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YourStinkenFace
Posted: Thu Jul 20, 2006 7:32 pm
Joined: 19 Mar 2006 Posts: 37 Location:
Name: Pustachio Underhill

Age: 70

Race: Hobbit

Class: No class

Equipment: Harp, which always plays beutifull music (cause it was a gift from the elves that live around the shire), A spork, and a Nutcracker

Personality: Obnoxious fat glutton

History: Grew up in buckland and moved to Hobbiton, his parents still live in Buckland and support him. Used to have somewhat of a friendship with the elves but has lost his connection. Lots of friends he goes to parties with. Lives in a hill in which he hires a young hobbit to take care of it.

Alignment: For the good of...he doesnít really know what.

Side notes: I made this character in a Lotr rpg on my site. He would have died had I not made a super powerfull elf to save him, and gave him aid of Manwe. Heís pretty effiecent with a spork
PeterPot
Posted: Fri Jul 21, 2006 1:23 pm
Joined: 25 Jun 2006 Posts: 157 Location: On the Back of my fat old Unicorn
1. Name: Shlim son of Plim
2. Race: man
3. good/bad: nither
4. skills: bow hunting, archery
5. Weapons: long bow, club, and three daggers
6. Background: lives nowhere and leads a group of robers that his father once lead.
7. Age: 17
8. Class:Theif
syndrome
Posted: Sat Jul 22, 2006 4:39 pm
Joined: 20 Jul 2005 Posts: 423 Location: A cold place.
Name: Phalir Beline (fAH-lir beh-lEEn)
Race: Man
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Class: Combatant
Height: 5í11"
Weight: 209
Weapons: Phalir uses a 6í bastard sword. It has been in his family for ages, and was crafted by
His great, great, great grandfather. It is rumored to have slaughtered many legendary creatures, but they are all unconfirmed. It truly is a beautiful blade, silver with designs of lions expertly crafted onto both itís sides. Two emerald jewels grace both sides of the swords hilt. He calls it Nirvana.

His armor is of heavy build, and is plated with fine silver. Lions also grace its mass.

Skills: Phalir is very charismatic. The guy everyone likes. Since "the incident" he doesnít get close to those he meets, but before he could have talked anyone into buying garbage. (exaggerations of course, you get the idea) As of late he has been somewhat secluded, only opening to those he truly trusts.

On top of his charisma, Phalir was brought up the son of a blacksmith, and specializes in armors. Silver is his favorite medium, and his armor set reflects that.



Phalir
Plague-consumed Village
Catching up
____________________

Phalir breathed in. He tasted the foulness of death and decay. He nearly puked. Of course, as a
warrior, he was used to killing; but, not like this. His family, his friends... all dead. Laying in
bloody heaps around him. He stood in the center of the village, near the townís well. He didnít want to
slay them all, but he had no choice. They all came at him like pack animals; ready to rip him apart.

They were already covered in blood before the battle had begun. Phalir did not know why, but it must
have had something to do with why they had so maliciously targeted him. He had gone into counter attack
mode, and had slaughtered them all.

He fell to his knees. His eyes began to sting. He had luckily been on town watch, wielding his trusty,
and massive blade, Nirvana. Now, its weight seemed unbearable. He let go of itís hilt and it fell the
rest of the way to ground. The racket must have been heard for miles. The night had gone dead quiet.

But that didnít stop the echoing of screams in Phalirís ears. He closed his eyes and his hands braced
upon the ground. Tears began to flow. He mustnít cry, he told himself. Men do not cry. But he could not
hold them back. The flood gates had been opened, and they would flow freely for another hour.

**********

Pain coursed through Phalirís left arm. A pitchfork at found its way through the seam in his shoulder.
He didnít cry, physical pain was nothing to what he was going through. He gingerly removed the outer
plates of his armor and then went through the steps of removing his chain mail and interior leather
armor. He took some herbs from his fathers den which he had been told reduced chances of infection, and
also some which he thought would numb the pain.

He wrapped his wound, and proceeded to tend to the other scrapes he had received. Several hours later
he stood at the door of his house. The bodies of his victims piled in a heap within it. Phalir held his
torch aloft, and through it into the confines of the wooden house. He watched as his memories burned to
ash.

**********

It must have been near dawn when Phalir set out into the woods, his home town laying in a heap of
charred rubble. He looked back once more, and re-adjusted the sack on his back. The silver clad warrior
then walked into the shadowed forest. Thoughts of sleep coursed through his brain, but he knew he could
not sleep. His stomach yearned for substance, but he couldnít keep it down.

So he walked. The sun rose, and then fell again, and yet he walked. He almost had stopped thinking all
together, marching on like a mindless zombie. Circles formed under his eyes, and yet he walked. His
legs ached, and yet he marched on. The sound of his armored boots was all that accompanied him.

He walked until exhaustion, his legs wouldnít carry him any further. His eyes closed, and he fell in a
heap upon the ground.

**********

Phalir woke to the sound of a twig breaking. He slowly turned his head, and barely had time to move as
a war hammer smashed the ground that had once been Phalirís resting spot. Quickly Nirvana was between
Phalir and his attacker. The armored figure of his brother stood before him. He hadnít even noticed the
absence of his brother in the destruction at his home. He had been to broken, but now, he was overjoyed
that there had been another survivor.

Of course! His brother had been out of town fishing! He hadnít been involved in the mass slaughter.
Phalir smiled, but his moment of glee was cut short. He noticed something odd about his brotherís face.
It was bleeding. Not from a single wound, but from its entirety. Again the war hammer came at Phalir,
which was parried.

Phalir cried out, "Brother! It is I! We mustnít fight..."

But the atrocity didnít even flinch. He continued with his relentless assault. Phalir parried once
more. He realized what he dreaded most, he would have to slaughter the last of his kin. Just like he
had his entire village. He felt a tinge of despair, and a tear escaped from his eye and rolled down his
cheek.

He swung at his brotherís mangled face. The zombie was agile. He dodged and countered. This blow just
barely caught Phalirís chest plate, but it was enough to cause him to tumble to the ground. He was up to
on his feet quickly, but his fallen brother didnít attack again. Instead, blood began to stream out
from his eyes, mouth and nose. He doubled over, and cried out indistinguishably. He then toppled, and
lay dead.

Phalir didnít know what had happened, but he knew he mustnít let his brotherís body become an animalís
dinner. He sadly dug a hole with his hands. Within hours his brotherís bloodied corpse lay within it,
buried 6í beneath the grass. Phalir didnít want to stay and contemplate what was going on. He gathered
his objects and continued on.

**********

Phalir wandered for hours more before a sign of hope was seen. He stumbled into a clearing, and ahead
of him... the silhouette of town.

He began to jog towards his salvage, his saving grace. He needed a priest, he needed accompaniment. He
suddenly stopped. It had only been dark for a few hours, and yet... nothing stirred. There were no
torches, no people could be seen. He walked forwards once again.

Phalir dreaded what he would find.

He began to run. And then... he tripped. He looked back to see what it had been. He wasnít ready for
what he saw. A bloody human arm. He then was immediately attack by another undead man.

A flash of steel, and a near hit. Phalir returned with a swipe of Nirvana. He let his knapsack fall, and
stepped into the oncoming battle. An arrow whizzed by his head, and he spotted a bow clad zombie meters
away. He tried to use the sworded foe as a shield, by moving so the fallen man was between him and the
arrow slinger.

The enraged denizen was quick to try to decapitate Phalir again, but was parried. Nirvana was heaved
upwards, and then fell quick. But it met shield. The shield dented a bit, but otherwise held firm. So
Phalir tried again. This time, his blow met flesh. A rancid sound of breaking bone echoed off the
nearby buildings. A headless zombie toppled to the ground.

Which left the bowed minion with a clear shot. Phalir tried his best to put his two handed monstrosity
of a weapon as a shield, but an arrow managed itís way into his lower abdomen. Luckily, the mail broke
itís path, and it didnít cause any harm. Phalir grew close enough, and cut his foe in two. He stumbled
away, and fell. Luckily, he fell against the door of the only occupied house in town. The sound of him
falling was surely heard within.


((OOC: So I know this isnít exactly a "LOTR" character, and it was in fact made for a storyling in which a plague had consumed a village and turned them into crazed zombies... but I really liked him and found his profile/intro post and decided to post him. Maybe this village was somewhere in a valley in the mountains and the plague stayed within itís reaches...

So maybe Phalir has become somewhat of a frontline combatant and is beginning to climb in rank within the armies of Gondor.

I guess he fits MTG quite adequately as well. In the RP I had him in he eventually gained the magical attribute of shadows and silence... weíll leave those out of LOTR RPs Very Happy))
http://myspace/delicatesituation
CarpeGuitarrem
Posted: Tue Jul 25, 2006 11:53 pm
Joined: 07 Apr 2006 Posts: 3361 Location: Franciscan University of Steubenville
Name: Boin the Red

Age: 131 Years

Race: Dwarf

Class: Warrior

Equipment: He has two small battleaxes, named Khazdan (Dwarf-friend) and Ghlandri (Foe-Bane), and usually wields them at the same time.

Personality: Heís often gruff, but at the same time is a very loyal companion. He is very fierce in battle.

History: Boin grew up in the Iron Hills, the son of Dagoin, a dwarf-smith. His parents made sure that he was tough, as a true dwarf should be. Boin grew up a fighter from the start, and often got himself into trouble on account of that. On one occasion, he picked a fight with an adult dwarf, and landed two good punches before getting beaten badly. His father, seeing this, trained him with axes to divert his energy and attention. It worked-Boin hardly got in brawls from then on.

When the call came for Dainís folk to aid Thorin and his companions at the Lonely Mountain, Boinís father went. Unbeknowst to him, Boin also went, wearing barely any armor, and taking his two axes. The Battle of the Five Armies came, and Boin took a hard hit from a goblinís scimitar. In spite of this, he was able to save his father. Dagoin was greatful, and proud of his son. He decided to give him a set of armor as well. Boin trained, until he became a renowned dwarf-warrior.

Alignment: Good.

RP Type: Freeform
"ok, change of plans. the Cobracards christmas party is coming to my house, and weíre gunna teach FM how to hunt." (mm)
Guest
Posted: Wed Jul 26, 2006 12:22 pm
Joined: Posts: Location:
Name: Valbeorn, Uruk Bane; Orc Slayer; Of Rhun; Of the Beornings

Age: 105

Height: 6í 5"

Weight: 254 lbs

Race: Man

Class: Skin-Changer

Equipment: A long 8í wooden staff; 3í shortsword

Personality: Slow to anger, but once roused, heíll change into Bear-form and pretty much destroy anyone who messes with him or those whom he is loyal to.

History: Valbeorn grew up alongside his cousin Grimbeorn the Old in the waning days of the 3rd age of Arda. In his lifetime he saw the destruction of his home by a raiding party of Uruks and Orc. In the raid, they set fire to his house and barn, killing all livestock, along with his siblings. He watched from underneath a bush that his father stuck him in, his father battle with an Uruk that stood nine feet tall. His mother was consumed along with his siblings an hour before in the fire in the barn. As he watched his father violently smash and destroy this giant of an Uruk out of pure rage, somthing came over him. For the first time, Valbeorn at the age of 6, changed form into a bear and joined his already changed father in this battle. Beofar the Uruk Slayer stood by his son Valbeorn as they threw their claws in the throat of this Uruk, killing him once and for all. For many years after this traumatic afternoon, Valbeorn lived wit is father Beofar, who was known as the Uruk-Bane.

During the next decade and a half, Valbeorn learned how to control his power as a skin-changer and become one of the most gifted skin-changers of the entire family of Beorn. When Valbeorn turned 22, his father was at the old age of 94, and began to slow down in his old age. 15 years after Beofar the Uruk Slayer defeated the Uruk known as Haru-Lugukí the orcs of the western wall of the Misty Mountain came forth in the night and attacked the two skin-changers as revenge for what they had done to their leader 15 years before. Beofar defeated nearly a hundred orc that night, but Valbeorn, now in his prime, killed almost three hundred orc and uruk-hai whom attacked their remade shack. No matter how magnificent of a fight Beofar and Valbeorn put up, and even with the help of the late-arriving Beorn and his son, Grimbeorn, Beofar took his last breath as a heart-tremur caused his heart to stop mid swing of his enormous paws. As Valbeorn saw his father fall, his last immediate family, he went into a rage that was and still is unexplainable.

Valbeorn took the title of Uruk-Bane, which he held for twenty more years of his life. Which he devoted with his cousin Grimbeorn, hunting Uruk and Orc in the eastern wall of the Misty Moutains. Legends say the Valbeorn has the blood of a thousand Orc on his hands, but truth is more fantastic than legend, as the number of Orc and Uruk slew by Valbeorn tops ten thousand in that twenty year reign.

When Valbeorn was 43 years of age, and in his true prime as a skinchanger, he left the western world of Middle-Earth to find a home in the land of Rhun. While in Rhun he befriended the easterling men and their way of life. He was accepted and renowned as a skilled conjurer and his skin-changing ability held their amazement. He spent a good half century in the Land of Rhun, never desiring to return to the life he had before. One day however, in the waning days of the 3rd age, approximately the year 2998, he recieved a letter from his cousin Grimbeorn, explaining that he was needed back west with the Beorning people. Valbeorn struggled with a descision that took him eight months to make.

In the end, after a three year journey, in 3001, Valbeorn reached the town of Dale, and found it in ruin, but they were rebuilding. He learned of the tragedies that had happened and he spoke with king Brand. He then went to his cousins house and talked for some time with Grimbeorn, who was now known as the old, having reached 114 in his years. After this however, an Elven caravan came upon the household of Grimbeorn and stayed the night. In this time, Valbeorn talked with Shalir, the Elven leader. In this conversation, Valbeorn decided that he was still needed in protecting the western lands of Middle-Earth and he decided to travel west with the caravan. Grimbeorn said goodbye to Valbeorn as Valbeorn went on his way with the Elves. Valbeorn travelled through the halls of Rivendell and foot-traveled along the west-road and south from just west of the shire.

After a good seven months after leaving the household of Grimbeorn, Valbeorn made it too the southwestern shore of Middle-Earth and watched the sea. Grimbeorn walked eastward along the shore, and saw off in the distances the ships of the men from Near Harad. He always desired to travel to Far Harad, but knew that he was needed elsewhere. In the years that followed, Valbeorn elisted in the service of Denethor II, and fought as a mercenary for the royal guard in Gondor. He became well known for his ferocity and ability in combat, with or without changing into a bear. To this day he resides in a small village south of Osgiliath near the crossroads.

Allignment: With the Beornings; Enlisted as a servant of Gondor for the mean time.

Timeline:
3rd Age:
2913 - Birth of Valbeorn
2919 - Birth home of Valbeorn destroyed by Orc and Uruk, only he and his father survive
2935 - Death of Beofar, father of Valbeorn
2936-2957 - Valbeorn hunts Orc and Uruks along the eastern wall of the Misty Moutains
2958 - Valbeorn leaves Western Middle-Earth for Rhun
2960 - Valbeorn resides in a village in Rhun
2998 - Valbeorn recieves a letter from Grimbeorn, Valbeorn leaves Rhun
3001 - Valbeorn reaches Dale
3002 - Valbeorn meets with Grimbeorn; Departs with Elven caravan
3003 - Valbeorn reaches Rivendell
3005 - Valbeorn reaches the southwest corner of Middle-Earth
3008 - Valbeorn elists in the services of Denethor II, steward of Gondor
3010 - Valbeorn resides in south Gondor, near the crossroads
Last edited by Guest on Fri Jul 28, 2006 11:19 am; edited 2 times in total
CarpeGuitarrem
Posted: Sat Jul 29, 2006 12:17 pm
Joined: 07 Apr 2006 Posts: 3361 Location: Franciscan University of Steubenville
Name: Dorain

Age: 32

Race: Human (Gondorian)

Class: Warrior (Ranger)

Weapons: Ranger Longbow, Ranger Sword

Personality: Patient, calculating. Sometimes reluctant to enter action.

History: He was the son of a hunter, and his father was killed by marauding orcs, in an ambush in Ithilien. He entered the service of Gondor in order to get revenge on the orcs who killed his father. His bloodlust got the better of him, and he ended up badly wounded. He had to recover for weeks, and was left with a nasty scar on his face.

He calmed down, and focused on training himself as a Ranger. He eventually joined Faramirís company, and was there when the Ringbearer came to Henneth Annun. Shortly after, he was transferred to Osgiliath, and took up his duty again, preparing to defend the city.
"ok, change of plans. the Cobracards christmas party is coming to my house, and weíre gunna teach FM how to hunt." (mm)
Gate Troll
Posted: Tue Aug 22, 2006 3:53 pm
Joined: 15 Aug 2006 Posts: 384 Location: Udun Vale, Home of the one and only... Gate Troll!
Name: Golmuth

Age: 85

Race: Troll

Height: 12í 7íí.

Weight: 700 lbs.

Class: Attack Troll, Gate Troll.

Weapons: A Morning Star and
a 7" long Axe Weight Axe 95 lbs
Morning Star: 100 lbs.

Armor: Iron Plate Armor Weight: 158 lbs.

Personality: Loves to Hack, Destroy
Pillage, Kill and Eat.

Allignment: None. Sauron is dead so
he falls in with the nearest Orcs. He hates
Goblins however; he would rather kill Goblins
than Elves.

History: Golmuth was created by Sauron in Mordor.
He was a Gate Troll until the Siege of Gondor, when
he was a made a Troll Commander. Golmuth led
the Attack on the Gates with Grond; it was his stroke that
brought the Gate down. During the battle Golmuth was
chased away by horsemen; Golmuth fled to Osgiliath,
and then to back to Mordor. Once again Golmuth found
himself outfitted in armor, there was a Gondorian
army at Udun. He was marching to the Gate when there was
a Bang, the Dark Tower crumbled, Mount Doom erupted and
Golmuth was looking up when all went black...

...Golmuth awoke to find himself in a dark forest,
far away from Mordor. "Where is meís" he grunted-,
then it came back to him: He had been running for
about a week since the odd crash, and came had
come all the way to Mirkwood.
Pippin
Posted: Tue Aug 22, 2006 6:22 pm
Joined: 04 Aug 2006 Posts: 268 Location: Colorado
Good Guy
Name:Felendier son of Elroier

Age:1,357

Race:Elf

Class:High Elven Prince and Skilled Warrior

Equiptment:Elven Dagger, Elven Bow, and Elven Long Knives. His bow, dagger, knives, and his arrows are all made from the tusks of Oliphants of which he slew in battle.

Personality:Always alert considerate, heís not to often set of he can control his anger.

History:He was born in Mirkwood but when a band of orcs attacked his city his family fled to Lorien. There he was taught how to shoot a bow and wield a sword wich he greatly excelled at. One day he was out with a scouting party and was ambushed. They were terribly overrun. When it seamed it was over out of the trees came an army of elves, from their looks you could see they were of Rivendell. Felendier saw them burst into the clearing and from atop there steeds mow down many orcs. He turned back to the fray but an orc was waiting he was taken by surprise and stabbed in the leg he could see the orcs fleeing and many lay dead he fell uncouncious, the last he rememberd were voices of the elves he could not make out what they were saying. Then he drifted off...The only surviver from the scouting party.
When he awoke he was in Rivendell and there he stayed, until one day a band of hobbits arrived and he heard Elrond talking to a man ,of whom he later found out was Tandros, about a ring of power...
Allingment:Good
Last edited by Pippin on Wed Aug 23, 2006 3:27 pm; edited 4 times in total
Gate Troll
Posted: Tue Aug 22, 2006 9:11 pm
Joined: 15 Aug 2006 Posts: 384 Location: Udun Vale, Home of the one and only... Gate Troll!
Name:Zurog

Race:Uruk

Age:45

Class:Soldier

Weapons: Broad sword
weight: 20 lbs, Longbow, weight: 7 lbs.
Quiver with 45 Arrows.

Height:5í 9"

Weight:267 lbs

Allignment:Evil

Personality:Likes to kill
almost as much as he
likes to eat.

History:
Another one of historyís
countless Uruk-hai.



**********

you known Pippin,
we could keep this going:!: Exclamation Very Happy
wouldínt that be funny.
People would be so jealous.
Twisted Evil
Last edited by Gate Troll on Wed Sep 06, 2006 5:50 pm; edited 1 time in total
Pippin
Posted: Mon Sep 11, 2006 8:34 pm
Joined: 04 Aug 2006 Posts: 268 Location: Colorado
Goood guy
Name:Paladin Took

Race:Hobbit

Class:Fool

Weapons:Nothing yet

Personality:Nice, not rich or extremely popular.

History:Paladin was a regular hobbit who was never really excited about working. One day his second cousin, twice remmoved on his mothers
side, Gagnut met up with him and were chased by a black rider. they got
away through the woods to Rivendell. Now they are in the council of Elrond.
as Pipeweed once said: weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeClick Here Please!
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