[Envinyatar]

Character Description Form:

Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES - Which one? Holiday in the Sun, The Long Winter, Search for the Lost Messenger, Escape from Nurn, A House Divided

How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? 1
Please note you may play in only 3 games at one time.


Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES – Which one? Both

For your character please include:

NAME: Aldwulf Wilfridson

AGE: 28

RACE: Man of the Mark (one of the three Knights)

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS:

Short sword, Spear, long-knife; iron helm; plain metal buckler (small round shield)

APPEARANCE:

Height – 5’ 9” (1.75 M); 155 lbs (70 kg). Brown eyes; dark blond hair, shoulder length; clean shaven except for a thick, light brown mustache whose ends extend just beyond his lower lip. Medium frame, muscular; tanned from working outdoors; hands are calloused and rough from working with the family horses; bears a small puckered scar across his left cheek from an Orc blade at the Battle of the Hornburg. Dark brown homespun breeches secured by a plain brown leather belt with plain brass buckle; natural off-white tunic; scuffed, brown leather, knee high boots with riding heel; brown flecked with black and grey hooded cloak; tan, work stained riding gloves; no jewelry.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

A cautious young man who keeps his thoughts to himself unless asked for his opinion. Not easily swayed by the crowd, he prefers to gather facts and think about how he will respond to a situation. He is devoted to his small group of boyhood friends, and next to the company of his horses, he prefers to spend his time with them. Slow to anger, but once aroused, is single-minded and capable of great cunning in his pursuit of retribution. This is also a weakness in that his natural inclinations shift away from his own safety needs as his focus narrows.

HISTORY:

Fifth child in a family of six children. Mother and Father still living now on the horse farm managed by him and his three brothers; the two older, of whom, have wives and families. His two sisters are married and live near. Aldwulf is several times over an Uncle, and much to the despair of his parents, has no interest in wedding someone and starting a family of his own. They are aghast that his youngest brother is of the same mind, and wish that Aldwulf would set the good example for him.

He was fifteen years old when he fought in the Battle of the Hornburg, side by side with his childhood friend, Heldor. It was he, in fact, who diverted the Orc’s blade enough that it only cut Aldulf’s cheek, and did not kill him. There is nothing he would not do to see to the safety of his boon companion.

Aldwulf still serves in the ranks of the Riders of the Mark when called upon and is committed to his King, Éomer. His family is one of the ones who supply the horses needed for the knights of the Riddermark.

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Envinyatar’s post

‘Osric! Lend me a hand here, man! I can’t lift these wheels myself.”

The bright midmorning sun blazed down on the square before the smithy, throwing the shadow of the straining man into stark relief against the packed earth. Aldwulf wiped his forearm along his brow and looked up, frowning, for the whereabouts of his younger brother. He was nowhere to be seen, and Aldwulf grew increasingly irritated at being left to wrestle the huge oak wheels himself. Shirt off to catch what breeze he could, sweat glistened on the straining muscles of his arms as he fought to pull the cumbersome wheel from the flat wagon’s bed and stand it on its rim to be rolled into the smithy.

They had come to the outskirts of Edoras, the city proper, to have the great wheels of the hay wagon rebanded by the blacksmith. As was usual, Osric had seen a group of his acquaintances and gone running off to see them, promising his older brother he would only be a moment. Moments stretched into quarters and halves of the hour, and still no sign of him. Aldwulf commandeered the smithy’s boy to give what help he could and together they got the two wheels into the blacksmith’s shop.

It was late afternoon by the time the smith had finished and the wheels were secured in the wagon for the trip home, an hour’s ride south along the Snowbourn River . . . and still no sign of Osric. Aldwulf sat on the bench in the shade of the spreading elm, calming himself with a pipe full of Westmansweed and a pint of local ale brought out by the smithy’s daughter.

A fair one, that one is! he could hear his mother saying, and her father’s only child. She’ll bring a large endowment into the marriage she makes. And the forge along with her when the smith looks to hanging up his hammer! he could hear his father chime in. He ran his pipe-stem along his bottom lip, watching her as she smiled at him, then hurried away. Pretty enough, he thought to himself, idly, wondering how she would fare away from the city, on their farm.

His thoughts were cut off with the hurried arrival of his prodigal sibling. Words of remonstrance were on Aldwulf’s lips until he noted the paleness of his brother’s face and his wide eyes. ‘Sit down,’ he said to the out of breath Osric, pulling the younger man down beside him. ‘Tell me what’s gotten you so upset.’

Over the next few moments, Osric delivered the news he had learned from Brytta just previous to his returning to Aldwulf and the wagon. A murder had been committed – old Folca had been killed, and Heldór stood accused of it. He had been arrested by the city guard and thrown into the dungeon to await execution.

Aldwulf’s face was grim as he listened to the news of his friend. ‘This cannot be!’ he said in a low voice. ‘Heldór is no craven to have murdered an unarmed old man, and one who had spent time in the service of the King.’

‘Brytta shares your faith in his brother, Aldwulf.’ Osric looked about for any unwelcome listeners. ‘He has asked me to tell you he would like to meet with you tonight . . . to discuss the situation. The White Horse – he said you would know the table.’

Aldwulf rubbed his chin, thinking quickly. He bade his brother take the wagon back to the farm. ‘Tell them nothing of what you have just told me, Osric. Just say that I met some old friends, with much new to catch up on. Tell them I will return soon, and not to worry.’ He clapped his brother on the shoulder. ‘Make it convincing.’

He saw his brother off, and sat for a long time, thinking, on the bench beneath the elm. When the sun had set, he stood and tapped his cold pipe out against the trunk of the tree. Placing it in the pouch that hung from his belt, he drew his cloak on and made his way quickly to the Inn.

There in the dark, back corner sat Brytta, his hands cupping a pint of ale – gazing into it as if to discern the course of events he was about to set in motion. Aldwulf advanced toward the table, and catching Brytta’s eye, nodded briefly to him.

‘I’m here,’ he said in a low voice, leaning across the table as he sat down. ‘Heldór – what are we to do for him . . .?’

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