Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza

How It Works:
After an initial signup period of five days (give or take), there will be 6 rounds, each lasting ~48 hours. Sign up by RP'ing your entrance. During each round, you will post throwing your darts, and your score will be determined based on dice rolls (as below) and a potential bonus (up to 10 points) for posting quality or/and humor. You may join late, but will only get to throw for as many rounds as are left. If you miss a round, that's too bad, no make-ups.

In each post 3 darts will be thrown. For every dart, 2 dice are rolled:
A 20-sided die. Whatever is rolled on this dice is the player’s basic score for the round.
A 6-sided die. This die modifies the score of the 20-sided dice using the table below:

6-sided dice rolls:
1, 2, or 3 = Basic score remains the same
4 = Basic score doubles
5 = Basic score triples
6 = The hobbit has been hit. Refer to the table below:

If a 6 is rolled, the hobbit has been hit and the dice is rolled again:
1 or 2 = A leg, 20 points added to your basic score
3 or 4 = An arm, 30 points added to your basic score
5 = The chest, 50 points added to your basic score
6 = The head, 100 points added to basic score. However if this happens more than once then the hobbit has been impaled and is dead. You are now out of the game, you score stands and you can still win.

After all dice rolls have been made and posting bonuses awarded, a final score is calculated.

Rules:
-You may control your actions and the actions/reactions of the hobbit at which you are throwing, but the dice determine where your hobbit is hit.
-You may play as a hobbit if you really want to, just know you’re going to have a bad night. Coordinate with the person throwing the darts to make sure they’re ok with having someone else play their hobbit! If you miss a turn for reactions, they are free to godmode you.
-This game does take place “in” On the Rocks, so feel free to have drinks and such! The snagas are on duty tonight.
-Posts 300+ characters (appx 3 lines)
-Spectators/hecklers are welcome
- Special Frost Rule I am colorblind so be aware that if you decide to post in a foo-y bright color that I have trouble see I will likely impose a disadvantage on you




I would like to give a special thanks to @Moriel for allowing me to run this game. Either she wants to see me fail and suffer (she is a minion) or she believes I might actually be capable. Either way, thank you and let's throw some darts!

Zôrzimril, Arriving

A slim woman dressed in flowing black silk made her way through the Dark Land with purpose. Rubies glinted on her ears in the light cast by the resident volcano's fires. Hands in her dress's pockets and weapons at her hips, she swept along the broken ground of Mordor toward the feet of Orodruin. She was thirsty.

Zôrzimril had been meaning to stop in at On the Rocks for a while now; it helped that she now knew one of the bartenders. She was looking forward to quenching both her thirst and her need for a proper catch up with Frost tonight. She hadn't bargained, however, on the scene that met her eyes when she stepped through the door. Several hoppits in varying states of consciousness were pinned to the walls, and a dwarf was placing an order. Strange. But this was Mordor, after all, so she'd roll with the fiery punches. She shrugged and wandered to the bar.

"Frost, darling," she purred, sliding onto a stool and pushing her black hair out of her face before leaning her elbows on the bar. "How are you faring? Better than your latest dinner guest, I expect." She grinned and eyed the menu. "I'll take a Telperion Mist, extra strong. So, are these critters the buffet for tonight? And are you providing the instruments of torture, or is it a Bring-Your-Own-Weapon kind of event? I'd be glad to be of service, no matter the methods." Zôr paused in her interrogation and awaited her drink and some answers.

Frost had told her about this pub. It must be the one where he and Thalionwen were working together, and he'd sneaked out earlier muttering something about hoppits and games, and while Taeth was trying to mentally prepare herself--you're in Mordor, for Bema's sake, just do as they do for now--the sight that greeted her walking through the door was not what she'd expected.

As... uncomfortable as the sight of the poor hoppits pinned the wall were, and she resisted a shudder as one of the hoppits started to squeal, it was not the sight of them that made her heart pound and her fists clench. That was caused by Zôrzimril fairly throwing herself at Taethowen's paramour, and suddenly the hoppits were the least of her concern. Zôr had already dared to touch him in Rohan, and even if she hadn't known the man had a lover who was watching, it still wasn't right.

Straightening her shoulders, Taeth marched in, strode up to the bar, fairly slung herself over it, and pulled Frost in for a kiss. "You left without telling me," she scolded with a smirk when she released him. "How much is it for the darts? 10 silver? Does that need to be Mordor coin, or will Rohir coin suffice?"

With a smile at Zôr, she plopped herself on the seat right next to the woman, before she pulled out her coin purse and started counting up what she had. "There's some mead hiding in the back, right, Frost? Please say yes."

Taeth could barely believe what she was doing as she slid the coin across the counter, but really. If you were going to date a sometimes-necromancer, you had to make a few compromises.

---

OOC Note: permission for mild godmodding granted by @Frostbite

As Zarâm entered On the Rocks after a long day haggling in the Black Market, much to her delight, she saw the room set up for a game of hoppit darts. It had been far too long since she had played that wonderful game and was excited to have the chance to play it this evening. The dazed hoppits were strung up against the wall and Zarâm was simply itching to throw some sharp darts at them.

Glancing around the room, she noticed Zor had finally decided to visit the pub and to her great shock, Taethowen was there as well! Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised her, knowing the comradery Taeth and Frost had, but still, seeing the Rohir woman in On the Rocks was a shock. She stifled an unholy giggle as Zor launched herself at Frost causing Taeth to become furious.

She sauntered up to where Frost stood behind the bar and said, "Good evening, Frost. I will take an Elf blood and a round of darts. I need to get some violence out after a day in the Market. And what better way than pinning nasty hoppits to the wall?"

Turning towards Taeth, Zarâm said, "Fancy seeing you here. Are you planning to try your luck at hoppit darts?"

Tûk
with Avalak, his bodyguard

Tûk was a hobbit spy. But that was not the name he'd grown up with. It was a bastardised version of his original surname. Due to partial, torture induced memory loss, he actually couldn't remember his real given name. He had been corrupted into the service of the Dark Lord after having been captured by the evil torturer known as Zâirazruarî (RP'ed by Mazana). Even before then he had been a shifty hobbit who spent too much time in Bree making sly deals with strangers he should not have been dealing with. He got caught up in too much trouble, which eventually took him down a dark and terrible path.

Apart from his height, his physical appearance no longer resembled that of a typical hobbit. He was skinny and gaunt (there was not enough good food for a hobbit in Mordor). One of his eyes was missing, but this was covered with an eye-patch. His dark, mangy hair was partially hidden beneath a shabby woollen cap (which he had discovered was not the ideal material to wear amongst the floating embers of Mordor). The dirt and soot that had accumulated on his face somewhat resembled stubble. He had a dagger by his side, which against his hobbit frame certainly looked like a short sword, and he had hidden knives too. But strangest of all for a hobbit was that he wore boots. Some held the suspicion that his feet were fake, that his real feet had been removed in the Black Pits, and that he wore boots to cover it up.

Everyone was here to throw darts at hobbits, but you'd be mistaken if you thought that Tûk was here to be a victim. So far had he fallen in his corruption, that he was actually here to take part as a competitor. He was a smart hobbit, though, and he knew that even as a competitor he could easily be mistaken for a target, or deliberately chosen as one. Which was why he'd brought his bodyguard, Avalak, with him. Avalak was a Dundlending, and he was a hulk of a thing. He truly was a horror to look at. Some thought he was half-Uruk, which may well have been true. Tûk looked more than tiny standing next to him. The bodyguard was not the smartest man in the world, but for some reason he was loyal to the hobbit spy, and was large enough and more than capable enough of keeping him safe from those who would do him harm.

Together they moved to the bar. Tûk knew that playing darts was no good without a drink, especially when the targets were your former kin. "I'm here to play darts," he informed them at the bar. "But first I'll have some plain old grog." Back in the Shire he would have asked for the drink to be in the biggest tankard possible, but around here the biggest tankard would be like a bucket to him. Avalak stood there looking serious and not saying anything. He did not want a drink, as he was working.

NPC Pansy Greenbottom, a hobbit

Pansy felt a little odd. Kind of weightless but also really restricted. Eyes still shut she began to wriggle her fingers and toes, then her arms and legs. Only she couldn't. There was nothing underneath her feet, but her arms and legs just would not move. She pondered for a moment. The last thing she remembered was running around the mountains trying to escape people who wanted to throw her into Mount Doom as a sacrifice, then something awful had happened and she had been presumed dead. Yet here she was...wherever she was.

She opened one eye for a peek. Hm. not good. She could see lots of orc types and other minions of darkness. She opened the other eye to be sure. Yep, definitely in Mordor, probably in a pub, certainly in mortal danger. Not a good start. Normally she liked to start the day after waking with a cup of tea, and this was nothing like her cup of tea!

She wiggled her arms and legs again and began to realise that she was bound. She looked around, saw other bound and squirming hobbits either side of her, and realised that the minions must be planning to do something with them all...if only she could work out what...

How delightful it was to have a night off, and not only that, but to have someone else at her beck and call, and the chance to indulge in some wholesome gaming as well! Írimë swanned back into On the Rocks in a swirl of skirts, having spend a very productive afternoon with her manicurist. Her nails were buffed and gleaming to perfection, painted a deep, slightly acid purple color, with a delicate hobbit skill painted in white on each. It was only appropriate that such an occasion be greeted with a special manicure, after all. Snagas scurried about the place serving and preparing for the games. And -was it really all that unexpected- Frost was already beginning to attract a flock of females. The thirst was strong, and not just for her stock of liquors. Írimë sauntered behind the bar, giving Frost a pinch in passing, collected a bottle of Nazgûl essence and two shot glasses, then sauntered back out again. She slid onto a stool next to Taethowen and tapped the glasses into place, one in front of herself, one in front of the Rohir. “So you’ve decided to see where my pretty wench plies his trade, I see! Well if you’re going to hang about here, and with that one,” the Pubmistress jerked her thumb at Frost, “you need to learn to drink what we drink. Mead? Please.” Írimë sloshed the clear essence into the glasses with much greater generosity than usual (it was her night off after all), and lifted hers to Taethowen. “To booze! To perfect nails! To screaming hoppits! To pretty wenches!” she intoned solemnly, and knocked the drink back, followed by a sigh of satisfaction, and glanced at Frost again. “I’ll be needing some darts also, wench.”

(Please forgive my rusty RP, it's been a very long time since I've done anything like this)

Caladlethril hitched up her robe nervously as she stood before the entrance to an entirely unseemly looking tavern. When she'd undertaken her mission she hadn't realized Mordor would be quite so...dark. Was that blood on the door? This was a bad idea. She shouldn't have come here.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she pushed open the door and walked inside. Were those...hobbits? On the dart boards? Horror nearly overwhelmed her before she regained control. She'd known she would see horrors on her mission here, she needed to get used to it if she wanted to blend in.

Looking around she saw several other patrons already enjoying the tavern, and several already seemed to know each other. She plucked up her courage and took a seat at the bar, trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. She fished around in her robes before pulling up her meager coin purse and pulled out a small coin. She smiled at the bartender, catching his attention as best she could. "I'd like an ale, please, whenever you have a moment."

The thirst is strong and the drinks are stronger! Who is going to walk away the inaugural champion of Hoppit Darts: Frosty Style? Who is going to get so drunk they throw their dart into crowd and start a barfight? Let's find out!




Frost slings out the drinks, flirts with all the ladies (discreetly of course), and gathers up all the various coinages and gives them to Grobby for safekeeping until the night is over. Darts are passed to all the competitors (with a kiss for good luck for a special lady) and the Hoppit Darts: Frosty Style is underway.

Competitors will have 48 hours (give or take) to make their throws. Remember audience participation is not only encouraged by expected from the crowd. Most creative jeer gets a free drink (unless Frost decides to throw you out instead).

Tûk
with Avalak, his bodyguard

One tankard of grog down, and one flagon of grog currently going down, Tûk was beginning to feel ready to cause some fear and pain. Normally a bit of alcohol made him quite cheery, as it did to any hobbit. But Mordor's grog did something different to him. It made him aggressive, and fearless. Especially when he had his Dunlending bodyguard behind him.

He took one last gulp of his beverage, put the flagon back on the counter heavily, then burped after the effort. Someone passed him some darts. He was not sure if it was Frost or not, for he'd never met him, but whoever it was, he wished they'd passed the darts a little more carefully. One of them pierced his skin and got stuck in the webbing between his thumb and finger. But his senses had been numbed quite well, so he didn't think too much more of it as he pulled it out of his hand and examined it.

The tip was nice and rusty. Yes, that would do well. For what his darts lacked in pointiness, they gained in the ability to cause tetanus and infection.

He turned his attention to the targets (victims). It must have been quite the expedition, going all the way to the Shire to capture these hobbits. There were at least eight of them. As Tûk stepped forward towards the playing space, he realised he was the first to step out, which meant he had first choice of victim. Avalak stepped out behind him, making sure no one would mistake the corrupted hobbit for a target too. Tûk scanned the victims to see which ones looked the most fearful, or perhaps the most rotund. The more meat on them, the bigger the target to hit. There were a few chubby ones, but in the end he did not choose a chubby one. One of the others (Pansy Greenbottom) seemed more intriguing to him. He wondered which Shire family she belonged to.

"What's your name?" he asked her, giving a small moment for her to answer before changing his mood and throwing his three darts in her direction as precisely as he could. The grog had gone straight to his head, so it would be interesting to see if they hit their mark.

Gwai gratefully took the drink Frost passed her across the bar and chugged it. Thief hunting in Mordor was thirsty work, and she needed that drink. She sighed as she downed the frosty beverage, not quite sure what it was, but knowing it was hitting the spot. "One more, if you please!" she said, much more cheerful suddenly, despite having just shelled out 10 silver coins for one measly dart game. The pot better be worth it, and the house had better not be taking too much of a percentage, she thought darkly to herself, before brightening again as she reached for another drink.

She took her darts off the bar and lined up to take her turn. She normally had fairly good aim, but it had been a long day, and she definitely needed at least one more drink. Was it a bad thing if her aim actually improved while drinking? she wondered to herself, before dismissing the question as ridiculous. She fingered the darts as a one-eyed boot-wearing hobbit (Tuk) took the first turn. Pushing any thought of the morality of throwing darts at tied up hobbits aside, Gwai aimed carefully at the hobbit who was going on and on about wanting food (Dodo), and let the darts fly. It wasn't that she didn't understand his sentiments, but it was more about how much he was going on about it. This was probably why he was one of the targets, she comforted herself.

Zôrzimril

The pub was filling up. Zôr lifted her drink to her lips and watched, amused, when Taethowen cast herself between her and Frost. "A pleasure seeing you, too, Taethowen. As always," she said with a mischievous smile. More figures from her time in Rohan appeared. "Zarâm!" she cried. "Not thinking of starting more fires today, are you? We've got hoppits to torture."

When Írimë entered and raised a toast with the jealous Rohir, Zôr dug into her pocket for the silver that she'd seen others handing off to Frost. She tossed it onto the bar and caught up a handful of darts in exchange. She took a last, long draft of the Telperion Mist and set her glass down. "Another, when you've got a chance, love," she said to Frost, blowing him a kiss. Pulling her thick hair into a low bun and fixing it in place with a long, silver pin, she rose from her stool and walked over to eye her potential targets.

Zôr ran a finger over the tip of each dart as she contemplated the various halflings. Tonight's torture implements were small but sharp - and solid, too. Two of the victims had already had darts flung at them by a small and shifty looking character (Tûk) and a Rohir (Gwai) whom Zôr could have sworn she'd seen with chocolate on her hands back in Rohan.

She continued down the line and stopped before a male hoppit that was stirring feebly, but not as awake as the loud-mouthed one (Dodo) who was asking, predictably, for food. She stroked its cheek with the tip of a dart, pressing just firmly enough to etch a small bloody line in its skin. It jerked its head away but did not open its eyes. Perhaps it thought it was caught in some cruel nightmare. If that was the case, it wasn't too far off the mark. "Time to wake up," she crooned in the hoppit's ear, before stepping back several paces and letting her darts fly.

NPC Pansy Greenbottom

Pansy quickly realised struggling was useless - the knots had been tied with stronger hands than hers and they weren't going to budge in a hurry. She didn't have any useful tools on her either..no frying pan. She focussed instead on looking around her to see if she could work out what was going on. She saw to one side another hobbit (Dodo) who seemed to be trying to engage their tormentors in conversation, what a strange notion! She leaned in his direction as much as she could and, in a stage whisper as it was quite noisy in this room, tried to get his attention. "Pssttt. Pssssst. What's going on?"

Before she could wait for an answer, her attention was drawn to a figure who looked...well...hobbit like, but certainly not friendly (Tûk) and definitely on the side of the tormentors, as he was not bound, and did in fact seem to be eyeing her up. She gulped. He asked a question and she wondered what the point was, surely she was going to be orc food very soon, and no one would remember her name, so she decided not to play along, and simply stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry.

Possibly not her wisest moment, as three sharp darts were promptly thrown in her direction. Instinct told her to curl into a defensive ball, but with her legs and arms tied that was not possible, so she did the next best thing, and went all floppy, in the hope that she would sag in the ropes and the target would miss.

Zarâm

Zarâm accepted her drink from Frost with a gleeful grin, "Glad to see you moving up in the world. How's Grobby? And have the eggs hatched yet?"

Still waiting for Taeth to answer her query about why she was in Mordor though it clearly had to do with a certain someone, Zôr appeared by her side and mentioned the minion madness that had resulted in several fires. Zarâm laughed, remembering the experience. "I would never think of starting a fire in Írimë's pub. I rather like living," Zarâm said in answer to Zôr's question, and gesturing with her head towards the pubmisstress, added, "Have you seen her with her jam spoon?"

Looking around the slowly filling pub, Zarâm noticed several more faces, familiar and unfamiliar. Gwai, one of the Rohir was there to her great surprise, but then, nothing should really surprise her about the relationship between Rohan and Mordor at this point. The two nations had experienced quite a few adventures together. There was someone who strangely resembled a Hobbit (Tûk), but had requested dart, which amused Zarâm. Perhaps the halflings were not quite to incorruptible as the legends had said. And someone else she couldn't quite place. Like any gathering in On the Rocks, it was an eclectic group and was sure to bring about a lot of fun, especially once the drinks really got going.

As Frost handed her darts, Zarâm (with a side-eye at Taeth) asked, "And no kisses for your special Mordorian friend?"

Taking her darts, she stepped in front of one of the hobbits (Dodo), who seemed to have a very loud attitude and eyed him. It looked like he had already had his fair share of adventures. "Prepare to meet whoever you consider your maker." And perhaps reduce your noises to screams instead of shouts, she mentally added. She took a stance, looked carefully at the target, and deliberately threw her three darts, hoping to hit the nasty hobbit.

Taethowen, human, she/her

"Hello, Zarâm," Taeth smiled, still warily eyeing her own hand as it pushed the coins toward Frost, and still pointedly ignoring Zôr. "I suppose I am. I'm sure I'll regret it later."

Before she could actually start a conversation with Zarâm, though, Írimë swept into the building, retrieved something from the back and then slid up next to Taeth. She watched dubiously as Írimë poured two shots of something clear and nearly sparkling, saying something about needing to learn to drink like a Mordorian. Taeth rolled her eyes, picked up the shot glass, and sniffed it. There was surprisingly little odor to it other than straight alcohol.

"Can't be as bad as bilewitdox," Taeth stated, and tossed the drink back, cringing as it burned down the back of her throat. But it wasn't... vile. Not like bilewitdox. She slid the shot glass back over to Írimë. "Is that the best you've got? You know in the Mark we're practically drinking before we can ride."

"Taeth!" she heard a familiar voice call then, and she twisted in her seat, a little surprised to see her comrade-in-arms in Mordor. "Hello, Gwai!" Taeth answered as her friend came up to the bar and signed up for the dart contest before complimenting Írimë's nails.

In the quiet lull, Taeth let her gaze wander over to Frost again, a contented smile teasing at her lips for just a moment. Then she looked around the pub, noticing a couple others had wandered in. One seemed to be a wizard (Caladlethril), and the other a thoroughly creepy hobbit (Tûk). Truly, if she were in Rohan at that moment, her instincts would be screaming to get out of this place right now. But well... Frost was here. And she wasn't in charge right now. If there was truly any actual danger headed her way, she knew Frost would have her back.

When she twisted back to the face the bar, Frost was already handing out darts. She ignored Zarâm's comment about kisses and special Mordorian friends and simply smiled when Frost grabbed her hand rather than just placing the darts in front of her, and gently pulled her in for a quick peck on the lips as he leaned over the counter. "For luck," he whispered with a wink, and she only blushed a little.

Holding back a giggle--maybe whatever Írimë had given her to drink was a little stronger than she'd thought, after all--she hopped down from her stool, and selected one of the remaining random hoppits on the wall.

Not really bothering to aim because that was more malicious than she had it in her to be, Taeth kind of... squinted, cringed, and threw her first three darts, then scooted back to the bar without even watching to see where--or if--she hit.

---

OOC note: permission for mild godmodding granted by @Frostbite

“Why thank you!” Írimë replied to the new Rohir [(b]Gwai[/b]) who had ponied up to the bar next to her, and displayed her manicure to the woman with the air of someone showing off a drew with pockets, “no, just the skulls. Entirely to tedious to fit an entire hopping on one’s nails.” the Pubmistress was surprised by the ease with which Taeth had downed the Nazgûl Essence, but Írimë was a keen observer of drunken behavior and the quick beginnings of deterioration of Taeth’s faculties indicated that Frost might not have warned her about the potency of the Mordorian beverages. So much for is that the best you’ve got. Írimë grinned wickedly and seized her darts, giving Frost a heavy-lidded wink in passing, and sidled up next to Tûk at the throwing line. She took the most casual of aim at her hoppit- Írimë had much practice in the ways of darts, but never claimed to be the most skilled or sober player, and prefer to let a bit of luck enter the game. Once she had let fly all three darts, she glanced down at Tûk, and raised a quizzical brow. “What’s a nice halfling like you doing in a place like this?”

Caladlethril mumbled her thanks to the bartender as she passed over some coins, accepting the darts with her other hand. Was she really about to do this? The hobbits were already awake and squirming. She looked around at the other competitors, a little surprised at the diversity. Was that a dwarf? She smiled at him, wondering what could bring a dwarf to Mordor of all places.

She watched the others take their turns, fear rising as each competitor gleefully threw their darts at the poor hobbits. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind as her body moved itself in front of one of the hobbits. Could she get out of this? No, she'd be sacrificing everything she came here for. An illusion wouldn't work either, there were too many people. There was only one path forward. She squeezed her eyes shut, quelling her tears.

She stepped to the mark, steeled herself, and threw her darts towards what she hoped would be either limbs or misses.

"For the greater good," Caladlethril whispered.

Frost was pleased with the turnout. It was always nice to see an eclectic group here at On the Rocks, too homogenous a group and things never go quite as crazy as they should. Dwarves, wizards, his favorite Rohir and her friend, and even a hobbit showed up to take aim (and Frost was not the only one that found that creepishly wonderful).

Drinks were hastily swallowed and the darts began to fly. Frost could hear the coins dripping down like a waterfall.

@Dwim Tûk
Your darts fly fast and wickedly, just narrowly missing the poor hoppit lass’ head. Your last dart, however, almost misses the board entirely, your bodyguard most have bumped you.
Round 1: 65 points

@Gwai
Your first dart narrowly misses the loudmouth hobbit’s head, twanging just to the right of his disgusting ear. However, it seems his gross aura has effected the rest of your darts this round as none of them get close to scoring a hit.
Round 1: 86 points

@Tarawen Zôrzimril
Your first dart fizzles, perhaps you were too focused on making eyes at Frost, but your second dart pops the little hoppit right in the eye! Well done! Your final dart nearly lands another hit as well. Maybe Frost will blow you kiss back for that round!
Round 1: 183 points

@ Dimcairien Luiniel Zarâm
Unfortunately the kiss from your favorite Mordorian bartender doesn’t do you much good. Dodo is over a few rows down making some sort of disgusting noise and that throws off the aim on your own hoppit. Maybe another drink will silence the hoppit’s burps?
Round 1: 35 points

@Taethowen
You claim to be such an honorable Rohir, but down some Nazgûl Essence and suddenly something is unleashed! Your first dart hits the hoppit square in the chest and the next darts hit just below the armpits on their side. Frost is very impressed!
Round 1: 139 points

@Balfur
The bartender has definitely taken notice of you, he winks at you and maybe that distracted your first throw. You make up for with your third though, striking your hoppit in the arm!
Round 1: 86 points

@Moriel Írimë
Your first strike is brilliant! It almost gives your hoppit a new ear piercing in fact. However, your next to darts go a bit awry. You may need to have a talk with your manicurist about making sure your nails don’t detract from darting hoppits!
Round 1: 81 points

@SilverDragon Caladlethril
You saved the best for last! You must be using your wizardy powers, darting your hoppit first in the leg, then in the head (right between the eyes)! Your last dart doesn’t hit, but are you even paying attention after two hits?
Round 1: 169 points

Alright everyone! Time to drink up another round, flirt with your favorite bar tender, and take aim again. You will have 48 hours from now to make your round two strikes, otherwise the GM reserves the right make up an embarrassing moment for you.

Tûk
with Avalak, his bodyguard

Darts was not a game for the one eyed, obviously.

What exactly made him miss with all three shots was unclear. Maybe it was that he was lacking a second eye. Perhaps it was that the grog had gone straight to his head (it did have a strong effect on hobbits). Or maybe it was that Avalak had distracted him because he was standing over him, and above the stink of On The Rocks, Tûk could still smell the man's bad breath. But one thing was certain, it was not Pansy's taunting that had thrown him off. For that only made him want to hit her more.

"Ok then, don't tell me your name," he said to Pansy as he pulled the darts out of the wooden board behind her. "But do stick out your tongue again. It will give me something to aim for."

Just before he was about to throw his next round of darts, he was distracted by one of his competition (Írimë) who sidled up next to him and threw her darts without fuss. He believed she was the Pubmistress here, but he was not entirely sure. "Not bad," Tûk commented on her shots. "Almost a new ear-piercing there." She was curious what a halfling was doing in a place like this, and he was not entirely sure how he should answer, but he decided to respond with something resembling the truth. "Spying," he replied. Avalak shifted his posture uncomfortably. He did not like his friend revealing things like that - even if the halfling was employed to spy on things in Eriador, not in the Shadowed Lands.

Tûk then turned his attention back to his victim, Pansy. What would her tactic be to avoid getting hit this time? He threw his darts again, hoping this time to actually strike her.

Grobby, a very young kobold, on cleaning duty (they/them or he/him)

“Broom Broom” The high, squeaky little voice declared enthusiastically as the darts finally started flying. From its position half hidden beneath the bar hatch - easily short enough to stand underneath it as it’s full height and not even risk banging its head on the access-section that lifts and drops - it broke into an excitable little dance that was mostly wiggling it’s bottom and tail, bouncing up and down on its knees and fist pumps.

Then it grabbed its favourite broom handle, shortened to fit its diminutive stature and today equipped not with a brush-head but a ragged tangle of mop-hair, and started in a mad dash forward under the feet of the dangling hobbits to wipe away any traces of spattering, dripping blood.

The creature was not in the slightest fastidious or neat by nature; in truth it had little concept of the difference between dirty and clean. It was more that this little lizard-child was somewhat enamoured with the bar-mistress and owner of this establishment, Írimë, and eager to do anything that would make her happy. Not in any kind of creepy, sexual manner. More in the manner of a small child who discovered Santa for the first time and thinks they are the most wonderful thing in the world.

It also adored brooms - even brooms that currently sported heads that made their designation as a ‘broom’ somewhat questionable - and appeared to derive great entertainment from pushing them in crazy, wiggly, uneven sweeps across the ground while crying out enthusiastically “Broom Broom.”

It finished its mad little dash across the floor, clawed feet pattering against the wooden boards, and collided awkwardly with a stack of chairs with such speed that its heels left the ground for a moment. It took a long time for it to extract itself and its tool from the stack, awkwardly shuffling in rotation with the broom held over its head until it could prepare itself for another pass. It gazed eagerly up at the pinned victims as the competitors readied for another round of throws. Anyone watching it might spot the covetous gleam in its eye as it’s gaze fixated for a moment on the half-dangling ear lobe of Írimë’s target, the lizard-like tongue flicking out to lick its lips, and it would not take a genius to guess at another reason this creature was so enthusiastic to play floor-sweeper today.

NPC Dodo Proudfoot, a hobbit

Nobody had responded to his cries for food. He was so hungry, now that he had thought about and asked for food. Instead, all that had happened was that a lady (who did not look like a servant of Sauron) hauled off and threw sharp objects in his direction. It did not seem to be in response to his request, though, for all the other hobbits had also had darts thrown at them.

"I am so sorry!" he called to the young hobbit who had asked him what was happening, "but I do not know. It looks bad for us though!"

Really bad, he thought, because he had nothing to eat. Not bacon, nor apples, nor even some bread or water. But perhaps, given the way the wind blew, he could do some convincing.

"Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kis-no wait, feed me!" he called to Gwai. "You probably missed me because I'm so thin, haggard from food deprivation and" he shuddered, "exercise! Please, if only you feed me something delectable, surely I will expand into an easier target. I promise to wolf it all down as soon as its provided, so you won't fall further behind in the competition. Please, just a little pie or perhaps some cake!" he begged. "You don't look evil. Surely you wouldn't deny a hobbit his last meal!" He made puppy eyes in the direction of the competitors at large, appealing to their sense of fair play.

Also, there was escape to think about. But priorities, you know? Food came first.

How had she missed? Gwai thought to herself, shaking her head. That drink must have gone straight to her head, as there was no way she was terrible at darts. Picking up her second beverage, she sat back down next to Írimë, who was showing Gwai her manicure. "That must have taken a while! You didn't do it yourself, did you?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink, trying to pace herself so she wouldn't completely embarrass herself in the competition.

The pub had filled up quickly, and there were several here who looked familiar. Gwai turned her attention to the hobbit, Dodo, who was now taunting Gwai with her failed dart throw. While she normally did not approve of using live targets for dart competitions, she did understand why, in this particular case, the hobbit was the target. He was still going on about food, although he didn't look as if he had missed any meals. Gwai was about ready to shove some stale bread or something in his mouth just to shut him up, when she saw a...she didn't know what it was (Grobby). Something small, sweeping. Gwai stared. Was it talking? What was it? She didn't know, but she forgot about giving food to Dodo, and instead aimed more carefully at his mouth. She'd hate to miss accidentally and hit poor Grobby.

Zôrzimril

One. Zôr's first dart flew through the air, as intended. As she threw a searingly seductive gaze at Frost, though, the dart . . . vanished. The hobbit was still not fully conscious and so failed to notice he'd been spared by a dart that had gone wide of the mark and off into, well, somewhere. Two. The next dart made it all the way. A pop, a shriek, and a spurt of blood. The hobbit was awake now. The Númenórean woman glanced toward the creepy one-eyed halfling (Tûk). Perhaps a round of hoppit darts had cost him his eye, too. Three. The last dart embedded itself into the hobbit's shoulder. The target cried out again. "What is this? Someone, please, wake me up!" He struggled pointlessly against his bonds. The dart stuck out of his shoulder and twitched as he moved.

Zôrzimril grinned and glided over to the bar. "A lucky night . . . so far," she remarked to Frost, plucking her next drink from the counter with a wink. She took a sip and did a double-take as a scaly creature (Grobby) wandered past, shouting about brooms. There were enough odd things happening here tonight, so she chose to ignore this creature for now.

She returned to face her target and took aim for her next round. The endless babbling of one particularly insistent hoppit (Dodo), though, threw off her focus. Zôr lowered her throwing arm, rolling her eyes, and turned to the Rohir (Gwai) who'd been aiming for him. "Can't you shut that disgusting little thing up?"

Zôr focused on her hoppit again and smirked at the trail of blood running from its eye, down its face, and into its shirt. "Please, someone!" her victim cried. "Please help, I can't take it! Make it stop!"

"I'll see what I can do, darling," Zôr called to him as she released her second round of darts in quick succession.

Once again, Silendris finds themself waking up in the pub, confused, slightly hungover, and under a table.

This is how Silendris normally wakes up.

First there is the “thunk” as their head hits the bottom of the table. This is followed by the “Ow”. Then, the “Oh no”, as they realise their hair is now stuck to the underside of the table. Is that... is that gum?? Has that Grobby not been cleaning the place properly?! What’s that broom even for??

Silendris carefully unsticks their hair and scrabbles out. Ooh, there’s a contest on! With hobbits! Perhaps there will be hobb-bacon for breakfast?

“Oooohhh, yes!!” Írimë did a little dance as her first dart flew with stunning accuracy into the ear of her hoppit, which screamed beautifully. She flung the second two darts in the midst of her hip shaking and shimmying, causing them to go wide of the mark, but who cared? There was plenty of time to catch up. “Spying, hmm?” she replied to Tûk. “How forthright of you to come right out and admit it, an usual quality around here.” Írimë strode up to her hoppit to retrieve the darts, and along with the one that had pierced its ear, she yanked off the dangling half of its earlobe. The cries of “Broom broom!” from the floor caused her to look down and there was Grobby, the little lizard-child who seemed quite happy to clean up after things with no compensation whatsoever. “Oh Grobby, you might just be my favorite person, you know that?” she crooned, “You’re both repulsive and absolutely adorable and you do try so hard to clean things. I’ll have to get you a proper broom. Do you like to eat spiders? I am constantly waging a war against spiders, feel free to eat them all.” The Pubmistress tossed the piece of earlobe to Grobby for a treat, patted their head, and walked back to the firing line. She flung her second round of darts at the quivering hoppit with gusto (and pesto, as some bits of these hoppits were likely to become).

Caladrethil blinked in surprise as her dart hit the hobbit square between the eyes. That was not at all where she had been aiming! She glanced over at the poi t totals, astonished to see herself in the lead. A small part of her began to feel glee to see her name above the others. But no, that wasn't the point of this. She nibbled on one of the darts, considering her next move. One more shot in the head and she knew her hobbit would be dead. Would it be mercy to aim for it again? But it also couldn't hurt to try for more points before the conclusion if she wanted to fit in. She took careful aim at the hobbits limbs and let her darts fly.

NPC Pansy Greenbottom

Pansy got too good a look at Tûk when he approached to take the darts back. Thankfully they had missed her, and landed in the wood she was bound to. She wasn't sure she would be so lucky next time, although this twisted hobbit only had one eye which was sure to put him at a disadvantage. Not that it would matter, as she herself had absolutely no advantage here. Hearing Tûk's threat she gave a small squeak and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

Then she heard Dodo next to her crying out that he was hungry. Pansy thought for a moment. She was hungry too, it was true, but how could even a hobbit be concerned with food at the moment...priorities, man - you needed your hands free to be able to put the food in your mouth. Having food in front of you but being unable to put it in one's mouth was pure torture. Better not mention that aloud in this crowd, some one might catch on.

Wondering if seeding a little extra chaos may be her saving grace, a thought struck - whenever you wanted to divert hobbits away from something you simply yelled "food fight" and everyone engaged in a delightfully messy and anarchic session of throwing food at each other. There wasn't much food here though, or Dodo would surely get what he wanted....but there was lots of beer. Hey, it was worth a go...

"Beer fight!" she yelled, hoping it would catch on.

Much to her horror, Zarâm found herself in last place. She hadn't even hit the bloody hobbit, who of course, wasn't bloody at the moment due to her inaptitude at dart throwing. She scowled at the fat creature in front of her who was still mostly unconscious. Gathering her darts, she carefully weighed them in her hands. Frost better not have handed her unbalanced darts.

Deciding another drink was clearly in order before proceeding, she marched back over to the bar and said in a demanding voice, "Give me something strong. If I can't hit a damn hoppit, I might as well get sloshed before trying again." After consuming said drink, she marched back to her spot in the lineup, aimed carefully, and let the darts fly, desperately hoping to hit the fat creature anywhere, but preferably in the head.

Taethowen, human, she/her

Taeth cringed as she heard a holler from behind her as she scurried back to the bar from her hoppit...target. Glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes widened and she felt... consternation? Pride? (Some strange mixture of the two, it seemed.) when she saw that while two darts had--with much relief--hit only the target board behind the hoppit, one dart had smack dab in the center of their chest.

Taeth bit her lip as she grimaced. That was really not what she'd... well, she wasn't sure what she was hoping for in this case. But she caught Frost's gaze on her in between serving the other guests, there was smile teasing at the corners of his mouth and his eyes were filled with pride and something else she wasn't sure she wanted to contemplate right at that moment, because it almost made her not care if she might end up killing a hoppit.

Írimë had left the Nazgûl Essence and shot glasses at their seats, though, and Taeth was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she would need to be drunk to see this game to its conclusion. While the first shot had left her pleasantly warm and fuzzy, she hoped the second shot would just... do anything to make her not care about what would happen quite as much.

So Taeth poured herself one and tossed it back, before gathering her next three darts and heading back to her... target hoppit. As she returned, she noticed that the final participant (Caledlethril @SilverDragon) seemed to be experiencing as much hesitation and remorse as Taeth was feeling as one of her first darts hit her hoppit between the eyes. But she had to admire the wizard's resolve as she appeared to steel herself and throw the next round of darts with dedicated aim.

Taeth did not quite have that resolve in her, though, especially as she realized that it was becoming a bit difficult to focus on the hoppit at all, after that second shot of Nazgûl Essence. So this time, Taeth just closed her eyes and threw her darts, hoping that they were... going somewhere. Maybe.

Then, before the world began to teeter under her feet, she opened her eyes and turned away from the targets, casually eyeing Caladrethil before crossing over to the wizard. She needed something to distract her from the fact that Frost and the dwarf (Balfur) were now making eyes at each other, apparently.

"Hi!" Taeth greeted Caladrethil with a hopefully-friendly and not-completely-sloshed smile. "I'm Taethowen. This is my first time here, and I kind of think it might be yours too, and you seem to be nearly as conflicted as I am with all... this." Taeth waved her hand vaguely at the hoppits. But because alcohol made her chatty, she found herself continuing to blabber.

"I'm from Rohan. So is Gwai-" Taeth pointed out the blond woman "-and for some reason--it's a long story, really--I think I know nearly everyone here too. What brings you to Mordor, of all places? As for me, I'm... dating the bartender. Kind of. It's complicated. But after his extended stay in Rohan, I figured I should at least visit him here once.

"You know, I just hired a wizard as an apprentice at my seamstress shop in Edoras. I'd love to know more about wizards in general, because I've been so busy I haven't really had a chance to talk with her."

Írimë wrote: ↑Thu Jul 16, 2020 9:27 amOh Grobby, you might just be my favorite person, you know that? You’re both repulsive and absolutely adorable and you do try so hard to clean things. I’ll have to get you a proper broom. Do you like to eat spiders? I am constantly waging a war against spiders, feel free to eat them all.”

Grobby, a very young kobold, on cleaning duty (they/them or he/him)

Grobby’s eyes were wide, wide with adoration, reverence and awe as the pub mistress crooned adoringly at it. So excited was the creature that it’s tail forgot to wag, and for a moment it seemed like it was so overwhelmed with emotion that its happy lizard heart couldn’t take it and the creature was on the brink of bursting into tears, or fainting, or suffering a serious cardiac arrest. Instead, its body sort of... vibrated on the spot, and the nearby residents heard a strange sort of guttural noise. It sat comfortably somewhere between the sound of someone being strangled, and a cat’s purr, in yet another display of repulsive adorableness.

If it had been possible for its eyes to widen even more at the mention of eating spiders, then they would have. You see, kobold’s have an innate racial memory; they inherit the vague recollections of their ancestors which lie dormant in their tiny little brains until such a time as they become relevant. It’s a handy skill to have, on occasion; it can sometimes increase the life expectancy of a kobold significantly. On other occasions, however, it also had the potential to decrease it; only learning critical knowledge of a something -after- it had surprised you, or after you had invited it to tea, was of limited use.

And thus it was that Grobby direct ancestors had only ever really encounters one particular type of spider, and it wasn’t the innocent sort of house-spider Írimë was referring to, or even perhaps something akin to a black widow that might yet be neutralised by a kobold’s impressive digestion system.

Oh no; Grobby ancestor’s experiences of spiders was more something of the... Ungoliant persuasion. But Írimë said Grobby was capable of eating such things, and therefore it must be so! Thus it was that in that moment Grobby made a vow to himself that the first chance he would get to meet one of Ungoliant’s kin, he would, without hesitation or the slightest glimmer of doubt, attempt to eat it as soon as it could. For the love of Írimë.

Unfortunately for those who were fond of the creature, the racial memory was somewhat lacking in the vocabulary-department, and thus Grobby was insufficiently equipped to explain this dangerous misunderstanding, even if it lacked the ability to internalise it’s mental monologue. “Grobby eat spiders, for pretty lady. Yes yes, Broom Broom.” Was all it could manage, eager to please, and thus potentially sealed the grisly fate of this adorable little creature even as it swallowed down the hobbit ear-lobe eagerly and vibrated a little more under the pub-mistress’ petting.

As Balfur gestured towards the little creature as though attempting to utilise its presence to add to some sort of posturing, Grobby grinned co-operatively, revealing row upon row of sharp, shiny teeth in a wide, eager crocodile grin. Even if it weren’t for his clearly eager-to-please attitude, and the furiously wagging lizard-tail, the threatening effect of the toothy grin lost some of its potency due to the gap at the front, where Zarâm’s boot-heel has loosened a couple of fangs only the night before. Still, there was one thing that could definitely be said about the little creature; he was certainly trying, Melkor bless him.

The Hoppits are awake and feeling the pressure! Dodo is hungry, will anyone feed the poor disgusting thing? Pansy is trying to start a beer fight, what a beer fight is Frost isn’t completely sure, but as long as the patrons buy the beer first, he’s happy to let any fight with beer if they want. And there’s Grobby! Frost’s little kobold child manages to make their way through the crowd and competitors with their ridiculously adorable brooming (which doesn’t do a lot of cleaning but that’s not the point now is it?) Írimë makes the wise decision to make the little kobold squeal (?) with glee and that’s enough for an extra point or two from the game master, Balfur too, seems to have caught onto Grobby’s charms.

@Dwim Tûk
Your aim is better this time, but there’s still something missing. None of the darts hit Pansy but they get awfully close each time. Try moving your bodyguard to the left, maybe his stench is throwing off your game. The cry of “BEER FIGHT” from your target doesn’t help you concentration much either.
Round 2: 67 points

@Gwai
Whatever you are doing in this round, keep it up! Perhaps it’s the desire to shut the disgusting Dodo up, maybe it’s the Mordorian alcohol. Whatever it is, it’s working. Your first take takes Dodo right in his open mouth. He was expecting food, but what he got instead was a rusty dart. Not quite as tasty.
Round 2: 198 points

@Tarawen Zôrzimril
Another fine shot for only other Númenórean in the bar! This time your dart hits the target right in the chest, breathing is going to be an issue for that pitiful hoppit now, you are making their demise so deliciously slow. Frost is proud and offers a wink back.
Round 2: 113 points

@ Dimcairien Luiniel Zarâm
You may have a point about weighted darts. Frost, naturally, says he knows nothing about any weighted darts. Why would you try to sabotage his drinking and brawling buddy? Maybe one of the competitors swapped them out while you were ordering your next drink. Frost is still rooting for you but you’re going to have to do better.
Round 2: 37 points

@Taethowen
First it was the chest, now it’s the head! Taethowen are you sure you don’t belong in Mordor? You’d make an excellent torturer, another Nazgûl Essence and either Frost is going to have to carry you home or you’re going to kill your hoppit.
Round 2: 160 points

@Balfur
SotBoN you say? Well Frost is amenable to that, but it will have to wait until after the competition is over, have the drink in the meantime. Your darts are a little off this round, but then again you are being distracted by the bar tender and the kobold so who can really blame you?
Round 2: 67 points

@Moriel Írimë
Grobby is very, very adorable. That being said, Grobby is also very distracting. Frost knows this from the hours and hours of trial and error methods trying to get them to do, well anything. But Frost notes your offer of spiders. He will remember this when the scores are tallied. That might be your saving grace because again, your nails just can’t seem to stay out of your way.
Round 2: 65 points

@SilverDragon Caladlethril
You make a wise decision not to aim for the head again, but in so doing you manage to miss all three times, though your second shot was quite brilliant, matching the pubmistress’s early ear piercing shot. What will it be now? Mercy for the hoppit or fitting in with the raucous Mordor crowd?
Round 2: 95 points

And what a joy! Frost’s favorite bumflapped companion has woken up! @Sil, would you like to join us for a rousing game of darts? Or would you prefer to sit back at the bar and mock the contestants when they miss their rotund targets?

After 2 rounds the standings are:
1) Taethowen – 299 points
2) Zôrzimril – 296 points
3) Gwai – 284 points
4) Caladlethril – 264 points
5) Balfur – 153 points
6) Írimë – 146 points
7) Tûk – 132 points
8) Zarâm – 72 points

@KingODuckingham and @Fairy Nuff for the next round, if your insults/distractions are good enough, your dart thrower will suffer a penalty.

Order your next round, if you dare, and get ready to throw so more darts! Round 3 will wrap up in 48 hours.

Tûk
with Avalak, his bodyguard

"Step back, Avalak!" snarled Tûk in frustration as his latest round of darts missed their target yet again. He felt like the brutish Dunlending was crowding him, and the smell of his breath certainly did not help either. The hobbit did not get frustrated often, but he was new to this pub and was trying to make an impression. Missing every shot was not doing that mission any good.

His target's cry of BEER FIGHT! came just at the right time from her, because Tûk heard it just as his frustration bubbled over, and all of a sudden a beer fight sounded like a great idea. He turned suddenly and marched to the bar, feeling imposing but definitely not looking it. He was too small for that. He climbed up onto one of the stools and called out to Frost. "Get me a beer!"

He put a couple of coins down and without waiting grabbed a beer which had already been poured. He was not sure who it belonged to, but it was full. He looked around to see who was annoying him the most. That honour belonged to Avalak, but he was not going to start a fight with his own bodyguard. He needed Avalak to defend him when he started fights he couldn't win (which was most of them). He glared at an orc in the corner who was sneering and making humiliating jokes about hobbits. Tûk focused his one eye on the orc and as his anger rose, he took one sip then threw the tankard at him. The flying missile hit its target, saturated his friends, then bounced into the wall with a clang, which was sure to distract a few of the darts players.

Avalak stepped in front of Tûk to try and protect him from any retaliation. Tûk was too annoyed to think about the consequences right now, so he grabbed his darts and threw them once again at Pansy. This time they were going to hit.

Zôrzimril

Zôrzimril tipped the last of her Telperion Mist into her mouth and swallowed. The liquor spread warmth from her throat to her navel. She relished the heat and craved more.

One of three darts had made a fabulous impression on her hoppit this round. Zôr smiled with satisfaction as she strode to pluck her darts from the target and the wall. A deep red stain grew on the hoppit's shirt after she pulled the dart from its flesh. It squirmed and shrieked, and she patted its non-bloody cheek twice before walking away without a word.

She saw Silendris emerge from beneath a table on her way to the bar. Zôr gave them a smile and a little bow (she held the Sequinned One in high esteem). "Oh Silendris, darling," she called. "What a lovely surprise! I do hope we didn't wake you."

She paused as a shrill hoppit voice cried, "BEER FIGHT!", then laughed when the deliciously creepy hoppit (Tûk) tossed a tankard of beer at an orc. The tussle to come would be quite the spectacle. Zôr would, of course, slip away if it became too much, but for now, the impending chaos promised a perfect cover for all sorts of naughty things.

At the bar, Zôr gazed intently at Frost's eyes and recalled fondly an exhibition in an abandoned Edoras bar. She shook her head slightly to remind herself that she was standing here, ostensibly, to procure more liquor. "Orquilla Sunset this time, love," she said. She downed the shot in one and returned the bartender's wink with another blazing look.

Zôr swayed slightly as she returned to face her hoppit. Her path back was not an altogether straight line. She was starting to feel delightfully off-balance, suddenly teetering on the brink of losing control.

The bloom of blood on the hoppit's chest was shiny and wet now. It whimpered softly with each breath, head bowed and limbs sagging in its bonds. "Giving up so soon, are we?" Zôr scolded quietly. She wiped the blood from her darts with bare fingers. Then, squinting a bit to fight vision growing blurry with drink, she took aim for the third time.

NPC Pansy Greenbottom

She had to take a moment to congratulate herself as she saw her cry of "Beer fight" being taken up, and barely contained a giggle - that would not be appropriate for the moment - as Tûk threw a full beer across the pub to hit an orc. She was, however, less than impressed that some of the beer splashed on her dress. It might only be a small thing, especially in comparison to everything else going on..you know like being bound to a board in a Mordor Tavern and having darts thrown at you, but sometimes you can keep taking things in your stride until that one tiny thing tips you over the edge. Apparently getting her dress wet was that one thing, and she now adopted a decidedly grumpy face and started wriggling against her ropes with renewed vigor.

Have you ever seen a really angry hobbit? Think back to how Smeagol became Gollum, and realise that within every hobbit is the potential for a Gollum. Angry and cunning, a survivor even without the precious. So, it didn't take much pulling on the ropes to realise that the one on her left arm was a little looser, and that she had the good fortune of having little metal buttons at the wrist of this particular blouse. If she was lucky and could endure it, she could wriggle the metal button against the ropes, fraying them. If she could keep that creepy hobbit distracted long enough.

She yelled "Beer fight" again, louder, hoping more would take up the cry. She looked over at Dodo encouraging him to invest in this distraction tactic too. Then she saw Tûk lining up with the darts again, and she snarled at him, surprising even herself. "Back off weirdo, you're a disgrace to hobbit kind".

Gwai took a step back, fairly impressed with her throw, which hit Dodo square in the mouth, effectively shutting him up, at least temporarily. She put little past his powers of annoying her. She turned smugly to Zôr, who had been taunting her to shut the hoppit up. "You mean like that?" she asked, suavely leaning her hip on the bar and taking a sip of her drink, before realizing her glass was empty, and ruining the effect.

"Bah!" she exclaimed, looking at the bartender. "Frost, you'd best keep them coming! I don't want to lose my mojo!" she said cheerfully, digging in her pocket for more money, and wondering what the protocol on tipping was in Mordor. Probably just not killing the server, or not leaving a bad review in the Mouth of Sauron, she decided. One of the hoppits (Pansy) was yelling something about a beer fight, and Gwai shook her head. Maybe back in her salad days, but she was too wise now to waste beer by throwing it. Beer was made for drinking, not throwing. That's what darts were for.

Waiting impatiently in line to take her next throw, Gwai was distracted by hearing her name. It was Taeth, speaking with a wizard. The line wasn't going anywhere, so Gwai wandered back to the bar to introduce herself. "Hello there!" she said, impressively not slurring her words after how much she had imbibed so far. "My name is Gwai," she cheerfully introduced herself to Caladrethil. "Nice to meet you! I've never played hoppit darts before, have you?" she questioned, thinking she probably should feel worse about this than she did.

The line shortened, and Gwai scurried to the mark to make her throws. After her last throw hitting Dodo right in the kisser, she wanted to be sure to continue what was surely a good luck streak--for her, at least. Taking aim, she let the darts fly one after another, aiming straight for Dodo's piehole.

NPC Dodo Proudfoot, a Hobbit

Dodo might be a Proudfoot, but he was not a Proud-brain. He wasn't too proud to beg. Nor to blubber. Nor to cry.

Tears streamed down his face, his head jerked straight up against the wall. The dart that had entered his mouth, which had been saying "What about some pound cake?" had pinned his throat to the wooden beam of the wall behind him. Now Dodo was having difficulty breathing, and was forced to arch his head up in order to prevent the sagging of his neck around the metal blade. It tasted horrible too, nowhere near as good as pound cake. Dodo sobbed, but not so hard as to shake his body.

He wanted to speak. He wanted to say,

"Please, release me! I don't know what I've done to deserve this treatment at the hands of a stranger, but I'll make amends if you give me the chance. I'm sorry for whatever I did, I promise! I already lost a foot today, do I really need more pain? This is unbearable! This is making me question my desire for life, which I thought could not be shaken, if I honestly thought about it at all. Does it really have to be like this? Are you even a minion of Sauron? Why would you go along with peer pressure? Break me out, and I will help you escape with both of our lives. I swear if we make it back to the Free Lands I will buy you a pint and the biggest cake you've ever seen in your life, and I will let you eat it all unless you want me to have a piece too! I definitely will not barf it or any other food up all over you or anyone else ever again! Please!"

But he couldn't talk, because the dart was throttling him. All that came out around the instrument was something to the effect of:

"Glarkgh, gurrg, blarck, gahck."

Rivulets of salty tears carved streams out through the caked dirt on the fat little hobbit's face. If only it were pound cake "dirt" instead of, you know, dirt. Then he could lick it off.

When her second round of darts also completely missed the hobbit (much to its relief, but Zarâm's increasing frustration), barely hitting even the board the hobbit was tied to Zarâm marched up the board, wrenched her darts out, and stomped over to where Frost stood behind the bar. She slammed the darts down on the counter and said, "Give me some new darts. These ones are not cooperating. How dare you give me, your dear friend, weighted darts that are clearly meant for some other unsavoury operations."

She looked down and noticed the creature, Grobby, giving a gap-toothed grin in the direction of Balfur. The odd little kobold had quickly made its home in the pub and was gaining the affections (in whatever way they manifested) of the frequent patrons of the pub. Of course, the creature had deserved the kick in the face the other day, but at the same time, it certainly made life a bit more interesting in the pub and added to the ambiance of the place. "Enjoying your first round of Hoppit Darts?" Zarâm asked.

Without waiting for Frost to actually hand her some new ones, Zarâm reached behind the bar to where she knew the extra darts were kept and selected three that hopefully were weighted correctly. While she was retrieving her new darts, she heard one of the tied-up hobbits (Pansy) shout out "Beer fight!" and noticed out of the corner of her eye the delightfully creepy hobbit (Tûk) throw a tankard of beer at another inhabitant of the pub.

Meanwhile, Gwai had surprised her by hitting the hobbit (Dodo) square in the mouth. "Glad that one has been shut up," Zarâm called across to the woman, "but his screams of pain will certainly be missed." Even Taeth was doing surprisingly well. "I guess Rohir women are built of sterner stuff then I thought," Zarâm muttered to herself. It was quite fun seeing the women in the pub, but not at the cost of becoming a disgrace to Mordor.

Taking careful aim, Zarâm let her three new darts fly, hopefully meeting their mark this time.

Taethowen, human, she/her

Taeth smiled, just a bit drunkenly, when Gwai came over and introduced herself too, giving her friend a bit of an exaggerated, unnecessary wave. Then, before Caladrethil could respond, Taeth noticed that her turn was up again, and she clapped her hands excitedly as she grabbed three more darts and returned to her hoppit target.

The effects of the Nazgul Essence were definitely setting in. Taeth found herself simultaneously giggling and grimacing as she eyed her poor hoppit that she'd managed to dart in both the chest and the head. This was going far better than the Imladris Archery Tournament a few years ago, but... she didn't really want to kill a hoppit. But well... all was fair in love and war, right? And as she caught notice of the dwarf (Balfur) flirting with Frost again--saying something that made it sound like he was uncertain if Frost was a man and that just would not do--and Taeth let her darts fly again without really looking where they were going again.

Then she did her best to confidently stride back to the bar on a floor that was beginning to tilt back and forth. The dwarf (Balfur) had stumbled his way back to the bar as well after throwing his darts, and Taeth sidled up next to him.

"The bartender?" Taeth said to Balfur, but her speech was definitely slurring. "He's definitely a man. And you can flirt with him all you want, but I feel I should warn you that the only one going home with him after this will be me. So don't get your hopes up too much."

By the time Frost came back, carrying a tankard of beer that the dwarf had apparently ordered, Taeth had managed to get herself back up onto a barstool--without falling--and was eyeing Frost with what she thought was a seductive gaze but was really probably quite awkward, as she had her elbows propped on the bar, and her chin propped on her hands, and honestly it was getting hard to focus both her eyes at the same time.

However, apparently the consummate seamstress even when drunk off her rocker, and vaguely worried by the calls for a beer fight in the background, Taeth asked Frost, rather too loudly,"You won't let anyone get beer on my lovely dress, right, Dô-" and then her eyes widened and she clapped one hand over her mouth for a moment, and then cautiously lowered that hand a moment later. "I forgot it was a secret," she whispered... well, failed to whisper. "I almost said your name."

Embarrassment and shame flooded through her, exacerbated by the alcohol in her system, and she stumbled off the barstool. "I'm sorry," she whispered, with a slight pout, then walked away.

She'd been doing something earlier... she recalled, trying to forget the embarrassment. What was it? Oh right, the wizard! Plastering a grin on her face, despite the few tears that she had to blink away--how could she have almost blabbed his name--and stumbled her way back to the wizard.

"Seriously, though," Taeth picked up the conversation with Caladrethil as if she hadn't even walked away, somehow managing not to slur a single word this time. "I need to know everything you can tell me about Istari. My new apprentice is quite talented, and I want to make sure she stays at my shop."

A beer fight! What a joy! Frost eagerly supplies the cheap beer, a failed experiment trying to recreate a GPA (Gondorian Pale Ale) for the prospective combatants. The money, the beer, and the darts are flying tonight!

@Dwim Tûk
Now that you’ve managed to get your bodyguard to stand further back (thus eliminating his cloud of foul breath) and relieved some of your anger by tossing a mug of bad beer you finally manage a hit of poor Pansy! It’s only a shot in the leg, but it’s a start in the right direction. Throwing beer before throwing darts agrees with you.
Round 3: 86 points

@Gwai
Another hit! Are you sure you’re a Rohir? Your skill at dart throwing could translate well in the Black Host. But of course Frost isn’t here to recruit for the military, he’s out for tips (yes you can tip your server) and winks. You don’ t manage to hit Dodo in the head (you can save that for a later round) but you do score a very good shot on his chest.
Round 3: 108 points

@Tarawen Zôrzimril
The memories of oil, rippling abs, and stolen kisses propels you to another score on your hoppit! You managed to hit them two of the three throws. An order of Orquilla Sunset can only improve your chances!
Round 3: 105 points

@ Dimcairien Luiniel Zarâm
While Frost is very sympathetic to your plight, it does seem the darts you had were weighted unfairly, he doesn’t take too kindly to being accused of cheating, playing favorites absolutely, but never cheating. Lucky for you he likes you and gets you a new set of darts. While you don’t hit the hoppit, you do remarkably better, doubling you score from the previous two round combined. Things are looking up!
Round 3: 85 points

@Taethowen
Drunk Rohir are quite a lovely sight! And Frost isn’t just saying that because he likes you. You nearly slip up and give the entire bar his name though, and that would be a bloody affair to have to clean up after. Still, you manage to cover yourself quite nicely. You don’t hit the hoppit this round but you still manage to do Frost proud.
Round 3: 83 points

@Balfur
Have no fear, my lovely dwarf, Frost is very amenable to mistakes, he’s quick to forgive and quick to pour you an extra mug of beer. The game of Beer Fight, though, takes your attention this round and your darts are a bit lackluster. What happened to the famous dwarven constitution?
Round 3: 56 points

@Moriel Írimë
Either you were too distracting by the absolute adorableness that is Grobby, or you were too busy ogling the smoldering bartender but this round passes you by.
Round 3: 0 points

@SilverDragon Caladlethril
The moral qualms of what you are doing might be getting to you, you debate with yourself for so long you forget that it’s your turn! Oh well, maybe you can jump in on the beer fight?
Round 2: 95 points


@KingODuckingham and @Fairy Nuff you both did so well in distracting your tormentors that they’ve earned disadvantage on one of their next throws (rolling a d20 and a d6 twice and taking the lower of each). Keep up your insults and distractions, you may survive this yet!

Order your next round, if you dare, and get ready to throw so more darts! Round 4 will wrap up in 48 hours.

Gwai couldn't help it. She was fairly impressed with herself. Not a headshot this time, but still a decent number of points. Swaggering slightly, either due to pride versus drunkenness, it was a bit unclear (drunkenness, as it was unclear), she returned to the bar.

Dodo was moaning, making all sorts of noise, crying rather loudly. It was getting more difficult to ignore him, so she resolved to aim for the head once more. She called over to Zarâm, "Just give me one more throw! I'll try to make this permanent!" She turned back to the bar, feeling a bit guilty, but that wasn't anything another drink wouldn't fix. First, though, she would make her next throw. She congratulated herself on her perspicacity in throwing the darts before the next drink, and rationalized she could not, in fact, be as drunk as she thought she was if she was still making clear-headed decisions such as this. Three darts left her hands in rapid succession, once more aiming for poor, poor Dodo.

Heading back to the bar to order another drink, she was in time to overhear Taeth say something rather loudly about the bartender's name, before stopping rather abruptly. Curious why she had stopped talking so suddenly, Gwai wondered what she had been about to say. It made sense 'Frost' was a nickname. Gwai thought of herself by her nickname also. Losing interest quickly , Gwai instead flagged down Frost for another drink, holding her coin in her hand in the age-old custom of bar patrons everywhere trying to signal the bartender without being rude. "Toss a coin to your bartender," she hummed under her breath while she waited. She'd have to work on the words a bit more.

Zôrzimril

Two more hits. Bloody lovely. Zôr sauntered forward and jerked the darts out of wall and flesh. Tears were leaking from the hoppit's remaining eye now, its shoulders shuddering with pain and sobs. Zôr wiped away a tear with her thumb, which had been covered in blood when she'd cleaned off the darts. A red smudge appeared on its cheek. She spun away, black silks trailing in her wake, to order another round.

"Yes, just like that," she said to Gwai as she passed, impressed by the dart sticking out of Dodo's mouth and his pitiful groans of pain. "Perfect."

She laughed lightly as the Rohir realized she'd tried to drink from an empty cup. Her expression darkened, though, when she recalled a rumor she'd heard about this particular hoppit. She approached Dodo where he hung on the wall. "No more than you deserve," she hissed in his ear. "I heard what you did to the lava snakes." She slammed a fist against the wall just to the right of his face and smiled maliciously.

For no apparent reason, Zôr next took a seat near Grobby and tilted her head at them. "You're a funny thing, aren't you?" she murmured. She had no idea if they heard her; they seemed preoccupied by Írimë and a hoppit earlobe. She giggled again.

Just as suddenly as she'd taken a seat, Zôr rose and continued on her way. "Frost!" she said, staggering slightly but leaning suavely against the bar to mask her stumble. Her hair was falling out of its sleek bun now, so she unpinned it and let her dark curls frame her face. "Another shot, darling." She threw back the liquor and zigzagged across the room to her targets. Since when had there been two targets? That was odd. She squinted again and her single bloody, sobbing victim came back into focus. That seemed right. Zôr wiped down her darts once more and whipped all three at the hoppit with the best aim she could manage.

Despite Frost's annoyance at being accused of handing her weighted darts, Zarâm immediately knew that this set was better. While she still didn't manage to hit the dratted hobbit, her score was much better this time around. And by some turn of luck, Írimë had missed the round, so she was no longer in last place.

"Nice one, Zôr!" she said, as the woman managed to hit her hobbit twice. "Teach that nasty bugger a lesson!"

Gwai hadn't managed to hit Dodo in the head again, but had hit him square in the chest. "Don't aim at the head all the time," Zarâm advised, "it's no fun when they die too early."

She staggered back towards the bar, the drinks finally starting to get to her. She batted her blue eyes at Frost and said, "Another round of drinks before another round of darts?" While at the bar, Taeth approached and nearly called Frost by something other than his name. "Intriguing," murmured Zarâm, but unfortunately her ears had been unable to pick up the sounds that began his name. Of course Frost was a nickname, but then, the naming traditions from Umbar were always a bit odd. She was curious how he had come by the nickname, but that was perhaps a conversation for another day, and not when the pub was full of drunken individuals throwing darts and loud-mouthed hobbits.

Yet another drink in her hand, Zarâm headed back for her hobbit. "I hope you're ready for some pain," she snarled, before unleashing her darts. While her score had improved on the last round, she was determined to hit this hobbit sooner rather than later.

Tûk
with Avalak, his bodyguard

Pansy was doing a lot of wriggling around on that board. The ropes were not as tight as they should be. Tûk was surprised by the level of anger she was showing. He'd expected fear, but not anger. But with the little time he had to think about it, he began to realise it made sense. When his captor had tortured him in Dhad Bûrz, his own emotions had ranged from fear, to hopelessness, to anger, back to hopelessness, and everywhere in between. Now she had moved past blowing raspberries and was on to insults. He realised he needed to give her less time to think, because the more time he gave her, the more bold she became.

Two of his darts flew past her, not missing by much. Then, finally, his third dart hit the mark, embedding itself in her leg.

He looked at her with a wry smile. "How did that feel?"" he asked. "Oh and by the way, 'weirdo' is a compliment. 'Disgrace', now that's a better insult, but I've had far worse."

Now realising that the threat of a fight improved his aim, and noting Pansy's continued insistence on everyone having a beer fight, he turned back to get another beer to throw at someone. But before he could get anywhere, he noticed the orc from before marching towards him with a rage-filled and determined look in his black eyes. "Ok then, here we go..." he said to himself, knowing now the consequences of starting a beer fight were getting real.

Luckily for the hobbit, Avalak had just retrieved his darts from the board (and one from Pansy's leg) and had given them back to him. Perfect. Without hesitation, Tûk threw one of them at the charging orc. Hobbits were known for their great aim when presented with danger, and the dart flew through the air with precision and speed, straight into the angry orc's eye. The orc cried out horribly in pain, stumbling backwards then crouching down with his hands over his face, while his mates roared with laughter at his misfortune.

With that situation temporarily dealt with, Tûk turned back to Pansy. He was now one dart down, but if he aimed anything like how he had just aimed at the orc, then two darts should certainly be enough.

GM Update: Im going to extend the deadline for this round a full day to give people some slack and not stress out over missing a round. But you only get one day! If you miss it tomorrow, I will use my GM discretion to decide exactly what you were doing that caused you to miss a turn and you might not like it!