Violentines: Mordor Speed Dating!

"Going to Mordor!" Cried Pippin. "I hope it won’t come to that!"
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Arien
Arien
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BLOODY VIOLENTINES?! MORDOR SPEED DATING

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Banner by Fleeg... look I can’t afford any better artisans ok


Your host, the enigmatic and dishevelled Silizlîn, welcomes you to Mordorian Speed Dating! Set up in a large canvas tent, romantically lit with mysterious glowing jars. near On The Rocks, for the purpose of possibly making some money..., all restrictions are lifted and Free Peoples are absolutely welcomed at this event! Silizlîn takes zero responsibility if 1) anyone doesn’t find love 2) gets mauled and partially eaten 3) anything, in general.

HOW WILL IT WORK?
RP entering the tent with your character and submit a form to Sil telling her a bit about yourself!
The form can be anything you wish, but a suggested template follows:

Name:
Looking for:
A bit about me and my interests:
My ideal date would be:
My ideal gift would be:

You may enter with as many characters as you wish!

Sil will then assign you a date and we shall see what happens...

p.s.

- sign up with as many characters as you like
- don’t godmode unless you are Sil
- let’s keep it PG13, leering acceptable, harassment Naah
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Arien
Arien
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Sil is also accepting catchphrases for her show charitable mission. Currently in the running

Minion Speed Dating: Fall in love, or get eaten
Minion Speed Dating: Catch of the Day
Minion Speed Dating: Let’s Just Get This Over With
Minion Speed Dating: C’mon, I Don’t Have All Day
Minion Speed Dating: From Table to Altar and back to Table again
Minion Speed Dating: Find Love or Free Lunch
Minion Speed Dating: You Always Hurt the Ones You Love
Minion Speed Dating: Meat is on the Menu
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Balrog
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Vauddut the Thoughtless

Violent Times was here! Vauddut was beside himself with joy. He loved a good violent time and any time the words were capitalized, you know it was going to be a bloody great time. The orc laughed to himself. He was clever. Vauddut had no idea why everyone around him called him “the Thoughtless”, he was the most thoughtfull person he knew. He was so full of thoughts. So full that he often had to share them before his head burst from all the thoughts inside his head. He followed the directions on the flyer he found at the Black Market and immediately decided to take the rest of the day off as a bodyguard. Sure, the merchant he was employed by would likely killed by his rivals, but that was just the free market deciding what was best for itself. Capitalism was a brutal beast, if only there was another system that didn’t glorify the attaining of wealth and the destruction of ethics and morals. He shrugged. He had many thoughts, but economics were a bit beyond him. All the economics he needed was the ability to count the dried, pressed leaves he received as payment for his work and what drink to spend it on down at On the Rocks.

No, he didn’t get lost thank you very much. In fact, he was just finding an alternate route to the Violent Times arena. When he found the building, it was going to be held in he was confused. There was going to be a fight in this tent? What was with the lighting? It was weird and romantic, not at all the kind of lighting you needed for a fight club. That creepy amphitheater with the sand would have been a much better place or that pit in On the Rocks. He made a mental note to tell the host, or hostess, or hostx, they were surely be open to his input right? As long as there was booze though, Vauddut was be happy. Booze and blood were the two best things the started with ‘B’. Well, Vauddut would have to get back to that after a few drinks.

He was handed a form and a piece of charcoal to fill it out. How odd. He squinted. The light in here was too low, it was hard to read. The Thoughtless’s eyesight wasn’t the greatest, that was one of his faults. But those around him learned to live with it. It made it hard to be a bodyguard sometimes, but he’d only had two clients die on him in the last six months so maybe that was becoming less of a problem.

He sat in cushioned seat (a cushioned seat!!) and filled everything out the best his orcish brain would allow him.

Looking for: someone who really knows how to fight, a challenge, someone who can take a punch and deliver one right back
A bit about me and my interests: I’m Vauddut the Thoughtless Thoughtfull, I like to fight in underground fightclubs legit fighting rings and go out drinking with my mates. Sometimes I like to watch the ash clouds from the volcano and see if I can find a shape in it.
My ideal date would be: What? I don’t really like dates, they’re too squishy and sweet. I don’t like sweet things. Why is this being asked on a fighting form?
My ideal gift would be: I love expensive alcohol, and deer antlers, and clay pots, and chrysanthemums
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Arien
Arien
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Vauddut is either going to get an NPC or a long, lonely evening, looks like
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High Lord of Imladris
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The haradrim woman half floated into the strange room, her gait smooth, sure, her thighs alone could crack a skull like an egg shell if she so chose , making her stride lethal in a sense. Her dark brown eyes flitted over the choices before her, there seemed to be a terribly lack of choice. She wasn't sure that entirely bothered her she would just have to change what her hopes were for this night she supposed. Bloody Violentines it would have to be she thought her full lips curving up into a devastating smiled as she glanced at the one inhabitant of the room that was there for the 'speed dating' as it were.

She wouldn't date the little goblin, but she was sure fine bloodying a goblin. If that's even what he was, she assumed from their form they were male but it was tricky to tell sometimes, perhaps it was just a tiny orc, hard to tell without speaking to it, something she wasn't sure was going to happen but who knew perhaps they'd hit it off. More than likely they'd be putting the bloody in the name of this event. Which suited her just fine.

With that she found herself a seat and sat down with a flip of her hair the smile that could kill still firmly set on her face

Name: Umoya
Looking for: Someone to kill...time with.
A bit about me and my interests: I stab people for a living, sometimes with ink and making pretty designs sometimes with knives. |Both ways I certainly get to enjoy their cries of agony as they suffer.
My ideal date would be: Some time late fall, ground is still not frozen but the temperature is cool enough to keep a body from stinking.
My ideal gift would be: Pigments, a nice wet stone, or perhaps some silk, preferably red or black.

High Warden of Tower
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Urzul, the Orc

Speed dating. What did it even mean? At any rate it sounded like something swift and perhaps violent, and the rumour had spread that whatever-thing-it-was that it was happening. Urzul figured that she should better go and see for herself what it was all about. At a leisurely pace she ambled towards the tent, stopping for a while to consider whether she should attend the pub first, but then again - curiosity was too great.

As soon as she stepped into the tent, the orc found that some sort of form had to be filled in. Plopping down on the ground right where she stood - though strangely enough out of the way of anyone entering after her - Urzul read the form aloud a few times. Some of the questions seemed difficult, and she found herself digging around her nose with her finger in hopes of finding answers.

Name: Urzul
Looking for: Food, something edible, yes
A bit about me and my interests: love food, would do much for it
My ideal date would be: something edible or someone providing food
My ideal gift would be: FOOD! Didn't I say so already?


Putting some scribble under her writing to stand for a signature, Urzul struggled to get back up on her feet, creating a smelly cloud of fart perfume around her in the process. She - and the perfume cloud - stepped over to Sil to hand in the completed form.
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Black Númenórean
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Shroomîsh

A rush of sound and color and smells - oh, the smells! - engulfed the little mushroom. It blinked its eyes and wrinkled its nose and opened its mouth to scream its first word: “NOOO!!!!!” It was protesting life, and being brought into it, and having for a father (?) the huge, hairy oaf now stomping around and bellowing something about geodes. What were geodes? Who was this loud individual, and why had the little mushroom awoken upon him? What did it mean to be an ordinary belly button mushroom one moment, then a conscious being the next? These questions and more swirled in the newly-awoken mind of the mushroom. It screwed up its face and howled its protest against life itself once more. Then, with a mighty effort, it extracted two stumpy legs from the hairy beast’s belly and began to waddle off to freedom.

The first place the little mushroom found was a large tent. Of course, it didn’t know the difference between tents and fortresses and caves or any other type of edifice or dwelling, but that is what it came across. The lights glowing within drew the mushroom forward. “Ooooo,” it murmured in a reedy little voice.

The mushroom waddled some more, growing more and more competent on its short legs with every step, and entered the tent. A few beings proportioned somewhat similarly to its hairy progenitor were present; the mushroom had to lean its whole body back to peer curiously up at their faces. Similarly to tents, it had no concept of the word “face” except that it knew innately that this was where you could learn a lot about another being. The mushroom could tell that the thing that had birthed it was unpleasant and stupid just by looking at his great, dumb face. So the mushroom sized up the crowd here, too.

Lacking arms, it seized one of the forms and a quill in its mouth and proceeded to read over the questionnaire. Somehow, this little mushroom had been born ready to read and write, perhaps in an ironic twist ordained by the universe to mock its illiterate parent. It filled out its form, then shuffled over to the woman who seemed to be in charge. The form read as follows:

Name: Mushroom Shroomy Shroomis Shroomîsh
Looking for: Answers
A bit about me and my interests: It’s my birthday. I am interested in learning about the world, then perhaps taking it over
My ideal date would be: An outing to disperse my mind-control spores
My ideal gift would be: The head of my father, who brought me into this world without my express consent
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Elven Enchanter
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Zâram the (Half)-Orc

Zâram sauntered into the tent, the hastily drawn sign drawing some attention. As her blue eyes looked at the scrawl, she muttered, "I could've done that better." She was always looking for a good time. Whether that was throwing darts at hoppits or burning things down in Rohan, mischief was her prime goal. That being said, she also relished the taste of manflesh. She fingered her olifant-tusk knife that was always kept in her pocket; a knife that was far more intricate than most orcs possessed, but also far sharper and allowed for cutting off the finest morsels of flesh. Or for use in defending the few humans that she acknowledged to be friends.

She marched determinedly up to the desk and yanked one of the forms off. Nearly stepping on a sentient mushroom, she plopped the form down on one of the tables and hastily filled it out.

Name: Zâram
Looking for: Mischief, what else?
A bit about me and my interests: Mischief, mahem, murder,
My ideal date would be: Setting fire to something and then enjoying some fresh manflesh afterwards. Or getting drunk and then doing the above.
My ideal gift would be: Something to use to cause mischief. Or alcohol.

Nodding in satisfaction, she returned the form to Silizlîn and waited to see who she would get matched with. A rather moutly crew was assembled, as was normal for anything gathering in Mordor.

Galadhrim Bowmaster
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The tent flaps burst open, as much as pieces of fabric could burst one direction or another. Vaguely disappointed, and making a mental note only to make grand entrances through properly hinged doors in the future, Aduchil strode in with the most confident strides known to Elves, Ents, and the feet of Men. "I have come!" he declared loudly. Now, for an Elf undercover to deliver myconid supplies to his most ardent customer in Mordor, boisterous proclamations did not fit well with keeping a low profile. Which was exactly why nobody would expect it from him. Always a genius. Aduchil tapped his forehead, just as a gesture for any mind-readers in the tent, and surveyed the location, scrutinising the other people present.

It came to him that he could not remember the name of his customer. Nor the face. Or race. Or anything else really. Perhaps that last brew of hemlock-infused mead had not done his head any favours - too much mead in the hemlock, undoubtedly. He would have to adjust the recipe.

Aha, but by cleverly announcing his arrival, he did not have to find his customer - they would find him! Sometimes, even Aduchil was astounded at the depths of his foresight and wit.

What was this? Some manner of bureaucratic slip of parchment to control the masses? Aduchil fumed. Nothing more than chains of paperwork upon the proletariate! He was half-tempted to eat it! Granted, his first instinct with everything was to eat it, and especially parchment, just to find out what animal hide it came from. But the temptation grew as a fitting way of spiting these masters of the mindless and mundane, these crats of the bureau!

And yet! Could this be employed to find his target? Aduchil had a duty to his customer. It was time to employ, once again, his famous cunning. He would enter this - bare-knuckled gladiator pit? Disguised as himself. Facing against the competitors one by one, he simply had to punch his way through until one of them recognised him and requested the consigment.

Pulling out his stick of emergency charcoal (in case of poisoning or bad digestion), Aduchil grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote down his answers with flourishing script.

Name: Yes
Looking for: The right customer to my cooking
A bit about me and my interests: Cooking, baking, boiling, broiling, mashing, stewing, roasting, toasting, brewing. Overthrowing the established hierarchy. Water colour painting.
My ideal date would be: Soft but firm. Just on the verge of being overly ripe. Preferably harvested on a day with a strong gale.
My ideal gift would be: Whatever doesn't kill me, only makes my stomach stronger.

Arien
Arien
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Silizlîn clasped her hands together with what might have been joy, despair, or the simple rubbing together of her palms in anticipation of profit. Wait. Was she even charging for this service?

She checked her notes. She was not.

Oh well, at least this was certain to be entertaining...

Vauddut, you have landed a date with the most charming Urzul!
A nice table has been arranged at Hoppit Darts and by nice table, I mean, a barrel. There are probably snacks and the opportunity to start a fight!
@The King in Yellow @Pele Alarion

Umoya and Zâram are both presented with vouchers to the Uhhhhh Spa!Treat yourselves to a massage and some suspicious mushroom salad!
@Fuin Elda @Dimcairien Luiniel

Aduchil, you are accosted by Shroomîsh. It is Shroomîsh’s birthday. Something special is required.
But unfortunately, what you have is tickets to the next fight at the Necromancer’s Guild along with free drinks. Plenty of opportunity for gambling and plotting. Maybe even for getting behind the bar and cooking up some trouble.
@Aduchil @Tarawen

You may post in here or in the threads I have linked to. Questions? Fire away!
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