[D&D-5e] Esgaroth

[Dylan Scott]

Application Done i think

[PsychicNomad]

Originally Posted by Dylan Scott

Application Done i think

Yeah, I can see. Nicely detailed character. I read it from head to toe and wasn't bored with it. Congrats.

@Jrod
How is Galdryion coming? Can we help in some way?

[Jrod]

I’m going to keep fleshing him out.

I could use a reason/ excuse for Thranduil to let my character roam freely. Seems my mind keeps getting stuck in high dedication/ servitude to the king. Would the king allow elves to roam freely?

[Hal Hammerhand]

The Third Flame: Name: Belecthor III, Son of Baranor Culture: Man of Minus Tirith Class: Warrior (Weaponmaster) Virtue: Piercing Sight Background: Fallen Scion Distinctive Quality: -Determined Speciality: -Dark Secrets Hope: -I have learned that true nobility is not a birthright. Despair: -My former title was naught but a fanciful dream concocted by some evil that seeped into my father's mind. Description: Belecthor is a little on the short side, halfway between five and six feet tall but his build is muscular and compact. His dark hair flows down just past his shoulder and hides his right eye from view. While some may misinterpret his chosen hair style as some youthful desire to appear mysterious, it's actually because he has had too many comments about his piercing gaze that seems to dig deep into a person at times. He wears the light traveling garb of a Gondorian captain with ring mail beneath, afforded him by his bloodline. A belt buckle brandishing the sigil of the White Tree wraps his waist and holds a finely crafted longsword he calls Neldeanar (Third Flame) on his left hip and a hunting horn embellished to look like a war horn of Gondor upon his right hip. Backstory: Belecthor III is the son of Baranor who is the half-brother of Denethor II. He grew up in Minus Tirith and lived a good life rubbing elbows with quasi-nobility. It was near his teenage years that his father was struck in the head while tending the Steward's Horse and he began to have visions. From that point forward, Belecthor grew up with the prophecy of rulership hanging over his head. These visions from his father telling of a mighty, dark-haired man brandishing a longsword in two-hands beating back the darkness in Gondor's name. Belecthor chose to practice so hardily with the longsword that he was called a master by some, known among his peers, at the least. As he reached adulthood, he was considered and trained to follow his second cousin, Boromir into battle at Osgiliath as his second but some dark feeling tainting his father's visions caused him to remain behind. It was shortly after that the strength in his bloodline came into question as news of Boromir's death reached Denethor's ears. Belecthor could only stand by and watch from the stables as Faramir delivered tidings of his losses at Osgiliath to the Steward. Quickly following Faramir's failed charge towards the lost outpost, The Steward's mind began to unravel and the city came under attack. Baranor lost his life when orcs began to flow through the White City, leaving Belecthor with little but his hopeful ascension to the throne and no further guidance. With Denethor's death and the coming of Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, Belecthor's noble blood began to mean less and less. It was more and more often that Belecthor's noble peers saw he wasn't going to be the king he had prepared to be. Luckily, the more peers that turned away from him or he turned away with his intense gaze, the less he wanted to be a king, convinced that some dark power had given his father false visions to lead his family astray. Eventually, he decided that he didn't want to remain in Minus Tirith at all. It wasn't long thereafter that he found himself in Esgaroth with a band of mercenaries. Why your character joined the band: Belecthor joined this band in the hopes that he could find that nobility that was prophesied for him and it wouldn't be some scheme fabricated by some dark power. How the character feels about being a mercenary: Mercenary work is the perfect place for Belecthor to use the skills he honed in his youth and gives him purpose aside from his father's visions. NPCs connected to your character: -Podrick: The stablemaster that took over after Baranor was killed in the war. He did his best to guide Belecthor. -Flickwit: A merchant who allowed Belecthor to travel with him out of Minus Tirith and Belecthor's first source of income outside the city.

[Ericg1s]

I misread the application. I will respectfully withdraw., as I didn't realize you were using special material.

[PsychicNomad]

Originally Posted by Jrod

I could use a reason/ excuse for Thranduil to let my character roam freely. Seems my mind keeps getting stuck in high dedication/ servitude to the king. Would the king allow elves to roam freely?

- He could have done something that Thranduil did not like, and he was either sent away to think (temporary exile), or he might have chosen to do so.
- If the king saw the wanderlust in him boiling, he may decided to let him go, cool down (in the course of a few decades), then return to the fold.
- He can be looking for something to bring back but currently have no idea where to look. Probably won't find anything during the game, because then he'll leave the group and chase what he's after.

Originally Posted by Ericg1s

I misread the application. I will respectfully withdraw., as I didn't realize you were using special material.

I'm sad the AiME book is special material, but I understand your choice.

[Hal Hammerhand]

I think I'm finished.

[PsychicNomad]

Originally Posted by Hal Hammerhand

I think I'm finished.

That's another brilliant character.

I already feel the Middle-Earth vibe with these four before even the first game post.

[Ysolde]

Name: Rue
Culture: Elves of Mirkwood
Class: Treasure Hunter
Virtue: Shadow Bane
Background: Hunted by Shadow

Distinctive Quality: Hardened
Specialty: Dark Secrets
Hope: I give comfort to my allies – it is possible to strike a blow against the Shadow.
Despair: I keep my emotions to myself; it is too dangerous to forge bonds.

Appearance: Short elven woman with sandy blonde hair and a fierce look to her especially when she frowns which is often. Her leathers are muted colors and she often wears a hood. Her green eyes stare out at the world with hurt and anger. Her bow is old wood, handed down to her family over generations and stained with blood. Her short sword has ancient scrollwork and has been passed down through generations as well. When you move close you smell almost nothing at all as if she is quite skilled at erasing her scent. Her voice is an unremarkable alto much like almost anyone else's voice and, when needed she can make her her ears well hidden leading people to think she could be a human.

Personality: Full of hatred for all creatures of shadow Rue is not like most of her people who hold up in their forests fighting their battles. She seeks out treasures of her people that were lost so that she might bring them back to elven hands where they belong and she almost gleefully kills the enemy.

Background: She sat in the tree branch in the middle of a dark night. Her skin mottled with oils and her hair blackened with charcoal she waited patiently. It was rare that she could find an orc, but her smile was wide as she watched the small group of them. She could and would wait for hours. Just as she was hunted by Shadow, so was she hunting them, and this group of Orcs were just more to put in the ground.

As she waited she could remember the flames, recall the village burning and her commander speaking, ”We have to think beyond vengeance, we are to retreat and let them have this place. We can't afford the losses.”

She opened her eyes and frowned at the memory trying to shake it away by shaking her head and gritting her teeth. Moving gently in her spot and then settling back down she whispers to herself, ”Never, take our things, kill our people? No, let each one of the agents of shadow that dies repay the cost of what they have taken from us. Blood for blood and life for life. Until the end of my days I will hunt them down and kill them again and again until all are dead or I am. This I vow . . . ”

How she joined the band: Rue is always looking for groups that might come into contact with those who hunt her and whom she is hunting in return. The Mercenary band is just one more in a long line of compatriots that bring her towards her goal of returning items to her people and killing the agents of shadow.

[PsychicNomad]

Treasure Hunter, Shadow Bane and giving comfort to others? Very cool combination.

Technically it's Oct 2 in my TZ, but I need to sleep now. During the day I'll start the threads in the game folder, and we can set off on the journey in AiME.

[PsychicNomad]

Dylan Scott, Onward, Hal Hammerhand, Ysolde, welcome to the game!

Jrod, it's up to you, if you think Galdryion will be ready in a few days, welcome to the game!

[Jrod]

Hey Psychic. I appreciate the nod, but I think I will In fact bow out.
Good luck to everyone. Have fun.

[Saratek]

This deadline crept up on me during my busy week. Wish I would have gotten something up or said something beforehand.

I'll be subscribed to this thread should you ever open up applications again.

EDIT: Just going to leave this here in case you ever open up again.

 

Warden Application Name: Gilbarad, Son of Borondir Culture: Dúnedain Class: Warden (Herald) Virtue: Sterner than Steel Background: Seeker of the Lost Distinctive Quality: Adventurous. Gilbarad enjoys seeking out new Tales and Experiences Specialty: Folk-lore. Gilbarad's exposure to tales of old has led to a thirst for such traditions and cultures. Hope: Gilbarad's bond with his friends trumps any personal quest the Warden might have. Despair: Gilbarad is unsure if the relic he keeps hearing about can really be the answer he hopes. Appearance   Dark hair, that has long lost its sheen to disregard, falls around the man's face to hang just above his shoulders. Prominent features, the results of his lineage, poke out from beneath the heavy hood the Ranger is usually found hiding beneath. Gilbarad's height and width do not do justice to the mountain his father was, but certainly towers over the grandfather he grew up knowing. The Warden, looking several years younger than his years should but lacking none of the sense of maturity, isn't nearly as sturdily built as one might expect of a Dúnedain, but what he lacks in strength he makes up for in finesse. Lithe, agile limbs are wrapped in snug, soft clothing that helps keep his movements soft while their coloration could easily be lost in even the sparsest of forests. Despite what some would expect when encountering a Ranger, Gilbarad cannot often keep up the demeanor nearly as long as most once tales of heroics and victory are being spoken. While those close to him see a much warmer, friendlier side of him, there is little that makes the man light up as much as a good story, even if he is the one telling it. His excitement in both hearing and sharing tales is evident, as is his curiosity when it comes to often forgotten histories and lost relics. While he can put up a front of being tough, cold, and miserly, deep down, Gilbarad's friends know it is all an act, even if the Herald is just as capable with a broadsword as he suggests. History   The last farm on the border between Eriador and what the Rangers guarded against is where Gilbarad was born. His mother, having refused to leave her elder father after her mother's death, had been raised on that farm, being fully aware and carrying on the traditions her father and his father had done when it came to offering a haven to those that kept Man safe from the Shadow. Gilbarad's parents' romance had been one of convenience, but was no less passionate for it. Borondir had barely taught his son to properly swing a sword when the Ranger's usual visit was replaced with that by another the family knew, but certainly hadn't expected. The boy's father would not be returning. He spared Lily the details, but promised that she, and more especially Gilbarad, would not be forgotten. The boy could never have imagined he had so many 'Aunts and Uncles', but he never had the need to question it. For years, new faces would visit, claiming to be this and that, but always seemed to be known by Gilbarad's mother and grandfather. When the boy was old enough to travel, he would go on journeys with these relatives, and was taught in the ways of his people, his father. Mostly this consisted of lots of walking, camping, and hearing of stories over a fire, but on more than few times, especially as he matured, Gilbarad was slowly introduced to the kinds of dangers the Rangers protected Eriador from. By the time Gilbarad had reached his eighteenth summer, he was spending more time out on the roads and paths, guarding the realm from evil, than at home with his mother. Lily, upon her father's ailing health, had taken over running the farm. With how known it was the family's connections to the Dúnedain, few suitors came to woo the woman, and those that did weren't entertained long before they made excuse-ridden exits. The woman's son had become a man very much resembling his father, albeit not nearly as physically imposing and possessing a brightness that his father had lacked. Serving with distinction, there was some that expected Gilbarad to continue to remain in the region and continue to good fight, but tales of old, rumors of relics that could once and for all force back and cease the Shadow's reach into the World of Men, set the man on a search for such lore. Even if he had not known of the dangers as a child, Gilbarad had seen them firsthand, and wished nothing more than the ensure a future for those like his mother and grandfather. Gilbarad's quest would send him traveling all over Middle Earth. If there was a tale to be heard or a rumor to be had, he would seek it out until the trail ran cold. Even though he wasn't always welcomed warmly, the Warden had always known the value of allies; of friends, and how much easier a battle could be won or a hunt prove successful with them. More often than not, he also found that those that had been tested and proven worthy had their own tales, heard their own rumors, and were usually willing to share once they saw the devotion Gilbarad had to them and their continued survival. It wasn't long, and not entirely unexpected, before Gilbarad found himself counted amongst those that bathed in the glory and adoration of those that had been defended or saved. While he'd always felt like a spectator to the adventures he would set out on, it was hard to argue you hadn't played your part when your allies patted you on the back and thanked you for their lives. Whether it be orcs, trolls, or spiders, the commonfolk seemed to always welcome the warriors back with great acclaim, and soon Gilbarad found he much enjoyed being recognized for his involvement. It was certainly not what he had been taught to expect from the Rangers. Having expected the arrangement to be a temporary one, it didn't take more than one quest for Gilbarad to find himself both indebted but also endeared to the wily and eclectic band of mercenaries. Each of them had stories to tell, but beyond that, there always seemed to be some grander design behind the troubles they were hired to combat. This was not always the case, however, and would often leave the Warden questioning why a job was seen as necessary over others. The promise of reward, while something he could understand, had always been more motivating to others in the band, but was not overlooked by Gilbarad. A warm bed and a hot meal cost coin, and orcs weren't known for carrying coin pouches to be plundered after the fact. In truth, Gilbarad quite enjoys not only working with the band, but also the influence they allow him. Unlike other situations, even though there are those clearly best situated for commanding and guiding, the Warden's voice was heard and considered, even if decisions did not always go his way. While staying on with the mercenary band has certainly hindered his progress on tracking down the fabled relic that would cast the light needed to eliminate the Shadow from the earth, Gilbarad has come to believe that, when he does learn of its resting place, none other that those he's aligned himself with will be able to walk with him to complete the quest. Connected NPCs Lily and Giles Hedgedon: Gilbarad's Mother and Grandfather, respectively. They continue to live on a farm closer to the Misty Mountains than the village of Bree, and have supported the Rangers for several generations. While farming provides the basest of standards of living, gifts given by those they provide haven to afford the family a slight bit of comfort, but, more importantly, lasting protection from the evils both beyond and near. "Uncle" Amlaith & "Aunt" Galadwen: These two, especially Amlaith, were close to Gilbarad's father and were the two to spend the most time with and teach the boy the most out of all of the Rangers that he was raised by. Each taught individual specialites to Gilbarad, and were involved, one time together, in hunts that the young man took part in. While Amlaith may have bore witness to Gilbarad's first kill, it was Galadwen's teachings that had guided the arrow.