BurningCold

Devil's Runners

@6slyboy6 As I suspected, it makes sense. Might I PM you the concept I had for my character? As I'm not certain if it'll still work given the enlightening context.

Devil's Runners

@6slyboy6 Isn't it possible that our Runner came from offworld and joined up to help? Maybe trade some physical fortitude and experience for higher tech, maybe more specialized roles? Unless of course it's a balancing concern as to why certain gear isn't allowed.

EDIT: Or is it that outside help is impossible due to the events that lead to the planet's desecration in the first place?

Devil's Runners

This seems pretty neat. I've only got three RPs currently and my interest in writing has increased triple fold recently. Got room for another? @6slyboy6

The Lord of the Rings: The Age of Men

@The Muse of Eru@POOHEAD189@MiddleEarthRoze@FernStone@babbysama

Probably should've mentioned this a while ago, but the post is up. Feels good to be publicly involved in this.

Ladies and Gents, welcome to Dôr-min-Taur.

The Lord of the Rings: The Age of Men

A thick gloom hung over Dôr-min-Taur, so palpable it clung to one’s clothes, tugging slightly at each and every action. Those keen of sense would taste the blackness on their tongues, feel the dark that lingered just beyond the capacity of mortal reckoning. And there, in the deep of the Mirkwood, shadows oozed out of the silent colony. That empty place where indulgence and avarice once reigned supreme, replaced by a fell and foulness so bleak that the forbidding atmosphere of the grim woods surrounding paled in comparison.

-An excerpt from the journal of Callum Taul

The residents of Dôr-min-Taur, Lambin reflected, did not live so lavish existences such as some tales would imply. Each and every house that he came upon was simple in design, small in size, and solidly built. Squat little things that seemed more intent on hiding the wealth of their respective holders, rather than flaunting it. The interior of each house seemed to be a little less modest, but not by any significant mark. Finely carved but functional furniture was the norm by far, but evidence of their wealth could still be found: fine baubles and jewelry, smelted from gold and silver, set with rare gems, were commonplace, while satin and velvet could be found in the clothing and bedding of most homes. Lambin was sure to pocket the finest trinkets from each residency; the rest would have to be saved for when he and Callum did a proper sweep of the place with the wagon.

The lack of people was a strange thing, but it made looting exceptionally simple, and the lack of bodies was even better. Lambin was rightly sick of the stench of corpse, and anything that smelled similar. Still, he wrinkled his nose at each crusted stain of blood, and carefully avoided stepping in anything that seemed too suspect. There were more than a few occasions where he had to avoid tripping on a piece of overturned furniture, dimly lit as the homes were. Yes, he was dressed for work rather than pleasure, but the leathers were still expensively made, and there was no sense in getting oneself filthy if it could be avoided.

“Callum!” Lambin shouted with mock joy. “How welcome your dour expression is at a time like this, a true beacon of warmth in the oppressive locale we currently find ourselves in.” He sauntered a little closer to the man accompanying him. “I think we must laden ourselves with as much loot as we can carry, without straining the poor beasties too much.” As Lambin spoke, he edged closer to the two horses yoked to their wagon, stroking the mane of each one affectionately. “Slip, Grin, we’re going to make a fortune here, and I’ll trust you two to the heavy lifting.”

“Something terrible has happened here.” Callum spoke flatly, mild in tone and with a hollow ring to his voice. Lambin watched the much taller fellow climb into the wagon and seize the reigns. “We should start at the front of the city - does this place count as a city? - and work our way to the rear. We can search the mine then.”

As the pair made their way down the main road, horses clopping along towards the looming wall that grew bigger every other moment, Lambin peered forward from his seat. “Whore’s tit. We have visitors.”

Callum raised an eyebrow. “Make that one up yourself? We should greet them. We’re well within our rights to be here, and allies couldn’t hurt us.” A shadow fell across Callum’s face. “They may be useful. In the mine.”

“Let’s be on with it then, stay the course, and let me do the talking. You just… be you.”

A great tragedy must have befallen Dôr-min-Taur. Though no bodies or survivors remained in the town to speak of, there were other signs. Near every home had its furniture in some manner of disarray, chairs and sometimes tables cast about. Arrows were firmly embedded in posts and walls, missed shots by some panicked or unskilled marksman, that much is clear. The most obvious sign of crisis, however, was the blood. Blood, crimson and black, crusted and flaking in some spots, sticky like sludge in others, was no stranger to my gaze. It seemed everywhere I looked, there was some of the foul residue. Something very, very terrible happened to the people of Dôr-min-Taur.

-An excerpt from the journal of Callum Taul

Frokane's Mildly Politcal Hangout Thread

guys look who got banned

The Lord of the Rings: The Age of Men

Lambin Hemming

Lambin Hemming

Name:
Lambin Hemming

Age:
27

Race:
Human (Bree)

Sex:
Male

Personality:
Though often accustomed to finding himself in the spotlight, performing with flute and fiddle, conjuring up cheap tricks, and challenging those that think themselves of fine wit to games of riddles, Lambin is dubiously unreliable when matters of his personal life are brought into question. It would be no secret that he tells any who ask an entirely different falsehood. It would be no secret, provided that Lambin didn’t have the unique gift of remembering each and every tall tale and who exactly is privy to each alteration to the story. Lambin is a pathological liar, and makes no attempt to hide it, simply because he’s so damn good at it. Everywhere he goes, he’s wont to change his stage name and his costume, becoming an entirely different individual on complete whim, easily remembering the appropriate alias for return visits.

Appearance:
Of slight build with little muscle and far less fat, Lambin barely scrapes past five foot six inches. He sweeps his darkish, mousy hair off to one side, exposing a face of fine features one would be more likely to call pretty than handsome. His cheekbones are high, resting above a sharp jawline that tapers into a similarly sharp chin. A gently sloping nose rests between grey eyes that seem to know more than they tell.

Backstory:
While accounts differ across the board, as to Lambin’s true story, those persistent enough, or crafty enough - and none are - would be able to gather little, but perhaps enough. They would know that in a sense of things, his upbringing was an unhappy one, he left home, and somehow took up the trade of bardship. However, anyone brazen enough, or wily enough - and none are - to steal Lambin’s journal, would likely find the truest account of Lambin Hemming that exists to date. It reads as such:

I normally wouldn’t bother with this. It seems a pointless endeavor to jot down one’s history when the only reference I need is my own memory. Completely frivolous, but Callum says it’s important. He says there’s something to be said about being honest to oneself, especially if one cannot cease lying to the world. Maybe there’s some amount of truth in that, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue. I’m worldwise, and Callum deals in all abstracts. Though I suppose he’s fairly worldwise too. Anyone that knows the man like I do can see that clear as day. Anyways, I suppose I am digressing. Where to start?

Well, I’m Bree-stock, through and through, yeah? I was born in an alleyway to a mother that died before the process was quite done. Somebody had to cut her open and pull me out, she couldn’t manage to contract just a little longer. I reckon that the man with the awfully sharp knife was my Pa, though I’ve been wrong before. We didn’t really talk much, on account of him not having a tongue and me having to pick up speech from the nice folk of Bree. Mostly helpful phrases like “off with you!” and “scram!”. All useful words in their own right, but only in certain choice situations. The kind that I was usually on the receiving end of. Luckily, not too many years into my prestigious life, my most likely father brought home a sweet looking girl that introduced herself as my “sister”. And when I say “sweet looking girl”, I mean a buxom tavern whore that couldn’t have been more than ten years my senior, aged five as I was. She taught me my words, but unfortunately my letters would have to come at a later date, from a different teacher.

She was kind to me, and got kinder still as I began to grow into boyhood, and then manhood. Not that I was ever much of a man. I stopped growing around fourteen years of age and never got much more than a bit of lean muscle. Clearly, however, that didn’t seem to matter to her in the slightest. Eventually it got to the point where I wasn’t sure who bedded her more often. Me, or my Pa and all the rest of Bree combined. Something tells me that she preferred younger meat over an old man missing three quarters of a tongue and more than a few teeth. Her name was Halla.

Well, old tongueless died eventually, and it really was just me and her at that point. Unfortunately for me, whoring around wasn’t enough to support a family of two, not without the financial support tongueless brought to the table. I’d like to say that we parted amicably, but really, she kicked me to the streets without a second thought as to whether or not I appreciated the sentiment. I looked her up years later, you know, on one of my first return trips to Bree. Spent a night with her in the same tavern tongueless found her in. She didn’t recognize me, and never before had I fueled so much hatred into one night of lust. I didn’t look for her again after that, and I never found her either.

Anyways, so there I was, yes? Alone in an unforgiving city with not much going for me besides what too many drunk men would call a “pretty face”. So I suppose I took to whoring myself, no? I took their coin purses if they happened to be especially tilted. Men and women alike sought me out, and barring the exception of Halla years later, I could never bear prolonged physical contact. That’s why I never sing and I never dance during my performances. Nobody wants to disturb a flutist while they’re playing, or interrupt a magician’s trick. Those two years were perhaps the worst of my life.

I left Bree eventually. Found a place with a little caravan. Riddlers, merchants, magicians and musicians, and that’s how I picked up my trade. That’s where I learned my letters too. Compared to the first seventeen years in Bree, travelling with the caravan was a significant improvement, and I can’t help but to look upon my memories of those times with fondness.

As a young robin must spread its wings and flee the nest, so too did I feel the urge to part ways with the caravan and make my own way in the world. Notice how poet is not my vocation of choice. I had funds, so I got myself a horse, a wagon, and some hired help in the form of Callum. His formal title is Spouter of Rot Advice and Ponderer of Existential Nonsense. Alright, I think I’m done now. My hand is cramping. I don’t know why I wrote this all down.

-Lambin Hemming

Reason for investigating the silent colony?:
Dôr-min-Taur was simply the next stop on Lambin’s travels, and he was not expecting to find the colony in the state that he did.

Other:
He has a bodyguard named Callum, (an additional npc that I’ll be playing) a skilled swordsman and passable marksman, though he carries no bow

Lambin prefers to get himself out of trouble with a silver tongue, but has no issue with avoiding conflict altogether, suited to stealth and skilled in the art

Callum

The Valencia - [High Fantasy, Pirates]

Orm is just taking a snooze. 'Bout that collab, @LadyTabris, I can get that under way soon.

The Lord of the Rings: The Age of Men

@MiddleEarthRoze Ask not for whom the block is set; it is set for thee.

Happens to all of us Roze, I'm certain anything subpar from you still blows some people's best out of the water.

Then again, the free section exists, maybe that isn't saying much

The Lord of the Rings: The Age of Men

The co-GM exists! Character coming in hot - stay tuned.