Treachery of Men Discussion/Planning Thread

[bill_n_sam]

Hi everyone!
I guess I'll be playing a male Ulfing. For the record I am myself actually female although I see my name could be misleading. I just really love Samwise. I'll get started coming up with a bio and first post and get those up soon.

[Anguirel]

Mith, I understand completely - get some rest and PM whenever suits.

[bill_n_sam]

Here is my bio for my Easterling. I hope making him a smith will work out alright. I'm getting this feeling that the easterlings were something like an iron age tribe, and thus probably a smith would be making farm tools, household items, and then weapons. I wouldn't think they would be doing farrier work yet (?) Well, if anyone has any ideas on that subject please let me know. I'm also assuming any "armor" would be limited to relatively small pieces of plate type iron, say like a breast plate, which would be very heavy and probably not your typical ordinary warrior wear. No chain mail as of yet????? Does it make sense that the easterlings would not yet have some of the technology say other races of men and elves have? I had thought this would be something I could bring up in the RPG, say when the elf messenger arrives, the superiority of his gear and the easterlings being anxious to develop that technology for themselves. If anyone knows of any good sites I could look at, that would be great.


Linked ~*~ Pio
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bill_n_sam's character


Name: Dag (rhymes with “fog”)

Gender: male

Race: human, Easterling

Age: 22

Appearance: Medium height for his race (5’3” ?); stocky build; extremely muscular arms, shoulders and torso; deeply tanned skin; very dark brown, straight hair, falling a bit below the shoulders, worn pulled back and tied with a leather thong; dark brown, deep-set eyes with a somewhat overhanging brow; square jaw; thick neck; no facial hair; clothing consists of simple woolen tunic and trousers in natural colors of undyed wool, leather boots and belt, lambskin cloak and cap for colder weather. Usually ties a leather strap across his forehead while working to keep the sweat out of his eyes. Often appears to be scowling but this is due to poor eyesight which causes him to screw up his eyes to see better.

Weapons: normally carries only a sharp utility type knife, but personally owns two swords, plain but well made, and a bow which he only uses for hunting. He has not to date been a “warrior” so to speak, and so doesn’t own any type of “armor” or protective gear, nor a shield, but as a smith, he has relatively ready access to whatever weapons, armor, or shields he needs/wants to make.

Personality/strengths/weaknesses: very taciturn and outwardly quiet and not prone to speaking much more than is necessary. Inwardly, he does give some thought to what is going on around him and makes his own judgments thereon and acts according to what he believes is best for him and his family, although he is far from being a “deep thinker”. He is straight forward in his dealings with others and appreciates the same in return, although he isn’t foolish enough to always expect that to be the case. His ambitions in life are to better himself and his family simply to insure, to the small extent possible, that there will always be food to eat and a roof over their heads, but he has no desire for power or prestige. He is steady, responsible and not given to rash action. However, once he has considered a situation and made up his mind on a course of action, he basically can not be turned from it and is stubborn to the point of mule headedness. He has a tendency not to listen to others even when their advice is sound if he is set on a different course. Slow to anger, once roused he will not back down until he feels the wrong has been righted, even to the point of bloodshed.

History/background: He was born and raised on the eastern side of the mountains; his father was a smith and taught him the trade. Not inclined to be a roamer or adventurous himself, it was his father that convinced him to go to the new lands and make a place for himself there, where the skills of a good smith would be needed and well paid for. Before leaving, he decided, again on his father’s advice, to take a wife, and chose a girl (Gunna) from his village selected by his parents. As part of the marriage negotiations, he was asked to take on the added burden of Gunna’s younger sister (Mem), to which he was much opposed. But his father pointed out that having an extra woman about the home, even one such as Mem, might be a good thing, for a variety of reasons, and thus Dag found himself with two women to care for. That was four years ago and now they are comfortably settled into the main village of the Ulfings, with Dag doing a good business as a talented smith and armorer. Ten months ago, Gunna gave birth to their first child, (simply referred to as baby until her naming ceremony which will occur on her first birthday) so Dag lives in a household of females, which can get a little overwhelming at times.

As to current events, Dag is simply leading his life as he sees fit, fairly unconcerned about power struggles or clashes within the Ulfing community, although he is well aware of the tension between the three brothers. He tries to avoid getting involved in any way, which can be somewhat tricky as he is much in demand to fashion weapons and simple armor for those who can afford them. His goal is to increase his own prosperity to provide his family with stability without running afoul of the powers that be.

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Name: Gunna (Dag's wife)
Gender: female
Race: human, Easterling
Age: 18

Appearance: Average height for an Easterling woman (5’); average build, lean, with a sinewy strength; waist length black hair; slightly almond shaped light brown eyes; her facial features are regular and somewhat delicate for an Easterling, as are her hands and feet which are small and shapely; she is not considered particularly pretty by Easterling standards, not ugly, just average Her clothes tend to be a bit more colorful than her husband’s; She wears simple woolen gowns of green, blue and russet; a tooled leather belt and leather slipper type shoes. She has a heavy wool cloak and hood for winter and also a sheepskin cloak.

Weapons: none, other than her feminine wiles which she only uses against her husband

Personality/strengths/weaknesses: A very peaceful and calm person, usually to be found with a somewhat enigmatic smile playing about her lips, she goes through her day with purpose and joy. She takes great pride in being a good wife, making sure her husband is well fed and taken care of, but her true pride and joy is her ten month old daughter. Her only weakness, if it truly is one, is her attachment to her sister. Her loyalty to Mem sometimes places Gunna at odds with her husband, or others in the village, but nothing will dissuade her from always taking Mem’s side. She can be just as stubborn as her husband, although her methods of waging war do not include open attack but more usually subtle but irresistible persuasion..

History: She was born and raised on the eastern side of the Emyn Luin, growing up in a farming family, one of many children who were all taught the value of hard work. Raised to be obedient to men in general, she is outwardly docile. Her younger sister, Mem, has been blind since she was a child and Gunna took it upon herself to guide her sister literally back into the world, acting as her eyes and teaching her to function within the limited confines of their family home. Gunna refused point blank to ever marryunless Mem went with her. Since moving with her sister and husband over the mountains, she has since spent her time making a comfortable home for her husband and presented him with what she is sure if the first of many children.

Of their current living situation, Gunna deliberately tries to avoid knowing anything about what is going on. She doesn’t like it when her husband must be involved in the contentiousness surrounding the chieftain and his sons and often counsels him to avoid taking sides. She desires only to have a peaceful and harmonious home.

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Name: Mem (Gunna's sister)
Gender: female
Race: human, Easterling
Age: 16

Appearance: Somewhat stunted looking, the fever which almost took her life when she was a child impaired her growth, so she is shorter and more frail looking than most Easterling women; her hair fell out when she was ill and grew back in a queer, rusty brownish-red color, and tends to be dry and brittle, so it’s kept short, and she wears a scarf to cover it; her eyes are dark brown, but sightless and look empty; her face, on the other hand, is alive with emotion and her highly mobile features show a running reflection of what she is feeling inside; her skin is rather sallow, a result of her ongoing frailty and being inside almost all the time; her hands and fingers are long, thin and deft and are her most attractive feature. Like her sister she wears simple gowns of dyed wool, leather slippers and belt, a cloak for the cold weather.

Weapons: none, she is defenseless in the truest sense

Personality/strengths/weaknesses: eternally optimistic; sweet tempered; patient; joyful. Her weakness might be described as a refusal to acknowledge that there is evil in the world and insists that everything and everyone is essentially good and so she doesn’t comprehend threats to her little enclosed existence


History: She has no memory of what life was like for her before the fever and so has no regrets. From her point of view she has always been sightless, she does not remember what things look like, but this doesn’t bother her. She has created her own little world, with the help of her sister, and enjoys the simple pleasures that she can create for herself, such as spinning, sewing, holding the baby, and most of all, thinking up and telling her stories, for she has become a master story teller. Being blind, her other senses have necessarily sharpened far beyond what they normally would be, and her hearing and sense of smell are acute. She experiences her world predominantly through her sense of touch, and has developed such a skill with the hand spindle that the thread she spins is the finest to be had in the village. This has proven to be quite a saving grace when it comes to her brother in law, who couldn’t help but feel a little misused by his bride’s insistence that her sister accompany them to their new home. Mem’s skill has brought more than a few things into the household and Dag is now much more comfortable with his decision to have her as part of his family. Her storytelling ability has also proven to be a great boon although one that brings merely personal satisfaction to her family and doesn’t generate income or bartering power. She entertains them all with her wide range of tales, interspersed with song, some of which she has taken pains to remember from hearing others tell them, and many of which are her own creations. But her talent for entertaining is starting to spread amongst the villagers and may be bringing her new attentions, although not necessarily welcome ones.


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bill_n_sam's post

Dag swept the back of his hand across his brow, pushing the droplets of sweat aside before they fell into his eyes. Despite the spring chill still lingering in the air, the heat of his forge made his skin glow a ruddy copper and he perspired freely under his woolen tunic. Stopping long enough to strip the tunic over his head and hanging it carefully on the wooden peg protruding from the wall of the shed, he considered returning to his home to retrieve the leather head band he usually wore, to keep the stinging beads from obscuring his sight. But the day marched forward and the work flowed from his head to his hands easily, effortlessly. No, he would not leave the metal, not now.

This morning had been still cold enough for him to delay rising from the warm bed he shared with his wife and small daughter. The sun had risen over the eastern hills as he drowsily watched Gunna preparing the morning meal. When it was ready, he had eaten leisurely, enjoying the baby playing at his feet, his sister-in-law, Mem, chatting merrily to the child and Gunna, making them all laugh with one of her outrageous stories. It wasn’t until the sound of heavy boots crunching on the path outside the door and men calling to one another as the village awoke and began to stir, that he recalled to himself the task for the day. Dag had slipped his arms around his wife, squeezing her comfortably familiar body to his, and said succinctly, “Bring me food at the forge, I’ll be there all day”

Without any comment, Gunna had placed her hand to his cheek and held his gaze for a moment. So much of their communications took place with such looks and gestures, that sometimes it almost seemed that they had no need of words. In the almost four years of their marriage, the young couple had developed a deep sense of rhythm, in their thinking, in their feelings. To Dag, it was a great comfort to have a wife who did not always demand that he talk, talk, talk. It seemed to him some men never shut up – and women more so. Some talked so long and so loud they never even heard what they were saying.

Dag much preferred to listen and to then consider, so much so there were those in this new home of his that had at first thought him simple, or stupid, or deaf. But his reluctance to prove his vocal skills was more than made up for by the skill of his hands at the forge. Soon enough, his new acquaintances were praising how well he could craft a plow blade, or a roasting spit, or, more importantly, a sword, and overlooking his reticence. After all, they needed a smith who could work metal, not spin a tale or tell a joke.

The skill to hammer, to shape, to sharpen, this was what was wanted, and today that want was palpable. The night before, as he has rested after his day’s labor, a heavy pounding had shaken the door to his home. Dag had motioned the women to quiet. As Gunna cradled the child to her breast, he had warily opened the door, his eyes narrowing as one of Ulfast’s men pushed arrogantly inside, not bothering to ask for leave to enter another man’s home. With a slight frown on his face, Dag had listened to the demand - not a mere request, but a demand - for a new sword, a fine sword, wrought of the sturdiest iron and with a keen blade, for the son of Ulfang. It was wanted, he had been told, immediately.

Having no desire to run afoul of any of the three brothers whose father was the chieftain of the Ulfings, and therefore Dag’s own liege lord, and knowing that such a commission, if well executed, would almost certainly increase the value of his other work, Dag still hesitated before granting a simple acknowledgement to the demand. Not that he had any real choice in the matter. These men were known for their viciousness and a refusal would certainly mean a violent retribution of one kind or another. Dag’s hesitation was merely the result of that inner voice which spoke to him when he was stepping into dark territory. The potential for either a rise in fortunes or a fall into disaster was equally as probably when dealing with those who lived for power. But being unable to predict which would be his, and his small family’s, fate, Dag had nodded his head solemnly and said only “Three days hence, he shall have it”.

Dag had set aside his other commissions and set to work on the new weapon at once. If fortune smiled on him, the metal would hold true. The ore had been well smelted and was of high quality. Only the best, for a chieftain’s son. He had lain awake for long hours, carefully going over each step of the making in his mind. Morning found the phantom sword complete, down to the honing of the edge and the crafting of the intricate wire work which would decorate the handle. He had spoken no word of his planned work to Gunna, but as she lay awake beside him through the night, he knew that she was keenly aware that all of their futures lay in her husband’s hands. When had they ever not?

And so, it was with a look of hope mixed with an unvoiced warning to caution, that she had sent him on his way to complete his task. As Dag recalled the gentleness with which she had touched his face earlier, he smiled to himself. Don’t worry, he thought. This will truly be a weapon worthy of a great leader of men.

[Anguirel]

Here's my first post for the game. Mith, if you feel your character isn't quite right do tell.

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EDIT: Added to your character bio post. If edits are needed, please edit it there. Thanks! Pio

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FIRST POST FOR THE GAME


"Yet neither by Wolf, nor by Balrog, nor by Dragon, would Morgoth have achieved his end, but for the treachery of Men."

~~~

For the first year since the Battle of Sudden Flame, it felt as if spring had repelled the pitiless touch of the north, as if the Earthqueen’s power had pervaded Beleriand after a long estrangement. The pair of riders upon iron-grey mounts forded the rivulets off the Gelion, careered through the meadows succoured by the waters beyond its banks, and cut swift, leafy paths through copses.

Only one indication of the danger that this temporary idyll still risked could be discerned – the speed which the riders maintained. It spoke of urgency and intensity. There was something insatiable about the journey of the two Elves, as if even the spans of their lives were limited after all, as if bare months of this vitality remained to be enjoyed, raced through, swigged to their dregs. And so, as it turned out, it came to pass.

But such reflections are suitable only for melancholic lays, for sad dreamers who hope that thinking of the past and lamenting it may bring it back again. Lachrandir, Knight of the Dispossessed, formerly of Thargelion, was no dreamer; and this was not a memory of the past, rather a duty of the present. He galloped on, his eyes on his path, his hands calm and inert at his side, belying the frenetic activity that gripped the messenger and the stallion that bore him. In lieu of a saddle-bag – for his was a high-blooded beast, and he did not presume to sully it with harness and reins, instead riding bareback in the usual Elven fashion – he bore a leather haversack slung across his back; its contents, carefully arranged, did not make a sound or apparently jostle at all on the journey.

The same could not quite be said of the other rider’s burden. There was a strange symmetry about the pair of mounted travellers and their steeds; for they were much of the same stamp in colouring and feature – the Elves dark haired and long-limbed, the horses pale - but one rider and his horse were younger and smaller, with a combination of impetuosity and hesitance that called to mind apprentices before their masters. A jangle of metal now rang out from this younger Elf’s bundle.

“I told you, Tathren, to be careful with the silver,” Lachrandir hectored at him. “We’re riding to a country where nine Men in ten have never seen a coin before; a country still wild and far from tamed with law. The summons we carry is of vital importance, boy; we can’t let it go astray due to some adan thug’s excitement over a glint of...”

“Sorry,” the other said, sounding a little crestfallen.

“Never mind, boy, it’s of little importance. But don’t let it happen again, Tathren.”

Lachrandir gave a short look back at his companion before resuming his watch on the road, spurring his stallion to a slightly higher pace. He has something of his uncle about him, I suppose. He’ll learn yet, he concluded to himself.

~~~

“...Forinasmuch as thou, Ulfang, called the Black, hath been accustomed to owe liege-homage, saving thy dignity amidst the tribes, to us, Caranthir, fourth son of Fëanor, rightful lord of Thargelion but for the false disseisin of the Enemy; by this and by the ties of loyalty between thy vassals and mine, thou art bidden to provide fighting men in service, to the number of seven thousand, under thine own command or under such a proxy as it pleases thee to dispatch, to meet with our own powers and those of our youngest brothers, the Lords Amrod and Amras, on the twenty-seventh day of the month of May; this army being dispatched, under the lordship of our eldest brother Maedhros, Lord of Himring, to avenge upon the Enemy the grievous and perfidious hurts that he hath inflicted. For amongst these art listed the slaying traitorly of our sire and grandsire, the ruin of our realms in the north, and the unlawful withholding of the Silmarilli, greatest work upon Arda, that our father Fëanor crafted, and that we hath sworn, on pain of the Everlasting Darkness, to regain. So it is ordained on this, the eleventh day of April. And we hath sworn, once having raised up this great Union of Maedhros, never to abandon it, and charge thee to swear likewise.”

Such was the main part of the missive of Caranthir, which Lachrandir carried.

~~~

“Lachrandir!” Tathren cried with gladness. “I see smoke rising not far off among homesteads, surrounding a great hall, hewn of oak and ash...”

“I have seen it too, pup,” Lachrandir answered, smiling. “Do not think that my sight is so greatly shadowed by age and toil. That is the rude dwelling of Ulfang, Chieftain of the Southern Easterlings. What do you think of it, lad?”

“Well...” Tathren started, his brow creasing and lips twisting as he tried to find the words. Lachrandir laughed, and his mirth, coming from such a stern visage, was surpassingly bright and clear.

“Well, exactly. I hope you weren’t expecting much in the way of hospitality...this is no Hithlum, Tathren, and it is no Hador Goldenhead who rules it. Put all you have seen and heard of the Edain from your head! This is Easterling country,” Lachrandir murmured, his smile thin now, “and it is another state of affairs altogether.”

They paused in thought for a few moments. Tanreth was the first to speak.

“Stop dawdling, Uncle! Don’t you know the summons we carry is of vital importance?”

“Mind that minstrel’s glib tongue, you,” Lachrandir replied. And I’m not your uncle either; he was a better Elf than I’ll ever be, even if he did charge me with looking after you, young wastrel.

“Very well. Race me, boy,” he added, kicking his horse into a run and charging after the tiny stockade and palisade walls that beckoned in the distance. After a short while the envoy and his page bid their steeds halt in front of the gate into the settlement. As they passed, they had seen the first Ulfings of their journey, who had stared at the towering, fair-featured strangers bearing the star of Fëanor on their tunics in curiosity mixed with no little fright. The guards, too, goggled as they shuffled the gates open. Tathren quickly assumed an air of composure, though he rode tentatively, all too aware that he, an Elf far from mature, towered almost a foot over most of the Ulfings.

In such a manner the envoys reached their journey’s conclusion, passing under the wall where the two banners, Ulfang’s claw and Fëanor’s star on their black field, shifted together in the April breeze.

[piosenniel]

Everyone

Please go back to your original 'character bio' posts and edit in your First Posts there. You can then post afterwards on the thread that you've filled in your first post.

This will make it easier for me when I have to transfer the posts to the game thread.

Thanks in advance!

~*~ Pio

[Folwren]

I will not be around until Monday evening. I will try to write a first post then or Tuesday sometime. In what sort of hurry are we to get these done? I've been trying to think what would be appropriate, and after reading Anguirel's first post, I may have an idea growing. Anyway, we'll see early next week.

Till then!

-- Folwren

[Volo]

I'm sorry, but I have been pretty busy, I'll still write the post and play if you're willing to have a slow person with you. I should also note that I might not have an internet connection during 18-29.10...

[Mithalwen]

Originally Posted by Anguirel

Here's my first post for the game. Mith, if you feel your character isn't quite right do tell.

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Well you have certainly made him come to life ...but you have spoonerised his name ... lacking great inspiration I called him Tathren thinking that willow would be a suitable soubriquet for an elf yet to reach full stature!

Otherwise ..he may never be so vivid again!

[Anguirel]

Hilarious...ah well...I'll make a few corrections.

Tathren, not Tanreth. Tathren, not Tanreth...

[Mithalwen]

Originally Posted by Anguirel

Hilarious...ah well...I'll make a few corrections.

Tathren, not Tanreth. Tathren, not Tanreth...

Well maybe that could be a little foible that Lachrandir always gets his name wrong...as is the way of elders with regard totheir inferiors... you could leave the ones in reported speech... I had a lecturer who couldn't remember my name and insisted on guessing "No! Don't tell me.... "Anastasia! " No "Araminta" ...noooo five minutes later with entire class in stiches " AUdrey! " No it's .... "No! DON'T tell me I'll have it in a minute..."

[Durelin]

Just wanted to let Pio in particular know (just in case) that I made a tiny edit to Thuringwethil's bio, changing her alias.

[Anguirel]

I really like Jord, Durelin. Very successful in creating something succinct, harsh yet moving. In the Brodda line of things.

[Lalaith]

Mother Earth, in fact.
Begat Thor with Odin. I like it, too.

[CaptainofDespair]

Originally Posted by Anguirel

I really like Jord, Durelin. Very successful in creating something succinct, harsh yet moving. In the Brodda line of things.

And speaking of dear Brodda, I will have that bio up within a day or two. A few assignments have bogged me down in that swamp called College.