Outracing the Flames Discussion Thread - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:37 AM

Dedicated Players: (Their character bios and First Posts will need to be on board before the Discussion Thread is opened.)

1.) Farael
2.) Maeggaladiel
3.) Naria
4.) Tevildo
5.) Undómë
6.) Valier
7.) Arry
8.) Eowyn Skywalker
9.) Nogrod

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:39 AM

CHARACTERS/PLAYERS

Rohan village - Wulfham

1.) Valier – female – 19 y/o - Vaenosa
2.) Naria – female - 18 y/o - Incana
3.) Tevildo - male – 16 y/o (passes for 18) - Dorran
4.) Arry – male – 20 y/o - Brand

~*~

Outlander village - Bregoware

1.) Undómë – female – 17y/o - Meghan --- (carry-along character - male - 42 y/o - Rædwald)
2.) Farael – male – 20y/o - Osmod (Osse)
3.) Maeggaladiel – male – 18y/o - Fion
4.) Eowyn Skywalker – 20y/o - Eostre Merir
5.) Nogrod - Sythric

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:41 AM

Arry’s character

NAME: Brand,

AGE: 20 years old

RACE: Men

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: An old short sword, plain blade with leather wrapped grip – passably fair at using it. An all purpose double edged knife he always wears on his belt – uses it throughout his daily routine. Weapon of choice is his stout oak cudgel he uses when out with the small flock of sheep belonging to his family.

APPEARANCE: 5’ 6”, 140 lbs; fair skinned with an uneven light tan; lean build, lithely muscled; straw blond hair, chopped off just below the shoulders and bound back with a leather thong. Dark blue eyes. Wears dark brown breeches, homespun tunic, brown leather belt with a brass buckle. Scuffed mid-calf boots Has a tightwoven cloak his mother made him – light brown.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Brand is a quiet, even tempered, dependable fellow. Hardworker. Likes to see a task through to the very end. He likes the rhythm of the old ways, or so he calls them, doesn’t care much for change, and can be quite suspicious of any who live outside his village. He weighs almost everything in light of how it will benefit his family first and then his townsmen. He is, of course, a loyal man to his King, and would knock anyone down with a blow from his cudgel who’d gainsay him. The King, though, is more a vague idea to him than a real man.

HISTORY: He comes from a long line of sheep farmers, and as the only son, he expects to take over the running of the family farm when he is older. He has two sisters, both older than he by several years – Hilde and Winnifred. They are married and plague him constantly with invitations to meet what they consider suitable matches for him. He is not in the market for a wife at present. He has projects about the family farm he wants done before he starts thinking of a family. He’s not traveled much – just those times with the flock as he moved them from grassy area to grassy area. And never across The Great River. Those times they move to summer pasture, he rides among them on his sturdy chestnut mare; his hound running at his side, keeping the sheep together. Dog and horse are as even tempered as their master.

Over the past year, the villagers have heard rumors of Orc and East-men pushing against the outlying borders of those little hamlets that lie just east of the river and beyond. Brand has pushed down the panic and fear those stories first brought him. Now he is determined to figure out some way he can be of use in the protection of his family, his village, and the livelihoods that sustain them.

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FIRST POST FOR THE GAME FOR THE ROHAN VILLAGERS

Arry’s post

The iron bell that hung in the wooden tower above the Lord of Wulfham’s mead-hall rang out in the dark watches of the night. Aldwulf, the march-warden for this far eastern area of the Riddermark, sat in his carved chair giving orders to his wife and sons. They moved quietly and efficiently about him – pushing back benches and tables to make room for the crowd they knew would soon be there; heating up kettles of water for the hot tea the cold and tired villagers would need to hear the news.

Aldwulf rubbed his thumb along his coarsely bearded jawline. It was a nervous habit of his, helped him keep his focus he told himself. Tonight that was a lie. He couldn’t focus, not yet. The news was still too fresh. It made his gut ice cold to think of the horror that was coming their way.

A messenger had come earlier in the evening from one of the small hamlets a week’s ride north of Wulfham. The smoke they’d been seeing on the far hills now had a hideous face he’d told them. Orcs and men from the east-lands had made their way near to The Great River. A number of Outlander villages that lay in their path had been razed – the houses and barns burned to the ground, the people killed. The headman for the messenger’s village had sent him and a number of other messengers out to warn those who dwelt near them. And he, himself, had been sent by the headman to let the marchwarden know what was happening.

Questioned by Aldwulf, the man told him that many of the villages were heading to safety. A number to small fortressed hills further westward and some even making the long march to Edoras. ‘It is said,’ the messenger told him, that some great power to the south and east of us presses against the Mark and would swallow us one by one, until his shadow covers the grasslands and we are no more.’

The man would not stay once his message was delivered and the lord’s questions answered. He took a quick meal, a cup of ale. and then was on his way, riding back to intercept his own village’s flight to a place of safety.

‘Rouse yourself, Aldwulf,’ he heard his wife say as he considered the choices before him. ‘The crowd is come through the gate and will soon enter the hall.’ She handed him his thick vest to put on, for it was still cool in the hall, thought they’d piled the grates with wood and the flames licked at the offering hungrily. He tied back his grey shot hair with the piece of cord she gave him next and stood up before his chair as the villagers entered.

^*^*^*^

Brand squeezed along the south wall of the hall, making his way to a place nearer the raised platform where the Lord stood, talking to the heads of some of the more prosperous families in the village as well as the man who captained his small company of warriors. Brand waved off the offer of tea, focusing his gaze on that core of decision makers. Something big was happening and those who saw to the welfare of the village were discussing what should be done.

Aldwulf finished speaking to the men near him and motioned for the crowd to attend him. With an economy of words he explained the situation – that a messenger had come and the news bode ill for Wulfham. In the space of a few days, he would expect the villagers to pack up their belongings and be ready to move themselves and their animals to the safety of the King’s own city. The warriors would ride with them for protection, he told the people, many of whom were already muttering about the plan, both from fear and from the tumultuous turn they knew their lives would soon be taking.

Many questions were shouted at Aldwulf. And he took them as calmly as he could, giving as much assurance as he could to his frightened and angry people. When the asking was all done, and the ruffled feelings smoothed over for the moment, he raised his hand again, calling for quiet.

‘I have need of a small party of volunteers,’ he said, his gaze going about the room. ‘Fast riders to bring this news to Edoras. The King will want to protect his people and to do so he will need to know what we have learned. I would send some of my own armed men, but I want them all with us as we travel.’

His eyes rested on a number of folk about the hall and then moved on. ‘Four young people, those for whom others can pick up their responsibilities is what I want . . . what Wulfham needs.’ He nodded toward the captain of his men who began moving through the crowd with three other of his warriors.

Brand watched as three of them clapped their hands on the shoulders of a young villager each and led him or her . . . for there were two females he noted with some astonishment . . . to where the march-warden waited. ‘Poor sods,’ he murmured to himself, thanking his lucky stars that he did not stand among them.

Much to his surprise and dismay a voice rang out behind him. ‘There you are!’ the captain, himself, said, drawing near. He grasped Brand’s shoulder and urged him firmly toward the others.

A short while passed and villagers began to return to their houses, most to begin the long job of sorting through what they would need to bring; many to weep at what they must leave behind.

Brand and his chosen companions were told to go home and get what rest they could. Aldwulf would see them back at the hall midmorning to instruct them on what he wished them to do. ‘Bring your horses and what weapons you might have,’ he told them. ‘My house will fill your packs with food for traveling and with drink for several days' journey. You will leave directly then for the King with my written message.’

He nodded to them once he had finished speaking and then wishing them well, dismissed them to their beds.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:45 AM

Valier's Character

Name: Vaenosa

Age: 19

Race: Men

Gender: Female

Weapons:Handmade bow and quiver of arrows.Fairly good shot from horse back.Two small daggers,both homemade with red dyed leather hilts,hidden under her riding tunic.

Appearance:5'8 Slender,but with feminine curves.Mid back length, hay coloured hair that tended to curl(annoyingly)Hard,peircing blue eyes. Delicate facial features.Wears a tan riding outfit that consists of: pants,tunic,dark brown boots laced to the knee,and a brown leather hip pouch which belonged to her father.

Personality/Strenghts/Weaknesses: Cold,shy,quick to judge,untrusting.Has a sort of macabre sense of humor.Slightly obsessive with everything she attempts .Loyal to all those that she loves. Over confident, thinks things would be done better if she did them herself.Very self reliant, almost anti-social.

History: Lived on a small farm,that mostly grew crops for the surrounding farms.She is an only child.Her father died when she was 10.Her mother raised her by herself until she fell ill.Then Vaenosa cared for her.Has travelled.Always on her own with her chestnut stallion named Nay,who is a silly, giddy,fellow that loves to run.She never visited many towns,just watched the counry side fly by.

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Valier's Post

Vaenosa turned her back to the crowd and grasped her mother's hand firmly, leading her towards the small stage that was set up in the town hall. "Vaenosa you must go child! Do not worry about this old woman, I will be fine. I will go with one of our kindly neighbours,do not fret!" "Mother I will not leave you,not in your condition! Who will care for you? You are not strong enough,you need me here with you."

As they approached the stage, the MarchWarden was requesting volunteers to ride ahead with a letter for the King. Vaenosa felt a slight squeeze in her hand. Sighing deeply she turned around again to her ailing mother. " No mother I insist I stay here with you!" But the look of determination in the sick woman's eyes, melted Her heart. Before she could try and reason with the woman again,she felt a push from behind. Hands grabbed her from the front and lead her away.With one last look at her mother, Vaenosa raised her head high and walked towards where the other volunteers stood.

After receiving praise from the March Warden, he dismissed them all to their houses, to return in the Morn with weapons and horse. Then he would fill them all in on their duties.

Vaenosa was dazed. Almost walking in a fog, she found her way outside without looking for her mother.The cool air hit her face, bringing some colour back to her ashen cheeks. Then came the small frail arm, touching her own. "This my daughter is all I ask of you before I go......Please save this town,Get help while we still can! Your Father loved this town, as I do. I would love for this to be your place. For you children and your children's children. Please go."

With shoulders slumped and head hung low, Vaenosa let herself be led back slowly to the place she called home.

Awaking the next morning to he mothers wracking coughs, the day before came flooding back."Well there's no chance I'm getting out of this now,I may as well make the best of it." Vaenosa was reluctant to put all her energy into the thought of the long road ahead,for if she did she would be set to accomplish what ever was asked of her, to the fullest extent. This scared her to her very core. Yet she would put on a brave face and say goodbye to her mother,maybe for the last time.

After a teary goodbye and a promise to stay safe, Vaenosa packed a travelling pack with some extra clothing and equipment. She was accustom to carring only what was essential, to let Nay go as fast as he pleased. Walking out to the stables, lifted her spirits some due to the slight Autumn breeze.

Nay was prancing in his stall and throwing his head back in anticipation. She had not let him run the day before and now he knew she was taking him out. "alright my friend,lets go." She jumped smoothly on to his blanketed back and without another look back, she started down the road to the town.

Tying Nay outside took alot longer than it should have, Vaenosa was still nervous about the whole thing. There was three other people she would be traveling with, and she was sure they would just get in the way. Taking three deep breaths she walked up the steps and through the door.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:46 AM

Naria's character

Name: Incana

Age: 18

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Weapons: She would carry a rock thrower of sorts made of a long piece of leather looped and attached to a y-shaped hard wood stick. She has a pouch for carrying her rocks for her rock thrower- slung over her shoulder. She would also carry a simple utility knife long enough to do some damage if need be.

Appearance: Incana has long dark blonde hair almost brown that she keeps tied back in a half ponytail. Eyes that seem to change their colour with her mood; sometimes a gold colour sometimes a hazel green. She is 5'6" and weighs in at a whopping 115lbs. She would have pale skin compared to most of the other villagers, but very rosy cheeks. She usually wears a wrap tunic made of leather and lined with angora, that her mother made for her and leather leggings. She has a pair of high leather boots that she wears this time of year that tie up around her calves.

Personality, strengths, weaknesses: She has a great personality, at least that's what her parents say, she is always bubbly and full of life. She is usually the voice of reason when a problem arises. But, Incana is quite bull headed at times when she wants to be usually ending her in hot water.

History: Her father is the village horse breeder and works hard on there farm tending to the horses and goats. Her mother is a seamstress using the goat wool for angora. Her mother would have also worked on the farm tending to the goats, chickens and horses. She is the only child of her parents, her mother had a hard time during labor with Incana and didn't want to risk losing her life with another one. Because her father was a horse breeder he would have to travel great distances at times to sell his stock therefore, Incana was used to being by herself although she didn't mind being alone she often wondered what else there could be outside her village for her. She had learned a lot of the techniques that her mother had taught her and wouldn't have minded putting them to use some day. She often muttered to herself "why does no man want to take me as his bride?" She always thought that she was missing something in her life, besides having no family of her own or husband at her age, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. They have a herd of 15 horses and two of them were not to be ridden, "they are strictly for breeding!"her father would say. So she always had her pick of which to ride on any day. Because of his generous nature, her father had built a smaller house off to the side of theirs in case someone from out of town would need a place to stay. Her uncle was that person, he said he was only going to stay for a week or two but it's turned out to be two years now. Incana liked to watch her uncle practice his archery she thought, for being an older man, that he was the best that she had ever seen. He was also very good in tracking and taught Incana a few tricks of the trade.

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Naria's Post:

Incana and her mother were getting ready for bed when her father and uncle came crashing through the door. "Something is going on in the town square" her father exclaimed. "We heard the bell ring, must be very important." said her uncle. With their night dress on and lanterns in hand , Incana and her mother hurried outside with her father and uncle leading the way. "It's a good thing that we reside nearby else you ladies would be catching a chill this night." her uncle said trying to lighten the mood.

Approaching the centre of town they noticed a large group of people had already arrived. Some they recognized some they did not. "I wonder where these people have come from that I have not seen before." Incana said with concern in her voice. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing that we should be too concerned about." her mother said not quite convincing herself of that.
The four of them walked through the crowd and into the town hall where there were even more people that they had and had not seen. Incana was starting to feel overwhelmed and scared. She took her father's hand and held it tightly. Her father, straining to hear, heard what sounded like a plea for help from an older man in the sea of villagers. With Incana's hand still tight in his they weaved around people until they were closer to the stage.

The MarchWarden had given his speech to everyone and after listening to him, Encana's parents couldn't believe what they had just heard. "He can't be serious Sending our young ones out like that." Her father said in obvious disdain about the idea. There was some quarreling back and forth among some other parents and it was getting louder and louder. The MarchWarden banged his staff on the stage floor twice. All went silent. "I implore all of the young people of Rohan, come forth if yea shall volunteer for this task." Incana felt a pain in her stomach and a pull in her that she could not ignore. She slowly loosened her grasp of her father's hand and walked even closer to the stage. "NO!" cried her mother "I won't let you do this." Incana picked her mother up off of the floor, wiped away her tears and whispered into her ear, "I'll be ok. Don't fret mother I will come back to you. I have to do this." And with that Incana raised her hand.

With barely any sleep Incana awoke the next morning to find that it wasn't a dream that had kept her tossing but a cold reality. Her mother had been up before her daughter that morning and prepared and packed some food and extra clothing for the journey. Her father came inside and wiped away some dirt off of his face. Incana couldn't help but notice that the dirt had smudged even though it wasn't hot enough outside this time of year. She felt tears well up in her eyes and threw herself into her father's arms. He pulled her back and told her that the horse was ready while he walked into another room. Incana heard muffled sobs; she wanted to go and be with her father but she changed her mind. Her mother hugged her only child and said good-bye and told Incana that she loved her. Incana put the food pack around her waist and went outside where her horse was waiting tied to a post. She fastened her weapons to the side of the horse sighed deeply, mounted and made her way to the town.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:47 AM

Tevildo's character

NAME: Dorran

AGE: 16, but passes as 18

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Dorran cherishes a sturdy bow and knife that were passed down to him by his father. He has some skill with these weapons in hunting and cleaning game. He has a sling fashioned from soft leather, which is the weapon he prefers to use when protecting farm animals from annoying pests like snakes and rodents or in bringing down small prey to feed himself and his sister.

APPEARANCE: Dorran is a tall but slender lad with a shock of brown curly hair, skin that is darker than most in the village, and earnest brown eyes. His serious expression and somber demeanor make him look considerably older than his actual age of sixteen years. Dorran wears a pair of mended breeches, a shirt, and a homespun vest that have all seen better days. His pockets generally bulge with the rocks that he always keeps nearby in case an unsuspecting rabbit comes darting across his path. Around his neck hangs a simple thong with a copper medallion that he keeps tucked underneath his shirt. Dorran has a way of blending quietly into his surroundings so that few of those who pass by even notice him. He generally prefers it that way.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Dorran's personality seemingly matches his quiet and unassuming outer appearance. He keeps much to himself out of choice and necessity. He lacks the protection that comes from having a cynical tongue to lash out at others or an adult protector. His manner is steady and cooperative, but he gives little hint to the outside world of what his real feelings are. He lacks confidence, thinks little of his own abilties, and tends to live from day-to-day, not caring much about the future. In reality, he is an extraordinarily gifted young lad who has managed to provide for himself and his younger sister despite enormous adversity.

HISTORY: Dorran and his sister Creide, now twelve years old, came to the village of Wulfham when they were tiny children, brought there from some identified place that lay towards the east by an elderly maiden aunt. Neither of the trio ever spoke of what had become of the childrens' parents. Whatever difficulties had befallen the family, Dorran and Raven kept the story to themselves. The aunt was a poor seamstress, barely holding body and soul together. Both Dorran and Creide had to be sent out in service at a very young age. After helping out in the households of several farmers in the region, the children found their way into the employ of Lord Aldwulf: Creide as a scullery maid and Dorran in the stables. With the passing of their elderly aunt, the march-warden and his lady had taken pity on the two and let them bed down in a tiny cellar room that faced onto the courtyard. The children are well behaved and generally accepted by the other villagers, yet now and then someone mentions in a whisper that the two were originally from outside the area, and no one knows from where they came.

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Tevildo's post

Dorran sat up with a start, threw off the covers, and leapt to his feet, hurrying over to the door and throwing it open. The sun had risen several hours before. He had managed to sleep through the cock's welcoming cry and all the hustle and bustle that had gone on in the courtyard, an area that stood only a short distance from the doorway of their tiny shed. Quickly sweeping his eyes over the area in front of the main hall, Dorran could see that preparations for their journey were well under way. The horses had been saddled and were snorting with impatience to be off. Several of the party had already arrived and were saying their final goodbyes to well wishers and friends.

Pummelling his fist into his other palm in frustration, Dorran turned and glared back at Criede. His sister was seated at the small table and was putting the finishing touches on a large sack of provisions that she meant for her brother to carry with him. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Dorran demanded. "I intended to be up and about. And what are you doing with all that food? The Master said he'd supply us with whatever we needed."

"Perhaps so," retorted the younger girl. "But this may be the last time for a while that you get a taste of my biscuits and apple tart. I thought you might like it." She stared back at him and then boldly stuck out her tongue. One moment Criede could be serious and adult, and the next moment acting just like a child.

"Alright, alright." His tone had softened considerably. "You've got me there. But still, I should have been up at dawn. What about the watering and feeding of the horses?" He stopped for a moment and shook his head, "It isn't like me..."

Criede interrupted before her brother could say another word, "The Master said I was to let you lie abed. You were up late helping him to gather the things that the group would need today. He wanted you to get some sleep before you began your journey. Anyways, it's only a few steps out to the courtyard, and you'll be ready to leave."

"Well enough, I suppose," he conceded with a sigh. "Promise be you'll be good, Criede, and do what the Lady says, and that you'll mind her on the road. She says you're to sleep in the hall with the other maids until you all leave together so you won't be out here on your own."

"I'd rather stay here," she objected. "This is my home."

"No more trouble now. Just do as the mistress says. When she says it's time to leave, you must go with her. She has always been kind to us and I expect you to behave. I'll see you soon in Edoras so you have nothing to fear."

"Alright, I promise. But why are you going early? You don't have to, you know. The Lord wouldn't make you. I'm sure of it."

"No, he wouldn't make me. But I want to go. I would never feel right being here and doing nothing, not knowing the danger the whole realm is in. Anyways," he muttered through gritted teeth, "not if I could do something to strike a blow at the likes of them."

Criede glanced up sideways at her taller brother, "You don't expect to see any of. those, those.... things on the road."

"I don't know but I don't expect so. They're still off to the east, or so I heard the Master talking. But if I do meet one, he won't live till another day. They are evil through and through. They have no soul, no heart, only blackness." There was real animosity in the lad's voice, the tone of one who knows more than what he says.

"Promise me, Dorran." his sister responded. "Promise me that you won't do anything foolish. You're the only family I have."

"I promise. I'm not a fool. And being dead isn't something I want to do for a long time. Anyways, dead men can't fight Orcs."

With that final thought, Dorran reached down and gave his sister a final hug, and raced out into the open courtyard to join the others who were just mounting up.

piosenniel · 01-21-2006, 12:48 AM

Farael's character

NAME: Osmod (Osse)

AGE: 20

RACE: Human

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: An old but well cared for short sword that belonged to his grandfather. Back on those days it had a pattern drawn on the blade but it has long been erased. The grip is simple leather, comfortable if not very luxurious. Also, Osmod carries a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. While living outside the town and caring for his cattle he had had to deal with predators more than once and he was a good archer. Much better than a swordsman anyway.

APPEARANCE: Tall, around six feet, and in good shape as he was often looking after his father's cattle. Dark black hair cut rather short, about two inches above his shoulders. He wears simple home made breeches and tunic, both light brown and a black leather belt. His boots and cloak belonged to his grandfather before him, during his times as a rider in the armies of Thengel King, father of Theoden.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: A shy and quiet man, he enjoys the wonders of nature and peace. He has been raised to work hard on the task at hand, which ever that may be. He is extremely loyal to both the King of Rohan (even if he now lives outside the boundaries of the country) and his friends.

HISTORY: Even though Osmod's family is very wealthy, his father has always made him work for what he wanted. As soon as he was of age, Osmod was sent to look after his father's cattle and he loved it. The wide open spaces, the company of animals... much simpler than that of men with all the lies and pretended friendships. His horse, a strong dark brown gelding, is all the company he needs, and all the company he seeks more often than not.

Ever a lover of nature and peace, when peace was shattered and nature threatened by the invading orcs and men, Osmod wanted to join the King's army and fight them back, as his grandfather had done. Yet as the March-Warden had asked for volunteers to run to Edoras and alter the King, Osmod knew it was his best opportunity to help his family and the few friends he had. Their only hopes rested on a quick ride to the King's palace and an even faster ride to rescue the harrased villagers.

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Farael's post ------------ FIRST POST FOR OUTLANDERS

The long, slow wail of a horn arose those living close to the Town Hall. The sound of horns was taken up and repeated by others as they awoke and soon all the town had rose to the sound of alarm. The March-Warden Horwald was calling for a town meeting. It had not happened since the times of Brego King, many lives of men before, that this emergency call had sounded in the middle of the night. There was no man alive who had been born then, but still the villagers responded as they had trained themselves to do.

Upon receiving the disturbing news in the middle of the night, Horwald had ordered his eldest son to sound the alarm but he had not shared the dire news with anyone. It was the right of all the townspeople to learn about the incoming dangers at the same time. After making their respective horn calls, the people of Bregoware had started to make their way towards the Town Hall. As this town was mostly a farming community, it had been the best part of two hours before all the families were represented. Mostly men had answered the distress call, but in dangerous times like these some brave women had joined their husbands and fathers.

With a sigh, Horwald raised his hand to ask for silence. He was proud to see the look of worry in the faces of men untainted by fear. Soon that would be no more, as the news he had to tell them were ones no March-Warden had ever been forced to say in this town. A tense silence was finally achieved and so Horwald, son of Leodwald addressed his people. They were his, his responsibility. As he repeated them the words of the messenger, who at the time had long ran off to meet with his own townspeople, he saw even the bravest of his men frowning. Bregoware had been harassed by easterlings and even a party of orcs before, but the news were that of a marching army not a wild group of bandits. The people had followed him through the hardships of living outside the boundaries of the Kingdom of Rohan and they trusted him. They would follow him if he ordered them to abandon their houses. They would follow him if he ordered them to retreat into the fortified city and prepare themselves for what could be a long siege. But as he looked into his people’s faces, he could not bear the thought that in the next weeks some of them would die, no matter what choice he made.

Osmod was awaken by the alarm cries of his own family’s horn. He ran up to his father’s chambers to find him standing by the window, blowing at the horn that had belonged to his grandfather. He could hear the distinct sound of other horns at the distance, but more worrying to his mind was the sound of his mother crying. Leofwen had always been a strong woman; she had even ridden against an invading group of bandits in her youth.

The alarm sound was soon picked up by other families and father and son readied themselves for the ride to the Town Hall. They chose their fastest horses and carried their swords with them. Osmod did not have a sword that belonged to him and so he ‘borrowed’ his grandfather’s. It had been hanging on the wall since the day Osbearn had returned from the ranks of Thengel King.

They were one of the last people to arrive, as his father’s lands were far outside the town, but many of the men present allowed them to make their way closer to where the March Warden was standing. Horwald’s face was grim and soon they learned why. First there was silence. Then the yelling started. The opinion that was voiced the loudest was that of war. They had defended themselves from those orkish bandits before, they would do it again. Yet soon common sense sank in and they realized they would fight a loosing battle that would be over before it even got started. The men still wanted to fight, many of them were gripping their swords hilts already. Yet as they looked around the room and saw the women present, they understood they could not let their families die for their pride. Soon the room was silent and the March Warden announced what they all dreaded. The city was to be emptied by noon on the following day. They would march towards Edoras, protected by the warriors of the town.

As everyone was reading themselves to go back to their houses and start preparing for the long escape, a voice was heard on the back of the room. Osmod could not tell if it had been a man or a woman who had spoken, he could not tell even if it had been any older than himself. Yet the words were true. Marching armies could run faster than retreating towns and even if they left on the first light the following day, they might not make it to Edoras before the orcs caught up with them. At least some riders would need to be sent to alert The King and bring back help.

Silence fell upon the room again as they saw the March Warden deliberating with his main counsellors. When he looked up, his face was stern and decided. Four of their fastest riders would go ahead of the main group. Yet he could spare none of his warriors and so volunteers would be needed. Osmod’s hand moved towards the hilt of his sword even before Horwald had finished the call for volunteers. Never before had anyone but the March Warden heard those words and never before had they been meant for anything other than teaching the March Warden his duties and responsibilities. “Who among the people of Bregoware will answer my call? Who among us braves will show to be the bravest? Who will risk pain and death for the greater good of his people?”

The room fell silent, interrupted only by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. One volunteer had accepted the call. Soon two more swords were raised over the heads of their brave owners. One last volunteer was needed yet the room had fallen silent again. Osmod closed his eyes and tensed his grip on the sword. Almost without him knowing, he unsheathed his grandfather’s sword. He had answered the call for help.

Voices were heard at the back of the room and spread out quickly towards the front. Soon all the gathered townspeople were discussing the names of the volunteers. Everyone seemed to want to talk to Osmod and grab his arm. He had shown to be as brave as his grandfather Osbearn had been, they said. He had shown to be great among the great of his town. But Osmod knew he had shown nothing yet. He was still safe inside the walls of the village and there were many dangers to confront before he would even consider himself to be brave.

Horwald dismissed everyone but the volunteers and their families – it would have been pointless and cruel to force them appart now when they would be parting soon enough, perhaps for ever- who stayed and gathered close to him. He praised the volunteers sincerely and offered them his help in anything they needed. He would provide them with food and water, as well as fast horses if they lacked one. Of course, they all had good horses, but it was a great compliment to be offered a horse by the March Warden himself. After the March Warden had spoken, Osmod asked of him only one thing. The sword he carried was old and the edge was dull. He wanted to carry his grandfather’s sword and would very much appreciate it if the March Warden could have it sharpened for him. Horwald granted him his wish, as he granted everything the others asked. They stayed until it was long past midnight discussing the best strategy for their ride, but they all agreed that there was no way of knowing what they would find and so no way of making accurate plans. The town of Bregoware would have to trust on their rider’s skill and intelligence. And as most of them made their way to their respective houses, they knew their trust had not been misplaced.

Osmod rode back to his father’s estate. His father had been uncommonly silent since he had volunteered himself and they rode in silence towards the big house. After they left the horses in the stables, Osmod’s father asked him to wait on the hall before retreating to his own room. Osmod complied and sat down on the cold floor, feeling more comfortable there than on the sturdy chairs. He scrambled up to his feet as he heard his father walking back in and could not help to gasp when he saw what he was carrying. His father had his own longbow on one hand, the finest quality weapon his family had. But what surprised the son was the family horn in his father’s left hand. It belonged to his father, it had belonged to his grandfather before and to his father before then. “Son, it has been our family tradition that the father of the house gives this horn to his son on the day of their wedding. I know not if I shall live to see that great day and this is why I want you to have it. It may be of assistance to you and I know our ancestors will forgive me for breaking our long held tradition”. As Osmod laid sleepless on his bed, he told himself that nothing would go wrong as he had the protection of those who had fought the same enemy before and won.

01-21-2006, 12:37 AM	#1
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Dedicated Players: (Their character bios and First Posts will need to be on board before the Discussion Thread is opened.) 1.) Farael 2.) Maeggaladiel 3.) Naria 4.) Tevildo 5.) Undómë 6.) Valier 7.) Arry 8.) Eowyn Skywalker 9.) Nogrod Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 08:07 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:39 AM	#2
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	CHARACTERS/PLAYERS Rohan village - Wulfham 1.) Valier – female – 19 y/o - Vaenosa 2.) Naria – female - 18 y/o - Incana 3.) Tevildo - male – 16 y/o (passes for 18) - Dorran 4.) Arry – male – 20 y/o - Brand ~~ Outlander village - Bregoware* 1.) Undómë – female – 17y/o - Meghan --- (carry-along character - male - 42 y/o - Rædwald) 2.) Farael – male – 20y/o - Osmod (Osse) 3.) Maeggaladiel – male – 18y/o - Fion 4.) Eowyn Skywalker – 20y/o - Eostre Merir 5.) Nogrod - Sythric Last edited by piosenniel; 05-19-2006 at 12:14 AM.

01-21-2006, 12:41 AM	#3
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Arry’s character NAME: Brand, AGE: 20 years old RACE: Men GENDER: Male WEAPONS: An old short sword, plain blade with leather wrapped grip – passably fair at using it. An all purpose double edged knife he always wears on his belt – uses it throughout his daily routine. Weapon of choice is his stout oak cudgel he uses when out with the small flock of sheep belonging to his family. APPEARANCE: 5’ 6”, 140 lbs; fair skinned with an uneven light tan; lean build, lithely muscled; straw blond hair, chopped off just below the shoulders and bound back with a leather thong. Dark blue eyes. Wears dark brown breeches, homespun tunic, brown leather belt with a brass buckle. Scuffed mid-calf boots Has a tightwoven cloak his mother made him – light brown. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Brand is a quiet, even tempered, dependable fellow. Hardworker. Likes to see a task through to the very end. He likes the rhythm of the old ways, or so he calls them, doesn’t care much for change, and can be quite suspicious of any who live outside his village. He weighs almost everything in light of how it will benefit his family first and then his townsmen. He is, of course, a loyal man to his King, and would knock anyone down with a blow from his cudgel who’d gainsay him. The King, though, is more a vague idea to him than a real man. HISTORY: He comes from a long line of sheep farmers, and as the only son, he expects to take over the running of the family farm when he is older. He has two sisters, both older than he by several years – Hilde and Winnifred. They are married and plague him constantly with invitations to meet what they consider suitable matches for him. He is not in the market for a wife at present. He has projects about the family farm he wants done before he starts thinking of a family. He’s not traveled much – just those times with the flock as he moved them from grassy area to grassy area. And never across The Great River. Those times they move to summer pasture, he rides among them on his sturdy chestnut mare; his hound running at his side, keeping the sheep together. Dog and horse are as even tempered as their master. Over the past year, the villagers have heard rumors of Orc and East-men pushing against the outlying borders of those little hamlets that lie just east of the river and beyond. Brand has pushed down the panic and fear those stories first brought him. Now he is determined to figure out some way he can be of use in the protection of his family, his village, and the livelihoods that sustain them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- FIRST POST FOR THE GAME FOR THE ROHAN VILLAGERS Arry’s post The iron bell that hung in the wooden tower above the Lord of Wulfham’s mead-hall rang out in the dark watches of the night. Aldwulf, the march-warden for this far eastern area of the Riddermark, sat in his carved chair giving orders to his wife and sons. They moved quietly and efficiently about him – pushing back benches and tables to make room for the crowd they knew would soon be there; heating up kettles of water for the hot tea the cold and tired villagers would need to hear the news. Aldwulf rubbed his thumb along his coarsely bearded jawline. It was a nervous habit of his, helped him keep his focus he told himself. Tonight that was a lie. He couldn’t focus, not yet. The news was still too fresh. It made his gut ice cold to think of the horror that was coming their way. A messenger had come earlier in the evening from one of the small hamlets a week’s ride north of Wulfham. The smoke they’d been seeing on the far hills now had a hideous face he’d told them. Orcs and men from the east-lands had made their way near to The Great River. A number of Outlander villages that lay in their path had been razed – the houses and barns burned to the ground, the people killed. The headman for the messenger’s village had sent him and a number of other messengers out to warn those who dwelt near them. And he, himself, had been sent by the headman to let the marchwarden know what was happening. Questioned by Aldwulf, the man told him that many of the villages were heading to safety. A number to small fortressed hills further westward and some even making the long march to Edoras. ‘It is said,’ the messenger told him, that some great power to the south and east of us presses against the Mark and would swallow us one by one, until his shadow covers the grasslands and we are no more.’ The man would not stay once his message was delivered and the lord’s questions answered. He took a quick meal, a cup of ale. and then was on his way, riding back to intercept his own village’s flight to a place of safety. ‘Rouse yourself, Aldwulf,’ he heard his wife say as he considered the choices before him. ‘The crowd is come through the gate and will soon enter the hall.’ She handed him his thick vest to put on, for it was still cool in the hall, thought they’d piled the grates with wood and the flames licked at the offering hungrily. He tied back his grey shot hair with the piece of cord she gave him next and stood up before his chair as the villagers entered. ^^^^ Brand squeezed along the south wall of the hall, making his way to a place nearer the raised platform where the Lord stood, talking to the heads of some of the more prosperous families in the village as well as the man who captained his small company of warriors. Brand waved off the offer of tea, focusing his gaze on that core of decision makers. Something big was happening and those who saw to the welfare of the village were discussing what should be done. Aldwulf finished speaking to the men near him and motioned for the crowd to attend him. With an economy of words he explained the situation – that a messenger had come and the news bode ill for Wulfham. In the space of a few days, he would expect the villagers to pack up their belongings and be ready to move themselves and their animals to the safety of the King’s own city. The warriors would ride with them for protection, he told the people, many of whom were already muttering about the plan, both from fear and from the tumultuous turn they knew their lives would soon be taking. Many questions were shouted at Aldwulf. And he took them as calmly as he could, giving as much assurance as he could to his frightened and angry people. When the asking was all done, and the ruffled feelings smoothed over for the moment, he raised his hand again, calling for quiet. ‘I have need of a small party of volunteers,’ he said, his gaze going about the room. ‘Fast riders to bring this news to Edoras. The King will want to protect his people and to do so he will need to know what we have learned. I would send some of my own armed men, but I want them all with us as we travel.’ His eyes rested on a number of folk about the hall and then moved on. ‘Four young people, those for whom others can pick up their responsibilities is what I want . . . what Wulfham needs.’ He nodded toward the captain of his men who began moving through the crowd with three other of his warriors. Brand watched as three of them clapped their hands on the shoulders of a young villager each and led him or her . . . for there were two females he noted with some astonishment . . . to where the march-warden waited. ‘Poor sods,’ he murmured to himself, thanking his lucky stars that he did not stand among them. Much to his surprise and dismay a voice rang out behind him. ‘There you are!’ the captain, himself, said, drawing near. He grasped Brand’s shoulder and urged him firmly toward the others. A short while passed and villagers began to return to their houses, most to begin the long job of sorting through what they would need to bring; many to weep at what they must leave behind. Brand and his chosen companions were told to go home and get what rest they could. Aldwulf would see them back at the hall midmorning to instruct them on what he wished them to do. ‘Bring your horses and what weapons you might have,’ he told them. ‘My house will fill your packs with food for traveling and with drink for several days' journey. You will leave directly then for the King with my written message.’ He nodded to them once he had finished speaking and then wishing them well, dismissed them to their beds. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 04:19 PM.*

01-21-2006, 12:45 AM	#4
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Valier's Character Name: Vaenosa Age: 19 Race: Men Gender: Female Weapons:Handmade bow and quiver of arrows.Fairly good shot from horse back.Two small daggers,both homemade with red dyed leather hilts,hidden under her riding tunic. Appearance:5'8 Slender,but with feminine curves.Mid back length, hay coloured hair that tended to curl(annoyingly)Hard,peircing blue eyes. Delicate facial features.Wears a tan riding outfit that consists of: pants,tunic,dark brown boots laced to the knee,and a brown leather hip pouch which belonged to her father. Personality/Strenghts/Weaknesses: Cold,shy,quick to judge,untrusting.Has a sort of macabre sense of humor.Slightly obsessive with everything she attempts .Loyal to all those that she loves. Over confident, thinks things would be done better if she did them herself.Very self reliant, almost anti-social. History: Lived on a small farm,that mostly grew crops for the surrounding farms.She is an only child.Her father died when she was 10.Her mother raised her by herself until she fell ill.Then Vaenosa cared for her.Has travelled.Always on her own with her chestnut stallion named Nay,who is a silly, giddy,fellow that loves to run.She never visited many towns,just watched the counry side fly by. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Valier's Post Vaenosa turned her back to the crowd and grasped her mother's hand firmly, leading her towards the small stage that was set up in the town hall. "Vaenosa you must go child! Do not worry about this old woman, I will be fine. I will go with one of our kindly neighbours,do not fret!" "Mother I will not leave you,not in your condition! Who will care for you? You are not strong enough,you need me here with you." As they approached the stage, the MarchWarden was requesting volunteers to ride ahead with a letter for the King. Vaenosa felt a slight squeeze in her hand. Sighing deeply she turned around again to her ailing mother. " No mother I insist I stay here with you!" But the look of determination in the sick woman's eyes, melted Her heart. Before she could try and reason with the woman again,she felt a push from behind. Hands grabbed her from the front and lead her away.With one last look at her mother, Vaenosa raised her head high and walked towards where the other volunteers stood. After receiving praise from the March Warden, he dismissed them all to their houses, to return in the Morn with weapons and horse. Then he would fill them all in on their duties. Vaenosa was dazed. Almost walking in a fog, she found her way outside without looking for her mother.The cool air hit her face, bringing some colour back to her ashen cheeks. Then came the small frail arm, touching her own. "This my daughter is all I ask of you before I go......Please save this town,Get help while we still can! Your Father loved this town, as I do. I would love for this to be your place. For you children and your children's children. Please go." With shoulders slumped and head hung low, Vaenosa let herself be led back slowly to the place she called home. Awaking the next morning to he mothers wracking coughs, the day before came flooding back."Well there's no chance I'm getting out of this now,I may as well make the best of it." Vaenosa was reluctant to put all her energy into the thought of the long road ahead,for if she did she would be set to accomplish what ever was asked of her, to the fullest extent. This scared her to her very core. Yet she would put on a brave face and say goodbye to her mother,maybe for the last time. After a teary goodbye and a promise to stay safe, Vaenosa packed a travelling pack with some extra clothing and equipment. She was accustom to carring only what was essential, to let Nay go as fast as he pleased. Walking out to the stables, lifted her spirits some due to the slight Autumn breeze. Nay was prancing in his stall and throwing his head back in anticipation. She had not let him run the day before and now he knew she was taking him out. "alright my friend,lets go." She jumped smoothly on to his blanketed back and without another look back, she started down the road to the town. Tying Nay outside took alot longer than it should have, Vaenosa was still nervous about the whole thing. There was three other people she would be traveling with, and she was sure they would just get in the way. Taking three deep breaths she walked up the steps and through the door. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 04:10 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:46 AM	#5
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Naria's character Name: Incana Age: 18 Race: Human Gender: Female Weapons: She would carry a rock thrower of sorts made of a long piece of leather looped and attached to a y-shaped hard wood stick. She has a pouch for carrying her rocks for her rock thrower- slung over her shoulder. She would also carry a simple utility knife long enough to do some damage if need be. Appearance: Incana has long dark blonde hair almost brown that she keeps tied back in a half ponytail. Eyes that seem to change their colour with her mood; sometimes a gold colour sometimes a hazel green. She is 5'6" and weighs in at a whopping 115lbs. She would have pale skin compared to most of the other villagers, but very rosy cheeks. She usually wears a wrap tunic made of leather and lined with angora, that her mother made for her and leather leggings. She has a pair of high leather boots that she wears this time of year that tie up around her calves. Personality, strengths, weaknesses: She has a great personality, at least that's what her parents say, she is always bubbly and full of life. She is usually the voice of reason when a problem arises. But, Incana is quite bull headed at times when she wants to be usually ending her in hot water. History: Her father is the village horse breeder and works hard on there farm tending to the horses and goats. Her mother is a seamstress using the goat wool for angora. Her mother would have also worked on the farm tending to the goats, chickens and horses. She is the only child of her parents, her mother had a hard time during labor with Incana and didn't want to risk losing her life with another one. Because her father was a horse breeder he would have to travel great distances at times to sell his stock therefore, Incana was used to being by herself although she didn't mind being alone she often wondered what else there could be outside her village for her. She had learned a lot of the techniques that her mother had taught her and wouldn't have minded putting them to use some day. She often muttered to herself "why does no man want to take me as his bride?" She always thought that she was missing something in her life, besides having no family of her own or husband at her age, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. They have a herd of 15 horses and two of them were not to be ridden, "they are strictly for breeding!"her father would say. So she always had her pick of which to ride on any day. Because of his generous nature, her father had built a smaller house off to the side of theirs in case someone from out of town would need a place to stay. Her uncle was that person, he said he was only going to stay for a week or two but it's turned out to be two years now. Incana liked to watch her uncle practice his archery she thought, for being an older man, that he was the best that she had ever seen. He was also very good in tracking and taught Incana a few tricks of the trade. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Naria's Post: Incana and her mother were getting ready for bed when her father and uncle came crashing through the door. "Something is going on in the town square" her father exclaimed. "We heard the bell ring, must be very important." said her uncle. With their night dress on and lanterns in hand , Incana and her mother hurried outside with her father and uncle leading the way. "It's a good thing that we reside nearby else you ladies would be catching a chill this night." her uncle said trying to lighten the mood. Approaching the centre of town they noticed a large group of people had already arrived. Some they recognized some they did not. "I wonder where these people have come from that I have not seen before." Incana said with concern in her voice. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing that we should be too concerned about." her mother said not quite convincing herself of that. The four of them walked through the crowd and into the town hall where there were even more people that they had and had not seen. Incana was starting to feel overwhelmed and scared. She took her father's hand and held it tightly. Her father, straining to hear, heard what sounded like a plea for help from an older man in the sea of villagers. With Incana's hand still tight in his they weaved around people until they were closer to the stage. The MarchWarden had given his speech to everyone and after listening to him, Encana's parents couldn't believe what they had just heard. "He can't be serious Sending our young ones out like that." Her father said in obvious disdain about the idea. There was some quarreling back and forth among some other parents and it was getting louder and louder. The MarchWarden banged his staff on the stage floor twice. All went silent. "I implore all of the young people of Rohan, come forth if yea shall volunteer for this task." Incana felt a pain in her stomach and a pull in her that she could not ignore. She slowly loosened her grasp of her father's hand and walked even closer to the stage. "NO!" cried her mother "I won't let you do this." Incana picked her mother up off of the floor, wiped away her tears and whispered into her ear, "I'll be ok. Don't fret mother I will come back to you. I have to do this." And with that Incana raised her hand. With barely any sleep Incana awoke the next morning to find that it wasn't a dream that had kept her tossing but a cold reality. Her mother had been up before her daughter that morning and prepared and packed some food and extra clothing for the journey. Her father came inside and wiped away some dirt off of his face. Incana couldn't help but notice that the dirt had smudged even though it wasn't hot enough outside this time of year. She felt tears well up in her eyes and threw herself into her father's arms. He pulled her back and told her that the horse was ready while he walked into another room. Incana heard muffled sobs; she wanted to go and be with her father but she changed her mind. Her mother hugged her only child and said good-bye and told Incana that she loved her. Incana put the food pack around her waist and went outside where her horse was waiting tied to a post. She fastened her weapons to the side of the horse sighed deeply, mounted and made her way to the town. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-31-2006 at 02:19 AM.

01-21-2006, 12:47 AM	#6
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Tevildo's character NAME: Dorran AGE: 16, but passes as 18 RACE: Human GENDER: Male WEAPONS: Dorran cherishes a sturdy bow and knife that were passed down to him by his father. He has some skill with these weapons in hunting and cleaning game. He has a sling fashioned from soft leather, which is the weapon he prefers to use when protecting farm animals from annoying pests like snakes and rodents or in bringing down small prey to feed himself and his sister. APPEARANCE: Dorran is a tall but slender lad with a shock of brown curly hair, skin that is darker than most in the village, and earnest brown eyes. His serious expression and somber demeanor make him look considerably older than his actual age of sixteen years. Dorran wears a pair of mended breeches, a shirt, and a homespun vest that have all seen better days. His pockets generally bulge with the rocks that he always keeps nearby in case an unsuspecting rabbit comes darting across his path. Around his neck hangs a simple thong with a copper medallion that he keeps tucked underneath his shirt. Dorran has a way of blending quietly into his surroundings so that few of those who pass by even notice him. He generally prefers it that way. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Dorran's personality seemingly matches his quiet and unassuming outer appearance. He keeps much to himself out of choice and necessity. He lacks the protection that comes from having a cynical tongue to lash out at others or an adult protector. His manner is steady and cooperative, but he gives little hint to the outside world of what his real feelings are. He lacks confidence, thinks little of his own abilties, and tends to live from day-to-day, not caring much about the future. In reality, he is an extraordinarily gifted young lad who has managed to provide for himself and his younger sister despite enormous adversity. HISTORY: Dorran and his sister Creide, now twelve years old, came to the village of Wulfham when they were tiny children, brought there from some identified place that lay towards the east by an elderly maiden aunt. Neither of the trio ever spoke of what had become of the childrens' parents. Whatever difficulties had befallen the family, Dorran and Raven kept the story to themselves. The aunt was a poor seamstress, barely holding body and soul together. Both Dorran and Creide had to be sent out in service at a very young age. After helping out in the households of several farmers in the region, the children found their way into the employ of Lord Aldwulf: Creide as a scullery maid and Dorran in the stables. With the passing of their elderly aunt, the march-warden and his lady had taken pity on the two and let them bed down in a tiny cellar room that faced onto the courtyard. The children are well behaved and generally accepted by the other villagers, yet now and then someone mentions in a whisper that the two were originally from outside the area, and no one knows from where they came. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tevildo's post Dorran sat up with a start, threw off the covers, and leapt to his feet, hurrying over to the door and throwing it open. The sun had risen several hours before. He had managed to sleep through the cock's welcoming cry and all the hustle and bustle that had gone on in the courtyard, an area that stood only a short distance from the doorway of their tiny shed. Quickly sweeping his eyes over the area in front of the main hall, Dorran could see that preparations for their journey were well under way. The horses had been saddled and were snorting with impatience to be off. Several of the party had already arrived and were saying their final goodbyes to well wishers and friends. Pummelling his fist into his other palm in frustration, Dorran turned and glared back at Criede. His sister was seated at the small table and was putting the finishing touches on a large sack of provisions that she meant for her brother to carry with him. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Dorran demanded. "I intended to be up and about. And what are you doing with all that food? The Master said he'd supply us with whatever we needed." "Perhaps so," retorted the younger girl. "But this may be the last time for a while that you get a taste of my biscuits and apple tart. I thought you might like it." She stared back at him and then boldly stuck out her tongue. One moment Criede could be serious and adult, and the next moment acting just like a child. "Alright, alright." His tone had softened considerably. "You've got me there. But still, I should have been up at dawn. What about the watering and feeding of the horses?" He stopped for a moment and shook his head, "It isn't like me..." Criede interrupted before her brother could say another word, "The Master said I was to let you lie abed. You were up late helping him to gather the things that the group would need today. He wanted you to get some sleep before you began your journey. Anyways, it's only a few steps out to the courtyard, and you'll be ready to leave." "Well enough, I suppose," he conceded with a sigh. "Promise be you'll be good, Criede, and do what the Lady says, and that you'll mind her on the road. She says you're to sleep in the hall with the other maids until you all leave together so you won't be out here on your own." "I'd rather stay here," she objected. "This is my home." "No more trouble now. Just do as the mistress says. When she says it's time to leave, you must go with her. She has always been kind to us and I expect you to behave. I'll see you soon in Edoras so you have nothing to fear." "Alright, I promise. But why are you going early? You don't have to, you know. The Lord wouldn't make you. I'm sure of it." "No, he wouldn't make me. But I want to go. I would never feel right being here and doing nothing, not knowing the danger the whole realm is in. Anyways," he muttered through gritted teeth, "not if I could do something to strike a blow at the likes of them." Criede glanced up sideways at her taller brother, "You don't expect to see any of. those, those.... things on the road." "I don't know but I don't expect so. They're still off to the east, or so I heard the Master talking. But if I do meet one, he won't live till another day. They are evil through and through. They have no soul, no heart, only blackness." There was real animosity in the lad's voice, the tone of one who knows more than what he says. "Promise me, Dorran." his sister responded. "Promise me that you won't do anything foolish. You're the only family I have." "I promise. I'm not a fool. And being dead isn't something I want to do for a long time. Anyways, dead men can't fight Orcs." With that final thought, Dorran reached down and gave his sister a final hug, and raced out into the open courtyard to join the others who were just mounting up. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 10:36 PM.

01-21-2006, 12:48 AM	#7
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Farael's character NAME: Osmod (Osse) AGE: 20 RACE: Human GENDER: Male WEAPONS: An old but well cared for short sword that belonged to his grandfather. Back on those days it had a pattern drawn on the blade but it has long been erased. The grip is simple leather, comfortable if not very luxurious. Also, Osmod carries a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. While living outside the town and caring for his cattle he had had to deal with predators more than once and he was a good archer. Much better than a swordsman anyway. APPEARANCE: Tall, around six feet, and in good shape as he was often looking after his father's cattle. Dark black hair cut rather short, about two inches above his shoulders. He wears simple home made breeches and tunic, both light brown and a black leather belt. His boots and cloak belonged to his grandfather before him, during his times as a rider in the armies of Thengel King, father of Theoden. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: A shy and quiet man, he enjoys the wonders of nature and peace. He has been raised to work hard on the task at hand, which ever that may be. He is extremely loyal to both the King of Rohan (even if he now lives outside the boundaries of the country) and his friends. HISTORY: Even though Osmod's family is very wealthy, his father has always made him work for what he wanted. As soon as he was of age, Osmod was sent to look after his father's cattle and he loved it. The wide open spaces, the company of animals... much simpler than that of men with all the lies and pretended friendships. His horse, a strong dark brown gelding, is all the company he needs, and all the company he seeks more often than not. Ever a lover of nature and peace, when peace was shattered and nature threatened by the invading orcs and men, Osmod wanted to join the King's army and fight them back, as his grandfather had done. Yet as the March-Warden had asked for volunteers to run to Edoras and alter the King, Osmod knew it was his best opportunity to help his family and the few friends he had. Their only hopes rested on a quick ride to the King's palace and an even faster ride to rescue the harrased villagers. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Farael's post ------------ FIRST POST FOR OUTLANDERS The long, slow wail of a horn arose those living close to the Town Hall. The sound of horns was taken up and repeated by others as they awoke and soon all the town had rose to the sound of alarm. The March-Warden Horwald was calling for a town meeting. It had not happened since the times of Brego King, many lives of men before, that this emergency call had sounded in the middle of the night. There was no man alive who had been born then, but still the villagers responded as they had trained themselves to do. Upon receiving the disturbing news in the middle of the night, Horwald had ordered his eldest son to sound the alarm but he had not shared the dire news with anyone. It was the right of all the townspeople to learn about the incoming dangers at the same time. After making their respective horn calls, the people of Bregoware had started to make their way towards the Town Hall. As this town was mostly a farming community, it had been the best part of two hours before all the families were represented. Mostly men had answered the distress call, but in dangerous times like these some brave women had joined their husbands and fathers. With a sigh, Horwald raised his hand to ask for silence. He was proud to see the look of worry in the faces of men untainted by fear. Soon that would be no more, as the news he had to tell them were ones no March-Warden had ever been forced to say in this town. A tense silence was finally achieved and so Horwald, son of Leodwald addressed his people. They were his, his responsibility. As he repeated them the words of the messenger, who at the time had long ran off to meet with his own townspeople, he saw even the bravest of his men frowning. Bregoware had been harassed by easterlings and even a party of orcs before, but the news were that of a marching army not a wild group of bandits. The people had followed him through the hardships of living outside the boundaries of the Kingdom of Rohan and they trusted him. They would follow him if he ordered them to abandon their houses. They would follow him if he ordered them to retreat into the fortified city and prepare themselves for what could be a long siege. But as he looked into his people’s faces, he could not bear the thought that in the next weeks some of them would die, no matter what choice he made. Osmod was awaken by the alarm cries of his own family’s horn. He ran up to his father’s chambers to find him standing by the window, blowing at the horn that had belonged to his grandfather. He could hear the distinct sound of other horns at the distance, but more worrying to his mind was the sound of his mother crying. Leofwen had always been a strong woman; she had even ridden against an invading group of bandits in her youth. The alarm sound was soon picked up by other families and father and son readied themselves for the ride to the Town Hall. They chose their fastest horses and carried their swords with them. Osmod did not have a sword that belonged to him and so he ‘borrowed’ his grandfather’s. It had been hanging on the wall since the day Osbearn had returned from the ranks of Thengel King. They were one of the last people to arrive, as his father’s lands were far outside the town, but many of the men present allowed them to make their way closer to where the March Warden was standing. Horwald’s face was grim and soon they learned why. First there was silence. Then the yelling started. The opinion that was voiced the loudest was that of war. They had defended themselves from those orkish bandits before, they would do it again. Yet soon common sense sank in and they realized they would fight a loosing battle that would be over before it even got started. The men still wanted to fight, many of them were gripping their swords hilts already. Yet as they looked around the room and saw the women present, they understood they could not let their families die for their pride. Soon the room was silent and the March Warden announced what they all dreaded. The city was to be emptied by noon on the following day. They would march towards Edoras, protected by the warriors of the town. As everyone was reading themselves to go back to their houses and start preparing for the long escape, a voice was heard on the back of the room. Osmod could not tell if it had been a man or a woman who had spoken, he could not tell even if it had been any older than himself. Yet the words were true. Marching armies could run faster than retreating towns and even if they left on the first light the following day, they might not make it to Edoras before the orcs caught up with them. At least some riders would need to be sent to alert The King and bring back help. Silence fell upon the room again as they saw the March Warden deliberating with his main counsellors. When he looked up, his face was stern and decided. Four of their fastest riders would go ahead of the main group. Yet he could spare none of his warriors and so volunteers would be needed. Osmod’s hand moved towards the hilt of his sword even before Horwald had finished the call for volunteers. Never before had anyone but the March Warden heard those words and never before had they been meant for anything other than teaching the March Warden his duties and responsibilities. “Who among the people of Bregoware will answer my call? Who among us braves will show to be the bravest? Who will risk pain and death for the greater good of his people?” The room fell silent, interrupted only by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. One volunteer had accepted the call. Soon two more swords were raised over the heads of their brave owners. One last volunteer was needed yet the room had fallen silent again. Osmod closed his eyes and tensed his grip on the sword. Almost without him knowing, he unsheathed his grandfather’s sword. He had answered the call for help. Voices were heard at the back of the room and spread out quickly towards the front. Soon all the gathered townspeople were discussing the names of the volunteers. Everyone seemed to want to talk to Osmod and grab his arm. He had shown to be as brave as his grandfather Osbearn had been, they said. He had shown to be great among the great of his town. But Osmod knew he had shown nothing yet. He was still safe inside the walls of the village and there were many dangers to confront before he would even consider himself to be brave. Horwald dismissed everyone but the volunteers and their families – it would have been pointless and cruel to force them appart now when they would be parting soon enough, perhaps for ever- who stayed and gathered close to him. He praised the volunteers sincerely and offered them his help in anything they needed. He would provide them with food and water, as well as fast horses if they lacked one. Of course, they all had good horses, but it was a great compliment to be offered a horse by the March Warden himself. After the March Warden had spoken, Osmod asked of him only one thing. The sword he carried was old and the edge was dull. He wanted to carry his grandfather’s sword and would very much appreciate it if the March Warden could have it sharpened for him. Horwald granted him his wish, as he granted everything the others asked. They stayed until it was long past midnight discussing the best strategy for their ride, but they all agreed that there was no way of knowing what they would find and so no way of making accurate plans. The town of Bregoware would have to trust on their rider’s skill and intelligence. And as most of them made their way to their respective houses, they knew their trust had not been misplaced. Osmod rode back to his father’s estate. His father had been uncommonly silent since he had volunteered himself and they rode in silence towards the big house. After they left the horses in the stables, Osmod’s father asked him to wait on the hall before retreating to his own room. Osmod complied and sat down on the cold floor, feeling more comfortable there than on the sturdy chairs. He scrambled up to his feet as he heard his father walking back in and could not help to gasp when he saw what he was carrying. His father had his own longbow on one hand, the finest quality weapon his family had. But what surprised the son was the family horn in his father’s left hand. It belonged to his father, it had belonged to his grandfather before and to his father before then. “Son, it has been our family tradition that the father of the house gives this horn to his son on the day of their wedding. I know not if I shall live to see that great day and this is why I want you to have it. It may be of assistance to you and I know our ancestors will forgive me for breaking our long held tradition”. As Osmod laid sleepless on his bed, he told himself that nothing would go wrong as he had the protection of those who had fought the same enemy before and won. Last edited by piosenniel; 01-25-2006 at 05:03 PM.