#aderthor

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Tonight on What Did I Name That Doc, Again?

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OC Questions Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @a-lonely-dunedain! Here I will answer three OC questions from her post, and then tag a couple people to answer the questions I'll come up with (if they want to). These are for Amathan and Aderthor, as they're the OCs clearest in my head and also the ones who've been banging down the door for the last monthish.

1. What is a trait your OC can't stand in other people vs. a trait that they find themself drawn to

Amathan - he tends to be pretty short-tempered and low-filter around people who tick him off, and he doesn't have a short list of these. A specific trait (rather than general immorality) would probably be laziness, especially where it matters. Didn't set up that barricade right? Thought you'd just keep up that meaningless conversation rather than pay attention to what you're doing with a blade in a crowded workspace? You've got another think coming. On the flip side, professionalism (when warranted, and the genuine kind instead of posturing) does a great job of convincing him you actually know what you're doing. He's not himself a leader, but does not accept leadership from someone who even he can see is doing it wrong.

Aderthor - as a generally easy-going guy, it takes more seriously terrible traits to get to "can't stand" territory. Cruelty of any kind gets him angry, but what gets him furious is cruelty without a point. Doing that didn't even get you anything. You just ripped hurt into existence and your gain was itself. You did that for fun. The additional confusion that it adds to the equation makes it even worse. He can't understand it and he can't understand the people who do it and that drives him crazy in addition to angry. As for what he is drawn to, generally the opposite: people he can understand and who want to be understood, even unconsciously. People who feel their own kinship with every other person around them and share in it. (This is a reason he gets attached to Corunir so quickly.)

2. What animal would you associate with your OC? can be for in-character reasons (I.E their favorite animal) or a more symbolic reason

Amathan - A chihuahua. I've never actually thought of animals in relation to most of my characters, so all I've got on the top of my head are dumb jokes. Let me google some stuff think real quick. A WOLF. He's often perceived as a 'lone wolf' by those around him, especially those who met him recently, but in reality he's much more of a pack animal, and is fiercely protective of his family and friends. He's intelligent, but has a penchant for diving over his head and wildly overestimating his own martial ability on his own. He works far better in a team. Lastadron absolutely stayed with him partly out of a conviction that this guy is alive purely because of duct tape and spite.

I really want to equate Lehtion with a horse for humor and also symbolism, but horse symbolism and Lehtion's Lehtionness isn't cooperating. (Most of his character development ends up circled around Rohan, despite me not actually planning it that way.)

3. What is their biggest regret? was it truly their fault or some unavoidable tragedy? (and can they tell the difference)

I'm going to take this question as it pertains to backstory, as it occurs to me my characters have way more regrets post-Epic, most of them every other player character is going to share.

Amathan - his biggest regret is probably not taking off after Aderthor immediately after they realized something had gone wrong (or better yet, going with him). Yes, he actually found him alive even after ten years out of contact, but in Amathan's view he could have also done that perfectly well without the ten years of thinking his brother was dead. The question of whether that would have worked (a lot of factors contributed to the overthrow of the False-king in Angmar, not just Amathan and Lastadron showing up, and the Ram Duath really was impassible for a good long while there) is not one he has considered in depth. He also hasn't considered how twenty-year-old-Amathan might have reacted to being thrown into the Epic. So, while deciding not to go after Aderthor immediately could be his fault (which is NOT the right word), Angmar not getting overthrown ten years earlier absolutely was not.

Aderthor - WE COULD'VE AT LEAST TOLD SOMEONE WHERE WE WERE GOING DANG IT. The whole situation around trapped-in-Angmar-for-ten-years is one big regret for Aderthor. Whenever he gets stuck in a circle around thinking it (especially before Amathan and Lastadron show up) he mostly loops THIS WAS PREVENTABLE!!!!! around every tragedy and every death. Whether anything that was within his power at the time (telling Halbarad, staying with Corunir, and... nothing else really) would've helped anything is not clear, and most of the time he can see that. The pointlessness (from his view) of it all is what really galls him, even if he can't actually think of One Thing that anyone could've done to prevent it.

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Now for my own questions! Hmm, let me think...

What is your OC's family relationships like? Is he/she close with his/her birth family? Any siblings? Living parents? Extended relatives? How does he/she think of any found family--- in those terms, or more shy about it?

Does your OC more easily connect with people inside of a context--- a task, a specific conversation topic, a common goal--- or during downtime when they can do whatever they want?

How good are most good-intentioned people at reading your OC, or how correct are their general assumptions about him/her? Does your OC present him/herself as open to other people or closed-off?

Sorry for any vagueness in the questions, feel free to interpret them however you want! Tagging @o-lei-o-lai-o-lord, @sailforvalinor, and @mozart-the-meerkitten if they want to join! :D

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Oc-tober Day 6 - Sunrise - Amathan

With a wild clang! Amathan's sword-hand at last succumed to the force battering upon it, and his blade went skittering away across the packed dirt of the guards' training ground. Its erstwhile bearer, on the other hand, collapsed where he stood, head falling back with a similar clang.

"I don't---" he gasped to catch his breath, "---I don't think I'm cut out to be a guard."

Somewhere above him, his brother laughed, sheathing his own sword and offering his hand to help him up. Amathan ignored it, much preferring to remain where he was, and instead surveyed the slowly lightening sky above. Usually, two boys as young as they would not be permitted to use the city guard's equipment and land, but their father had struck some sort of agreement with the captain, and so for the meagre price of a few chores done and errands run, Aderthor and Amathan had the run of the place in the dark of predawn.

"I think Ada has long given up on either of you becomming any kind of soldier." his brother said, interrupting his musing, "You don't have to be a guard to find a sword useful,"

With a huff, Amathan sat up, though he did not deign to stand. If I don't get up, he can't make me go another round. He was still struggling to keep his breath even while Aderthor--- damn him--- had barely broken a sweat.

"So what, I'll be a brigand?"

"Not with that kind of stance you won't," Aderthor replied easily, and he caught at Amathan's arm, easily dragging the shorter boy up to his feet with only the smallest wince of effort. Amathan had half a mind to plop back down, but previous experiance told him that would merely perpetuate the cycle. He shook his head, and his helm gave up and slid off at the sudden movement, clanging once more to the dirt.

"I'll work on the docks, then, like Areher," he said. To the east, a stray sunbeam at last breached the city walls and arched over the barracks. It caught on the sword and helm in the dirt, and on Aderthor's teeth as he smiled. Amathan's heart lifted with the new sun, not least for that the guards would be arriving soon and Aderthor would have no further oppurtunity to beat him into the dust.

"You could," Aderthor agreed, and he removed his own helm, shaking back sweaty dark hair from his face. He reached in to muss Amathan's hair before the latter could stave him off and laughed once more. "You might need to grow a foot or so first, though."

Both standing on the packed dirt, Amathan's head barely crested Aderthor's chin, and though Areher wasn't nearly as tall as their eldest brother, he also stood far above Amathan. It wasn't an entirely fair contest, of course, for Amathan had turned fifteen the winter before, and Aderthor would be twenty-four come August.

He scowled fiercely and bent to collect both sword and helm. They, and both brothers' other practice armour, they would return to the city's armoury--- hopefully before the lieutenent showed up to scold them, permission or no.

Aderthor's sword, though, was his own, gifted by their father at his coming of age. When Amathan finally grew a bit more, he thought, he would have one of his own, and perhaps it would suit him a bit better than the blunted blade he carried now.

Above them, the new day dawned brightly over the city as the pair made their way through swiftly filling streets toward home.

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Oc-tober Day 5 - Thunder - Areher

The skies howl and shriek with the wind, but for once he is safe beneath a roof, and can enjoy the storm in peace. As a child he learned to love storms, huddled by the pitiful fire Aderthor had been so proud of, counting each boom and crack. They waited on the hour when the warped door would swing open, creak covered by the rain without, and their father would stumble in with his guard's cloak hung over his head for a hat.

"Why don't you wear your helmet?" he would question, for he imagined that shining helm would serve well for a rain-cover, as it did for so many other things. Ada had laughed and Aderthor had snorted.

"Well, lad," he'd said, towelling his head with the lord's sopping signia, "It would keep off the rain, for certain, but the lightning might prove difficult."

A man he is now, and has learned to curse the sky when the storms gather, to make swift landfall if they can and to weather it if they cannot. The tormented waves would lash their sides as the rain did the sails, and the more delicate of their passengers would retreat below. At this moment, though, he is in a city of stone rather than a ship of wood, and he watches the sky with delight.

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Stealing this because it's fun :D

Also it's one week because I need to write more.

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11, 15, 36?

11. If you could have one npc as a companion to run around with you, who would it be? would it be the same for all your characters?

For me, I'd love for Lothrandir to join me on my ridiculous epic adventures. Especially for like, East Rohan stuff with Horn, Nona, and Corudan, for the sole purpose of absent-mindedly rolling up his sleeves in Wildermore while literally everyone else (including the Elf) is freezing.

It'd probably vary for many of my characters. Lastadron would definitely pick Langlas, and Aderthor Corunir, but for the rest I honestly don't know. Amathan would probably pick Radanir.

15. Do you have a favorite class to play? A favorite specialization?

Hunter, rune-keeper, and warden are all very dear to me, but if I had to pick one it'd be captain. Being an invulnerable tank with enormous damage is just too fun, especially for soloing in technically-fellowship areas. For specialization, I generally gravitate towards red lines, for the damage and soloability.

36. Are there any major lore additions or changes you have strong opinions on?

All of them.

Kidding, but I really love what LOTRO's done with Tolkien's works, especially around the really vague areas such as the Lone-lands and Forochel. For specificity, I'll say that the Northern Rangers are one area that certainly wasn't canon, but nonetheless is great. The idea that they are this organized, for lack of a better word, and with as many settlements as they have, and with as much influence as they seem to wield in Eriador (especially the North Downs), wasn't really present in the books, and wasn't something I considered before playing, but adds an enormous amount to the story.

It is pretty funny however, to see the stars of the Dúnedain literally everywhere, and their gear (or at least the Grey Company version) adorned on every available space with them, and imagine that anyone in Eriador holds any misconseptions about where they're from.

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Oc-tober Day 12 - Loss - Círamath

On the second night, he gets himself utterly drunk.

Curled up in a dingy corner of the barroom with a never-empty mug for company, staring out a window at the slowly wheeling stars, somehow all he can think of is that Aelirn would’ve hated it. She’d never approved of hard drink, or running from hurts, and he never had either, even when he had stumbled through the door blind and dry-eyed three hours before, he’d cursed himself for it.

He runs a lethargic hand back and forth along the rim of the table before him, uncaring of the grime he picks up. It is not a reputable tavern he sits in by any means, dark and stuffed with smoke and ill odors, inhabited by the weary, the uncaring, and those who cared more for the seat than the drink. 

Calden has given him this, at least--- one night to grieve all he has lost, one night to just forget. In the morning, however splitting his head, he will show once more to the clean streets and tiny house by the market. But Calden has taken the boys for the night, citing that it was closer to the healer’s, and large enough to house the nurse they had needed to hire---

He sets the mug down with a deliberate thump, and across the room the barkeeper lazily looks up for a moment. 

They probably think it a grand lark, to visit their friends by the river-side, to spend the night giggling and whispering under a strange roof. Aderthor is, perhaps, old enough to understand and to realize what has happened, but he is only ten summers old, and easily distracted by sweets yet.

Areher, on the other hand, is four, and has asked for his mother twice already, innocent and gap-toothed grin unfailing and unseeing of his father’s hidden tears. He too, had been drawn off by a weak excuse and Calden’s bright voice. And Amathan---

Círamath is not and never has been an idiot.

You do not blame him, Calden’s voice is his only clear memory of the nightmare of two days before, after the screams, the blood, the panicked call for the midwife--- after all sound had died away. You nearly lost them both.

Círamath is not an idiot.

He does not blame his youngest son, for though the memory is not clear he can still see him in his mind’s eye, wet and crying and so terribly tiny, grey eyes wide and terrified as the healer and midwife bustled around him trying to save his mother.

He had been even more lost and alone than his father, shoved into a corner and despritely trying to see what was happening, choking prayers through a closed throat. Just as much bereaved by a birth gone wrong.

His mug is empty, but he does not ask for more. He sits, and he watches the stars. He does not think.