Peredhil

Does this help? Is it enough detail? Too much? Third Age(TA) 2460, Sauron returns to Dol Guldur. TA July 1st, 2941, Bilbo meets Gollum, and finds the One Ring. TA May 1st, 2942, Sauron was driven from Dol Guldur, and escapes to Mordor. TA 2951, Sauron reveals himself in Mordor, and begins rebuilding Barad-dur. TA Nov 10th, 2994, Balin Lord of Moria is slain. TA Sep 22, 3001, Bilbo's birthday party; Frodo receives the One Ring, Bilbo leaves the Shire.

I'll try. Character: Grimnath, Rider of Rohan. Weapons: Lance, long sword, knife. Equipment: Horse, saddle & gear, Saddlebags, whetstone, food, leather bottle: liquor, two leather bags: water. From East Emnet, Riders of the 3rd Mark. After the Necromancer was driven from Dol Guldur, a disturbing number of evil creatures began appearing in the lands of Rohan, orcs, wolves, goblins, etc. Grimnath has spent several years guarding and fighting them. He has a passionate hatred of orcs, since losing a Herd Lord (alpha male horse) to a party, who trapped and took the black horse away across the Great River. The 3rd Mark riders used to range up into the Wold, and all over the East Emnet, but now have withdrawn with the herds to West Emnet. Grimnath has grown bored and angry at the defensive move, and received leave from Theoden to travel across the Fords of Isen, through the Gap of Rohan, along the old North-South Road through Enedwaith. He forded the Grayflood at Thurbad, where he and his steed, Glaneor, spent some time resting and replenishing supplies. Traveling through Eriador, he took the Greenway toward Bree rather than continuing on to the Shire. He is now in Bree. He's basically adventuring and has wanderlust, yet always seeking Orcs to kill. He's far from Rohan, and willing to travel with a party, for safety in numbers or as a mercenary guard, but would prefer a path that went East or South, as he misses the warmth of Rohan's climate. If the party plans on traveling through Moria, he will have to leave the party there, as he will not abandon Glaneor, and horses will not enter the Black Pit. If it helps people, here's a useful link to an interactive map: http://lotrproject.com/map/#zoom=4&lat=-1270.25&lon=1188.5&layers=BTTTTTTTT

Went back and read the link to the old thread - sounds interesting. I'd be willing.

I greatly enjoyed this!

Oops! Made it part of the RP post, not an OOC. Here it is. Vote for Adam/Vene

BOAZ!!!! *with a very unPeredhilish squeal of delight, the Bard is flying-hug-tackled* *Peredhil picks him up and brushes him off, then Politely hugs* Um, I mean, I'm delighted to see you.

It required a taste of the whip, but Equiano finally managed to force some of the crew down into the cargo holds with him. They were retching and gagging at the blood and carnage, but they managed to clean out the hold, and once they'd pumped sea water in, and manned the bilged pump to clear it, the hold was relatively clean, and the cargo had had a bath. Equiano requested the Cook prepare double rations for the slaves, to help them settle a bit, and to keep their value high. Once done, he began compulsively coiling and uncoiling ropes and checking stowage, trying to stay so busy he did not need to think on the horror. Over and over he examined in his mind the behaviors of the others, wondering, "who"? And his intuitions kept coming back to Adam Peters... OOC: Vote for Adam Peters (Vene')

Equiano stared down another crewman impassively... wordlessly. The sailor finally broke eye-contact and ducked his head resentfully, before turning to coil the rope as ordered. Equiano had no fears in dealing with any man - was he not an Asante? But there was bad ju-ju on the ship, and he had no defenses against the black arts. It was with a rare uncertainty and hesitation with which he looked about the deck. Too bad the white man's priests would not travel on a slave ship. They could use one, right about now.

I think it's so fascinating watching how people parse information. I'd written Equiano's witch doctor snippet from a dream I had, and then gave it to Patrick to use if he wished. My thinking was that the witch doctor had laid the curse on the ship for revenge - and the werewolf was a victim through which the curse manifested. From the doctor's thinking, it killed at least the werewolf if detected, but hopefully a bunch of crew as well. Watching y'all thinking that the black magic was done by the werewolf is really cool, to me. I'd never have gone that route without help.

Equiano glared at the ship's crew, his back against the railing. It could be anyone. One of the cargo. One of the crew. A stowaway. The nature of the curse was not yet certain. Holding his medicine bag in his left hand, and muttering a mixture of prayers from many cultures, he began searching the ship. Carefully searching. If it could be found during the daylight, it would be weak. Evil flourished in the dark. voting for Azuran - Paqs

Equiano once again thanked his gods that he'd learned to speak English from the Englishman. He'd been taken as a slave as a curiosity; it was quickly determined that he had no skills. He could not hunt, knew none of the plants safe to eat, could not even cure a hide. However, Equiano had liked to hear his stories of other lands, and other people. The Englishman was a mighty liar, speaking of empires and cities with thousands of people. Of course he already spoke Portuguese. Those white men had been the first to trade for slaves, and still paid the best of the Europeans. He had a smattering of Arabic - the Moors had been buying slaves from Africa for many many generations before the first Europeans came. As an Asante, he had learned a bit of a dozen African tongues. It was good to be able to speak the languages of the other strong tribes, for tribute and trade. For hundreds of years, strong tribes further in would conquer weaker ones. The best of those slaves were given as tribute to the Coastal Asante. They had been renowned warriors long before they traded for muskets. The arrival of the Portuguese had brought terrible diseases that had eradicated entire tribes, far from the coast. The survivors had been easy prey and the earliest of the slaves sold. When Equiano had been taken slave, he'd remembered the Englishman, and saw the hands of the gods turning the Wheel. Like the Englishman, he set about being useful as he could. With his tribesmen, he had set about organizing the slaves. He had requested buckets for latrines, and ensured that they had been used. He had made certain that all slaves ate, not just those near the hatches. Cargo was valuable, and with Equiano in control, it was a relatively healthy cargo that arrived in the Carolinas. The few that had died had been given quietly to the cannibal tribe. Importantly, he had instructed the cargo in basic English words - Master, Mistress, Please, Thank You, I Obey, Buy Me. And so instead of being sold, Equiano had bargained with the Captain to be in charge of the cargo on each voyage. Now, four years later, he was foreman of the cargo, and well-paid - he'd bargained for his freedom and a stake in future cargos - he received one coin in ten from every slave sold. A slave typically sold for 15 English Pounds from the Asante, and sold for 40 pounds in South America, or 45 pounds in the North America. With Equiano doing the buying and caring for the cargo, he was able to ensure he bought the best in Africa. He had invested all his first pay in buying African food in bulk. By giving the cargo familiar fruits and vegetables, there was less dysentery, which led to less disease. Meat had been rare for most tribes, and he gradually introduced the salted meats the crew ate to their feed. He ensured that they were well watered. Many slavers wanted their cargo weakened by hunger or elements. Equiano wanted strong valuable slaves, and feared no rebellion. He also doused them all with salt water weekly, to keep them clean. It cut down on the cleaning after they'd been sold, and held the smell down. He was Asante. He feared no African.

Keyboard all the way. I can barely read my own writing. text-chat, or phone-chat?

Hands Mynx his wallet and keys Cash in paw! Traditions or change?

Equiano is the son of an Asante chief. The Asante are a very warrior-based culture, and have been using prizes of battle as slaves for centuries before the Golden Triangle of Trade, at which point they increased their prowess with better weaponry, took more slaves, and began selling them to the slavers who came to the coast. On the last trip, several of the slaves died of wounds while waiting for the Fat Slug, and the Captain took Equiano and several other Asante to make up numbers. The Asante, knowing their worth, shrugged philosophically and set about making themselves invaluable, taking charge of the other slaves, working the decks, and eventually Equiano was moved from slave to sailor. He is a powerfully built man, with ritual cheek scars that identify him to any who look - particularly other Africans, who look in fear. He has connections with his own tribe in Africa, and with the culture of escaped slaves (mostly Asante), in Jamaica.

Welcome back!!!!! *Polite hugs* This time around, it is VERY low-key, each doing what they can, when they can, as they can.

What to do, what to do? I try but I cannot make myself heard to any but my beautiful dogs, and it just upsets them. There are other spirits, now, but I do not know if they wish the living well or ill. What to do? I am so lost, and the murder continues in most unnatural ways. Lost... (A vote for Graham/Vene is a strike for freedom! That's what the Eagle of Truthiness said. I think.)

Our own Mynx and Tanuchan have e-published to Amazon. Fantasy of course, and under $5. Spread the news, write reviews! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MKD7N1O

Abercrombe was frustrated. He was present, but not really. He could walk through people, and they would get goosebumps and a frisson of chills, but they didn't see him. Oddly, the dogs could sense his presence in a way, but it was cats who watched him. Every one of the cats was able to see him. And they just as obviously didn't care in the least. He was grateful to Graham, in a rather dispassionate way. Things were much milder, emotionally, without a body to provide the juices of life. It was all so... bland. He was much more perceptive of some things, however, without the distractions of feelings and self. He spent quite a bit of time listening to the people of the town talk. It was a bit frustrating in a way - he couldn't go into anyone's homes, although the common areas, such as the inn, caused no barriers at all. Listening, and thinking... Methinks the lady doth protest too much wide-eyed innocence. I vote for Tennison/Tanny.

Abercrombe gazed mournfully at the sheep. Not that there was an issue with them, but he tended to worry. The goats would survive; that's what goats do. Fortunately, his last gasped order had been obeyed, and the dogs had run instead of continuing to attack the beast that had claimed their master. It would've been futile and selfish to let them prove their love and devotion by letting them die for him. He'd sent them to the forest. By now they were probably herding deer. He wondered who would pick up the piss pots?

Welcome to Nightvale! Please, no dogs in the Dog Park! Cecil tells us all...

Me too!

I did an edit on my post to remove where I buried Widow Katt to let Patrick's post be canon - I thought he did a better job, and Mynx used his for her post.

Just one more level, just one more level, I promised myself some sleep. Just one more level, just one more level, I've promises to keep. Just one more level, just one more level, I really need this drop. Just one more level, just one more level, After this one I will stop. New line: An emptied flame erases the reformed skull

The songs that must be sung Echoed weakly through the cave, The songs are sung by one Ignorant world to save. Keeping the demon lord at bay Only one old priest remains, He sings them day by day He sings them through his pains. New line: That gardener hears the girl crying

Abercrombe worked the dogs with whistles and hand-signals, separating the sheep from the goats, then singling out the sheep, one-by-one, to be slathered with homemade flea and tick prevention salve. The dogs enjoyed the work, grinning and lolling as two kept the sheep in a tight group, while Thunder would cut out the designated sheep. In his eagerness, Thunder would occasionally run across the backs of the flock to save time. It not being their turn yet, the goats watched with amusement in their slotted yellow eyes. There was no amusement in Abercrombe's eyes, only the shadows of fear and memory. (OoC: I vote to hang Curtis/Lord Panther.)