay, that's that.

I'm working on the whole character bit right now.

Snicker! I decided to paste the thing as is, being so full of the phantom's memorable personality.

[littlemanpoet]

I have the final two candidates for the game lined up, but am waiting for their firm agreement and information, so their names remain under wraps for the time being. That said, WWXIII is going to be starting up soon, and I'm in it, so we still have a good week or so of planning time before ATM launches.

[Celuien]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet

I have the final two candidates for the game lined up, but am waiting for their firm agreement and information, so their names remain under wraps for the time being. That said, WWXIII is going to be starting up soon, and I'm in it, so we still have a good week or so of planning time before ATM launches.

Great! Can't wait to get started.

Welcome, tp and Encai!

[piosenniel]

Encaitare and the phantom

Please put your character bios and first posts directly onto the planning thread as you get them ready.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, game moderator

[littlemanpoet]

Our 6th and 7th players are guy who be short and Kath.

Pio, please add their names to the list of those who can post to this thread.

Guy & Kath, as with Enca & tp, you can post your lists, character descrip, and first posts here. I'll let you know right here what may need to be changed.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Welcome aboard, my doves! This is possibly the most excited I've been to begin writing. I don't know two of you half as well as I should like (Durelin and Celuien) and I like all of you slightly more than half as you deserve. I'm glad to be writing with the esteemed likes of ye all. Not you, phantom. I'm terribly upset to be writing with you. Words simply can't express my remorse properly.

Can't wait to see bios and posts!

PS: yay for peer pressure!

[piosenniel]

Everyone's now on the various requisite lists.

And I'm supposing that the game is now closed for taking on any more players . . . yes?/no?

~*~ Pio

[Kath]

Guy & Kath, as with Enca & tp, you can post your lists, character descrip, and first posts here. I'll let you know right here what may need to be changed.

In that case ignore my last PM! I've done the lists though not the bio or post yet.

I assigned:
Saying pronounciation rather than pronumciation
ATMs
Yoda
Overzealous political correctness
Role of Ranger
Geography teachers
Hayfever
Fathers who think they know everything about computers, and then delete programs because they don't know what they're doing or because if it's not theirs it can't possibly be important
Inability to breathe
Hypocritical parents
PE teachers who don't understand asthma
Overly neurotic parents
Hovering parents
Adults that think teenage gripes are just due to hormones
Parents in general
Osteopaths who try to crush you
Going to school when it's pointless
Lying TV people who say the adverts are no louder than the programmes
UCAS applications and personal statements
Online forms and filling them out
Figuring out where to go to university
Being banned from the internet
The logic that means you are banned from the net for tying up the phone lines but are then allowed to be on the phone for 2 hours
People you think are your friends who then turn round and stab you in the back
The internet when it isn't working and you have to restart the computer before it will let you log back on
Adverts
Sneezing when halfway up a climbing wall with a belayer you don't entirely trust
Paranoia
Going to the dentist
School
Procrastinating
Being too ill to walk

Wow, I complain a lot! Other list later as I have to get off the net.

EDIT: here it be

I have been assigned for:
Being a hypocrite
Paying with too much change
Assigning minor irritations to the most miserable, dangerous and evil place in the world without a moments thought
Being a person
Cutting queues
Being pedantic about spelling
Leaving my phone on in class
Using non standard words
Speaking English
Using 'myself and . . .'
Not liking white chocolate
Being unable to turn down food dares
Misusing apostrophes
Making weird faces and comments to those who like black liquorice
Continually complaining about languages
Making off topic posts
Liking a thread but not being able to think of anything to say
Being a conspiracy theorist
Not listening to nagging, seemingly irrrelevant thoughts
Being an offspring who doesn't understand the difficulty of being a parent
Being a child
Procrastinating
Having bad habits
Being a soda and coke drinker
Not signing positive reps (admittedly by accident)
Moaning about having to do tests
Being a girl
Discriminating against the stupid
Being told to do something and immediately not wanting to do it as a result
British spelling is true spelling
Using dangling prepositions
Speaking
Worrying about offending others


There. Bio and post on the way once I've written them.

[the guy who be short]

Originally Posted by Kath

Wow, I complain a lot!

*Snork*

Things I have sent to Mordor:
People using incorrect Jamesian English.
People who can't use capslock.
Chavs.
My thirteen year old self.
Users of non standard words.
Politicians.
Nightmares.
American spelling.
English.
Food poisoning.
Prolonged conjunctivitis.
Illness.
Early birdsong.
All language.
Lack of published Quenya.
Political correctness.
Off topic posts.
Misleading names, like Jellyfish.
Excess phlegm.
When you like a thread but can't think of anything to say.
Ridiculous conspiracy theories / theorists.
Teachers who fail to make maths engaging.
Balrog wingers.
Elastic bands in braces, particularly when accidentally ingested.
Films that radically alter the storyline of the book they're based on.
Finding a whole chick pea lurking in your braces 6 hours after your last meal.
The local press.
Parents between children's adolescence and when we start liking them again.
Eomer of the Rohirrim.
Heatwaves.
Coldwaves.
Sweat patches.
The backspace button.
People who don't understand introverts.
Extroverts who try to engage in conversation when I'm not in the mood.
Being shy around people I know I'll get on well with, once I know them better.
Not having time to respond to PMs.
The time consuming nature of Sixth Form.
Procrastination.
Fossil fuels.
The pervasive media.
Homophones.
People who drop pronouns.
Sudden returns to school.
People who blame bureaucracy and political correctness.
Confusing spellings, such as the -ent and -ant suffixes.
No free periods on a Monday.
Discrimination against the stupid.
The system that allows less intelligent people into positions of authority.
Not having a feudal society based on intellect with the phantom as our leader.
Computers that keep breaking down.
Guy Fawkes Day and the lack of decent British festivals.
The phrase "red tape."
David Cameron.

Things I have been sent to Mordor for:
I enjoy algebra.
I like allegory. Well, some.
I like liquorice.
British spelling is true spelling.
I use dangling prepositions.
I speak English.
I'm about to join a fan fiction game.
I like exams. Honest.
I like fish. Well, depends on the type and if it's already cooked, but generally.
I like geometry. Maths is fun, people. Accept it.
Ich spreche nur ein bische Deutsch. If you ignore grammar rules, that is.
I'm not opposed to nanny states.
I am in many aspects an ignorant fool.
I love maths. And yes, that's an "s" you see there.
I'm not sure on the use of "myself."
I am. Human, that is.
I use language.
Verily, I enjoy non standard words.
I worry about offending others.
I would actually like to be a politician, much as I detest them. I'd be honest and represent the people and... ah, screw it.
I am a raccoon. Well, I'd like to be, just for a day or so.
Same with squirrels.
I am, on occasion, utterly stupid. Depends on what's being discussed.

I'm in the process of naming my character. I have a basic history circulating in my head, but post to come later - I still need to become acquainted with the delightful Green Dragon.

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by piosenniel

Everyone's now on the various requisite lists.

And I'm supposing that the game is now closed for taking on any more players . . . yes?/no?

~*~ Pio

That is correct. I have already had the unpleasant duty of turning down one interested party, who, if there is a second generation of this, I promised to invite.

Warning to players: I am going to handle this the way the phantom handled WWXII, in this sense.... if you fail to post often enough and believably enough during a given week's test, your character will lag behind and have to catch up. That means that some characters may not succeed in getting out of Mordor. Just so it's clear, each Test will take one week's game time. I plan on five tests, which means five weeks. Since deadlines have handily been assigned to Mordor, I intend to fully implement them. This game will be over precisely five weeks after it starts, no exceptions. In addition, if you fail to post for an entire week without giving warning (so that your character's catching up to the rest of the Offending Party cannot be adequately planned for by me), your character will become embroiled in a Mordorian Werewolf village and wind up among the multiple lynchees. Promise.

Edit: Oh, and if the above warning is not quite within the bounds of Shire rpg rules, Pio and I will work out an amicable solution so that the goal implied in the warning can be achieved.

[Celuien]

Ah, the Offending Party is complete. Welcome to TGWBS and Kath. Here's looking forward to the trials and tribulations of our tests.

EDIT: With regard to the storyline: I have a special fondness (of sorts) for bureaucratic hospitals, should that be a challenge.

As a side note, if there's any place for history in this story, I think I can connect mantle-clocks in the Shire and hobbit legal customs with the rise of anakronisms and bureaucracy. Though I'm not sure if it's appropriate for this game or better left for future sequels.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

In order not to be lynched (ah, I thought I was done with this line of thought ), I'll post warning now:

I'll be on break and away from my computer from November 18-27. I'll be able to post, but not nearly as much as if I were actually at school with my high speed connection (instead of dial-up), my belovèd computer (instead of my father's), and less hanging out with old friends (instead of hanging out with new ones).

[Encaitare]

Oh, man. Look at these awesome people who are playing! This game is going to rock.

Originally Posted by Fea

PS: yay for peer pressure!

You nassty bully, you.

On a side note, I've figured out my character, and am working on the profile and first post now. Yay!

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by Celuien

With regard to the storyline: I have a special fondness (of sorts) for bureaucratic hospitals, should that be a challenge.

What a great idea! I was beginning to have trouble figuring out how to make a mere bureaucracy fun to write. Dovetailing it with the hospital/dentistry scene will solve that problem! Thanks!

Originally Posted by Celuien

I can connect mantle-clocks in the Shire and hobbit legal customs with the rise of anakronisms and bureaucracy.

It may work. Can you elaborate without giving away the whole thing?

Originally Posted by FotP

I'll be on break and away from my computer from November 18-27.

I'm open to taking a break at that time, if that works best for the most of us. Obviously, the Brits amongst us aren't affected at all, but Thanksgiving Day (aka Turkey Day) has turned into such a huge normal-life-stoppage in the U.S., that we may have to take a break. Thoughts?

And now to go figure out just what these tests are going to be.......

[Celuien]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet

It may work. Can you elaborate without giving away the whole thing?

I can try...

It's a Silmarillion style passage "Of Morgoth and the Coming of the Bureaucratic Machine." Morgoth has cursed machinery and various other items from our modern world such that when they appear, bureaucracy comes with them (a way to bring down future human civilizations that occurred to him due to his foresight that humans would depend on technology). Those anachronistic, enchantment breaking objects in the Shire activate the curse at a low level, hence legal customs requiring seven signatures in red ink, etc. Of course, with all the anakronisms in Mordor, the curse is bound to be stronger.

It's just a wild thought that came to me when thinking over the "Breaking the Enchantment" thread. I have no idea if it works or not.

[littlemanpoet]

Give it a whirl, Celuien, and we'll edit as necessary as we go.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet from the original thread

"Being in love", eh? Now you've gone and done it. ATM, here we go!

Ooh, ooh, can I be in love? *raises hand* I can incorporate loads of Mordor-worthy bits to it... giggling randomly, telling soppy stories that nobody actually wants to hear, sky-rocketing phonebills (random thought: make cellphones like transportable palantiri?), long-suffering sighs, and the most poetic bits of "oh how I love him" known to man. And the crowning glory... the breakup. Can I do it? *pointedly contorts face into something adorably pleading with puppy-dog-eyes involved*

[Durelin]

Just putting my bio here...hope that's okay. I also hope it's okay if I get a thumbs up, down, or sideways from the mighty Anakron on my character before I finish up my first post.

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? - Yes… Wolf Run, Search for the Lost Messenger, Quest Ainereg, Truth in a Dark Place, Gondorian House Call, Dark Seduction, Corsairs and Corsets (sorta), Resistance, Brotherhood, A Story from the Last Alliance, The Ambassador’s Son (last part), Bloodstained Elanor, Land of Darkness (sorta), Red Flows the Sirannon… I think that’s it.

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - One...Red Flows the Sirannon

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

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Durelin's character


Name: Valde Delego (Normally goes by his surname, sometimes by his first)
Age: Whatever suits him at the time…he can easily pass for about 30, whether he is around that age or not
Race: Human
Gender: Male

Weapons: When it suits him, he considers himself quite the secret weapon, professing that he is his enemies’ worst nightmare (so, often everybody’s worst nightmare). But other times, any talk of war makes him scoff and break off into a loud rant about how barbaric it is.

Appearance: Tall, dark, and handsome. And brooding. He is a regular Mr. Darcy on a bad day, who will never meet his Elizabeth Bennett. And though he has rather large sideburns, he does not quite have muttonchops. He also has particularly prominent eyebrows and an outstanding bird-like nose.

Personality: A self-absorbed doomsayer who always finds something to complain about. He is constantly bemoaning his situation, whether or not any normal person would find it quite pleasing. Either nothing is good enough for him, or it is too goody-two-shoes perfect for him, much to his annoyance. He is on the eternal quest for the Happy Medium, believing that it doesn’t exist and cursing it even if it does. He often has a taste for drama, histrionic to his very core, and normally exaggerates either indignant outrage at his bruised pride, or the deepest, darkest depression, that of which every brilliant mind must endure, of course. He plays the suicidal Cassius to a ‘t,’ but without his own Brutus, and, fortunately for him and unfortunately for most, without the blade to do the bloody deed.

History: Delego was born to parents both rich and famous for having done an in-depth study on the health hazards of instruction on Sunday mornings. Unfortunately for his parents, he had the inborn ability to demand people’s attention through his own version of devilish wailing, which he describes as quickly developing into the sound of the eternal anguish and torment of a demon eternally flailed, which reverberated through the woe-begotten halls of eternity. But they did not initiate a study on the effects of babies’ crying.

His first word was ‘doom,’ and his favorite phrase from a very young age was ‘go to Mordor,’ which he used not at all sparingly whenever he did not get his way (and of course the poor soul barely ever got his way). When asked why he said these things, his only response would be that the person or thing he addressed ‘belonged there.’ Several years later, when he learned of the Anakronisms and how horrid they were, he made it his life’s goal to prod as many people as he could into voicing such evils in public in order to condemn them all to Mordor. It all worked very well, and he grew healthily in confidence whenever he heard from some vigilante rumour-mongorers of the people he cursed falling down rabbit holes in Mordor in time to have tea with some very interesting residents, whom he later would have described as mad, had he gotten past guffawing at their noteworthy taste in headwear.

He wished a long journey to Mordor upon many, that is, until one day when it was brought to the attention of the Anakronism Police (by a man who was later marked for Mordor due to his skewed concept of reality) that it was indeed obnoxious that such intolerant people who would assign minor irritations to the most miserable, dangerous and evil place in the world without a moment's thought be allowed to simply roam the streets of Minas Tirith. He was carried off to Mordor in a hurry, destroying his parents’ once pristine reputation for a few weeks until they released their study on lima beans being a co-conspirator with nuclear bombs in the coming of the some-day apocalypse.

This is of course not the story he would tell anyone who asked of his origins. He would instead begin on a very detailed account of how he was playing hide and seek with all the most notable and un-Anakronistic children of Minas Tirith (of which, apparently, there were about three), and decided to hide in a large chest of drawers (he was very small as a young child, you see). He then found that he had picked the wrong drawer, and thought he had fallen through the bottom of it, when he found himself plopping down upon a pile of ash, with nothing visible around him but the distant glow of the neon lights of The Mount Doom Casino and Resort. He was not very happy to be there, in this land called Nurnia (even though the initial sight of a centre for debaucheries such as gambling was a rather welcome sight to him), and is still looking for a return chest of drawers or armoire of some kind. (Of course that’s how it happened; don’t be such an Edmund!)

He uses this story to explain his bitter hatred for all things living, suspecting them to have something to do with his transport to Nurnia; his unnatural disgust at Turkish delight; and his irrational fear of drawers and particularly handles. Even so disoriented by his new surroundings, Delego quickly adapted to his new habitat, darkening his disposition and raising it to the first power in order to maximize his resilience to the ashlands. Soon he was conjuring up a few new action phrases, such as ‘go drown in the Sea of Nurn,’ and would begin work on his autobiography as a motivational tale of a young boy torn from his roots who managed to piece them back together in a strikingly new world and save himself from the inconvenience of assimilation. Cursing his past encounters to Mordor has been conveniently removed from his memory, for the most part, as it was too much for him to consider that he belonged in those black lands, having been sent there.

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Durelin's post

From the moment her woke up, Valde knew that this day, of all days, would be different. He knew, the very second he felt his mind being dragged into consciousness, that his life would be changing very soon. It was suddenly as if this was a long day prophesized in a time long forgotten, though the memory had resurfaced in the man’s dreams. Perhaps it came from the remembrance of more pleasant mornings, when he had been wakened gently from a peaceful slumber on top of a fluffy feather mattress. He had been treated like a young prince-ling in Minas Tirith, and he had of course been as handsome as one then, too. The harsh lands of Mordor had worn him down to what he was, a man rejected by his past and constantly tortured by the present, but one who stood boldly in the face of the future. Now he was but a simple man, who yearned for more, and would stop at nothing to reach it.

Or so, at least, it was told to anyone who asked about that day.

The truth was, he had awakened that morning with many groanings and moanings, and had counted on spending his day in sorrowful meditation where of course everyone could see him. His first movement since falling asleep was to reach up and wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth. He then felt the pillow, found it wet, and decided that he must inform anyone who asked that he had cried himself to sleep that night, just in case anyone decided to give his pillow a feel. Stumbling out of his room, he cursed every object on the floor that he stepped on, wishing to give the sea life in the Nurn an impressive collection of ironware, quills, and empty ink pots, along with a large stack consisting of the not-yet-so-famous tragedies of Valde Delego, written for the stage.

Upon knocking down one such stack, Valde noticed a particular piece of parchment. It was larger than the rest, and the letters upon it were to match, glaring at him. It was almost as if he could see their eyebrows slanting and their lips curling, and so he quickly crumpled up the sheet to hide them. Angrily he threw it out his open window, and the falling paper was greeted with an unnaturally high-pitched squeal.

“Do not screech in my window, thee harpy!” he shouted upon rushing to stick his head outside, and then quickly he pulled the shudders shut with a slam. He regretted not saying more to the squealer, but decided that a solemn, silent curse would be enough until they met again. For but a moment he bemoaned his situation, muttering to himself, the only words audible being ‘wretched, poor, stricken, forsaken, maimed, brutal, wound, and ticks.’ Of course, he was obviously relating the Grand Anakronist and the King to parasites, or simply a good poke in the eye. And his reason for this at the moment was plain: gatherings were mandatory, and one was today.

Reluctantly, and pulling his grim cloak of sadness tighter around him (a ratty old thing of black cloth that rippled nicely in the wind, perfect for swirling, and thus perfect for either gloomy or angry brooding, depending on the occasion), Valde made his way to the Anakronist’s gathering. Just look at all these filthy people, he thought upon arriving at Caer Pairadocks, Look at that hideous orange scarf that woman’s wearing. What was she thinking? ‘Tis a Mordorian style, if I ever saw one. No wonder she’s stuck here.

Taking a position at the back of the crowd, huddled in his cloak with the tall neck pulled up so that he stared over with his dark eyes and large eyebrows as he scanned the gathering, his face frozen in what he thought to be frigid. It became obvious to him that he was trying too hard when a passing woman asked him if he needed to relieve himself. She received first a wide-eyed look of pure shock, which quickly turned to fierce resentfulness. “You would so bother a simple man, protected from the elements by only these scraps of cloth, and even less protected from the storms within the heart? There is no wondering, madam, why you are here in Mordor.”

“The same to you, chap.” And with that, the woman moved on, leaving Valde to boil in his anger. So, naturally, he did not notice when the Grand Anakronist began extracting names from the ATM machine. At least, not until he heard his own name, though he naturally wished his ears were lying to him, not knowing why on earth he was called. He quickly smoothed his cloak and gave a tug to the collar, and began to make his way through the crowd, matching every curse at him for pushing with a more iniquitous one.

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[Encaitare]

Character Description Form:


1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – yes, Sailing Away, Red Flows the Sirannon

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? – one, Red Flows the Sirannon

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

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Encaitare's character

NAME: Wilhelmina Brochenbach (with ach-Lauts and not K's, if you please please)

AGE: 72

RACE: human

GENDER: female

WEAPONS: a large walking-stick with a brass handle, garishly shaped as a light mayonnaise jar out of pure spite. It actually holds her secret stash of licorice.

APPEARANCE: Wilhelmina is on the short side, and has become rather thickset in her old age. She wears many skirts and petticoats of varying color and quality, and still wears a corset over her oversized shirt to keep her back straight, and remind her of the good old days. A large black hat is balanced precariously atop her grey head. Sometimes a whiskered little nose pops out from behind the feathers and fake flowers of the hat to say hello.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: She retains a fair share of stubbornness from her youth, and has certainly not mellowed with age. She is not easily shaken, but she still gets a bit touchy whenever she hears anything about carbonated beverages. Most people think that all the time spent in Mordor has addled her brains a bit, so they tend to avoid her. Her pet ferret is therefore her closest friend.

HISTORY:Born in FA 581, Wilhelmina was growing up at just the time that Anakronisms were zapping themselves into Gondor at an alarming rate. She was a rebellious, outspoken sort of teen who made a point to speak Anakronisms all the time at home because it made her mother nervous. As a young woman, she was very attractive, and also very fixed upon keeping herself that way. Some of the Anakronisms she had found were actually good, she decided, a blasphemous thought according to the king. But she really loved the boned corset and huge boots that had mysteriously materialized in her backyard one day, and it seemed worth the risk since the sexy outfit she’d put together would most certainly make the object of her affections notice her.

One summer night, she and some girlfriends went to a tavern on the fourth level of Minas Tirith to see if the cute bartender Wilhelmina liked was there. A long cloak concealed the outlandish outfit. To her disappointment, the cute bartender was absent, and replaced by one who just wasn't very cute at all. He smiled greasily at her and her friends.

"What can I get for you, ladies?" he asked. Wilhelmina wrinkled her nose ever so slightly and asked for a Coke.

The barman looked around anxiously. There had been problems about ordering carbonated beverages, as they could be tied in with Anakronisms if one wasn't careful. The fact that she was pretty was probably the only thing that was keeping him from reporting her, she thought. He lowered his voice. "What kind, miss?"

"What?" she said, staring at him blankly.

He looked even more skittish. "What kind of coke would you like?"

Something clicked and she understood. "Listen," she said, irritated. "When I say coke, I mean a COKE, and NOT any OTHER kind of soda. A coke is a Coke is a Coca-forking-Cola!"

The man appeared to be on the verge of madness at her outburst, which had drawn some attention. "She spoke an Anakronism!" he shrieked for the whole tavern to hear. "She's making trouble with carbonated beverage terminology!"

A group of guards in the corner of the tavern rose from their table. "What's your name, missy?" one asked.

"Wilhelmina Brochenbach," she replied, glaring at the men.

"Oh ho!" one exclaimed. "That name sounds like German to me!" He grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. "It's most definitely off to Mordor with you, missy," one of them growled.

"Get your hands off me, you brutes!" she cried, realizing that her huge boots served another purpose: toe-crushing. The guard howled, but the others grabbed her by the arms from behind and she was unable to reach them. The pin holding the cloak shut broke, and it fell away, revealing the blasphemous getup.

"What's that she's wearing?!" the injured guard raged. "More Anakronisms! You'll be in Mordor for a long time, you, and I’m not sorry of it either!"

Thus Wilhelmina Brochenbach came to dwell in the Black Land. After a time, the blisters from the giant boots made the footwear too much to bear. She tried to date, but all the men spat on the ground for no apparent reason, and only wanted to go out to bowling alleys. So Wilhelmina resigned herself to being a bachelorette, and invited a furry animal – a ferret named Mr. Swanky – to dwell in an excellent hat she’d found and keep her company.

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Encaitare's post

"Oh, very well, Mr. Swanky. You may have some licorice even if it's not quite lunchtime yet." The old woman unscrewed the cap from the handle of her walking-stick and removed a licorice whip. She broke a little piece off the end and appeared to feed it to her garish hat.

"Daddy, look, that lady is giving her hat lunch!" a small girl noted, tugging on her father's sleeve.

The man took a look and said to his daughter, "Never you mind, hon. That's just old Wilhelmina Brokenback. She's crazy."

Luckily, Wilhelmina was a bit deaf and didn’t hear the exchange; otherwise the man would have gotten a smart whack with her walking-stick for calling her crazy and mispronouncing her name in the same breath. Instead, she slowly chewed the rest of the licorice herself, waiting for the selection of names to begin. If anyone deserved to get out of Mordor, she did. She'd been in the wretched land for more than fifty years, and although she'd gotten used to it, it would be nice to live in a place where speeding drivers didn't try to mow her down on her way to the corner store. Yet she had dwelt there for so long that she felt quite patient to wait for the names to be drawn. What were a few more minutes compared to the years already gone?

Around her, people were chatting excitedly. "The first thing I'm going to do if I get out of here..." was the phrase that was flying about. One shrill voice cut through the din; "Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly!"

"'S that Panakeia loony again," Wilhelmina muttered to herself. "If you ask me, she could use some of that face cream stuff herself. Not that I'm one to talk, of course," she added, as though someone had called her hypocritical.

Suddenly, the crowd hushed as the Grand Anakronist stepped forth and cleared his throat. He announced that it was time to choose the lucky few who would comprise the Offending Party. Hundreds of eyes watched as the ATM rose from the ground, and everyone seemed to hold his (or her) breath as the transactions were completed.

"Alumìn-E Umfuìl," Anakron read. A pretty young girl pushed her way forward, griping about how he’d said her name wrong. "Panakeia of Harad," he continued. The saleswoman joined the first girl at Anakron’s side. The machine spat out a third card. The man squinted at it for a moment, and then read, "Wilhelmina Brochenbach."

Wilhelmina grinned and made her way to the front. "Good man!" she said jovially. "Got the ach-Lauts and everything! Did you hear that, Mr. Swanky? We’re going to get out of here!"

[piosenniel]

If you see an "edited by piosenniel" on your character bio/first post - I'm just setting it up for easy transfer of your post to the RPG thread.

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by Feanor of the Peredhil

Ooh, ooh, can I be in love? *raises hand* I can incorporate loads of Mordor-worthy bits to it... giggling randomly, telling soppy stories that nobody actually wants to hear, sky-rocketing phonebills (random thought: make cellphones like transportable palantiri?), long-suffering sighs, and the most poetic bits of "oh how I love him" known to man. And the crowning glory... the breakup. Can I do it? *pointedly contorts face into something adorably pleading with puppy-dog-eyes involved*

And who, praytell, would be your victim? Or would there be more than one?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet

And who, praytell, would be your victim? Or would there be more than one?

I hadn't yet decided. Should one of our beloved conspirators (aka: writers) choose the role of someone fall-in-lovable, I might have to strike a bargain with them, if they're willing.

Should that fail, I can always fall in love with a 'Downer. I belive Eomer of the Rohirrim and the phantom have been bodily sent to Mordor. Then again, so has The Saucepan Man. Maybe we could convince him to cameo ("No, dear Alli, I'm married with children. This relationship would never work, though I'm flattered.").

Or, you know... I think Johnny Depp's in there... *grin*

[littlemanpoet]

I love it! Valde Delego will be such a great contrast to other, more (shall we say) high spirited (and drunk on being in love) characters.

Just one modification I require of you:

Originally Posted by Durelin

He then found that he had picked the wrong drawer, and thought he had fallen through the bottom of it, when he found himself plopping down upon a pile of ash, with nothing visible around him but the distant glow of a fiery volcanic mountain.

With the destruction of the Ring, I posit that Mt. Doom burned itself out, so as to be dormant for a long, long time; The Mount Doom Casino and Resort has been built over the place where Mount Doom once vomited its filth.

[littlemanpoet]

Another great character! I'm splitting my sides with each new entry.

Just one thing missing, Enca: "personality: strengths, weaknesses", although it can be inferred from what you've written. Still, it's all part of the bureaucratic red tape of becoming a full-fledged player in this here rpg, so I'll be waiting for it.

Originally Posted by Encaitare

NAME: Wilhelmina Brochenbach (with ach-Lauts and not K's, if you please please)

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by littlemanpoet

I love it!

Most excellent. Now who wants to fall in love with me?

EDIT: er, I mean with "Alli"

[Encaitare]

Oopsies! All fixed, LMP. I knew I was forgetting something...

[Durelin]

With the destruction of the Ring, I posit that Mt. Doom burned itself out, so as to be dormant for a long, long time; The Mount Doom Casino and Resort has been built over the place where Mount Doom once vomited its filth.

*smacks head* Will be fixed shortly!

EDIT: Fixed...and I like it better now.

EDIT x2: I just realized I answered a 'How many' question with 'Yes' on my bio... Is there some kind of therapy for that? *thinks that this game's players probably aren't the best support group for insanity* As long as I want to return to sanity, that is...which I would never.

[the guy who be short]

My first post is in the process of being crafted, but as I've never played an RPG before, I thought I'd post the rest of the necessary info and see if LMP wants any of it drastically altered, deleted, reshaped, or hoovered.

Name: Fléin of the Ironfists living in the Orocarni

Character Description Form:


1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – NO unless you count the Green Dragon or Unforbidden.

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

List them, please: N/A

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

_______________________________________

TGWBS's character

NAME: Fléin son of Fréin (of the Ironfists).

AGE: 102 (and just come of Age)

RACE: Dwarf, Ironfist.

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Steel axe. It's double edged and very sharp, you know. A little boringly conventional, I'll admit, but quite handy.

APPEARANCE: Short and Bearded. Four feet and six inches tall. Black, curly hair not restricted to conventional hair-growing areas. Surprisingly un-ironlike fists. Has a penchant for steel chain mail. Also wears a round steel helmet. Weathered, brown skin and intelligent black eyes. When not wearing a helmet, his hear appears rather flat and therefore perfect for resting e.g. mugs upon.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Likes throwing Khuzdul into his sentences. Slow to make friends, quick to anger. Rather blunt, as opposed to his axe. Speaks little and with a strong Dwarvish accent. Dislikes his head being used as a table, dislikes Elves. Likes mining, crafting, selling, hoarding and hewing. Despite his quietness, an incredibly intelligent fellow. Weaknesses include being rather short. Strengths include being at a good height to remove people's stomachs with ease.

HISTORY: The tale of Fléin's coming to Mordor is a most curious one. Fréin's House, the Ironfoots, or, as some preferred, Ironfeet, traditionally dwelt at the feet of the Orocarni. Near the beginning of the Fourth Age, these were rediscovered by the Men of Gondor and thus opened up to trade.

Due to the general decline of the Dwarvish race, Fléin's father was one of the few sentient beings left in Middle Earth capable of crafting weapons so pointy that, were one to place it on the earth, it would near instantaneously submerge itself to the hilt. By the time of Fléin's coming of age, therefore, his father was a hugely successful merchant, with stalls in most major Gondorian cities.

Shortly after his hundredth birthday, Fléin's father convinced him to take a trip to Gondor to get a real feel for the business world, for though Fléin was a shrewd dwarf, he had little practicle experience, due largely to the absence of civilisation in the parts where he lived. He also intended to make pilgrimages to Khazad-Dum, Kheled-Zaram, Durin's Stone, Aglarond and the field of Azanulbizar.

His first stop, however, was Minas Tirith, to meet the family's accountant, or, as they were called in those days, computer, in those lands. Fléin's father had warned him of the accountant's somewhat... sensitive nature. "He often has breakdowns, lad, but he is a good man. Just pray you find him well."

"Where is Iorin?" he had nervously asked the maid upon finding the building.

"I'm afraid he's just had a little bit of a psychological breakdown, master Dwarf," the maid had replied nonchalantly. "Currently, he believes himself to be a duck."

The Dwarf had sworn, tugging at his beard. "Why does my computer keep breaking down!" he yodelled into the cold Gondorian morning.

Swiftly, two pairs of burly arms had grabbed him from behind and begun hurling him towards a cart. He had protested in the form of loud yells and attempting to remove one of the men's legs, but to no avail. And so, by a quirk of fate, he had found himself in the most inhospitable realm in Middle Earth.

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the guy who be short's post:

Much as Fléin would have liked to have left Mordor, he simply didn't have enough energy to be enthusiastic. Being woken at four ante meridian by twittering songbirds was hardly the best way to start a day, but when said awakening is accompanied by discovering you have conjunctivitis - well, it's hard to deal with. After discovering that he was not, in fact, blind, but merely lacking in eyelid mobility due to a gooey discharge, Fléin had tried to rush blindly to the well. Unfortunately, fate was smiling down in a particularly twisted manner that day, and before he had taken five paces, Fléin was face down on the ground due to excess phlegm coating the floor.

Life in Mordor was never easy, but people have especially bad days even in the Black Land. So far, this appeared to be one of them. He had been in Mordor for only two years, maybe less, but the longing to leave was like a manic kitten in his heart - painful and stingingly noticable.

So it was that Fléin found himself behind a large crowd at Cair Pairadocks, hoping beyond hope that he would be chosen to leave Mordor.

The noise of flugel horns startled Fléin, causing him to blink, or rather, causing him to perform half of the action that is generally thought sufficient to be considered a blink. His eyes stuck shut.

"Blasted Conjunctivitis!" the Dwarf swore. He had visited a nurse just before coming to the docks, but she was a know nothing and hadn't been any help at all. In a way, it was perhaps nicer having ones eyes sealed shut. One didn't have to take into account the blasted landscape, or the even more blasted aspects of civilisation that had made their way into Mordor.

"Excuse me," Fléin intoned into the air at large. I've just gone temporarily blind. Little help, someone?"

"Blindness? How positively bestial. Do stay away from me, be a good fellow," a snotty upperclassman had replied.

The Dwarf sighed. Sometimes it was better to say nothing at all. He stuck his fists into his eyes and forcibly peeled them apart.

By this time, the Grand Anakronist had already declared the name of Alumìne Umfuìl as the first member of the Offending Party. Though he had freed his eyes (albeit they were streaming pus all over his face and into his beard) Fléin couldn't see her through the press of human bodies around him. From what he heard, he instantly disliked the girl. Here she was, given the chance to leave this curséd land - what a chance! - and all she could do was moan about her name.

Panakeia, the next name to be selected, turned out to be a woman who sounded even more annoying than Alumìne. What a buffoon, he thought. Thank goodness I'm not her, even if my eyes are melting.

Wilhelmia Brochenbach was next. What a disgusting name. And yet another woman? Suspicions about the Grand Anakronist's honour whizzed through Fléin's mind. But then again, why would he choose a whiny child, an idiotic saleswoman and an old bat out of all the women in Mordor?

The possibility that he was being bitter about his bad morning and taking it out, completely unjustifiably, on those running into a bit of luck flittered through Fléin's mind. He tried to make it go away.

"Fléin son of Fréin of the Ironfoots" the Grand Anakronist cried, his voice rolling through the courtyard.

"Ironfeet!" injected an annoying English teacher.

Fléin couldn't believe it. What a piece of luck! How wonderfully harmonious the universe seemed, that he should be given the chance to leave with those three fine women! "That's me! That's me!" he screamed. "Out of my way!"

The crowd parted around him, and he made his way up to the ATM and the Grand Anakronist himself. The latter eyed him with disdain. "It is, is it?" he intoned, looking down the length of his nose at the Dwarf.

"Er, yes, sir," Fléin meekly replied, but the Grand Anakronist had already turned to read the next card the machine had just excreted, so he stood there, smiling jovially at the whiner, the nutter and the old bat.

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[littlemanpoet]

Good stuff, Guy. I eagerly await your first post.

[piosenniel]

Before your planning on cameos goes forward, I'd like to make the request that for this game, you forego them. Since this type of RPG is an experimental one, and there were a number of hoops jumped through to get it on board, I'd prefer that it not go off onto any sideroads with the use of cameos.

Sorry! But I'd really like this game to be tight and well written and something I can defend as a viable RPG type for the Barrow-Downs.

~*~ Pio

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Originally Posted by piosenniel

Before your planning on cameos goes forward, I'd like to make the request that for this game, you forego them.

No problem. Next question: who thinks it would be amusing for Alli to fall in love with The Grand Anakronist?

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by Feanor of the Peredhil

Next question: who thinks it would be amusing for Alli to fall in love with The Grand Anakronist?

A delicious waste of time for both parties.

[the guy who be short]

First post added.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

First post enjoyed.

[littlemanpoet]

Originally Posted by the guy who be short

..., so he stood there, smiling jovially at the whiner, the nutter and the old bat.

Absolutely hilarious! Nothing needs to be changed. With every first post I see, the more excited I get about this rpg. Way to go, guys!

[the phantom]

Now who wants to fall in love with me?

I'm afraid that's not possible...

...everyone is already in love with you, m'dear.

lmp- I took your advice about revealing my character's full history. I won't do it until the game is in full swing.

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES/NO - Which one? I'm not sure. Do the birthday parties count? I know There was one in 2003, I believe, that was in one of the RPG sections. Does that officially make it RPG?

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

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES/NO Yes

For your character please include:

NAME: Mardil II

AGE: 23

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

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.): Mardil loves weapons. He carries a spear in his hands and a bow and a light sword across his back. He also loves throwing knives, and has a huge assortment of them across his chest, in his belt, in holsters on his legs, and even a couple in his boots. Mardil also carries various poisons, some of which are made for poisoning food and drinks, and others for coating his throwing knives.

APPEARANCE: Mardil has a lean athletic build with a height slightly less than average. He has blue eyes, and long, dirty-blonde hair.

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): Mardil is extremely smart and is charming when he needs to be and has many talents, which causes him to think an awful lot of himself. He fancies himself as the best all-around human in the world. But, this belief results in an extreme fear of failure, since, of course, the best in the world should never fail.

Mardil is scared to death of performing poorly on anything, therefore he tends to be lazy and do nothing at all, unless there is no risk involved. When he does do something, he purposefully does not give his best effort, and makes sure that everyone else can tell. That way, if he fails he can use the excuse that he wasn't trying. But he seldom has to use that excuse. His less than best effort is usually good enough to succeed.

Mardil, though he loves weapons, is a bit of a coward when it comes to fighting (which there is a lot of in Mordor). He avoids fights at all costs, even if he thinks he will for sure win. He does this because he is afraid of not only dying, but of being harmed. He very much dislikes uncomfortable things like cuts and scratches, and considers a battle a loss if he receives so much as a sprained pinky.

When he is forced to fight, though he is fairly strong, he does not rely on strength to win because other fighters are often larger than him. He relies on his fantastic speed/agility/reflexes and weapons skills to overcome his foes. His preferred method is to strike surprise blows. For instance, he will agree to duel his opponent using swords, and then as soon as the fight begins Mardil will fling a poisoned throwing dagger into his opponent's foot. In other words, he is more than willing to cheat.

About the only time Mardil does not act cowardly is when he is trying to reel in a beautiful young lady. One time he challenged three trolls to a fight in order to earn some alone time with a fair maiden.

Mardil is often abrasive, and doesn't worry about sparing people's feelings when he talks. At times, he will purposefully stir up bad feelings and arguments just for entertainment.

And yes, I know what you are thinking- a cheating, egotistical, womanizing, mean, coward?! This Mardil is a horrible person! But that is simply not true (well, not entirely true at any rate). Mardil used to be better- before Mordor.

The pre-Mordor Mardil was wonderful to be around. He enjoyed making others laugh and liked to toss out compliments to nearly everyone. He was an engaging speaker, and did not have a difficult time convincing people to see things his way.

He also had a special soft spot for children. He loved to play games with them, but he especially loved to teach them things. He derived great satisfaction from imparting knowledge to others.

But that Mardil has been gone for several years.

HISTORY: According to his records, Mardil was officially assigned to Mordor for "quoting Yoda", but when asked about it he denies ever having done it. He won't say why he believes he was sent.

No one knows anything about Mardil- except his two "guards", Gundor and Bregor. The two men, both middle-aged, guard Mardil's tent, do all of his tasks for him, and refer to him as Milord or Master. However, the two men bite their tongues when asked about Mardil, and so no one has learned what they know about him. Mardil's speech, pronunciation, and mannerisms peg him as a member of the upper class of Gondor, but that is about all anyone can guess.

He was sent to Mordor when he was eighteen. Gundor and Bregor joined him one month later. Two years after arriving, Mardil was summoned by the Grand Anakronist and given a letter from outside Mordor. No one knows who it was from or what information it contained. Mardil claimed it was nothing, but he was obviously lying, for that is when his behavior took a sudden turn for the worse. He had always been capable of cutting remarks and made them now and then when he thought they were deserved, but now he became perpetually abrasive. His egotism and arrogance, which had previously been somewhat endearing, grew into unbearable full blown narcissism, from which arose his cowardice.

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the phantom's post

A loud knock at his bedroom door spurred Mardil into a state of slight consciousness.

"Wha- whass goin' on...mmm, jusss...go'way...m'sleepin'..." he mumbled, slipping back into slumber as he spoke.

The knock sounded again. Mardil opened his eyes. Annoyed, he grumbled, "Leave me alone," but the knock sounded again, accompanied by a "I have a message for you, Lord Mardil."

Mardil recognized the speaker. "Gundor, I told you I'm trying to sleep. I'll read my message later!"

"But Milord," protested Gundor, "The message is from the Grand Anakronist. The man who delivered it said it was imperative that it be given to you immediately."

Mardil rolled over onto his back and stretched his arms out above his head. "Well, I suppose now that I'm awake I might as well read it. Bring it to me."

The door to the well furnished room opened and a tall man with grey-flecked black hair entered, carrying a parchment in his left hand. He was dressed in finely crafted armor and held a spear in his right hand. "Here it is, Master," he said as he offered Mardil the parchment.

Mardil took the message and unfolded it. It read-

Lord Mardil II,

I know that you never bother to come to gatherings, even if they are declared mandatory, but I would strongly suggest joining the assembly in Caer Pairadocks this morning.

I know what you are thinking. You believe there is no way that your name will be chosen because the King's writ and pardon are involved, but I assure you, the King has no control over which names are picked. The selection is random. The only person that can influence the ATM machine is me- The Grand Anakronist.

And now that I've said that, let me just say that I have a strong feeling your name will be chosen.

If you do not arrive before noon you forfeit your chance of escape.

-The Grand Anakronist

Mardil sighed and handed the letter back to Gundor. "What did it say, Milord?"

"Go ahead and read it if you like, Gundor." Mardil sat for a moment staring at the wall, waiting for Gundor to finish.

After Gundor reached the end of the letter, he looked up. "I assume you are going to go, Lord Mardil?"

"I suppose. My life would certainly be easier back home than it is here, but... it wouldn't be as good as the way I left it. I'm worried that I would constantly compare my life with what it was before Mordor- and that would rob me of all joy. Perhaps it would be best to stay here."

"That may be true," said Gundor, "But if I may say so, Milord, there are more reasons to live than for joy and happiness. What about power, your family's honor and status, and revenge against those that wronged you? Surely those things are worth pursuing. Aren't those reasons good enough to leave Mordor for?"

Mardil smiled grimly. "Yes, Gundor, those are good reasons." After a short pause, Mardil stood to his feet and placed his hand on Gundor's shoulder. "You are a good and faithful servant, Gundor. I can't tell you how glad I am that you and Bregor chose to join me here. If I escape I will find a way to get you out of this place. I promise. Now, go and get Bregor and have him help you pack my things, and then load them onto a cart and deliver them to me in Caer Pairadocks. I will go on ahead to be sure I am there before noon."

----------

Mardil stood upon a balcony overlooking the courtyard of Caer Pairadocks. So far, The Grand Anakronist had called forward an overdressed middle aged lady, a short old lady, a dwarf, a slender girl who looked to be around seventeen, and a young lady who was overly touchy about the pronunciation of her name. I hope she isn't that touchy about everything. If she is, she will be a real pain to have along thought Mardil, though she certainly is easy on the eyes he observed as he looked her up and down for about the twentieth time.

The voice of the Grand Anakronist interrupted Mardil's musings. "Mardil II!"

Mardil waved from the balcony. The Grand Anakronist looked up at him and nodded.

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[piosenniel]

Just to clarify for the newer gamers - the Inns and the Birthday Party threads don't count as Barrow-Downs RPG's. Only those games which have a posted game proposal and character bios for each player count as official RPG's.

---

Looking forward to following along in this game!

~*~ Pio

[Kath]

Eep! Looks like everyones done except me! I promise it's on it's way. The first post is mostly complete and the history is in the planning stages. It will be up by tomorrow evening at the latest (just depends what time I get up after this party tonight!).

And if you want my character's name, I was feeling silly and made it Sai Onara. However, it was only after coming up with it that I read Fea's post and realised her characters name is also able to be read across like that so if she wants it changed I'm happy to do so.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Me? Want it changed? Not a chance. I like it. Sai is pretty and Onara amuses me.

PS: TP: I love it.

[Kath]

Character Description Form:

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

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? Red Flows the Sirannon and Numenorean Blood Runs Black

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES/NO - Yes

For your character please include:

NAME: Sai Onara

AGE: 17

RACE: Human

GENDER: Female

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.): Sai has no specific weapons as in her town it is illegal to own one if you're under 18. She can, however, make a good enough weapon out of pretty much anything that comes to hand, including her hands themselves.

APPEARANCE: She is taller than she'd like so she slouches a lot to appear shorter. She is slim and pale, two features that she loves as it encourages people to give her food to 'fatten her up a bit'. She has long dark hair that she pulls over her face to hide from people she doesn't want to talk to. When her face can be seen she has quite harsh features, with cheekbones you could cut yourself on. Her eyes are expressive, changing colour with her moods.

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): Sickeningly optimistic most of the time unless she can't breathe in which case she descends into a foul mood. She is able to strike up a conversation with anybody and everybody without fear, but tends to seem childish to those older than her because she is a fan of immature comments and jokes. She is also able to walk in a straight line without hitting anybody whilst reading, but forgets to turn at corners so walks into a lot of walls since her nose is always in a book.

HISTORY:
Born into a reasonably wealthy family Sai had a good beginning in life, and it only improved once her two siblings were born as being the eldest gave her a great deal of power. Her childhood and early teenage years were spent happily frequenting the local library. Her parents were never worried about her being in danger from the 'Anakronist Police' as they called them, as she always watched what she said and quite often didn't say much at all, preferring the company of her own thoughts.

However, one on particular trip to the library she had grabbed her favourite book off the shelf and had settled down to a nice long read when two people began a conversation near her. They were discussing a book that one of them had been reading, and in particular how to say one of the names, as it had silent letters and various accents that neither could work out what to do with.

"I suppose the pronounciation isn't really important to the story." One of them finally said, in an attempt to end the argument.

"It's pro-nun-ciation not pro-noun-ciation you idiots!" Sai had muttered to herself, unable to contain the words.

Immediately she had said it she clapped a hand over her mouth but it was too late. Nitpicking over ways of saying words had long been considered an Anakronism, and before she could so much as close the book, two men had appeared in front of her. She was dragged away to the carts that took the offenders to Mordor, and watched as her home disappeared into the distance. Hours and hours later the carts thundered through the gates of Mordor, and Sai saw the place she was to spend the rest of her life. One look was all it took. She leapt up and tried to get out, but she had been sitting down for so long that all the blood rushed to her head and everything went black.

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Kath's post

Sai opened her eyes and immediately closed them again as the world’s strange new habit of spinning was making her feel sick. Keeping her eyes closed she slowly sat up. As she did so she realised that every part of her body ached, like the time she’d sneezed and fallen off the climbing wall. Wondering what had happened she gingerly opened her eyes, and sighed in relief when she saw that her surroundings were still again. Her sigh was followed by an exclamation of surprise and shock. Where in all of Middle-Earth was she? Looking around she could see hundreds of things that would never be found in the normal world. There were hundreds of ATMs, with the people lining up in front of them all trying to cut the queue at the same time. There were small groups of people all over the place, arguing about language and spellings and the misuse of apostrophes, things Sai had always wished to speak about but was unable to because of their Anakronist status. As she was just thinking that these people would be dragged off to Mordor any minute, she suddenly realised, when she fainted she must have fallen off the cart as they passed through the gates. She must be in Mordor!

Along with this realisation came the fear. She was in Mordor! With all the nasty anakronisms that had been sent there over the years, along with some really nasty people. Speaking of people, she noticed a large group of them all crowded round a man who seemed to be standing on a large platform. Deciding that she wasn’t about to lie on the floor all day and feel sorry for herself Sai jumped up, ignoring the protests from various parts of her body, and began to make her way over. An osteopath, who came towards her with arms outstretched, just ready to try and crush her, immediately interrupted her progress but Sai was already unhappy with her situation, and just kicked him in the shin and carried on.

Reaching the edge of the group she began to squeeze herself through the barely there gaps, suddenly grateful for her slight stature. Still, she was constantly shoved and pushed by intolerant people all the way, and so she felt no guilt about lashing a foot back at the last person to do so as she reached the front. She could now see that there were four other people in the centre with the strange man and sought to satisfy her insatiable curiosity.

“What’s going on?” she whispered to the man standing next to her. He glanced down at her disdainfully and muttered something about teenagers answering back to their elders before turning away and ignoring her completely. Irritated about this since he had not said anything she could answer back to, Sai sidled over to another person and was about to ask them the same question when she heard her name being called.

“Sai Onara is the fifth person to have been chosen by the ATM!”

The voice came from the man in the middle and Sai looked at him in surprise. She half turned, expecting to see another person who happened to have the same name coming forward, but nobody else was moving. The man repeated the name a couple of times, and eventually Sai thought she’d better step forward. As she did so he swivelled round to her.

“You are Sai Onara?” he asked.

“Er, yes but I don’t . . .” she never did finish the question as he interrupted her.

“Go and join the others over there.” He said waving a hand in the general direction of the four people she had seen before and turned back to his machine.

Sai reluctantly did as she was told, hoping that at least this motley crew would give her some answers. The Dwarf didn’t look like he’d be much help, since he had yellow pus from what looked like conjunctivitis pouring from his eyes he probably didn’t even know where he was. Seeing another girl about her own age she finally got the chance to ask what was going on.

“Don’t you know?” she had replied in astonishment. “We’re getting out of Mordor!


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Ok well, that's the bio, and earlier than promised!. If I've got anything wrong (quite likely it being 1 in the morning here) please just yell and I'll sort it out. First post will be up tomorrow.

EDIT: Post up too.