[Saurreg]

Character Description Form:

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

Roll Out the Barrows

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

None

List them, please:

Please note you may play in only 2 (TWO) Shire games at one time. Exceptions to this may be made for this on a case by case basis by the Shire Moderators. (The Green Dragon Inn DOES NOT count as a game for this.)


3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn – YES
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For your character please include:

NAME: Andas Loudewater (The “concerned” farmer from Bree)

AGE: 42

RACE: Lesser Men

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.):

Double-edged dagger that measures thirteen inches long from top of the pommel to the blade tip. The blade is nine inches long and made of low quality steel, constant oiling and sharpening keeps it in good condition. The hilt is four inches long and made of brass. Dirt-stained linen strips are wounded around the grip of the hilt. A badly discolored leather sheath houses the blade.

APPEARANCE:

5’9” (around 176m) tall and about 155 pounds (around 70 kg) in weight. Has the physique and stamina of a middle-aged man who engages in routine farming activities. Light frame with a lightly hunched back. Spots a messy crop of dark brown hair and long graying sideburns, hair worn above shoulder length. Unhealthy pale complexion that betrays traces of blemishes and discolorations easily. Thin elongated poke-marked face with noticeably high cheekbones, beaky nose with pronounced ridge and pair of dull brown eyes. Thin lips and sharp angular jaw-line. Has receding hairline, signs of premature balding. (reads like a “have you seen him?” notice, no?)

Wearing a loose-fitting oak brown cotton tunic, baggy trousers of the same color and a maroon-brown cope with long sleeves.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES (Before Mid-life crisis): (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):

Boring, likes no disruptions or unusual happenings to intrude onto his routine life. Timid, cares little for adventures or any out-of-the-blue experiences. Likes no surprises. Prefers normal non-hazardous activities, thank you. Boring, yes, just boring.

Nifty with his hands and just enough street smarts to go around. Not overtly xenophobic over out-of-towners but rather, suspiciously observant. Can be pretty sarcastic and rude when displeasured…

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES (After Mid-life crisis): The new Andas Loudewater is quite different from the old. with the onset of MLC, his temperament is more mercurial and he is subjected to extreme variations of moodswings. He feels like a man reborn with a second chance to make things "right"

From time to time, the old Loudewater may resurface. But on the whole, he is far more spontaneous and more of a go-getter.

HISTORY:

Hailing from a line of independent Bree land owners, Loudewater has been a farmer and livestock breeder for all his life. Married for over 24 years without children, Loudewater has made it his lifelong mission to tend to his legumes, cabbages and fowls to the best of his capacity (he takes pride in his profession) and to dodge what incidents he can (refer to personality or rather, lack of personality section)

Life has been adequate and so far rewarding for this simple farmer with simple tastes. But recent events are starting to worry him… Not any more.

Introducing mid-life crisis.
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Saurreg's post

The pain. It’s long deathly fingers puncture the skin, slithers through the ribcage and seizes your heart. Strong fingers close so tightly that your blood vessels start to burst and your body begins to convulse. A cold chill caresses your spine, numbs your senses and send you into shock. Darkness covers your eyes…

Andas signed aloud to himself as he continues his best to read yesterday’s edition of the village routine orders in the dimly illuminated room; community fees going up next month. The poor weather did little to comfort his mind. Helga’s loud shrill voice continued booming from the back of the kitchen, she was ranting about his spectacular inability to perform the easiest of household chores now,

“And how many times do I have to tell you? Reds don’t go into the wash tub with the whites! Now look what you’ve done! Another braccae spoilt! What’s wrong with you? Can’t you…”

The pain. It picks you up and smothers you in a deadly embrace. It plucks the soul from the very core of your being with cruel fingers, pops it into a black bottomless maw and chews. It bites and sucks the juice that is your personality, your aspirations, your hopes and relishes it. Once done, it spits out what remains of your incorporeal form and rub it into the dirt with a heavy suffocating foot…

Helga was done with nitpicking Andas’ poor housekeeping skills and was now relating to him the events that occurred during the morning’s trip to the market. Andas squirmed uncomfortably in the overstuffed armchair and tried to read, dull brown eyes darting left from right; another sheep missing, Old Grant defaulting on insurance. Still, nothing could dull the formidable voice box of Helga’s,

“Rosy Parker was at the fishmonger’s today and Gregory was with her. Oh, he was such a dear thing! Carrying her heavy baskets and buying those expensive white flowers from that Monty lad to surprise and such…

Now how come you don’t do those things for me?!”

The pain. Helga was pain. Helga was pain personified. And nothing could stop Helga, not even hail nor brimstone could deny the awe-inspiring phenomenon that was Helga ****ed…

It was now or never. Andas knew his moment had come.

“IS THAT YOU PRAND?!” He shouted aloud suddenly to no one in particular,
\
“WHAT’S THAT?! YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME?! YOU WANT ME TO COME OUT?! IT’S IMPORTANT?!”

Every word forcefully enunciated.

The disembodied voice of Helga’s queried,

“Why are you shouting Andas? Did you say Prand is here? Why don’t you invite him in?”

A turning point has been reached and the wheels in Andas’ head turned faster,

“WHAT’S THAT PRAND?! YOU CAN’T COME IN BECAUSE YOUR SHOES ARE ALL MUDDY?!”

Meet Helga the cleanliness freak.

“OK PRAND! OK! I’M COMING OUT NOW! HERE I GO!”

With surprisingly quick reflexes, Andas pulled his body off the armchair, sprinted across the room and grabbed his belt and cope from the coats hanger.

“I’m going out to see what Prand wants, dear! Could take a while! Don’t wait up for me! Love yah, bye bye!”

Before Helga could reply, Andas swung open the front door leapt out and slammed it shut. Liberation never felt better.

It was dusk and ominous dark clouds were already forming overhead in the north. Andas was hungry and from the looks of it, he also needed a roof overhead soon too. And he knew just where to go in situations like this.

Adjusting his belt and getting into his cope, Andas Loudewater stepped onto the gravel skewed dirt path and marched briskly over to The Prancing Pony…

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