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10-27-2005, 03:07 PM
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#1 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Assigned to Mordor Planning/Discussion Thread
This Discussion thread is being set up for the purposes of finalizing the game proposal for littlemanpoet’s game.
Only these people may post to this thread at present: (Any other posts will be deleted)
~*~ For now please read the game proposal carefully & then PM littlemanpoet as he requests with your application and any questions. ~*~ Last edited by piosenniel; 11-06-2005 at 02:50 AM. |
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10-27-2005, 03:08 PM
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#2 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Assigned to Mordor
Historical Background: ~*~ Please Note: All anachronisms (from here on out spelled "anakronisms" after the Greek) shall be rendered in italics. ~*~ It is Fourth Age 650. Gondor has become an empire both powerful and corrupt. It is bordered on the east by the farthest extents of the Iron Hills, Rhûn, and Mordor; on the south by an inexact boundary shy of Far Harad; on the north by Ered Mithrin; on the west by the Sea. The king on the throne is the heir of Elessar, but a mere shadow of his forebear. It is said that in 450, two sorcerers, rumored to be centuries old, came from the east, and attracted to the height of glory of the Gondorian Empire, sought places of power and influence in the king's court. Not willing to share his power, the king refused their request, subtly made though it was. In their anger, they cast an ensorcelment upon the entire empire. The spell became known as the Anakronism Dweomer. Since then, as the two sorcerers warned, all kinds of hateful things from the future have found their way into the minds and speech of the inhabitants of the empire, such that these Anakronisms come to the lips of the unwary in everyday conversation. The king has laid down law that these things are not to be spoken. If anyone does, any citizen is empowered to accuse and bring the trespassers to justice. A minority of the citizenry have begun to complain (amongst themselves) that this law is being used by petty folk as a way to get rid of people they do not like. But there has been no groundswell of support for reform, since all the citizenry are afraid that if they speak up, they might be accused of speaking an Anakronism. The speakers of the Anakronisms are Assigned to Mordor. For in Mordor the Anakronisms are not only in the minds and speech of the people, but have taken shape and form. Most of the citizens of the empire keep silence. But enough speak the Anakronisms so that Mordor is constantly populated, and filling ever fuller. All kinds of hateful things can be found there, such as final exams; strange, hard, shiny monstrosities painted in garish colours (with orcs for brains) that race at breakneck speed down the flats of Mordor; worse yet, there is a bureaucracy the purpose of which is to (horrors!) improve the citizenry that has been Assigned to Mordor. Many other horrible Anakronisms have found there way there as well. Last edited by piosenniel; 10-30-2005 at 03:07 PM. |
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10-27-2005, 03:08 PM
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#3 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Basic Storyline:
A few characters (four to seven) have the chance to undergo a series of trials, tests, and challenges presented to them by the Anakronism Dweomer. They work together to overcome these obstacles. Last edited by piosenniel; 10-30-2005 at 03:09 PM. |
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10-27-2005, 03:09 PM
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#4 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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The purpose of the story is: for the group of characters to successfully pass the Anakronism tests/challenges and so escape from Mordor.
This means we will know the story is over when: all the characters in the group make it out of Mordor with the blessing of the Grand Anakronist. Starting Location: The sea of Nurn, in the Mordorian province of Nurnia. Likely destination: Ithilien. Last edited by piosenniel; 10-30-2005 at 03:11 PM. |
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10-27-2005, 03:10 PM
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#5 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Timeframes:
This game takes place in the Fourth Age at around year 650. The storyline itself or plot covers three days (although I'm willing to consider five, seven, or ten days). This game requires a time commitment of three weeks from me, the game owner and from the major players (consideration for 5, 7, or 10 weeks is optional). |
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10-27-2005, 03:11 PM
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#6 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Characters needed:
Four to seven characters from any race among the free peoples of the Fourth Age, either gender -- ALL ROLES FILLED ~*~ Character types which would not belong: high elves; dunedain. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Player/Character List
Last edited by piosenniel; 11-13-2005 at 06:30 PM. |
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10-28-2005, 03:42 PM
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#7 |
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La Belle Dame sans Merci
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: perpetual uncertainty
Posts: 5,600
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Feanor of the Peredhil's character
NAME: Alumìne Umfuìl (though the ‘e’ is silent, her name is often pretentiously pronounced by others as “Ah-loom-IN-ee Um-FOY-ul” when it’s actually pronounced “Al-oo-MIN Um-FOY-l”. She calls herself Alli.) AGE: 18 RACE: Human GENDER: Female 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.): piercing tongue is just about it, though when she’s in Mordor, she learns to use paper as a weapon, cutting her enemies with the razor sharp edges. Also in Mordor, she carries several small bottles containing angry bees and mosquitoes to sic on people. APPEARANCE: Alli is 5’7” and thin, having grown from 5’3” and less thin in a very short time span. She has not yet grown accustomed to her lengthened frame and often trips over her own feet, stubbing her toes painfully. Her walk is very suited to her, as a sort of mix between sauntering and shuffling. She is working tirelessly to regain the grace she once had. Her hair is black as night and she tends to wear it braided tightly and bound away from her face. Her delightfully piercing eyes are an interesting blend of colors that lazy people oft term “grey”, though they are mostly blue, containing flecks of gold, brown, and many other tones of that variety. She far prefers to wear casual clothing, but listens when her mother tells her that she must always dress appropriately for the circumstance. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Alumìne hates her name, but can’t for her own life convince people to either say it correctly or simply call her Alli, as she prefers. They insist on over-pronouncing the superfluous letter. She often mispronounces others’ names as retribution. Once they begin to call her Alli, she begins to say their names right. Alli’s strength is in her clever tongue: she needs little time to tease easily and can talk her way into or out of nearly anything. Most people laugh off her sarcasm, but it has been known to get her into spots of a bother with people who take things too seriously. When battling, she often resorts to tactics such as speaking in depth about whatever subject springs to mind to divert the attention of the enemy. In Gondor, she tries hard to limit her speech, but once in Mordor, she goes off onto whichever Anakronism springs to mind. Alli is very out-spoken and has interesting quirks that often annoy other people, or at least make her impossible for them to understand. HISTORY: Alli was born in FA 632 to a moderately happy and very loving family living several miles outside of the city of Minas Tirith. She was the youngest of the children by many years, and her brothers and parents were very fond of her, though all but one of her siblings no longer lived at home. Terrified of the Anakronisms that had taken over the world and ensnared several family members already, the Umfuìl family kept their infant daughter hidden, afraid that her first word would be something hideous like “loyer” or “chav,” and that it would be uttered in the hearing of a stranger. As Alumìne grew to speak, her parents’ fears were proven well-founded. Her first words were “my bad”, uttered adorably from her cherubic lips. Her parents gasped. Her mother fell weeping into her father’s arms, as he shook with repressed emotion. Even Alli’s stubborn brother Enaichel, who had been sitting moodily in a corner for quite some time, was encouraged to action. He cried out, waving his “L” shaped walking stick, and took his beloved sister into his arms, looking into her glowing eyes with pity. “We must never let her be heard until she learns not to speak these things.” He murmured, looking worriedly to his parents. "Literary theory.” The baby gurgled. Her mother sobbed. With much regret, the family made the decision to keep Alumìne a secret until she was older. They could not bear for her to be taken from them. As Alli grew into a child, she was educated at home in all manner of things. She learned her letters and she could think algebraically. She was most interested, however, in her government. She learned at a young age that the King of Gondor was not on par with his fathers of old. As she grew into a lovely teenager, she ignored her parents’ desires for her safety and became rather outspoken about her view on the politics of Gondor. By this time, she had learned not to speak when an Anakronism would invade her thoughts. Her family had moved into Minas Tirith, and Alli was loved by her neighbors as an enthusiastic, if a little odd, young woman, who never shirked her duties and was a joy to be with. However Alli’s luck turned one cold morning when she was walking to the market to purchase milk for her family. She glimpsed a piece of parchment nailed to a door. The theses written thereon contained nearly one hundred points. She read each swiftly, becoming more and more dissatisfied with the King’s political agenda. “Even a Yankees announcer would make a better leader than him.” She muttered rebelliously and without thought. Suddenly she was seized from behind by a pair of large and angry looking guards. “She spoke an Anakronism.” one said. “She has assigned herself to Mordor.” agreed the other. Without further ado, Alumìne Umfuìl was transported to the most desolate part of Middle Earth. She never even got to say goodbye to her parents, annoying and preachy though they were, or even to watch Enaichel play his sports again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Feanor of the Peredhil's post Alli stood moping in the back of the crowd gathered at Caer Pairadocks and glared moodily at all those who jostled her. It was not nearly late enough in the morning for this sort of thing, and the fact that she had been all but ordered to attend this... this... this ceremony, as it were... it boiled the blood in her veins. At least she wasn't at work, she thought with disgruntlement. The job of affixing wings to balrogs was a difficult one, trying to work in shadow, and the worst was, all balrog-wingers tended to get burned on a regular basis by the foolish beasts that refused to adopt the reality of the situation with grace. She grimaced at the raw blisters on her hands. They would heal quickly... if the mostly inept physicians that populated Mordor had one thing going for them, it was that they were excellent at treating burns. Suddenly the very flugellic sound of horns met Alli's ears. It had to be horns, she thought. No hope for any creativity... She glared with renewed passion at the men that shoved past her to reach the front of the crowd. Suddenly there was a hush. An austere voice split the air like lightening, leaving the crowd tingling with anticipation. Even Alli perked up, morning though it was. A chance to get out of Mordor? she thought. An inconsiderate smoker lit up in front of her just as the wind decided to caress Alli's face. She forgot the ceremony as she choked, her eyes beginning to water. Gasping for breath, she was grabbed by a nearby nurse. "On a scale of one to ten," the woman said, "how much does it hurt?" Alli ignored her, stumbling her way through the crowd and away from the smoke that burned her lungs. Suddenly she realized that she was standing right beside a tall man, clad entirely in black. As she fell forward, catching herself just before she skinned her knees, the man turned to her with an aristocratic sneer. She gasped as she noticed the Anakronism Dweomer in his grasp. He turned from her, caring little for the antics of a girl barely into womanhood, and addressed the ATM before him. Alli whispered to the kindly looking old woman next to her. "What are you in for?" she asked, curiously. "Me? Well, my word. How that's any of your business, I'll never know." Alli looked incredulously at the easily offended woman and turned away from her, looking for an understanding face. She found one in the form of a very good looking young man. He seemed to be stifling laughter. "Are you laughing at me?" she asked as the ATM took an absurdly long time to continue its processing. "Sure I am. Are you going to get offended?" he responded. She looked at him in momentary shock and then laughed. "I'll bet you're wondering what this whole ceremony is for." "How did you know!?" she gasped. "I'm am a Seer... in the distant future, I will be called "psychic". I tried to explain my foresight and was put here by the King's writ. But this..." he gestured toward the crowd, the man... the ATM. "There's been news. A certain number of Assignees are being given a chance to leave Mordor." "Wha-" she began, suddenly remembering the voice that had reached even over the bustling crowd. "Oh, yes... I heard that part. How are they chosen?" He responded with an ironic smile. "The ATM. The ATM handles all transactions in these parts." "I should have known." Suddenly the crowd went silent as the proverbial grave. The ATM had spat out a piece of paper. Anakron took it with his abnormally long fingers and glanced at it for a moment. "The first member of the Offending Party is..." he began. Alli recognized the look in his eye. It was the look that never failed to accompany a mis-pronunciation of her name. She hoped and prayed, and then, remembering that hoping for proper speech had never worked before, merely prayed. She could not bring herself to be excited... she simply murmered over and over the right way... He continued finally. "Alumin--" Don't say it! she thought annoyedly. The letter is superfluous. It's not supposed to go there! You don't need to say it! "Alumìn-E Umfuìl." he finished at last. "Alli!" she cried, stepping forward. "My name is Alli. If you can't say Alumine Umfoil properly, just," she now paused between words for effect, "say," she paused again, "Alli." Suddenly it struck her properly. "Wait..." she murmered, incredulous. "I can go home? I can see Enaichel play his games again? I can tell my parents that now that I've had a real job, I actually appreciate how well I had it before?" Anakron looked at her with disdain. "If the ATM says it is true, then it is." He turned from her with a cold swish of his cloak as another name was expelled from the machine. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 10/29 Note: Set up for easy transfer to the RPG Thread ~*~ Pio
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peace
Last edited by Feanor of the Peredhil; 10-30-2005 at 03:43 PM. |
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10-29-2005, 12:22 PM
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#8 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Clarification on being 'assigned to Mordor'
Just in case you missed my edit regarding being assigned to Mordor: you don't have to be assigned by name to Mordor on the What Do You Assign to Mordor thread; rather, if some attribute of which you are - ahem - "guilty" gets assigned, then you may consider yourself assigned. Hence, if you speak modern English, you have been assigned to Mordor, by default of being a member at BD.
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10-29-2005, 01:12 PM
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#9 |
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La Belle Dame sans Merci
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: perpetual uncertainty
Posts: 5,600
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Also, don't forget that people in general (Eomer) and teenagers (Saucie)... as well as I think parents... have been assigned. So pretty much, if you've ever been a teenager, a parent, or a person (I think that pretty well covers everyone
 ), you're welcome to submit.
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peace
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10-29-2005, 01:24 PM
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#10 | |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Quote:
Oh, and I hope to see spoof on other fantasy as well, such as what I tried to do with C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia; attempted to be done well, of course. |
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10-29-2005, 01:24 PM
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#11 | |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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From the "What do you assign to Mordor" thread in Novices and Newcomers:
littlemanpoet posted this: Quote:
For now please continue PM littlemanpoet as he requests with your application and any questions. Once you and he have discussed your submission, then he will put your name on this thread and you can then post here. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For any interested players new to gaming in the Shire Please note that in order to play in this game, you will need to have read the rules for posting in the Shire (The Red Book of Westmarch sticky topic in the Shire forum) and you will need to make at least one post in The Green Dragon Inn if you've not done so already - or have been a poster in The White Horse Inn in Rohan. Also - once you have discussed your character idea with littlemanpoet, you will need to start working it up using the Character Description form found on post #11 of this thread. That's the form in which you will eventually submit it to this thread. Thanks! ~*~ Pio
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside. |
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10-30-2005, 12:22 PM
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#12 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Celuien's character description
This is my most humble application for the ATM RPG. Here's hoping that the slots haven't all been filled already.
Things I assigned: Ads for phony health care products Drug company ads Weight loss/exercise machine ads Rap Telemarketers Bad translations Warranties that expire too soon Computer programs that can’t be uninstalled Flight (travel) delays 28 hour shifts How I’ve been assigned: Speeding Cell phone use Watching reality TV shows Dialect/annoying accent (My Philly background is pretty obvious when I speak, although it's far more on the accent side than poor grammar or non-standard words.) And some of the same as Fea's: People in general "Zee" Balrogs have wings American Impossible to understand girl -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for joining, Celuien! ATM would not feel right without you. We still need a first post from you. ----- EDIT: 10/30 Character Bio placed with post below ~*~ Pio Last edited by piosenniel; 10-30-2005 at 10:22 PM. |
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10-30-2005, 01:55 PM
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#13 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Celuien
Welcome aboard this fine game! & to the Shire. I've put your name on the list of posters for the thread - so, please post your First Post for the game here. No need to pm it to lmp. ~*~ Pio, game moderator
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside. |
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10-30-2005, 02:39 PM
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#14 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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anakronistically italicized post
ALL ORIGINALLY POSTED HERE TRANSFERRED TO PROPOSAL ABOVE. LEAVING BIO AND POST HERE IN CASE YOU WANT TO MAKE AND CHANGES.
Let me know in a separate post to the thread if you have done an edit here. Thanks! ~*~ Pio -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- littlemanpoet's character The game owner will play The Grand Anakronist character. Character Description Form for owner’s character: NAME: Anakron Istkon Vayor AGE: 50 RACE: Umbarian GENDER: male WEAPONS : none other than the Anakron Staff APPEARANCE: Tall, black robed, austere, high forehead, a black wide-brimmed hat, long white hair, narrow, beardless face. Holds the Anakron Staff, which is made of black metal, and bears the insignia of the Grand Anakronist, a stylized representation of a Siamese Cat. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Austere, authoritative, rhetorical expert, formal. Given the right circumstances, will break out into a doggerel chattering, dancing buffoon in vaudeville style (part of the Anakronism Dweomer). HISTORY: Elempi of Umbar grew up as a model child in a wealthy (but not ruling) family, was trained from early as a scholar in history, language, and philosophy. He taught in the Academy of Umbar for twenty years until he was handpicked by the retiring Grand Anakronist to replace him. He was given the Anakron Staff, which creates nothing, but directs the latent effects of the Anakronism Dweomer, setting up the tests, tasks, and challenges the characters must pass, complete, and achieve in order to escape from Mordor. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- FIRST POST FOR THE GAME A crowd had gathered in the early overcast morning in the courtyard of Caer Pairadocks, the major port on the Nurnien Sea, from which two great docks stretched into the waters of the sea. The people stood in eager anticipation, for from their number would be chosen that day a small group of people who would be given the chance to escape from Mordor ... on condition that they could pass the tests set by the Grand Anakronist . The land of Mordor held only the memory of the Dark Lord who had once ruled there with a cruel, iron will. The cataclysm that had come hard upon the heels of the Ring's destruction had changed Udûn and the Plateau of Gorgoroth into a string of deep chasms. Roads snaked from chasm to chasm for the sake of the king, who's Assigned Prisoners worked the gravel pits of old Udûn and Gorgoroth, from which stone was quarried for the buildings and roads of the empire. Luckier ones worked in the grain fields and cattle farms of the Nurnien plains, or the fisheries of the sea. The least fortunate worked the mines of the mountains, where it was said nameless evil things still crawled. At long last, flugel horns flaired, and out from Caer Pairadocks strode the personage they had all been waiting for. Every last member of the crowd strained their necks to catch a glimpse of the august figure in whose staff was held the mystery of the Anakronism Dweomer. His black, wide brimmed hat hid his features, and his black robe shrouded his lanky frame. He came to a stop at the centermost point of the platform. Behind him rose the pinnacles of the Caer; to one side spread the sea, to the other, the town and fields beyond. The man's name was Anakron Istkon Vayor. All knew him by sight. He surveyed the crowd, and addressed them in his austere manner. "On this auspicious day, a lucky few of you shall be given the chance to overcome the Anakronism Dweomer, to escape from Mordor, and to receive the clemency of the king, may he live forever. As you know, the Anakronism Dweomer has rendered the empire, but especially Mordor, a land cursed with all manner of evils from a terrible future time. It is most distressing to know that a future age of Middle Earth will have fallen to such depths as to be filled with so many degradations as we have seen in this land; but such is the fate of Middle Earth. "The lucky few shall be known as the Offending Party. Their task, should they choose to accept it, is to confront three/five/seven/ten anakronisms as tests to be passed, trials to endure, or challenges to be overcome ... or all three at once, depending upon the nature of the anakronism. Should the Offending Party succeed, they shall be free to go wherever they will in Middle Earth, perhaps even to Rohan, with the king's and moderators' blessings. "And now to choose the Offending Party." At this, Anakron raised the Anakronist Staff, which issued what sounded like a shrill meow followed by a feline hiss, and before the eyes of all gathered, a shiny, many-coloured box rose from the ground, accompanied by oohs and aahs from the crowd. When it had stopped rising, it stood as tall as Anakron himself, and seemed to look out at the crowd with its single, dark, square eye. It was an Anakronism Transaction Mechanism, otherwise known as ATM. Anakron spoke. "I shall now insert the king's writ, which I hold in my hand, into the slot on the right, and out of the other to the left, will come the names of the Offending Party." Anakron inserted the card. Runes appeared in white on the dark screen, in a language and lettering formerly unknown, and by some held to be worse than the Black Speech of the Orcs, but which had now become all too familiar in Mordor: Modern English. The screen said: Deposit, Withdrawal, or Transfer? Anakron pressed the button to the right of transfer. The screen produced new runes: Please wait while your transaction is processed. The crowd groaned as one with impatience; they had become familiar with ATMs during their tenure in Mordor. An "aah" went up from the crowd as a card came out of the left hand slot, accompanied by a new message on the screen: Please take the record of your transfer. Anakron took the slip from the slot, after which the screen's message changed to Thank you. Please come again. Anakron read off the names of the soon to be Offending Party: "Alumìn-E Umfuìl." The following transactions in turn produced the following names: "Panakeia of Harad;" ______________. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Last edited by piosenniel; 10-30-2005 at 03:44 PM. |
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10-30-2005, 04:25 PM
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#15 |
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Riveting Ribbiter
Join Date: May 2005
Location: Assigned to Mordor
Posts: 1,771
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Thanks! I'm delighted to be here.
NOTE: Edit by Pio 10/30 -- I placed your Character Bio here with your First Post. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Character Description Form: 1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – Not sure if this counts, but YES, Bethberry’s Unforbidden open invitational 2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? none 3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon or The White Horse Inn – NO, working on a post for the Green Dragon now. ____________________ Celuien’s character NAME: Panakeia AGE: 49 RACE: human GENDER: female WEAPONS: Just a smooth talking sales pitch and the ability to be persuasive. If pressed, she can modulate her voice into a shrill, high-pitched whine causing those with sensitive hearing to step back in horror. The more toxic contents of her product case (described below) could also double as weaponry if needed. APPEARANCE: Panakeia is of average height and has long blonde hair of questionable origin. It is rumored that her tresses were a dull, mousy brown shade until she used a bottle of Pearie Ockcide Potion, although she vehemently denies this charge. She tends to be over-dressed and prefers a palette of bright oranges, greens and purple that borders on garishness. She always wears at least three substantial gold necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and has a minimum of two rings on each finger. She has dark blue eyes, but insists that they are “violet.” Panakeia is concerned with her approaching 50th birthday, and will admit to no more than 29 years in Middle-earth. She carries a large lime green bag with her at all times, emblazoned with the phrase “Panakeia’s Cure-Alls” and the picture of a fountain surrounded by smiling, cheerful picnickers. This satchel contains her line of products, since as she says, “You never know when you’ll have a chance to make a sale.” PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Ahem. Vanity. Big time. Pushiness. Being loud and obnoxious. Greed. HISTORY: Panakeia was born to a poor family from the borders of Harad upon whom the curse of the Anakronism Dweomer sat heavily, like a lump of gravy on a slice of day-old turkey. Fortunately for them, this particular corner of Middle-earth was far from the ears and eyes of those who enforced the Laws of Gondor which outlawed the use of Anakronisms (or any laws at all, for that matter), so it made little difference to the young Panakeia, who grew up discussing Britney Spears and marketing tactics with her two siblings as if such terms were completely normal for Middle-earth in the Fourth Age. By Panakeia’s 10th birthday, her family’s fortunes mysteriously changed and they found themselves in possession of a large estate. She grew into a surprisingly attractive young woman with high principles, and by 18 she was the belle of the Harad area. It was also about this time that she discovered the reason for her family’s rags-to-riches story: in a locked attic, Panakeia stumbled on a box of pamphlets advertising cheap garden spot lots. Unfortunately, a quick glance at the map included with the ads would have told anyone who had even a passing acquaintance with geography that the so-called garden spot was located smack in the middle of the Dead Marshes. Worse yet, there was evidence for many other schemes run by her family over the years. Panakeia was horrified and vowed never to join the family business, insisting that there was no offer that they could possibly make her that she would not be able to refuse. But Fate was working against Panakeia. Shortly afterwards, retribution came upon her family in the form of disgruntled investors from the land scheme. These investors burned her home to the ground, forcing her to flee into the wilderness. In the confusion, she became separated from her relatives, none of whom she would see again. Poor Panakeia wandered in the wild for days, lost and starving. Finally, she located an old potato field, clawed a raw tuber from the earth with her fingernails and devoured it. With a cry to the setting sun of “I’ll never be hungry again,” Panakeia decided to wreak her revenge on those who had ended her fairy-tale existence by restarting her family’s old schemes. After all, if people were foolish enough to fall for her scams, they deserved whatever came to them, didn’t they? She then headed out on the road, selling various health and beauty potions of dubious quality from a roadside stand. Over the years, she became accustomed to her lifestyle and completely forgot her early idealism. In time, her travels took her to the heart of Gondor itself. Unaware of (or perhaps indifferent to) the banning of Anakronisms, she set up her stand on the road to Minas Tirith and called out “Panakeia’s Beauty Cream! Guaranteed to give you J Lo’s youthful glow, or your money back!” She only had time to make two sales before being whisked off to Mordor by the Anakronism Police. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celuien's post Near the back of the crowd gathered on Caer Pairadocks, a small disturbance was growing around Panakeia of Harad, Seller of Health and Beauty Products. Her shrill voice rang out over the crowd “Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly! Only two silver pennies. Two silver pennies! Step right up.” A few purchasers hurried up to her stand, but a pair of stern guards swiftly chased them off. There would be no selling on Caer Pairadocks today. At least, not without a properly sanctioned license, sealed in triplicate with official red tape. Panakeia glared at the officials, a look of annoyance on her face. Coming here was such a misuse of valuable time. There was work to be done, and now she couldn’t even take advantage of the presence of the many assembled Mordor assignees to hawk her wares. But the day hadn’t been a total waste. A smile flitted over Panakeia’s lips as she thought of the Westron to Black Speech dictionaries she managed to sell on the journey to the meeting. Ordinarily, she would never have thought of selling something so far out of her usual line, but being factory rejects for gross mistranslations, she had picked them up for a pittance. And with all of the new people sent to Mordor recently, there had been a large demand for dictionaries in the Black Speech. She made a tidy profit from that transaction, but she hoped that no one would have the opportunity to use the dictionaries until she was safely on her way back to her own hut. Panakeia closed up her product case and headed over to a bench to sit down. Her feet were killing her. Several people near Panakeia ostentatiously shielded their eyes as she walked past. She was wearing her trademark tangerine and chartreuse robes with plentiful gold jewelry. Panakeia noted the gesture and swept past in her grandest fashion, clinking her bracelets as she strode along. A titter rose in her wake. “Idiots! Simpletons!” she thought. These people who laughed at her were the same ones she knew would flock to her stand the instant she was able to open for business. She would show them all, selling them potions and poultices as ineffectual as a posted speed limit. But even though she knew the Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution, like most of her other creams, was nothing more than a variation on sawdust mixed with potato starch and a bit of beet juice (just for color), as her 50th birthday approached, Panakeia had started to use the creams too. Despite flattering herself that she really did look the 29 year old she claimed to be, deep down she knew that this was not the truth. Was she really all that different from the customers she despised in her despairing struggle to hold on to her vanishing (some would say vanished) youth? Fortunately for her composure, Panakeia’s introspective mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She turned her attention to the proceedings at hand. She had only been giving half of her attention to Anakron’s grand speeches, and his use of the ATM barely registered on her mind. She tapped her high-heeled foot impatiently. Would this day ever end? “Alumìn-E Umfuìl,” droned Anakron’s voice. Panakeia watched in amusement as the young girl stepped up to the ATM and corrected The Grand Anakronist’s pronunciation of her name. Then she sighed. It was always the young, pretty ones who were chosen. Panakeia kicked a stray pebble aside. Why would she want to leave anyway? Business was good in Mordor. “There’s a sucker born every minute, and it seems that they’ve all been sent here,” she mused. But somehow, a yearning for freedom to wander Middle-earth was growing in Panakeia’s mind, despite the favorable sales prospects she had found since arriving. The ATM whirred again. Anakron announced the next name. “Panakeia of Harad.” Panakeia blinked in astonishment. Here was her chance to leave! At the thought of freedom, the vision of a new sales empire reaching from Harad to the Grey Havens danced in her head. Quickly recovering her usual brashness, she strode up to the ATM and stood beside Alumìne Umfuìl. “Here, Anakron. Glad to see you’ve come to your senses at last and decided to let some of us out of here. All of this fuss and bother over Anakronisms was nonsense in the first place. When’s the first flight out of here?” Anakron shook his head at the Anakronism in Panakeia’s speech. Without a word, he returned to the ATM screen to select the next member of the Offending Party. Last edited by piosenniel; 10-30-2005 at 10:19 PM. Reason: Adding first post... |
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10-30-2005, 08:44 PM
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#16 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Great first post, Celuien.
I hadn't considered the possibility that any Mordor assignee would actually get to do what they wanted, such as sell useless wears, but I guess that was just outside the scope of my imagination. I think it should work fine; after all, the bureacracy is so far behind in all of it's red tape that it probably hadn't gotten to Panakeia yet! |
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11-04-2005, 11:19 PM
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#17 | |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Two more players
We have our fourth player, Encaitare. Cool!
Our fifth player has yet to provide the lists and information, but has promised them to me soon. This player is the phantom. Kickin'! Here are her two lists. Character descrip and first post are forthcoming. Pio, please add Enca and the phantom to the list of persons who can post here. Thanks! Quote:
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11-04-2005, 11:36 PM
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#18 |
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La Belle Dame sans Merci
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: perpetual uncertainty
Posts: 5,600
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Welcome Encai and tp! Can't wait to see what I know will be fantastically clever and amusing posts and bios.
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peace
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11-05-2005, 09:25 AM
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#19 | ||||
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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the phantom's lists
Here's the phantom's list (I wouldn't have typed this but the system is telling me my message is too short, it needs at least one character ... go figure....
Quote:
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11-05-2005, 09:42 AM
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#20 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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I have the final two candidates for the game lined up, but am waiting for their firm agreement and information, so their names remain under wraps for the time being. That said, WWXIII is going to be starting up soon, and I'm in it, so we still have a good week or so of planning time before ATM launches.
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11-05-2005, 10:50 AM
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#21 | |
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Riveting Ribbiter
Join Date: May 2005
Location: Assigned to Mordor
Posts: 1,771
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Quote:
 Welcome, tp and Encai!
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People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect. But actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff. |
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11-05-2005, 12:02 PM
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#22 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Encaitare and the phantom
Please put your character bios and first posts directly onto the planning thread as you get them ready. Thanks! ~*~ Pio, game moderator
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside. |
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11-07-2005, 08:27 AM
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#23 | |
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La Belle Dame sans Merci
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: perpetual uncertainty
Posts: 5,600
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Quote:
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peace
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11-07-2005, 05:37 PM
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#24 |
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Estelo dagnir, Melo ring
Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,083
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Just putting my bio here...hope that's okay. I also hope it's okay if I get a thumbs up, down, or sideways from the mighty Anakron on my character before I finish up my first post.
1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? - Yes… Wolf Run, Search for the Lost Messenger, Quest Ainereg, Truth in a Dark Place, Gondorian House Call, Dark Seduction, Corsairs and Corsets (sorta), Resistance, Brotherhood, A Story from the Last Alliance, The Ambassador’s Son (last part), Bloodstained Elanor, Land of Darkness (sorta), Red Flows the Sirannon… I think that’s it. 2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - One...Red Flows the Sirannon 3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon or The White Horse Inn? – Yes, both. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Durelin's character Name: Valde Delego (Normally goes by his surname, sometimes by his first) Age: Whatever suits him at the time…he can easily pass for about 30, whether he is around that age or not Race: Human Gender: Male Weapons: When it suits him, he considers himself quite the secret weapon, professing that he is his enemies’ worst nightmare (so, often everybody’s worst nightmare). But other times, any talk of war makes him scoff and break off into a loud rant about how barbaric it is. Appearance: Tall, dark, and handsome. And brooding. He is a regular Mr. Darcy on a bad day, who will never meet his Elizabeth Bennett. And though he has rather large sideburns, he does not quite have muttonchops. He also has particularly prominent eyebrows and an outstanding bird-like nose. Personality: A self-absorbed doomsayer who always finds something to complain about. He is constantly bemoaning his situation, whether or not any normal person would find it quite pleasing. Either nothing is good enough for him, or it is too goody-two-shoes perfect for him, much to his annoyance. He is on the eternal quest for the Happy Medium, believing that it doesn’t exist and cursing it even if it does. He often has a taste for drama, histrionic to his very core, and normally exaggerates either indignant outrage at his bruised pride, or the deepest, darkest depression, that of which every brilliant mind must endure, of course. He plays the suicidal Cassius to a ‘t,’ but without his own Brutus, and, fortunately for him and unfortunately for most, without the blade to do the bloody deed. History: Delego was born to parents both rich and famous for having done an in-depth study on the health hazards of instruction on Sunday mornings. Unfortunately for his parents, he had the inborn ability to demand people’s attention through his own version of devilish wailing, which he describes as quickly developing into the sound of the eternal anguish and torment of a demon eternally flailed, which reverberated through the woe-begotten halls of eternity. But they did not initiate a study on the effects of babies’ crying. His first word was ‘doom,’ and his favorite phrase from a very young age was ‘go to Mordor,’ which he used not at all sparingly whenever he did not get his way (and of course the poor soul barely ever got his way). When asked why he said these things, his only response would be that the person or thing he addressed ‘belonged there.’ Several years later, when he learned of the Anakronisms and how horrid they were, he made it his life’s goal to prod as many people as he could into voicing such evils in public in order to condemn them all to Mordor. It all worked very well, and he grew healthily in confidence whenever he heard from some vigilante rumour-mongorers of the people he cursed falling down rabbit holes in Mordor in time to have tea with some very interesting residents, whom he later would have described as mad, had he gotten past guffawing at their noteworthy taste in headwear. He wished a long journey to Mordor upon many, that is, until one day when it was brought to the attention of the Anakronism Police (by a man who was later marked for Mordor due to his skewed concept of reality) that it was indeed obnoxious that such intolerant people who would assign minor irritations to the most miserable, dangerous and evil place in the world without a moment's thought be allowed to simply roam the streets of Minas Tirith. He was carried off to Mordor in a hurry, destroying his parents’ once pristine reputation for a few weeks until they released their study on lima beans being a co-conspirator with nuclear bombs in the coming of the some-day apocalypse. This is of course not the story he would tell anyone who asked of his origins. He would instead begin on a very detailed account of how he was playing hide and seek with all the most notable and un-Anakronistic children of Minas Tirith (of which, apparently, there were about three), and decided to hide in a large chest of drawers (he was very small as a young child, you see). He then found that he had picked the wrong drawer, and thought he had fallen through the bottom of it, when he found himself plopping down upon a pile of ash, with nothing visible around him but the distant glow of the neon lights of The Mount Doom Casino and Resort. He was not very happy to be there, in this land called Nurnia (even though the initial sight of a centre for debaucheries such as gambling was a rather welcome sight to him), and is still looking for a return chest of drawers or armoire of some kind. (Of course that’s how it happened; don’t be such an Edmund!) He uses this story to explain his bitter hatred for all things living, suspecting them to have something to do with his transport to Nurnia; his unnatural disgust at Turkish delight; and his irrational fear of drawers and particularly handles. Even so disoriented by his new surroundings, Delego quickly adapted to his new habitat, darkening his disposition and raising it to the first power in order to maximize his resilience to the ashlands. Soon he was conjuring up a few new action phrases, such as ‘go drown in the Sea of Nurn,’ and would begin work on his autobiography as a motivational tale of a young boy torn from his roots who managed to piece them back together in a strikingly new world and save himself from the inconvenience of assimilation. Cursing his past encounters to Mordor has been conveniently removed from his memory, for the most part, as it was too much for him to consider that he belonged in those black lands, having been sent there. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Durelin's post From the moment her woke up, Valde knew that this day, of all days, would be different. He knew, the very second he felt his mind being dragged into consciousness, that his life would be changing very soon. It was suddenly as if this was a long day prophesized in a time long forgotten, though the memory had resurfaced in the man’s dreams. Perhaps it came from the remembrance of more pleasant mornings, when he had been wakened gently from a peaceful slumber on top of a fluffy feather mattress. He had been treated like a young prince-ling in Minas Tirith, and he had of course been as handsome as one then, too. The harsh lands of Mordor had worn him down to what he was, a man rejected by his past and constantly tortured by the present, but one who stood boldly in the face of the future. Now he was but a simple man, who yearned for more, and would stop at nothing to reach it. Or so, at least, it was told to anyone who asked about that day. The truth was, he had awakened that morning with many groanings and moanings, and had counted on spending his day in sorrowful meditation where of course everyone could see him. His first movement since falling asleep was to reach up and wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth. He then felt the pillow, found it wet, and decided that he must inform anyone who asked that he had cried himself to sleep that night, just in case anyone decided to give his pillow a feel. Stumbling out of his room, he cursed every object on the floor that he stepped on, wishing to give the sea life in the Nurn an impressive collection of ironware, quills, and empty ink pots, along with a large stack consisting of the not-yet-so-famous tragedies of Valde Delego, written for the stage. Upon knocking down one such stack, Valde noticed a particular piece of parchment. It was larger than the rest, and the letters upon it were to match, glaring at him. It was almost as if he could see their eyebrows slanting and their lips curling, and so he quickly crumpled up the sheet to hide them. Angrily he threw it out his open window, and the falling paper was greeted with an unnaturally high-pitched squeal. “Do not screech in my window, thee harpy!” he shouted upon rushing to stick his head outside, and then quickly he pulled the shudders shut with a slam. He regretted not saying more to the squealer, but decided that a solemn, silent curse would be enough until they met again. For but a moment he bemoaned his situation, muttering to himself, the only words audible being ‘wretched, poor, stricken, forsaken, maimed, brutal, wound, and ticks.’ Of course, he was obviously relating the Grand Anakronist and the King to parasites, or simply a good poke in the eye. And his reason for this at the moment was plain: gatherings were mandatory, and one was today. Reluctantly, and pulling his grim cloak of sadness tighter around him (a ratty old thing of black cloth that rippled nicely in the wind, perfect for swirling, and thus perfect for either gloomy or angry brooding, depending on the occasion), Valde made his way to the Anakronist’s gathering. Just look at all these filthy people, he thought upon arriving at Caer Pairadocks, Look at that hideous orange scarf that woman’s wearing. What was she thinking? ‘Tis a Mordorian style, if I ever saw one. No wonder she’s stuck here. Taking a position at the back of the crowd, huddled in his cloak with the tall neck pulled up so that he stared over with his dark eyes and large eyebrows as he scanned the gathering, his face frozen in what he thought to be frigid. It became obvious to him that he was trying too hard when a passing woman asked him if he needed to relieve himself. She received first a wide-eyed look of pure shock, which quickly turned to fierce resentfulness. “You would so bother a simple man, protected from the elements by only these scraps of cloth, and even less protected from the storms within the heart? There is no wondering, madam, why you are here in Mordor.” “The same to you, chap.” And with that, the woman moved on, leaving Valde to boil in his anger. So, naturally, he did not notice when the Grand Anakronist began extracting names from the ATM machine. At least, not until he heard his own name, though he naturally wished his ears were lying to him, not knowing why on earth he was called. He quickly smoothed his cloak and gave a tug to the collar, and began to make his way through the crowd, matching every curse at him for pushing with a more iniquitous one. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Last edited by Durelin; 11-29-2005 at 03:54 PM. |
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11-07-2005, 10:31 PM
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#25 |
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Bittersweet Symphony
Join Date: Jul 2004
Location: On the jolly starship Enterprise
Posts: 1,903
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My character and first post!
Character Description Form:
1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – yes, Sailing Away, Red Flows the Sirannon 2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? – one, Red Flows the Sirannon 3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon or The White Horse Inn – yes ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Encaitare's character NAME: Wilhelmina Brochenbach (with ach-Lauts and not K's, if you please please) AGE: 72 RACE: human GENDER: female WEAPONS: a large walking-stick with a brass handle, garishly shaped as a light mayonnaise jar out of pure spite. It actually holds her secret stash of licorice. APPEARANCE: Wilhelmina is on the short side, and has become rather thickset in her old age. She wears many skirts and petticoats of varying color and quality, and still wears a corset over her oversized shirt to keep her back straight, and remind her of the good old days. A large black hat is balanced precariously atop her grey head. Sometimes a whiskered little nose pops out from behind the feathers and fake flowers of the hat to say hello. PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: She retains a fair share of stubbornness from her youth, and has certainly not mellowed with age. She is not easily shaken, but she still gets a bit touchy whenever she hears anything about carbonated beverages. Most people think that all the time spent in Mordor has addled her brains a bit, so they tend to avoid her. Her pet ferret is therefore her closest friend. HISTORY:Born in FA 581, Wilhelmina was growing up at just the time that Anakronisms were zapping themselves into Gondor at an alarming rate. She was a rebellious, outspoken sort of teen who made a point to speak Anakronisms all the time at home because it made her mother nervous. As a young woman, she was very attractive, and also very fixed upon keeping herself that way. Some of the Anakronisms she had found were actually good, she decided, a blasphemous thought according to the king. But she really loved the boned corset and huge boots that had mysteriously materialized in her backyard one day, and it seemed worth the risk since the sexy outfit she’d put together would most certainly make the object of her affections notice her. One summer night, she and some girlfriends went to a tavern on the fourth level of Minas Tirith to see if the cute bartender Wilhelmina liked was there. A long cloak concealed the outlandish outfit. To her disappointment, the cute bartender was absent, and replaced by one who just wasn't very cute at all. He smiled greasily at her and her friends. "What can I get for you, ladies?" he asked. Wilhelmina wrinkled her nose ever so slightly and asked for a Coke. The barman looked around anxiously. There had been problems about ordering carbonated beverages, as they could be tied in with Anakronisms if one wasn't careful. The fact that she was pretty was probably the only thing that was keeping him from reporting her, she thought. He lowered his voice. "What kind, miss?" "What?" she said, staring at him blankly. He looked even more skittish. "What kind of coke would you like?" Something clicked and she understood. "Listen," she said, irritated. "When I say coke, I mean a COKE, and NOT any OTHER kind of soda. A coke is a Coke is a Coca-forking-Cola!" The man appeared to be on the verge of madness at her outburst, which had drawn some attention. "She spoke an Anakronism!" he shrieked for the whole tavern to hear. "She's making trouble with carbonated beverage terminology!" A group of guards in the corner of the tavern rose from their table. "What's your name, missy?" one asked. "Wilhelmina Brochenbach," she replied, glaring at the men. "Oh ho!" one exclaimed. "That name sounds like German to me!" He grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. "It's most definitely off to Mordor with you, missy," one of them growled. "Get your hands off me, you brutes!" she cried, realizing that her huge boots served another purpose: toe-crushing. The guard howled, but the others grabbed her by the arms from behind and she was unable to reach them. The pin holding the cloak shut broke, and it fell away, revealing the blasphemous getup. "What's that she's wearing?!" the injured guard raged. "More Anakronisms! You'll be in Mordor for a long time, you, and I’m not sorry of it either!" Thus Wilhelmina Brochenbach came to dwell in the Black Land. After a time, the blisters from the giant boots made the footwear too much to bear. She tried to date, but all the men spat on the ground for no apparent reason, and only wanted to go out to bowling alleys. So Wilhelmina resigned herself to being a bachelorette, and invited a furry animal – a ferret named Mr. Swanky – to dwell in an excellent hat she’d found and keep her company. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Encaitare's post "Oh, very well, Mr. Swanky. You may have some licorice even if it's not quite lunchtime yet." The old woman unscrewed the cap from the handle of her walking-stick and removed a licorice whip. She broke a little piece off the end and appeared to feed it to her garish hat. "Daddy, look, that lady is giving her hat lunch!" a small girl noted, tugging on her father's sleeve. The man took a look and said to his daughter, "Never you mind, hon. That's just old Wilhelmina Brokenback. She's crazy." Luckily, Wilhelmina was a bit deaf and didn’t hear the exchange; otherwise the man would have gotten a smart whack with her walking-stick for calling her crazy and mispronouncing her name in the same breath. Instead, she slowly chewed the rest of the licorice herself, waiting for the selection of names to begin. If anyone deserved to get out of Mordor, she did. She'd been in the wretched land for more than fifty years, and although she'd gotten used to it, it would be nice to live in a place where speeding drivers didn't try to mow her down on her way to the corner store. Yet she had dwelt there for so long that she felt quite patient to wait for the names to be drawn. What were a few more minutes compared to the years already gone? Around her, people were chatting excitedly. "The first thing I'm going to do if I get out of here..." was the phrase that was flying about. One shrill voice cut through the din; "Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly!" "'S that Panakeia loony again," Wilhelmina muttered to herself. "If you ask me, she could use some of that face cream stuff herself. Not that I'm one to talk, of course," she added, as though someone had called her hypocritical. Suddenly, the crowd hushed as the Grand Anakronist stepped forth and cleared his throat. He announced that it was time to choose the lucky few who would comprise the Offending Party. Hundreds of eyes watched as the ATM rose from the ground, and everyone seemed to hold his (or her) breath as the transactions were completed. "Alumìn-E Umfuìl," Anakron read. A pretty young girl pushed her way forward, griping about how he’d said her name wrong. "Panakeia of Harad," he continued. The saleswoman joined the first girl at Anakron’s side. The machine spat out a third card. The man squinted at it for a moment, and then read, "Wilhelmina Brochenbach." Wilhelmina grinned and made her way to the front. "Good man!" she said jovially. "Got the ach-Lauts and everything! Did you hear that, Mr. Swanky? We’re going to get out of here!" Last edited by Encaitare; 11-08-2005 at 03:16 PM. |
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11-08-2005, 10:46 AM
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#26 | |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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I love it! Valde Delego will be such a great contrast to other, more (shall we say) high spirited (and drunk on being in love) characters.
 Just one modification I require of you: Quote:
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11-08-2005, 10:36 AM
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#27 | |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Quote:
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11-08-2005, 10:44 AM
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#28 | |
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La Belle Dame sans Merci
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: perpetual uncertainty
Posts: 5,600
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Quote:
Should that fail, I can always fall in love with a 'Downer. I belive Eomer of the Rohirrim and the phantom have been bodily sent to Mordor. Then again, so has The Saucepan Man. Maybe we could convince him to cameo ("No, dear Alli, I'm married with children. This relationship would never work, though I'm flattered."). Or, you know... I think Johnny Depp's in there... *grin*
__________________
peace
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11-13-2005, 06:30 PM
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#29 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Bringing this forward:
Player/Character List
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- lmp When the posts are in and the time is right for you and your crew, then leave a post for me with the order of posts for the RPG thread opening (by player name, please) - and I'll open the game then for you. ~*~ Pio
Last edited by piosenniel; 11-27-2005 at 11:41 PM. |
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11-14-2005, 07:51 AM
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#30 |
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Estelo dagnir, Melo ring
Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,083
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Sorry...attack of what I believe might be strep throat, along with 5 tests in 3 days time... You'd think 'twere mid-terms already...
Anyway, no excuses. I will get you my post as soon as phyiscally and mentally possible. And, just so this post doesn't consist entirely of my whining... ( ) I love the monetary system. And Caer Pairadocks looks like quite the place... And I expect that Valde will want to know those "the magic words" by the end of this escapade...at the latest.
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11-14-2005, 10:44 AM
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#31 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Will do, Pio.
Don't put yourself out too hard, Durelin. We don't need you turning into a cobbler ... again. Magic words? What magic words.
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11-14-2005, 04:01 PM
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#32 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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Yes -- Durelin & the phantom -
Please do take your time getting your posts in. This game has all the earmarks of being a very well-written one. Work up your posts to your satisfaction (&lmp's, of course). And pay no attention to those character lists and what's still needed by the players. That's just me keeping tabs on where you all are in the planning stages. ~*~ Pio
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside. |
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11-14-2005, 08:05 PM
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#33 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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schedule
My thought on the schedule for this game is that if it's five tests, that will take five weeks; if it turns out to be six tests (just because of the creative gusto that's been building it looks like that'll be easy to mangage), then it will be six weeks.
This is going to be sort of like werewolf in on-task posting, more than once per day. Not the same level of intensity as werewolf - I can't imagine anybody doing that for six straight weeks.  But it'll be a bit more on-task than a typical rpg, with a strict deadline so that you can count on when this is done.I want us to be able to enjoy our vacations and holidays without distraction from this, and vice versa. So we won't start this until the week following American Thanksgiving, at the earliest. And then I expect us to take time off for both Christmas and New Year's, such that this will probably finish up in mid to late January. Thanksgiving is on a Thursday, Christmas and New Year's both on Sunday. So: Start (if we're ready): Monday November 28; each test/week ends on the following Sunday night. This is subject to everyone's readiness. Christmas to New Year's off days: Friday Dec. 23 - Tuesday Jan 3. We can even interrupt this in the middle of a "test", but we don't have to. I'm flexible. So I'm looking at just taking a long break for the holiday, with everybody ready to bounce back to it Wed. January 4. Seem like a good plan? Last edited by littlemanpoet; 11-14-2005 at 08:09 PM. |
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11-30-2005, 03:33 AM
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#34 |
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Desultory Dwimmerlaik
Join Date: Mar 2002
Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat.....
Posts: 7,786
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The RPG thread is now open for play --
A few reminders:
Have fun! ~*~ Pio
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside. |
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11-30-2005, 10:58 AM
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#35 |
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Shadowed Prince
Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: Thulcandra
Posts: 2,360
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The almighty dollar eh...?
Religion and currency anybody? The Church of the Almighty Dollar? Compulsory attendance and Mass? Having to buy your own wine? And crackers? And... Yeah.
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12-01-2005, 11:05 AM
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#36 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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White-All? Huh?
White-All is identical with the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, across Whitehall Street from Westminster Abbey. Obviously, you won't find Caer Pairadocks on this map; those darned Orcs are always forgetting it.
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12-13-2005, 07:47 PM
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#37 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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FYI - revision to a couple past posts...
I changed "Kling Klong" to Rôgû. Just so you know.
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01-21-2006, 02:42 PM
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#38 |
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Itinerant Songster
Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,066
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Nothing like writing yourself into a corner, Fea. Most complicated, this thing with Tom Felton. I'll leave you the option. You can either leave your post as is and wrack your creative brains for how it all fits together, or you can edit out the whole simulation thing and let me do what I was planning anyway. Your choice. It don't make me no nevermind.
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etc.
Hybrid Mode
