Bloodstained Elanor Planning/Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

3.) Aylwen Dreamsong – Southron grunt soldier of the Dol Guldur Special Forces (servant of the Captain)

Name: Ehan Fazian

Age: Early twenties

Race: Haradrim

Gender: Male

Weapons: Ehan likes to think that he can do anything with his light, thin rapier. The blade is inscribed with prayers and blessings in his native tongue, while the hilt and pommel are unadorned and carved of plain, dark, but well polished wood. Ehan also carries two daggers given to him by his brother, but rarely, if ever, does he use them. He’s useless with the bow, and could kill himself just trying to get an arrow to fly much less trying to get it to hit any sort of target. Ehan fights like everything is a game, and enjoys every minute spent with his sword in hand.

Appearance: Standing just below six feet, Ehan is built tall and lean like most men of his clan. His brown skin and athletic build are both testament to her heritage and upbringing. Ehan’s face has a noble bone structure, with the stubborn chin and high cheekbones that many of his proud tribe possesses. Only a slight scar beneath his right eye, scraping all the way to his temple and hairline, mars Ehan’s face. His thick, wispy crop of soft, black hair is cut to the bottom of his neck and often falls in his face, framing his boyish face. Ehan’s black eyes are playful and bright, and his lips are often seen upturned in a smile or infected with laughter.

Personality: Ehan takes few things seriously, for at he is still the young, wild boy in spirit that he used to be in body. He treats everything as a game and a new experience, even if it is a task he accomplishes everyday. Ehan likes to make light of any situation, looking on the bright side or at least making a joke about any subject he deems to serious. Ehan never wonders if his childlike persona bothers others, for even if it does he will not change the person he loves to be. He is not so much carefree or happy, as much as he is just simple and blunt. Ehan sees everything in black and white, no greys or in-betweens, for Ehan sees everything with the clarity and simplicity of a child. His inability to take many things seriously might be his downfall, but it hasn’t cost him yet, and has just given him more fuel to do anything he does. When Ehan fights and uses his rapier, he battles in a gallant, brave manner as he thinks a warrior of old would, or perhaps fiercely and passionately as he thinks a squalid corsair would. Ehan’s life is a mockery and imitation of the excitement and adventure he wishes his life really had. Dying does not frighten Ehan, and the only fear that springs from death is the fear that he might not have lived and done all he could.

History: When Ehan was born, his grandfather Faziar was the leader of the clan. He headed a group of mentally and physically strong-willed men and women. Faziar, the namesake of the clan, passed away in battle, along with Ehan’s mother and several others when Ehan was not yet ten years old. At this point, Ehan’s father took over, leading the clan and his four children. Ehan was youngest of three boys and one girl.

Ehan spent a good deal of time with his older sister, who had seniority over him by three years. His sister spun tales and weaved stories of the highest caliber, and these themes and morals were always in his heart. Ehan’s older brothers taught him all there was to know about swordplay, but were at a loss when it came to teaching him how to send an arrow flying. This brought much comedy to the youngest generation of the Fazian clan, but it also brought a few minor injuries until it got to the point where Ehan was not allowed near a bow and quiver.

Ehan’s father passed away in battle when Ehan was fifteen, as did his eldest brother and beloved sister. After losing his best friend, Ehan kept her memory alive by living as the heroes in her stories, or living with the values he thought they would possess. Ehan’s remaining older brother took over, leading the clan with brash abandon that came with his arrogance and cockiness. Ehan’s brother liked to spread his people as thin as he could, dabbling the strong Fazian clan in any skirmishes or situations he could. So, Ehan was sent as representative and leader of a small group of his clan to work with the forces entering Mirkwood, working under Koran.

He sees it as another adventure.

~*~

Aylwen's post

"Come, we must join the rest of the force - I suppose you know the route already?" Ehan relaxed visibly as the man called Koran began to speak in a more friendly manner. The younger easterling let did not hide his amiable expression anymore, though he had already begun to wonder how well his personality would match Koran's. Ehan feared the worst, perhaps a head-on collision and clash between Koran's persona and Ehan's light-hearted simplicity. Still, Ehan pulled himself from the short look into the future and back into the present where he knew his head always belonged, and decided to cross all bridges when he got to them.

"Of course I do, sir!" Ehan cried gallantly, drawing his rapier dramatically and pointing it in the direction of the pathway that led down to where many easterlings had set up camp. Where the orcs were, Ehan did not know, but the thought intrigued him anyway. Seeing such ugly monstrosities brought rise to the blood-thirsty warrior in Ehan, despite the disappointing fact that these 'ugly monstrosities' would be on his side in this whole expedition. What a shame...to think how much fun I could have slaying those things. But there are other enemies. Snapping out of his reverie and realizing that he still stood motionless with his rapier held in the air, Ehan chuckled, embarrassed, and continued, "Yes, right. Onward!" and sheathed his sword.

Ehan led Koran down the path that went downward from the slight hilltop they had formerly been standing on, even though Ehan realized that Koran must have known the route as well. Trying not to kick up dirt on the excursion to the campsites. Ehan looked back once to see Koran looking off into the distance, and the young man wondered if Koran was in another time and place. When the two reached the bottom of the rocky, dusty hill, Ehan turned to face Koran once again. This time, the man hit Ehan with a question before Ehan could say aught else.

"How many has your clan sent with you?" Koran asked, looking at Ehan momentarily before stealing a glance at the sturdy men (and some women) behind Ehan, all the warriors from different tribes and clans.

"Well...I would imagine close to five and ten men...or, well...maybe almost twenty men and women. You know, the Fazian clan has rather strong-minded and strong-bodied ladies, as well. My sister-" Ehan stammered at first, but what should have just been a simple answer turned into a lengthy explanation. When Ehan noticed that Koran didn't seem to have much time for stories, Ehan quieted. "Yes. Well, I would say fifteen strong men and women come from the Fazian clan."

"Right. Good," Koran mused, a light smile playing on his lips.

This is going to turn out to be very interesting...Ehan thought. Yes, I can tell already.

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

5.) Fordim Hedgethistle - Lorien Envoy guard + 2 carry-along guards


Carry-along characters:

Megilaes and Caranbaith

Fraternal twin brothers. They are young Elves, only about three hundred years old, who are being taught the ways of Lorien warfare by Ambarturion, my main character.

They are both armed with bows and the short daggers favoured by the Silvan Elves.

They are both fair haired, but Megliaes is the taller of the two, while Caranbaith has the fairer singing voice.

*-*-*-*-*

Main Character:


NAME: Ambarturion

AGE: 7060

RACE: Elf (Silvan)

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Ambarturion bears a bow of the Galadhrim and an ancient sword of Doriath. The sword is made of white steel and engraved in such a manner that when drawn in moonlight it appears to glow like a descended star. Its blade is long and tapered, as was the manner of weaponry for Elves in the First Age, and the pommel is wrapped in tightly bound cords of supple leather. Upon the crosspiece there is mounted a single pale gem – the last heirloom of his house.

APPEARANCE: Ambarturion is very tall and very graceful, and even among the Elves of Lorien he is known for the extremity of both his beauty and the severity of countenance which mars it. His raven-black hair is cropped just below the shoulders and his keen grey eyes shine with the memory of the fearless dark. His face is stern and proud, but possessed of great nobility and lineage. He wears the grey cloak of Lorien over a simple tunic and doublet of forest green, and his long legs are clad in supple breeches also of forest hue. He bears neither ornament nor jewel. Ambarturion rarely smiles or laughs.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Ambarturion bears himself as one of the Noldor, for he has spent almost his whole life in the company and service of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. His life is defined by the love that binds him to his Lord and Lady, and this is the source both of his greatness and of the distant pride that many remark in him. But for his loyalty to them, Ambarturion would long ago have forsaken Middle-Earth and made the journey to the Grey Havens – as he is ever counselling the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim to do. He cares little for the other folk of Middle-Earth, and is convinced that whether Sauron conquer them or not is of little purpose, for none of their works or deeds has rivalled those of the Elves in the Elder Days. Of all the Free Peoples, he values only the Ents and the Dunedain, but even they are the fallen remnants of a once mightier race.

HISTORY: Born in the First Years of the Sun, Ambarturion was raised within the protection of the Girdle of Melian where Thingol reigned as High King. When he was old enough to enter the service of a lord, he swore fealty to his kinsman Celeborn and to his Lady, beautiful and glorious beyond bearing. Since then, his fate has been bound to that of his Lord and Lady and his life has been the chronicle of his people’s long defeat. His tears at Ninaeth Arnodad were shed for his brother and father who were slain by balrogs in the first charge of the Elves. He beheld with wonder the host of the Valar and their destruction of Thangbad. He marched under the banners of Thingol and Gil-Galad in their defeats of Sauron, and was among those who Galadriel sent to welcome the Faithful back to Middle-Earth at the fall of Numenor. It was upon his return from this journey that his mother told him of her decision to leave Middle-Earth, and he had longed to follow her, for he loved her greatly and their parting was grievous. But the love he bore for Celeborn and Galadriel overcame this desire and his mother departed alone.

Through the long tale of years since then, his thoughts have turned increasingly to the Undying Lands. For the faint echo of the West that he had seen within the Girdle has grown with the years until it has become as a waking dream for him: ever present before his eyes, dulling the small world of mortal folk and leading him further and further away from their troubles. It was a sore trial for him to know that the One Ring had been within the very grasp of his Lady, but that she had let it slip away from her and into the hands of Sauron, borne thence by a race of witless folk unsung and unheralded in any song or tale. His weariness with Middle-Earth has been made more unbearable through the Ages by the constant loss of those companions of his youth who had, like him, sworn fealty to Celeborn in Melian. Many of his friends fell in the endless battles against the servants of Thangbad and then Mordor. The rest have taken their place in the ships that sailed away from these shores. Of all those who had once gathered about Celeborn as his Companions, Ambarturion alone remains.

On the day when he first came to Lothlorien with his Lord, he made the ways of the forest his study, and spent all his energies in preparing for the land’s defence. None among the Elves bore a steadier hand with the bow, and his sword, already tempered by two Ages of service in the war against Melkor and his servants, had been sharpened and renewed through countless years of careful practice. For centuries he has been entrusted with the instruction of younger Elves in the art of war, but he wearied of teaching only, and has taken to wandering the fringes of the Golden Wood for weeks on end, relentlessly prowling and hunting for their enemies. His journeys have taken him further and further afield, as far as the fringes of Mirkwood to the East, and to the Gladden Fields and the Brown Lands to the North and South. And always in these journeys is his purpose the same: to slay the servants of Sauron in order to forestall their inevitable victory for as long as he might, in the hopes that Celeborn and Galadriel will cease their fruitless quest to save Middle-Earth and follow his counsel to take the straight road into the West.

~*~

Fordim Hedgethistle's Post

The light of midday cast Ambartrion’s shadow before him as he strode easily through the long grass of the Vale of Anduin. The party had left the eaves of Lorien in the morning and as always happened when he walked in the outside world, the dull reality of it settled upon him like a fine ash. The trees that stood in clumps about the plain were naked sticks that clung to life in a chill and desolate landscape, little different to him than the Brown Lands to the South. There came to his keen ears from time to time the falling cry of desperate birds and the rush of troubled waters over impertinent stones. He sought the solace of memory, moving in his mind across earth that seemed more real than the solid ground beneath his feet. More and more had he done so of late, to the point where the few companions that he allowed to join him in his journeys outside the Golden Wood became concerned that he was withdrawing from the waking world of Middle-Earth to a point where he could not, perhaps, return. And, indeed, he was always reluctant to leave the lands of memory and rejoin the fallen and stale world of the present reality, and was often curt with those who called him hither.

This time it was his student Caranbaith who called him back. With a light touch on his master’s shoulder, the youth pointed to the distant horizon saying, “If I see aright, the Mirrormere lies before us, and we are heading a bit west of north. Do we not take the long way round to the Woodmen of Mirkwood by this route?” Ambarturion sighed at the youth, impatient with his question. Megilaes, Caranbaith’s brother and also student to Ambarturion, caught the manner of their master’s reaction and quickly held his tongue.

“Your eyes do not deceive you,” he replied quickly. “There is great need of haste put upon us, but these lands are dangerous and we must take what care we can. I intend to lead the ambassadors somewhat west of the Anduin for a day before turning toward the River. There is a place two days’ march from where we shall stop this night where we can ford the waters and then strike north and east to the Woodmen.” Caranbaith nodded quickly and fell silent before the manner of his master. He and his brother had been in his tutelage for only a short time, barely one lifetime of mortal Men, but in that time he had found his master to be impenetrable in many ways. On some days he would answer their questions with patient forbearance of their youth, gently instructing them in the ways of war. On days such as this appeared to be, however, he resented any intrusion to his thoughts and would quickly put down any attempt to interrupt his inner life. Sensing that he would say no more that day, the brothers fell back to walk a few paces behind their master.

And thus did the company proceed through that afternoon. Ambarturion strode along out front, his pace never slackening or changing, his eyes fixed straight ahead, alert to all possible danger, but unseeing of much that passed before the eyes of the others, lost as he was in the world of his youth. Behind him followed his students, who diligently swept the horizon with their keen eyes as they had been taught, ever vigilant against the threats of this uncertain world. Behind them came the ambassadors, with their servant in the rear of the little column keeping watch behind.

[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER

6.) Arvedui III - Mirkwood Elf Scout

Name: Targil

Race: Sindarian male, of Mirkwood

Age: 3016

Weapons: Born and bred for the hunt, the curve of a blade seems to Targil as the sight of a mountaintop sunrise must seem to others. And of blades he has many. Targil carries two arched hunting knives, and a long, tapered razor, which he employs as throwing edge with great efficiency. Although he also bears a bow and a quiver of arrows, he prefers not to use it in matters of the chase. His knives, unadorned with worn leather grips, seem more fair. And although a light, plain dirk in a black sheath rests at his side, he will only draw it for one type of game: Orcs.

Appearance: Targil is like most Sindarian elves in that has fair features and fine blonde hair that falls to about the middle of his back, save for two braids which hand to his shoulders. He stands about 5'11", making him a little shorter than most elves, and his light blue eyes call even more attention to him. As with all scouts, he wears forest colors, usually a green tunic, brown breeches and soft leather boots.

Personality: Intensely quiet, Targil prefers the stillness of the forest to most anything else.. He is young for an elf, and has never left Mirkwood, but does not care for the world beyond his home. It is not that he fears what lies beyond the woods, but that it just is not important to him. With hunting as his all-consuming passion, he couldn't even begin to imagine how leaving Mirkwood would be worth his while. Targil is simple-hearted, and can't quiet grasp the bigger picture, intelligent though he is. He knows the importance of acting quickly, and knows also that this makes him a bit impulsive, even for an elf. To counteract this, Targil tries to keep his world as simple as possible, relishing in the pleasure of his woodland home and becoming no more than a scout. He has never given thought to much else, and wouldn't have it any other way.

History: Born at the beginning of the second age, Targil fell in love with martial crafts when he was very young, and started training at the tender age of 50. Since then he has seldom been at court, though his father is a merchant who deals with the men of Esgaroth and has some influence. He started serving as a scout when he was 2114, where, as he likes to put it, "There is much more honor than necessary for hunting." Several times he has been offered commissions as a lieutenant, but each time has turned them down, preferring others to make decisions, although he won't hesitate to disobey a stupid order. Quite comfortable in the role he plays, he continues to practice his art, unperturbed by the gathering darkness in Mirkwood. Whatever appears, he will hunt it.

~*~

Arvedui III's post

He always liked this time of day best, and a thrill ran down his spine as the rest of the scout troop crouched among the shrubs and underbrush. The uncouth sounds of metal and iron shod moving in unison and the familiar but slightly harsh sounds of a force breaking came, filling him with mingled excitement and dread. This was a hunter's dream, this abundance of game. And yet, it was also quite disturbing that a troop he could not see the end of was moving near Mirkwood. His blue eyes flickered from one orc to another, not lingering on the grime and blackness of their arms, armor, their very skin.

Targil lithely rubbed the grey pommel of the dirk that hung by his side, taking care to make any noise in the dewy morn, grinning quietly at the prospect of the hunt to come. Well, if the captain thought it well to hunt. There was a great many of the foul creatures, but Targil had learned long ago that a good elf was worth at least twenty orcs. Perhaps he was being far too keen, and mentally berated himself for jumping to conclusions again. Whatever Calenvasa thought best to do was what he would do. Yet, of all the officers he has served with, that one was the most pensive. It tried his nerves sometimes, but most of the time the captain was right, so Targil was grateful for the exercise in patience.

A figure with golden armor passed and joined a party of about ten other similarly clad forms, apparently forming up for drill. Targil frowned. Orcs were one thing, but men were an entirely different matter. Now he gave up any thoughts of a hunt this morning. It would be folly to go after such a large party, he finally realized. His brow knotted in frustration as he sensed this troop of orcs and men were far beyond his area of expertise. So much was lately, it shouldn't have surprised him. If orcs and men were marching together, the reason for their marching had to be great, and so too must be their numbers. The group they had spotted today was probably naught more than a detachment in a host far more vast. The thought sent chills down his spine.

Quiet suddenly, he sensed his captain moving, and quickly looked over to see what was happening. Calenvasa glanced briefly around at the small band he commanded, and then motioned to withdraw further into the woods. Targil couldn't have been more grateful for the respite from the tenseness of the underbrush. He turned and tread softly back, making sure to give distance between himself and the other scouts. Relaxing and trusting his ingrained sense of stealth would protect him, Targil glanced back toward the vanishing camp, fear now being replaced by apprehension. He stopped, crouching between two roots, and looked to his captain, and then around at the others. All of them glanced nervously around at each other, each elf not daring to brake the silence, wondering what was to be done about the day's discovery.

Targil only hoped one of them knew, for he surely did not.

[piosenniel]

CHARACTERS NEEDED

Dol Guldur special forces - male

1 Orc captain

1 Orc grunt (slave of the captain?)

~*~

Mirkwood Scouts – 2 males

1 Mirkwood Elf scout

1 Mirkwood Elf scout

~*~

Lorien Envoy to Woodelves

1 Ambassador - female

1 Ambassador - male

1 Servant for the Ambassadors - male or female

~*~

Dol Guldur main forces - male

1 Southron (formerly designated as Easterling) captain

1 Orc grunt

~*~

Cameo

1 Lorien Elven warrior of the defense - male

[piosenniel]

FIRST POSTS MUST BE SUBMITTED WITH YOUR CHARACTER DESCRIPTION

Please read the posts by the Dedicated Characters. You may want to use references in them for your post.

~*~

All character descriptions not accompanied by a First Post will be returned to their writers.

[piosenniel]

Please use this form for creating your character to post on the discussion thread.

It is a requirement that all potential game players in the Shire will have posted in The Green Dragon Inn or have played to completion an RPG on the Barrow Downs.

Those who have not played before in a Shire RPG will be given preference. Final preference, though, will be at the discretion of the Game Owner.
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Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES/NO - Which one?

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

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/NO

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For your character please include:

NAME:

AGE:

RACE:

GENDER:

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.):

APPEARANCE:

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: (No half-Elven characters. No mixed-type characters. No super-heroes. No assassins. No one all powerful, martial arts proficient, or having any magical traits. Just regular characters with normal abilities for their races only):

HISTORY:

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First post:


This is a requirement for this game. Character Descriptions without a First Post attached will be sent back to the writer. They may be submitted again, once there is a First Post to go with them.