The Lingering Darkness Planning/Discussion Thread

[Ealasaid]

Everdawn -- do you think you could rework your first post a bit to reflect this? As Naiore is a fugitive, it is unlikely that she would take up with a complete unknown.

We need to see a little more clearly how your Avanill fits into the mix. Thanks! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[ August 29, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[Snowdog]

Right, what Pio said...

Unfortunatly I find the PM system a bit awkward and cumbersome when trying to communicate with more than one person. Sorry if I muddied the waters.

[Ealasaid]

No problem, Snowdog! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

CHARACTERS NEEDED:


2 Rangers - Male, Race of Men.
1.)Maethor (Imladris)

2.)

_________________________________________________


2 "Shady Underworld Types" -- Male, Race of Men.
1.)

2.)
__________________________________________

Everdawn - we are waiting for your reworked post. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[ August 29, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[piosenniel]

Please note, Everdawn did modify her post on Page 1.

Here it is for your perusal:

Everdawn's post

Avanill restrained his horse from further movement than was necessary. It was true that the pair looked a formidable team when out on the open road, Avanill pitied his victims greatly. The Forsaken inn he chimed to himself. “Ah yes, I should think it has been time enough for the people who owe me, to pay me back. Has it been due time for them Amathalay?” he asked the grey horse who seemed to stamp his hooves in approval.

“So do I.” Avanill replied and dismounted the animal. And remembered his mother, the formidable bandit, Atantri’s parting words to him. “It has come time mother, I must journey north.” Is what he had said gathering up his weapons, seeing standing before him the tired form of his thirty six year old mother Atantri. “So soon? You are eagre my son, and that may get you into trouble in the future. Remember that.” She said as she handed him his cloak. “Not if you have taught me well.” He said back to her. “That is what I fear most. I can offer you one piece of advice that will see you through all of your years, even when I am gone.” Avanill stopped dead, and listened eagerly, as he always did when his mother spoke.

“Trust no one. I would be dead ten times over if it were not for this instinct. You owe no allegiance to anyone, not even to me, you are your own person. The days of old with our companions of the bandits are near over, if it is your choice to deal with them, make it be that you trade to Mordor. There is still resistance there, and a will to pay high prices for goods.” Avanill had kissed his mother on the head and left with the grey horse whom his mother used to ride in her days of terrorising Pinnath Gelin, and whom she had named Amathalay, after a traitor her friend killed saying “It is a name only fit for a horse.”

It had been a long ride for Avanill on his old but sturdy and intimidating steed, but he had been here before. His mother was right, he had been dealing with the bandits of Pinnath Gelin, but he had not guessed that she was so close to the truth, his comapny did take goods grom the bandits and sold them in turn at a higher percentage to outlaws in Mordor, to name one in particular, Naiore. Yes she paid high prices for Avanill's goods, and it was common knowledge that the king's men were after her.


It was his black market trade which had brought him here in the first place, on his way further north. “Hello Sir” came the voice of a man from the stables. Avanill turned around to see him, “Dervorin, if it isn’t you. Last time I saw you, you owed me a debt!” said Avanill cheerfully. “I uh… I paid you back, begging you pardon Avanill.” Said Dervorin, slightly alarmed.

“Of course you have!” Avanill chortled, “Not to hold a man’s debts against him of course…” he trailed off and walked closer to the man. “… you fail to pay me on time again and I will have your head-“ Avanill paused when two decent looking men came into the stables, to which Avanill changed his time immediately, “And yes, my mother is fine.. how is your family?!!” the men left shortly after Avanill finished this sentence, which prompted him to go back into threat mode. “Fine” muttered Dervorin. “Well…” began Avanill leaning closer again, “they wont be next time, understand?” and without waiting for an answer, Avanill turned on his heel and entered the inn leaving only his horse and the swish of his cloak in his wake.

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Ealasaid]

Thanks,Pio, for pointing out that Everdawn's edit is up. (Sorry, Everdawn, if I overlooked it!)

Looks good to me! Let me touch base with the other owners & I will let you know. Thanks for the quick edit. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Imladris]

I don't think I put this up in my character post, but I'm in Resistance as well. When I wrote, the RPG was still shut down. THought I'd let you know.

[Ealasaid]

Okay, Imladris, that's fine. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Ealasaid]

Great job, Everdawn! You're in. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

CHARACTERS NEEDED:


2 Rangers - Male, Race of Men.
1.)Maethor (Imladris)

2.)

_________________________________________________


2 "Shady Underworld Types" -- Male, Race of Men.
1.)Avanill (Everdawn)

2.)
__________________________________________

[Ealasaid]

A new question has come up... everyone's first posts take place in the evening except for Elora's posts for Naiore & Vanwe, which take place the following morning. I expect that most of us have some additional action to complete before morning.

I imagine this happened since Elora wrote her posts first & didn't know what the rest of us were up to just yet. In order to get on the same time frame here, we need to do one of several things:

1 - Elora can do a quick re-write to put her posts in the evening along with the rest of ours.

2 - Elora can wait to post again until the rest of us catch up timewise. (I imagine she won't be too keen on that option!)

3 - anyone else have a suggestion? (Elora, what do you prefer?)

I am open to ideas at this point.

[Elora]

Hmmmm, I take it that my difficulty with patiently waiting for things I am anticipating precedes me

"Hmmmmmm, I don't Elora will be too keen with that."

:P

Well, right you are. Being an impatient brat, I'll re-write my opening post to fit with the evening. That way, we're all starting from the same time frame.

That will be my task today - rewrite for consistency. I will re-post the edits later tonight (bold perhaps, but thanks in advance Piosenniel for replacing my old opening posts with the forthcoming new ones).

EVERDAWN Welcome along! Your character's background fits well with some ideas I was entertaining for Naiore's background on her involvement with Avanill.

Here are those ideas:

Naiore cut quite an unusual figure in Mordor when she was there. She retained distinctly Elven sensabilities, surrounded by orcs, ashes, fumes,cruelty, fear, suffering and of course Sauron.

One visual impression I have of her is as she walks through a dark, echoing and dank hall of Barad-Dur, dressed as one would expect a Noldorin Elf of noble descent to dress. Silks and gems adorn her, and she walks gracefully through the corridors as though she does not see what is around her.

It is that incongruity that is a big part of her character.

So, that leads me to my ideas concering her connection with Avanill. Naiore would have need to source the luxuries she required from outside of Mordor. Silks and fine things would not be gotten within the borders of that dark place. Nor could orcs be entrusted to bring such spoils, and even had they been able to Naiore would disdain to touch such things ruined by their loathsome touch. She hated orcs, but used them as tools like she uses all else.

So, Avanill and his mother could be the principle supply of the things she needed. Fine materials, delicate and sophisticated things of Elven design, scents... but also darker things like poisons so dread as to be impossible to get on the legitimate market of apothecaries. Poisons from the south, forbidden, she would use. Infusions to loosen a tongue or heighten the sensation of fear and pain.

So Avanill would know of an Elf whose custom consisted of decadence luxury and terrible things, arcane almost, mysterious always. She would have dealt with his mother, and mayhap from time to time Avanill may have seen her himself.


If that works for you, and please let me know if it does or does not, that leads me onto my next idea for the present timeframe of the RP.

The luxury of Naiore's situation has vanished. Mordor is unmade and Sauron can no longer offer her the security she once had. Gone to a large extent are the silks and the wealth that she had accrued over the years. I imagine those picking through the rubble of Mordor's Barad-dur and Minas Morgul would have stumbled upon a bright jewel, a woman's delicate shoe, a silken scarf.

Naiore, the fugitive, can little afford such things now. However, her need for the poisions and infusions that she could get through Avanill and his mother will not have ceased. If anything, it will have increased.

I got to wondering if it was possible that Avanill, who knows of murmurings and whisperings in the darker communities of Middle-earth as well as those in the accepted communities, may have some inclination that she was about. If she encountered him, she would suspect him of being another bounty hunter, but he has value that other hunters do not.

She will want more infusions and she knows Avanill can get them. From theat starting point a connection can be made between the two characters in the present tense of the Fourth Age, 12 long years after Naiore last glided serenely through the dark fastness of Barad-dur as though she was a swan in an inky pool.

How does that all sound? [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Elora]

OK, here's the edited first posts for Naiore and Vanwe.

____________________________________________

(place prior to Vanwe post)

Elora's post for Naiore

The afternoon shadows grew lush and long, reaching further a field as the Sun made her way into the West. Naiore watched the darkness stretch and grow around her with pleasure. With the night would come other things and she had been waiting long and driven for. She remained still and at relative ease in the embrace of a shadow cast by the ancient bole of a fig tree. It loomed massive over her, surrounded by the adjoining woods that carpeted the land around the inn she was watching.

Some may account it a pleasant place. For Naiore, it was a land of failure and frustration, a wretched place and she had little love for the tree or anything else that lived within its bounds. She was difficult to see, enfolded as she was in twilight darkness. Her inky leathers bore the stains of hard travel. Mud daubed her boots, all but obscuring the delicate silver stitching tracing vine tendrils up her boots. Her hair was no longer smoothly braided. Unearthly golden wisps escaped to graze her cheek on the lifting breeze of a midsummer afternoon. Her state and presence gave rise to a great many questions, the answers to which Naiore did not greatly care to entertain as she cast a simmering glance towards the Forsaken Inn.

Rangers, cursed scions of Numenor, had pushed her hard through the wilderness. She had managed to elude them, her skills tested as they had not been in the past 12 years. Still, although she was for the moment safe, she was far from pleased. It grated to be sitting beneath a shedding tree encrusted with mud. She should, right at this moment, be running in free abandon further to the north. She should, as she sat in darkness gathering her wits and thoughts, be bringing a new tide and era to a land that had escaped the harsher ravages of war. She should, by all rights, be at the pinnacle of power, all the might of Mordor at her back.

Naiore flicked a braid back over her shoulder, its golden weight added to the other seven that hung long to her waist. Instead, she had been cheated of all that should have been hers, even the small prize of the Shire. Rangers and her own people conspired to hem her in and bring her down like an animal. They would take her, bound hand and foot, to face justice as the ignorant liked to call it. There was no justice in this world. There was no love either. No softness, no compassion, certainly no valour or glorious. Those who sought it were fools, nothing more. If anything, two ages spent in the turmoil of Middle-earth had taught her that. The much vaunted values of her kin and the infant cultures that clambered noisy and brash at its feet were lies. They deluded themselves. There was only death, fear, pain, woe, suffering and one other thing. Revenge. That was all.

She who saw the truth and in doing so mastered both it and the world around her, she who had held such power in countless lands, mastered terror and was mistress of the hounds of war and hell, sat in a cold wood. Even had she tried for the Havens to seek release from these mortal lands, she could not penetrate the bristling ring set in place by Elessar around the Shire. His name curdled in her mouth. Twelve years spent running from a beggar king of mortal descent to come to this!

Naiore raised starlit grey eyes to the darkening sky. In them were the long tale of her years. A sadness so heavy it could suffocate her was allowed to surface for air as she glanced at the sky. Then cold anger and revenge settled in and pushed the tiredness away. She looked at the inn, considering it once more. Her face was impassive, as often it was, carved elven beauty remarkable even amongst her own kin. Her face had beheld horror untold, she had wrought it with her own hands, for reasons few could understand. Now she sat waiting for an incipient snare to spring, dirty and desperate but not without her pride. She wore that like armour. It had gotten her through before this day.

The Inn was glowing with firelight in the early evening. Her gaze shifted to the stables, where it was said her daughter worked. Naiore could see no sign of Vanwe just yet, but her sources were adamant. They well knew the price their lies would earn them. It was a difficult death at the hands of a Ravennor. Naiore’s reputation was not conferred to her without merit.
Somewhere was a Ranger too, one she knew. She had expected to find Kaldir skulking in the forest. Such acts were not beneath him as they were her. The presence of both Kaldir and Vanwe was not a coincidence that could be ignored. She should have killed the whelp when she was born, unwanted by-blow that Vanwe was. The idea that some long buried maternal instinct prevented her was laughable. Only the perilous consequences of a lack of restraint keep her silent. Rangers were about, though not as thickly here as they were further West.

Vanwe should be well south, in the desolate Haradwaithe, kept with the goats and the barbarians Naiore had left her with. The fact that she was not had left and survived the journey north and eluded capture told Naiore much. The fact that Vanwe was known to be tracing her told her more. She would be a woman now, grown and no longer a helpless babe. There was no telling the danger she was. Perhaps, Naiore thought, she could use Kaldir to put an end to Vanwe and her threat. She could see to Kaldir after that.

But the fallen Ranger would need to be pushed, if only to see past his immediate mercenary loss in Vanwe's death. It remained to be seen if she could achieve that. He had proved difficult to break, those years ago. Kaldir was a rare challenge, one she had enjoyed then as she soon hoped to.

Naiore waited out the twilight. Travellers were still straggling in to the inn. Vanwe would appear. She worked in the stables, assisting a man who was no real threat for the likes of Naiore. Kill Vanwe and Kaldir, attempt again to push north without a tail, and see if bloodshed could not find the Shire after all. She was without any other purpose, and she would pursue this with a breathtakingly singular will that proved stronger than steel.

The Free Peoples could not hope to contend with her. Sauron himself had never truly conquered all of her heart and soul. Menecin neither. In the face of all she had endured and perpetrated throughout the wars of the Second and Third Age, rising time and again, ceaselessly vigilant in her quest for knowledge that had consumed her life, achieving the death of her daughter and Kaldir was nothing but a light aside.
Perhaps, Naiore mollified herself, one of them held what she looked for. Perhaps they could tell her from where fear spawned. It was unlikely, but possible. She held to that, for it made the ignominy of her failure in recent months to reach the Shire, her fugitive life since Sauron's fall lesser. How they would have laughed to see her reduced to such a state provided they escaped her with the facility to laugh intact within their bodies and souls. She could endure a rough night and hard travel if it meant the achievement of all she had endured and suffered for.

Whilst her riddle of fear circled in her head, Naiore watched from the trees. She needed but the slightest opportunity to begin, and she had tired of idle waiting and ceaseless flight. In the depth of night, she would strike. Snare Vanwe, lead her away and draw Kaldir after her… and then when both were dead and no longer able to scheme against her, she would no longer have the inconvenience of a bounty hunter to hamper her north ward’s push. The lanterns of the stars began to spring into life as Naiore maintained her watch on inn, pondering who had found sent Vanwe north. Elrond’s son’s mayhap? Celeborn? A contemptuous smile curved her lips as she pondered her kinswoman’s husband. Yes, Celeborn of Doriath would do just such a thing. She would see to it that much ruin came of his impertinence.

___________________________________________
___________________________________________

(place after Snowdog's Hanasian post)

Elora's post for Vanwe

… The water dripped in a regular ceaseless rhythm throughout the day, the night and the day. It was broken up by the scratching of rats in the straw, perhaps a wet and hacking cough nearby or a croaked song that had taken possession of a man’s voice and raised it like a tattered flag of insanity against the reality of the bars. Torchlight flickered fitfully against slick and dark stones as through the flames resented their presence, free as they were from the bars but locked in damp darkness. They would come by regularly, sometimes relighting torches that had rebelled and gone out. Some brought hard bread that was passed through the bars. That marked the beginning of another day. Sometimes it was water. That marked the night. It was race to claim bread or water before the rats did.

In that bleakness, a spider spun a silken web in the far corner of her cell. The strands caught the intermittent torch light, tiny gems caught in the web to dazzle unwary observers. It would float in the icy blast of wind that raced down the passage every time the outer main door would open. Then the sound of boots would start, counter tempo to the dripping water. There had been a lot of boots on the stone one morning after the bred had been pushed through the bars. The tiny jewels in the spider’s web became fiery with torch light that they had brought with them. She remembered that. It was beautiful, even if everything else was not and she had smiled faintly in that grimness to behold it.

The men had golden hair, like hers in many respects and yet not. It fell thickly around their shoulders, sometimes braided. Her own was a more delicate shade, lighter in weight and smoother in texture. Some clutched helms under their arms. Their torches glinted off mail. It was not as fair as the spider’s web. She remembered a saying as she took in their grim presence. Silk was stronger than steel. She looked into their faces and wondered about that.
One of them had produced a large iron circle. Many keys jangled discordantly from it. He fitted one to the lock at her bars.

The others stepped back, hands tightening around sword hilts that jutted from their belt encircled hips. She looked back up at the spider’s web as the door creaked in protest at its opening. Two men stepped through.

“On your feet,” one roughly ordered in Westron. He glowered at her. She did as she was told.

“We need more light,” the other one spat over his shoulder. Men slowly stepped closer to the bars. They held their torches out, reluctant to cast light on those within. She was struck by the realisation that they did not really want to see what they thought they were going to.

“Move but a muscle and you die,” intoned the man who had first spoke. She believed him. The other renewed his grip on his hilt, swallowed hard and stepped forward. He tipped her chin up, his fingers hard and rough against her skin. She stared blankly ahead, not daring to breathe. She heard movement, the sound of paper being unfolded.

“She is reported as claiming her name to be Vanwe,” he said. Doubt was in his voice, tempered also by suspicion and a dangerous anger that could flare brighter than any torch at any moment. Vanwe could smell it. She knew its scent well.

“Perhaps it is so, Farald. Look at her,” urged the man who held her chin so tightly.
“I’ve seen that face often enough,” the other replied heavily. She heard the paper bunch in his fist.

“Then by what sorcery did she achieve this?”

She saw two faces crowd her vision. They peered at her in silence. One shook his head as the other released her chin. She sagged back at the sudden change in balance, recovering quickly. A curse hissed in the silence, and somewhere else someone laughed blindly to fill the hole that insanity left in his mind.

“Silence,” roared one of the men in her cell. He cast her another glance. She lowered her eyes and mentally withdrew. If the anger came now, it was best she was not here. She knew what that glance meant. It was best if she was far away when it started. It was easier.

“It is not her Farald,” the other said.

“You had best hope that it is not,” Farald spat. He turned on his boot heel and stalked from her cell.

“What about her,” a man called after him.

“She can go. If I find her again, she’ll not fare so well. Rohan has had more than it’s share of the wider world and its Elves.” His voice floated back down behind him. There was a blast of air as the main door was opened. The men followed him, boot steps filling the prison's sagging emptiness once more. One remained by the open door to her cell.

“I would be swift, were I you. This is no place to dawdle with the doom of Rohan on your head,” he said. He walked away, a slow and measured tread. She watched him open the main door and pull his helm on. he had reports to make. Naiore Dannan was not in custody as they had thought. Those who already readied the gallows would have to wait a little longer. After 12 years and centuries of suffering, a little longer is both an instant and an eternity.

Vanwe ran then, the wind at her heels. She ran running fast, past grass and trees and village. Faster and faster, away from Rohan who nearly hanged her in mistake. Away from Umbar and the slave galleys where soldiers had nearly sold her when their error in her identity was known. North, where her mother had gone it was said and perhaps where her father was buried. Mirkwood, loomed ahead of her. It would be an arduous task to avoid those within it…

“Vanwe, have you found that cider yet?” The innkeeper’s voice called down into the cellar from atop the stairs. Vanwe started from her reverie, blinking at the bar of torchlight that shone golden on the earth floor of the dark cellar. She gathered her wits, pushing the cobwebs of unwelcome recollection aside.

“Yes,” Vanwe responded as she made for the stairs. The innkeeper smiled in relief. Vanwe had been gone so long in the cellar she had started to worry. With a shake of her head, she returned to the common room which was starting to fill with the rapid onset of evening. Vanwe reached the top of the stairs with a final shiver that slide down her spine. She looked over her shoulder, back into the darkness of the cellar and then firmly shut the door on it as she shut another in her mind. No more memories, not tonight, she resolved as she too returned to the common room.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Vanwe said as she handed the cider to the innkeeper. Busily filling waiting cups and placing them on a tray, she shook her head and shot Vanwe a brief smile.

“I thought something was wrong, is all. Go have some supper. You look pale. Have you eaten today?”

“No,” said Vanwe though she meant to deny that anything was wrong. She was but a wandering Elf, nothing more, no past, nothing.

“I thought as much. Quickly, sit before Cook sees you and I’ll fetch something from the kitchens as soon as I see to these.” The Innkeeper hoisted the tray of mugs and pints and whirled off. Vanwe passed crowded tables where Men and Hobbits spoke or ruminated in silence. There were no Elves tonight. At least she would not have to avoid them. There were Rangers though and that was unsettling. Rangers were only slightly less enthusiastic in their pursuit of her mother than the Rohirrim. Choosing a quiet and unoccupied table, Vanwe sat with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart.

Lespheria had left the key to her room in her keeping. Vanwe played with it absently upon the table top, wrapped deep in her thoughts once again. It had been months since she ventured north and she had found nearly nothing. Her mother was not here and neither was her father. Perhaps those who whispered of their deaths were right after all.

“No need to look so sad, Vanwe, have some wine.” Vanwe looked up at the Innkeeper’s kind smile as she set the wine glass down. Then she was off again as a table full of Men called for ale. Oh, Vanwe said inwardly as she stared at the glass and then at the key, there was need. Here she sat, alone and no closer to the truth and her family than she had been when she set out from the South. It was possible that they hunted her even now. They had done so all through Gondor and Rohan. Their wrath at her flight would break upon her shoulders and back, and all for nothing. She had failed.

As Vanwe sat faced with the vast pointlessness of her life, she felt the weight of another’s gaze upon her. She dared look up to find a Ranger, not Kaldir nor Hanasian nor Amandur, considering her closely. A sliver of fear lanced through her and her hand closed over Lespheria’s key. She looked sharply away again and withdrew inwards. The urge to flee to Lespheria’s room and hide was strong. Her brow furrowed and she rested her head on one hand. Elsewhere in the room someone laughed loudly. The door opened and closed.
Vanwe looked up in time to see Hanasian walk through the door, the road clearly upon him. He had come back, as he had said he would. Her heart was glad for that. His alert gaze combed the room as he took in his surrounds. When it swept over her, the Ranger would only have seen the long golden curtain of her hair as her head rested once more on her hand. A small flame of hope had sprung up within her, though. Hanasian had spoken of her mother under the stars and he had said he wished to speak with her upon his return. Perhaps he held what Vanwe needed. He had returned. It was a sign that not all was lost. Perhaps he knew something she could use. If nothing else, he was a friendly face. In the Sea of Strangers she was surrounded by in the common room that too made her glad.

Kaldir wished her only for the gold on her head. Of that she was certain. Amandur suspected her of the same incredulous crimes laid at her mother’s feet. Lespheria had left with the morning. Hanasian was the only other person who knew who her mother was and was neither suspicious or a bounty hunter. The night did not seem so large nor alone now. Vanwe set down the key and sipped at her glass a little.

_____________________________________________


The timing of posts is that Naiore's comes before Vanwe's and that Vanwe's comes after Snowdog's Hanasian.

Imladris, if you want the Ranger that Vanwe notices studying her to be your character, that's fine. If not, then that's fine too.

_____________________________________________

Elora

I set off your posts from each other only for ease of my placing them on the game.

Is this correct? - Snowdog's Hanasian post is followed by Naiore and then Vanwe when it gets to the game.

~~ Pio

[ September 03, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Imladris]

That would be great having Maethor observing Vanwe. Do you want me to edit my first post?

Imladris

[Ealasaid]

Thanks, Elora! Wow, that was quick!

Okay.. we are looking at a Monday start. Apparently, we are it in terms of writers. Elora, Snowdog, & Hilde are all talking about writing additional characters:
Elora - baddie
Snowdog & Hilde - Rangers
With a Monday start in mind, how about getting those Bios & first posts on the thread?

In the meantime, I will try to sort out the order of first posts. PM me if you have a specific order in mind or if you have a specific place where you would like your First Post to be. Thanks! (Elora - I saw your preferences with your edits.)

[ September 03, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[piosenniel]

If you are going to write extra characters - just do the Character Bio for them (and you can make it a brief one if they are secondary characters that will help carry the storyline along as needed, and not major characters like your other ones.)

You don't need a first post for them - just wait until the appropriate time to bring them in.

And please - at the beginning of all your posts (you with multiple characters, that is) please put the character(s) you are focusing on in the post.

[Ealasaid]

Due to a problem with my account, I will no longer be writing under the name Ealasaid. I will be continuing under the name EALASAIDE. This will be my last post under this name. Sorry for any confusion!

[Elora]

Imladris, no need to edit unless you feel it's strictly necessary. I just thought I'd toss in the option should you spot it and wonder. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Pio, I guess I just needed to clarify for when the posts are transferred across to the RP thread proper. Both my Naiore and Vanwe posts need to follow Snowdog's post for Hanasian. Sorry if I caused any confusion.

Thanks for the clarification on the additional character prep needed. I'll get the additional badie shaped up and here for you all to meet soon.

Ealsaid thanks for letting us know about the switch in user names. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Ealasaide]

Hi, again! Now I'm Ealasaide, Newly Deceased, as opposed to Ealasaid, Wight. [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img]
PM me at this name from now on. Thanks! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Snowdog]

Hey, who's the newbie???

Welcome Ealasaide to Barrow Downs. I hope you enjoy your time here and.. what??? Kaldir? Benia? Oh... Welcome again Ealasaid(e)! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

I will put the character up asap. Probably this weekend, and I will have a slight edit to do to my first post to make things clearer and will put Hanasían inside the Inn (if its not a problem). From what I see it wouldn't effect anyone elses posts any.

Happy writing everyone! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Written in a rush, I hope the Bio is OK.
---------------------------------------------
For one of the Rangers needed-

NAME: Rauthain son of Hauthain


AGE: 88


RACE: of the Dúnedain faithful


GENDER: Male


WEAPONS sword, bow and knife of no historic or cultural significance.


APPEARANCE: Rauthain is a tall, broad shouldered man, and though his light brown hair is largely greyed with age, it falls over the shoulders of a back yet strong and unbent. Set in a wide face, above his thickly drooping mustache are pale piercing grey eyes and a long narrow nose, reminiscent of a bird of prey. Rauthain’s clothes are frayed and travel worn, their faded browns speckled with mud but well mended, his deep brown leather jerkin and boots mottled and scuffed from long service.


PERSONALITY: Patient and reserved by nature, Rauthain prefers a solitary life, frequently running messages or assuming sentinel duties. Calm and stoic he is valued among rangers for his restraint and endurance and can often be found traversing the wilds on foot.


STRENGTHS: Although a courageous fighter, Rauthain is noted for his talents of observation and ability to slip through enemy lines.


WEAKNESSES: Usually uncommunicative, Rauthain is prone to unexplainable bouts of great mental agitation, during which times he may seek diversion through conversation. Also basing himself almost exclusively in the northwest and that over many years, his expertise is limited beyond that region.


HISTORY: Not forthcoming regarding his personal history, little is known of Rauthain’s past, save that he was deeply effected by the death of his son Haubain, during the siege of Erebor, thereafter requesting missions of a lonelier nature, gathering information or tracking. Rauthain was himself relaying news of the fall of Isengard to King Brand at Ravenhill when he was caught up in the desperate conflict, fighting fiercely until the dark hoards slowly melted away at the news of their Lord’s defeat.


Passing through Imladris often on his travels, the ranger had made the acquaintance of the then young Maethor, and also had occasion to serve with briefly with Amandur. Most notably Rauthain was along side Hanasian and Kaldir at the Mitheithel’s headwaters at the time of Kaldir’s capture. News had reached him sometime afterward of Kaldir’s subsequent activities, but he dismissed them as rumors propagated by the by the enemy to further dishearten the descendants of the Edain. Surely, Kaldir had died at the hands of the fiend Naiore.


In the weeks immediately preceding this tale, Rauthain was in the desolate area around Ettenmoor, keeping watch over the mountain passes as part of the initial web of rangers sent out to protect the fledgling project to rebuild Annúminas.

The ranger sent to relieve him told of a well-founded report that Naiore was heading north, and the two speculated that she was intending some mischief in Annúminas or perhaps Carn Dûm. Much significance had been placed on the return of the scepter of Annúminas by elves and men alike, and what better time to lash out at the newly sprung hope of Arnor.


Rauthain, making use of his fellow ranger’s horse, rode hard to Amon Sûl to check in and make camp before taking the Great East Road toward Bree. Once there he intended to learn what he could of Naiore from those travelers lately come up The Old South Road.


Rauthain paused in a small village to acquire a fresh horse and a hot meal at the Forsaken Inn before continuing onward.

[Everdawn]

I am so sorry about not replying to posts guys! I was swamped with exams sooner thn i had expected.

Elora: Yes, that sounds fine to me. Do what you will with Avanill and his trading [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] .

[Elora]

[img]smilies/eek.gif[/img]

My additional character profile will be coming soon! I promise! SO much to do, so little time.... why, let's waste some dithering about how much I have to do in so little time! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img]

WATCH THIS SPACE

Everdaen, why thankyou for being so agreeable. Feel free to let me know if something I do doesn't fit with your character. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[Nerindel]

Yay! Amandur's not the old man anymore [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Can't wait to see Snowdog's ranger and Elora's baddie [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Hey Elasaide wouldn't it have been interesting to have Zasfal turn up [img]smilies/evil.gif[/img]

[Ealasaide]

Nerindel - that would be interesting! Hmmm..you know I could make mention of Ahmad, too. After all, Benia is Painted Sand. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] Ahmad would be her chieftain.

[ September 05, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Elora]

And introducing.... Barrold Ferney, all round nasty guy.


NAME: Barrold Ferney

AGE: 35

RACE: Man

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Barrold usually carries weapons that can be easily concealed, such as daggers, or his own fists. He has a sword but is not overly fond of using it, as a surprise blitz attack is his preferable form of fighting. He owns a crossbow, which he uses to hunt with, of dubious origin. Such weapons are usually favored by the Southrons, which are not held in high esteem in Bree or anywhere else.

{B]APPEARANCE[/B]:

Barrold is a swarthy Man. He has dark, wavy hair which he sweeps on one side to keep out of his face. It brushes his collar. He has an arrogant swagger and habitually suspicious cast to his face. Some describe him as ill-favored. His eyes are dark and his stature average. Barrold’s clothing is often shabby and his appearance unkempt. He wears rough brown breeches stuffed into his scuffed brown boots. His tunic is dark blue, over which he wears a brown leather jerkin.

PERSONALITY:

Barrold believes himself unfairly treated and persecuted in a cruel and uncaring world. From that, he believes the world at large owes him something. Obviously southron in heritage, there are few in Bree who will willingly deal with him. This justifies, in his opinion, his inclination to sell anything and anyone for the right price. He is little troubled by the finer moral niceties that plague others. His primary motive is to protect his own hide, followed closely by his obsession with wealth and social status. It is rare for Barrold to risk his life to acquire wealth, but if the prize is rich enough he will do so.

Barrold is devious and tenacious. He holds himself wronged and believes the world owes him recompense. Everything and everyone has a price. Barrold is ambitious and pragmatic. He does not waste his time on such things as loyalty, honor, trust or friendship. A loner, Barrold would sell himself if the gold was enough. Barrold has a sharp temper that flares on a short fuse. He can be violent, particularly when drunk or frightened.

STRENGTHS:
Barrold is a calculating individual. He anticipates the same sort of treachery from others that he himself would deal out. This means few can take Barrold by surprise. Unfettered by human attachments, Barrold can be merciless in his search for wealth. He is ideally suited to the dangerous world of treachery due to his own paranoid inclinations. Barrold believes everyone is out to get him.

He craves recognition and status and will openly and sycophantically attach himself to whomever he thinks can provide it to him. Once he has all he can take from the relationship, he’ll sell it out and look for another. Capricious, Barrold’s demeanor can shift and swing violently. He is unpredictable and untrustworthy. In his field, these are two qualities that have kept him alive.

Barrold is a master of dirty, sneaky fighting tactics. He does not fight fair or nice, which usually undoes an opponent with a higher mind or moral calibre.

WEAKNESSES:

Barrold finds it hard to make friends and form attachments. He does not understand family or love. He is frequently isolated and alienated even from his own temporary allies. He is insecure and convinced the world is coming to get him. Barrold does not like himself very much but is too unaware to realize it. He’s desperately unhappy with his life, but blames everyone else for the state it is in. Barrold has a weakness for ale, and once drunk is violent. He would be a rich man were it not for this vice. Women in particular are his downfall. They view him with contempt, and he hates them implacably, yet he cannot do without them. Barrold is secretly troubled and unsure of women and he dislikes them for the insecurity they inspire within him.
Barrold has a habit of over estimating his intelligence, status and influence, arising from his arrogance. He is racked with self-loathing and insecurity which he hides behind an ugly and proud façade. At heart, Barrold is a coward and a bully.

HISTORY:

Barrold is the cousin of Bill Ferney. Born in Bree, Barrold led a misspent youth much to the chagrin of the townsfolk and was known to be a troublemaker by the time he hit young manhood, much like his cousin. He was born into a poor family, on the outskirts of Bree. Just one of a gaggle of 10 children, his childhood was one of neglect, petty crime and general delinquency. What happened to his parents and siblings is unrecorded. At least one younger brother met with an untimely death which was attributed by rumor to either Bill, Barrold or Barrold’s father. Barrold lived in poverty, his family subsistence farmers when not engaged in other less salubrious activities.

Though his family was seen as lazy bad apples, Barrold was an industrious and energetic lad. He garnered himself an infamous record with the Sheriffs. Barrold gravitated to a group of local thugs, bored and looking for mischief. Bree was a small place, and Barrold felt himself destined for greater things. He always knew he was special. In his childhood group, Barrold was unpopular. He was quick to carry tales and when the group found themselves cornered, Barrold was one of the first to break. Barrold received little schooling. He was a bully and his parents saw little worth in such things as education for Barrold was already proving himself quite the entrepreneur.

He tagged along on Bill Ferney’s coat tails for as long as he could, taking service with Sauruman when he was merely 20 in the year 3018 of the Third Age. A henchman of Isengard, Barrold did reasonably well in his employ. However, once the power of Sauruman was broken, Barrold lacked the strength to stand any longer against the people of Bree. He soon relented when things started to look grim in 3019 and then openly abandoned his employer. Bill Ferney had already disappeared by that time, and his ends are shrouded in mystery. It is not widely known that his cousin, Barrold, did him in when Bill threatened to sell Barrold to the Rangers over a quarrel regarding the divvying of the gold being exacted from the local Bree farmers and business folk. Bill was unceremoniously dumped in a shallow grave after Barrold knocked the back of his head in whilst Bill dozed in drunken stupor one evening. Thus, Barrold managed to survive in Bree, not betrayed by his cousin as one of Saruman’s spies, once the War of the Ring ended.

Barrold slipped back into petty crime. He was destitute and homeless, and appropriated an abandoned derelict farm house on the southern outskirts of Bree. When goods went missing, the farm house was routinely searched and the goods returned. Few were willing to employ Barrold, being and unreliable and untrustworthy sort. The only way Barrold could get enough coin to pay for his vices was to continue in his underworld profession. Barrold was quick to see the commercial profit to be gained by acting as a conduit for outlaws.

Realizing that they were lower down the food chain than even him, Barrold was quick to exploit his skills. The farmhouse sometimes held characters more dubious than Bill or Barrold Ferney had ever been. Usually, these were lower end escapees of the widening net for agitants and agents of Mordor and Isengard. In return for accommodation, supplies, information and equipment, Barrold charged a hefty price that was extortionate even amongst his peers. His reputation spread amongst those who were in need of his safe house. Barrold was not averse to selling his clients out if the bounty was more than what they’d pay, or if he was scared.

The bolt hole was empty on the night Barrold first encountered Naiore Dannan. He knew of her only by reputation and even that was vague. Few voluntarily spoke of the Ravennor even amongst the circles of Mordor and Isengard. Barrold had heard of her towards the end of the Third Age, when it was said that Sauron had put Naiore onto Saruman and his allies for Saruman’s failure and treachery. Drunk and weaving his way home late one night, the Elf woman was waiting for him. Once the initial terror had passed, for Barrold had thought a most terrible death had come, he managed to sober up enough to strike a deal with the Ravennor of Mordor. She was vastly wealthy and was in need of his services. Aware of the bounty on her head, Barrold. More so, Barrold was aware of what would happen if he did not agree.

Barrold is both fascinated with Naiore Dannan and hates her. It is a reaction that amuses the Elf. She taunts him with it and uses his hatred as yet another bind around his will. If he is caught aiding her, he is likely to meet the noose himself. Yet, Naiore has need of some interesting assistance. Poisons, for example, maps and information on interesting personages. Whilst ever the danger is less than his profit, Barrold. It raises his status immeasurably to have such a patron of her rank. However, should the danger become intolerable, Barrold is as foolhardy as to think he could successfully outmaneuver the Ravennor in order to claim the bounty. Barrold’s only ally is treachery. It has occurred to Barrold that should he master the Ravennor, he could rise to be even more influential than perhaps Bill or any of the other Ruffians had been.

So, we have a near psychopath, of limited intelligence but vast cunning, with a troubled childhood and stoat's survival instinct.

Is Barrold nasty enough?

[piosenniel]

Elora - Delectably nasty . . . [img]smilies/evil.gif[/img]

For all: I'll be out of town until late Sunday Night. If you have your list of posts ready by then, I'll place them on the locked RPG thread and open it for play for you on Monday.

_____________________________________________

WHO'S WHO

Planners' Main Characters

• Kaldir - Man (Ealasaide)
• Benia Nightshade - Man (Ealasaide)
• Lespheria - Elf (Nerindel)
• Amandur - Man (Nerindel)
• Naiore - Elf (Elora)
• Vanwe - Elf (Elora)
• Menecin - Elf (Elora)
• Hanasian - Man (Snowdog)
• Gilly Banks - Hobbit (Hilde Bracegirdle)

_____________________________________________

Additional Main Characters

Rangers

• Maethor (Imladris)
• Rauthain (Hilde Bracegirdle)
• ? ? (Snowdog)

Shady Underworld Types

• Avanill (Everdawn)
• Barrold Ferney (Elora)

_____________________________________________

NCE's (Non Controlled Entities) - may be used by all players as needed

• Elladan, Elrohir, Celeborn - need to be used carefully and presented with accuracy since they are actual Tolkien characters
  _____________________________________________
  
• Staff of the Forsaken Inn
  
• Cook - Aldarida Boffin
• Server & maid - Rowana Brandybuck
• Kitchen assistant & maid - Amarantha Willow
• Stablemaster/handyman – Dervorin
• Innkeeper - Fimbriel

[Nerindel]

Yes! very nasty indeed Elora [img]smilies/evil.gif[/img]

How does this posting list look to everyone?

EloraI wasn't sure where Menecin's post should go, but as his character isn't promenient until we draw near Rivendell, I thought that it would be best to keep his post till last, but if you think it should be higher up the list let me know. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]


1. Lespheria's post
2. Amandur's post
3. Benia's post
4. Kaldir's post
5. Gilly's post
6. Hanasian's post
7. Naiore's post
8. Vanwe's post
9. Maethor's post
10. Avanill's post
11. Menecin's post

Hmm... are the Additional characters going to have first posts?

[Ealasaide]

Great job, Nerindel -- That's exactly the order I was going to suggest!

Love your bad guy, Elora!

[piosenniel]

Shall I place the posts now?

I was thinking the secondary characters could simply come in as needed - or did you want a First Post from them also?

~~ Pio

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

I‘m trying to put together a first post for Rauthain placing him at the Inn before everyone leaves. Seems like a good place for him to join in since he is headed toward Bree, unless someone has other ideas or the Inn will feature in a second round of posts. Meanwhile, I will see if I can get this thing done during the weekend.

[Ealasaide]

Hilde - there's likely to be a few more posts yet around the inn, so don't feel rushed about the first post. Just place it when the game opens. I think you will have plenty of time.

Pio - yes, go ahead & place the posts on the thread. I see you already have Elora's opening post up there. Thanks! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Game Now Open For Play ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Please remember to remove your signatures from every game post.

Please identify which character you are writing for when you post (that is, of course, unless you are only writing for a single character).

___________________________________________

Hilde (and anyone for that matter) - if you need a post placed just leave it here on the discussion thread. PM me as a reminder, telling me the name of the gamer you want it laced AFTER, and the time and date of the gamer's post.

[piosenniel]

Bringing this forward:

Here is the outline of the story, taken from the last working draft of Ealasaid:

-----------------------------------

ACT 1: At the Forsaken Inn

• Lespheria departs, leaving Amandur at the inn, where he remains in the hopes of finding out where Naiore is.
• Naiore & Vanwe meet somewhere near the inn.
• Kaldir captures Gilly, who is trying to rescue Benia.
• Hanasian returns to the inn from Bree.
• 2 Shady Underworld Types arrive at the inn. (Or they may already be there -- writer‘s choice.)
• 2 New Rangers arrive at the inn, meeting Amandur and Hanasian.

ACT 2: Meetings & Departures

• Kaldir returns to the woods, where he had earlier sensed an ominous presence, and discovers that it is indeed Naiore. He picks up her trail.
• Naiore & Vanwe fall in together.
• Hanasian & Amandur also learn of Naiore's presence by chance, intuition, or whispered rumor.
• Having been intercepted and turned back by a messenger from her twin brother, Lespheria returns to the inn, where she rejoins Amandur.
• Hanasian joins forces with the other two (as yet unnamed) Rangers.
• Hearing somehow of Naiore’s presence, the Underworld Types decide to seek her out, leaving the inn before the others.
• The rest of them depart (in separate groups) in pursuit of Naiore.
• Gilly and Benia accompany Kaldir as his prisoners (sort of).

Act 3: Intrigue

• Naiore & Vanwe take up with the two Shady Underworld Types
• The Hunters & the Hunted all stalk each other a bit. There are run-ins & confrontations as Naiore attempts to take out her pursuers by whatever means she has at her disposal.
• Gilly & Benia try to decide whether to assist Kaldir, escape from him, or attempt to redeem him.
• Hanasian catches up with Kaldir.

Act 4: The Noose Tightens

• With Rangers and bounty hunters closing in, Naiore changes her focus from killing the Rangers to pursuing Menecin, using any and all means to conceal her path.
• The Rangers (all of them) and Lespheria ride together.
• Shady characters start to realize Naiore may be setting them up for a fall and so plot against her.
• Gilly & Benia manage to free themselves or Kaldir loosens his grip as he becomes increasingly focused on the hunt for Naiore.

Act 5: End Game

• Naiore makes her attempt to kill Menecin. She fails & flees to the south, deserting Vanwe to her fate.
• Naiore tries to take down anyone she can as she attempts to escape the closing trap.
• The shady characters make their move against Naiore, either on their own or together.
• Naiore is trapped somewhere near the Gladden Fields, where she is either captured or slain.

[Nerindel]

Yay! Thanks Pio [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Léspheria's next post is up [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] Amandur's will follow shortly [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[Snowdog]

Ha! Hanasían got his post in before Amandur! I used him a bit in my post, so I hope it didn't mess your post up. You can write from the time you enter the Inn as well. You dont have to start where I have Amandur.

Anyway, here we go! I will do my dangdest to stay atop this for I am excited about this one!

Oh, I hope my descriptuion of the Inn was ok. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Edit: Pio, I have a wierd request (if nobody objects)...
Could you use the icon for our RP thread? It would help these old eyes find it easily among all the swords. Thanks!

[ September 06, 2003: Message edited by: Snowdog ]

[Elora]

A woman with blonde curls is bouncing excitedly, wide smile on her face and her hands clapping, until she is shushed by a disapproving chorus. "SHHHSSSSSSSSSS," they admonish her. She stops bouncing and clapping but the grin remains undimmed. One of the chorus rolls her eyes at the others and turns her back. Naiore says to Menecin, Barrold and Vanwe, "I did say from the outset we needed to get ourselves a better writer. What sort of conduit is she?"

Naiore indicated behind her to the smiling woman, who ignored the others blithely, as she peered past them to the others.


Good request, Snowdog, even if it is a bit weird! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Time for me to skedaddle to the RP and post! YIPPEE! HIP HIP HOORAY! WOOOOHOOOOOOO!

"SHHHSSSSSSSS" came the heated responde from her companions. The woman waved her hand at them in dismissal and danced off to the Role Play thread with an impish scamper. "I think you're right," said Barrold, "But where will we find another writer now? It's too late."

[Nerindel]

Hey! Turn my back for two minute's(Ok two hours) and not one but two Sneaky rangers slip in there [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img]

But seriously no worries, I had hoped to have the post finished before you guys came in but my youngest woke up crying and I had to go sit with her till she went back to sleep. But anyway I'm back now and I will Edit Amandur's post to fit, see ya soon [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[ September 07, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[piosenniel]

I live to serve! [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

The Game and the Discussion now are marked with:

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Pio- I think I'm going to wind up adding Rauthain's intial post mixed in the flow of things, if it's OK.

Had a descent post ready but it needs major reworking since Devorin is now inside the inn. Should have posted it yesterday.... I will have to figure something else out if I have time.

Ealasaide- Sorry if Gilly is holding up Benia and Kaldir.

It is going to be a busy week for this hobbit! [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img]

EDIT: Yeah! Got Rauthain done, now for Gilly.

[ September 07, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Snowdog]

Ok, I posted again as the Rangers are agthered about the table. I made mention of Avanill in my post, and put it in a note so there was no mistaking. I will edit later after thew writing gets on some. There is alot to cover, and I need to go back to the Green Dragon part 4, about page 8 or so to recap all that went on there.

Oh, thanks Pio for the icon. It does make it easier for me to spot in a glance at the threads, and I hope it will stand that our little story will meet the standards of the fine professor. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

I will try and stay cought up each night (Im in Pacific USA timezone) so there atre no delays on my part.

Happy writing everyone!

[Nerindel]

EalasaideAmandur has finally remembered who Kaldir is thanks to Hanasian [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] and I have posted Amandur's memory of finding him in the pits of Barad-dûr, ok!