Mods - Please Lock OOC:: Yesterday's Arrows

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Mods - Please Lock OOC:: Yesterday's Arrows

Postby Bardhwyn » Mon Sep 04, 2006 7:15 pm


OOC:
Yesterday’s Arrows, the Quest for Revelation AND Arrow's Flight, The War of The Pretender



Greetings, traveler. Thank you for stopping in to read our OOC thread.

This OOC thread serves both the RP titled Yesterday's Arrows, The Quest for Revelation found here in the Prancing Pony forum and a co-authored story titled Arrow's Flight, The War of The Pretender, located in The Scriptorium.

We encourage our readers to post their comments for both stories here.

We love hearing from you - it does us wonders to know that our writing is being read. Thanks in advance. :)

Arrow's Flight, The War of The Pretender

This story is co-authored by Rholarowyn and Bardhwyn of Dale. It predates 'Yesterday's Arrows' by a year and the events that transpire in this story are connected to what is unfolding in 'Arrows.' So, stay tuned folks...


Yesterday’s Arrows, The Quest for Revelation

RP Guidelines

This RP is the derivation of a subplot begun in the Lucky Fortune Inn thread in the Welcome forum. It draws on the past character experience between two characters, Bardhwyn of Dale and Bryttar of Rohan.

The goal is to keep the writing cast small with four writers. Currently we have four writers committed with developed characters and we are not entertaining any new writers at this time. This may change and if so, this intro post will be amended and a post put on the thread indicating the same.

If there is interest on the part of a writer, please email Bardhwyn of Dale with your idea for the story and for a character. The email address is available by clicking the ‘email’ link on any of my posts.

We are committed to fun but thorough RP’ing with an emphasis on cooperation and a balanced, collective approach to the creative process.We are servants to the entirety of story, as it were, not to the characters in it.

We understand that life takes us away from the boards, so short term absence of writers only needs a forewarning in the OOC. Long term absence, 6 weeks or longer, would necessitate writing the character ‘off’ (though never out, if the writer returns and wants to participate again.) for the overall benefit of the story.

This story will be based on the Tolkien’s Middle Earth, early Fourth Age. The Ring Bearers have left for the West. Characters will be non-magical, no *~special~* powers.


Current Writers –

Bardhwyn of Dale
Rholarowyn
Willow


Characters:

Bardhwyn of Dale (written by same)

Bryttar of Rohan (written by Rholarowyn)

Eriador, apprentice to Bryttar, of Gondor (written by Rholarowyn)

Tasar (written by Willow)


Non-Playing Characters:


Cerrimir, Ranger Commandant (written by Bardhwyn)

SPECIAL APPEARANCE BY: The Lady Heather, of the Lucky Fortune Inn, written by the kind Patriot Blade.
Last edited by Bardhwyn on Tue Jan 23, 2007 6:04 am, edited 20 times in total.
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Postby Bardhwyn » Mon Sep 04, 2006 7:19 pm

Preface



Imagine: before you lies a parchment case which is masterfully carved, imbedded with fine threads of gold that twist and turn into intricate filligree knots.

Upon it you see runes which read:


ROYAL ARCHIVES OF DALE

CASE # 19845


Reference: The Royal Bowmen

Herein lie the recollections of Bardhwyn, daughter of Bardhol, Archer in the King’s Bowmen who, when struck with amnesia, doth chronicled her tale in her own hand.

Cross References: House of Bardhol, Dorwinion - The Royal House of



Unroll the parchment and you will see the edges of the document cracked from repeated use. There is much writing upon it; crammed in the top margin is laid the thick fat sprawl of a man’s printing and following it the thin and delicate cursive of a woman. Both frame the beginning of a tale which is, in truth, merely the continuation of another …


To: The Captain of the King’s Rangers, Fornost, Arnor.

Sir:

This was found along a disused path on the western slopes of the Weather Hills. We send it to your attention for it is clear some investigation needs to be done. By the delicacy of the hand, we think it is a woman’s writ which is all the more concerning. We suggest all patrols be alerted and if this woman found, render her what assistance is necessary and above all she be placed under protective custody. I draw your particular attention to the woman’s description of the bodies she found.

Caius, King’s Ranger.


The Day: I do not know.
The Month: I think sometime in the early autumn by the looks of the trees and the crisp warning of winter in the air.
The Year: Again I do not know the exact date but I do know it is the Fourth Age, the King has returned to Gondor and reigns in Peace.

A Peace that was dearly paid for. Strange how I can hold minute details of history, of our people, and of the Great War in my mind but ask me my name, my age and the place of my birth and I am helpless. I do not know.

I write these words because I know that if I do not chronicle my turmoil in some way I will go mad for it. By writing my mind perhaps I can save it. Will someone, someday, by the reading my words uncover subtle hints that I, myself, are blind to and thus piece together my identity? I can only hope.

I confess I stole this parchment, pen and ink from an old wandering merchantman as he slept. May the Gods forgive me and take pity on me for I am a sorry soul.

Here is the extent of my memory, from the time I woke, bruised and bloodied, under a mighty ash in a small field, the location of which I do not know.

(I will note that I cannot place the any of the land around me then or now – I do not recognize the paths I travel or the scenery I move through. I am told the place names of villages as I pass, but they make no sense to me.)

I live a life with a mind like a vast dungeon, and I wander in a small partially lit section while many parts are closed to me, sealed with doors impenetrable, as if soldered shut by the very breath of Smaug himself.

Smaug. The name fills me with intense fear. Why should that be? He was slain long before I was born.

But I digress – I must chronicle my first few days before the memory of them fade, for therein they may be some key to my plight. I woke, as I wrote, bloodied and bruised and by the sun’s arc I could tell it was mid day. How long I lay on the ground under that ash, I will never know. Standing over me was a black stallion – near 17 hands from what I can tell. He pawed at the ground, anxious for some reason and the blaze on his forehead was so clean and bright it was all I could focus on at first.

Upon my stirrings he reared up with such excitement I thought he would come straight down upon me and end my days, then and there. But no, the beast veered away and pranced happily like a foal on a clear, spring day. I breathed a sigh of relief but quickly realized I felt far from a clear, spring day. I felt close to that eternal sleep that, when presented too soon, fills us with a cold fear.

Despite intense pain I managed to roll onto my side and, after wiping the blood from my eyes, take in the scene around me. It was a small level clearing rung with old ash and sycamore high on a ridge of what was, I later learned, an impressive mountain range. Two dead bodies lay nearby, and once I reached them I could see their skulls had been crushed in – the firm, clear imprint of a horse’s hoof could be seen on each.

The stallion stood aloof, off to the north of the clearing as I inspected these bodies, and I wondered if he was the culprit for the beast seemed almost remorseful. But he hadn’t harmed me. It was then I saw dark patches of dried blood on his hooves and legs. The beast was to blame! Yet I was spared?

More disturbing than a killer horse were the dead themselves – some strange hybrid of orc and second born. They were gruesome creatures, possessing the frame of men with the misshapen attributes of an orc. Their skin was a sick, greenish hue and their hands had both fingers and claws. They had heads of hair; one was black the other a chestnut hue, one straight another had curls. It seemed terrifically odd to see an orc like creature sporting curls! Their jaws, too large for their skulls, were beset with sharp fang like teeth yet their noses were small and one, surprisingly, had clear hazel green eyes. I felt for the women kidnapped and forced to breed these abominations. My suffering in that moment paled to what theirs must have been. And still may be.

The dead had carried water which to my surprise was potable. Their food was putrid however, and caused me to wretch which brought on even more pain. I pulled myself up against the trunk of the ash and used their water skins to both drink and wash. I found a gash on my head that was deep but clotted and there was a banging in my head that kept time with my heart. I had at least one broken rib, two of my fingers were sprained badly, and I had at least one black eye and a few loose teeth. On the left side of my face I felt a scar but an old one, for the skin over it was taught. I understood, somehow, I was lucky to be alive.

On and off I dozed, drifting in and out of the pain I felt. When the clearing would come into focus, I could always see the horse nearby. He never left me. He kept his distance, as if on guard, nibbling the grass and on occasion, lifting his head, his ears pricked high, hearing some sound that was lost to me and my dull ears in the moment. Despite his murderousness, I felt safe with him near.

I finally emerged from my dull haze and realized I had no notion of where I was, how I arrived in this place or how I had been wounded. It as a tortuous revelation: I had no memory, no recollection of what happened. Were they chasing me? Did they come upon me in surprise? Was I traveling with them? Were these gruesome beasts my comrades? Were we attacked??

I then realized I didn’t know my name, or where I came from. I did not know who I was.

I battled a rising fear within me with every unanswerable question. My mind was a terrifying blank. No matter how hard I concentrated or how deeply I looked into the recesses of my rattled mind, there was nothing. Further more I was injured, unarmed, alone and the sun was setting. There could be more of them, of those things, out there, looking for me or looking for us.

A deep reflexive urge then filled me: I must not be found!

Darkness fell over my eyes at that point. It was so striking I had to check to see if the sun had dipped below the horizon before its time. I had not. It was my fear at work. I noticed my shirtsleeve had untied and on my right arm I found even more scarring; deep, and old and in what was clearly in a meaningful pattern but one that was lost on me. I looked at this brand wondering if it was some mark of belonging to this horrible band. A shudder of dread filled me. Then there followed a motion that seemed so well rehearsed; I quickly pulled down my shirtsleeve, bent my arm and tied the cuff strings using my teeth and my free hand. It was an action so deft and quick and I startled myself. I had done that many times before, it seemed.

Who am I? What am I? What am I capable of doing?

The sun was, in fact setting and there was no time for pondering. I mastered my fear with a will so strong it surprised me! I got to my feet, took what was of value from the dead half-orcs and with some effort searched the clearing for whatever else I could find. I recovered a ring, a jeweled locket and a set of saddlebags that belonged to a human, (perhaps I?) for they were better made and cared for than what items I found on the half-orcs. There was no saddle or tack for the horse, just a blanket with the letter 'C' finely stitched in each of the four corners. To my surprise I found a sword, sword belt and long knife discarded in some brush. Again, they were finely made and not the work of Orcs.

Now armed, a deep part of me relaxed which made sense when I saw the calluses on my hands, clearly made from working with a sword and knife. The calluses on my right index and middle finger were (and still are) a mystery, though. I cannot imagine what they mean. Why just these two fingers?

I set out at dusk and followed the setting sun. Why, I do not know. West was the direction my instincts took me and the horse followed me like a faithful dog. In fact, it stopped before me and one point and kneeled, as if inviting me to ride! I dared not, partly because of my injuries and also because I did not trust the beast.

That has changed for he has proven himself to me, leading me to fresh water, to safe places to sleep at night and to remote farmhouses for food and rest - or at least an empty barn to sleep in. But I still dare not ride him.

I have been wandering West for quite some time now and I am healing well thanks to the kindness of strangers I meet on the way. I have met the unkind, as well and was it not for the sword at my side and my equine companion I think I would have met with ill on several occasions. One look at me and my horse is enough it seems to turn a malcontent away.

Praise the Gods I have not yet needed to draw this blade at my side and for that I am grateful. For in truth I am afraid that were I to use it, horrible memories would return - memories of what I was before that horrible day in the unknown clearing. If I was companion to those abominations, could that part of me return? It cannot happen, it must not! That part of me must die with them.

But what if I was their victim? If so, I deserve to learn who I am. So I wander and watch. I closely observe the people I meet. I look at their eyes at first meeting and gauge their response; do they recognize me? If so, are they afraid? Are they at ease? I look and I watch and I hope for that spark which will give me the permission to ask my request: Please tell me who I am.

Many weeks have passed and I have met many people but have yet to see it – that spark of recognition. With every cool eye I meet, my fear deepens. Perhaps I was one of them - a cruel bandit in league with half-orcs, my life spent hidden in some cave or in the mountains and this is why no one knows me.

If that so, perhaps this is blankness a gift. But to be so alone with this 'gift', with only a horse for a companion, does at times feel more like a curse.

As I wrote: May the Gods forgive me and take pity on me for I am a sorry soul.


And as for the rest of the tale... read on, brave traveler.
Last edited by Bardhwyn on Tue Sep 05, 2006 4:55 pm, edited 7 times in total.
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Postby Celebria » Mon Sep 04, 2006 7:58 pm

Hello, I just wanted to stop in and say 'hi' to my fellow RPers! Your story looks great and I'll enjoy reading it! Good luck and have fun! :)
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Postby Bryttar » Mon Sep 04, 2006 8:05 pm

Hi Celebria, thank you for your words of support and encouragement. Bardy and I are both a little rusty at this, but as you saw in the LFI our muses would not be held back. So here we are off to see what adventrures they have in store for us.

Good luck with your RP writing as well. Perhaps one day our paths will cross again.

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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 10:50 am

Celebria, oh thee of the Celebrated Name!!

:D Thanks for the well wishing. *hands her some hot buttered popcorn*

Sit back in our comfy OOC chairs and enjoy the show. ;)

BRYTTAR.... Is there more?? There is more, isn't there?

*fingers start to itch*

OOOooh, I AM AT WORK and I have to be good. :(

*pushes off her Muse* CAT! No! Not now.. see, look. AT WORK! HELLO?
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Postby Bryttar » Tue Sep 05, 2006 11:43 am

Yes Bardy...there is more!

My muse is happily pondering, contemplating, and fleshing out ideas as I type including those three mystery men.

:whistle:
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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 11:44 am

I won't disrupt your flow if I post, will I?

It won't be until I get home, later tonight, though. :(
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Postby Bryttar » Tue Sep 05, 2006 11:51 am

Not at all, just playing with ideas at the moment. :D


*Looking forward to tonight's installment*

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Postby Frelga » Tue Sep 05, 2006 1:15 pm

So am I, dear writers, so am I. :D

Just stopping by to say how delightful it is to see you writing here again (but don't forget the Bowmen, Bardy!)
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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 5:24 pm

Yeah, so am I!! :D

Hey, wait a minute! I am writing the next installment... :shock:

I thought there was something I was forgetting to do tonight.. sheesh...


:D :D :D


Hi FRELGA!!

Bowmen? What Bowmen? :?

=:)

I AM SO KIDDING... by the Gods, and I will be truthful here, it was my recollections of all the wonderous writing and fantastic storytelling done in those threads that helped me get through some very, very challenging times. The Bowmen stayed with me, have no doubt.

I won't forget the Bowmen ever. I will beg your kind indulgence a while longer, though. What develops here will have a bearing on how I work with Bardy. ;) And as others will attest, in the past I have managed to post in two (if not more) rp's at a time. I think, with time I will get my 'rp stamina' back. Oooh yeah...

*...And the Muse purrrssss happily in Bardy's ear...*
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Postby Eriador » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:06 pm

Woo Hoo...I've been born!

*Waves to Bardy*

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Postby Spirit_of_the_Willow » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:08 pm

Beautiful post Bardy! :D :D :D

And Greetings to everyone. :D

Welcome to the world Eriador. ;)
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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:10 pm

So you have, my fine young man! So you have!

Welcome, and mind your Mentor, now. ;)



:D

Hehehe... I see a new Torc Teenage Heart Throb rising on the virtual horizon. :D

EDIT -

Thank you Willow. I have to say that Bryttar's dialogue was kindly written by Rho. :)
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Postby Eriador » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:15 pm

*Waves to Willow*

"Thank you."

*Turns to see what teenage Heart Throb is standing behind him and then looks back at Bardy*

"Hey does Willow count as a fan if she's going to join the story?"

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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:19 pm

Yeah, I think so. Why not? Can't think of a good reason why not. Can you?

Eriador shakes his head.

Settled, then. :)
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Postby Spirit_of_the_Willow » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:20 pm

*Flutters her eye-lashes and prepares to sw00n if necessary to prove that she is indeed a fan*
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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:24 pm

:rofl:
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Postby Eriador » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:26 pm

*Leans his head over towards his mentor*

"Hey Bryttar, what's wrong with her eyes?"

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Postby Spirit_of_the_Willow » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:27 pm

:rofl:

. . . does this mean I have to swoon now?! :?
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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:30 pm

Er... hard to say, Willow. You could try, see how it feels. :D
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Postby Bryttar » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:35 pm

*Places arm around Eriador's shoulder*

"That my friend is one of the first early warning signs of a swoon. Now sometimes it never goes any further, but if it does what you want to watch out for is the faint. That will get you into more trouble."

*Looks over at Willow and says a silent prayer to Eru she doesn't faint.*

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Postby Spirit_of_the_Willow » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:36 pm

*sees Bryttar's nervous explanation to Eriador*

*stifles a grin*

*sw000ns*
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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:39 pm

Bardy breaks out in a satisfying grin...

Yeah, she thinks, Willow will do just fine here.
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Postby Bryttar » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:39 pm

*Waits to see if the swoon turns into a faint*

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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:45 pm

*Na, doesn't look like we're gonna get 'the faint' here. Nope...shame, that..*
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Postby Spirit_of_the_Willow » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:46 pm

*doesn't faint* ;)

Ok, now I'm going to say something semi serious.

Bardy, first of all, I have to apologize in advance for all the questions and bouncing of ideas that I'm sure I'm going to do. I'd like to blame it all on being a relative beginner to RP . . . but I think it's mostly just part of my character. :roll: . . . er as in it is one of my characteristics . . . or whatever . . . or something.

Firstly, I know which character I'd feel most . . . er . . comfortable writing . . . but I'm not absolutely certain that the character wiill fit in well with the story.

So here's a brief character description for Tasar, and if you guys will let me know what you think about her . . . though after today I'm wondering if it might not be more entertaining to create a character that would develop some hero worship for Eriador. :twisted:

Tasar:

Formerly of Bree, Tasar is the daughter of a Lady of Rohan, and a Gypsy. When her father was killed, her mother left her to be found by an old carpenter in Bree, named Gwaddyn, who was himself not only what he seemed. Tasar was but an infant at the time, and does not know anything of her parents. But she never consciously felt the lack of a mother in her life. Until the day of his death, she was completely devoted to her foster father, who raised her and trained her in his craft.

However, when he died, she discovered that he had kept her extremely sheltered from the community of Bree, which was ever suspicious of outsiders. Where she expected to be able to take up his business where he left it, she soon found herself near ostracized. This was of course painful, but being of a cheerful disposition, she took her considerable talent at carpentry, and decided to make her way elsewhere, and see a bit of the world. She soon discovered that the world outside Bree was both more welcoming and more dangerous than she had expected. Eventually she found welcome with the Bards, and now travels about, using her Bardic skills for short term expenses, and her carpentry to cover more long-term ones.

She has had a few run-ins with a man named Norvaen, who killed her father, and knows her identity, due to her resemblance to her mother, but she has no idea why he is interested in her, just that each of her encounters with him have been very unpleasant.

*********

And on second thought . . .

*faints in Bryttar's general direction*
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Postby Bryttar » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:52 pm

*Quickly removes his arm from around Eriador's shoulder, catches the falling woman, and eases her to the ground. Much to his horror he then sees Eriador whip out his small knife and makes a quick move towards the woman's chest.*

"WHAT are you doing!?!"

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Postby Spirit_of_the_Willow » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:53 pm

Oh dear. :rofl:
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Postby Eriador » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:56 pm

*Looks over at Bryttar from his kneeling position*

"I know what to do here..."

*Gently grabs the bottom of Willow's corset and presses the blade against the bottom string*

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Postby Bardhwyn » Tue Sep 05, 2006 6:57 pm

*..Should I step in here, or not?...*


*...........Nah................*
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