I might as well toss this guy into the mix. He's actually a character I was using in a far-too-brief Lord of the Rings RPG campaign that was being run in the In Character forum. It'd be fairly easy to drop any setting-specific details, and make him a D&D character. I didn't really detail him much in a physical sense; whatever his stat block and the background I gave him evokes is fine with me.
By the way, his stat block might be of interest to anyone who wanted a bit of a peek into the LotR RPG Decipher put out.
Lanwi
Race: Man (Middle Man) Dunlending.
Racial Abilities: Adaptable (+2 to Stamina), Dominion of Man (+1 Courage), Skilled (+1 pick each to Armed Combat (Polearms) and Ranged Combat (Bows).
Abilities: Bearing 8 (+1), Nimbleness 9 (+1), Perception 9 (+1), Strength 12 (+3)*, Vitality 12 (+3)*, Wits 7 (+/-0).
Reactions: Stamina +3*, Swiftness +1, Willpower +1, Wisdom +1.
* - Favored Ability or Reaction.
Order: Barbarian.
Order Abilities: Hard March, Preferred Weapon (Armed Combat (Spear)).
Advancements: 2.
Skills: Armed Combat (Polearms (Spear)) +6, Climb +4, Language (Dunlending) +5, Language (Westron (Common)) +3, Lore (History (Dunlendings)) +4, Lore (Realm (Dunland)) +5, Lore (Realm (Southern Misty Mountains)) +4, Observe +4, Ranged Combat (Bows (Longbow)) +3, Ride +1, Stealth +4, Track +6.
Edges: Hardy, Swift Recovery, Tireless, Travel-sense.
Flaws: -.
Health: 15.
Defense: 11.
Courage: 4.
Renown: 0.
Gear: Spear, Longbow, 30 arrows, Leather Armor.
Description: 5'11", 165 lbs. Age 24. Dark brown hair, brown eyes.
History: "We are a diminished people," the headman said simply. "For too long we have warred. Amongst ourselves, against the stone-men, against those-who-ride, against these old mountains. The time for war has not ended, but this time, we will not fall prey to the folly of our ancient brethren at Dunharrow. This time we will fight with the shadows cast from our sight."
Lanwi looked wonderingly at the old man. He scanned the village around him, a tattered settlement perched in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Besides himself, there were far too few able-bodied men left to even hunt for the village adequately, let alone make war.
"Mountain-father, the only war we may make now is against starvation, and even that is no more than a holding action. Our brother tribes are now seldom seen, and I believe they are not simply hunting the uplands. I believe that many of them have answered the call of the White Hand or the Red Eye. We should also answer those calls, and be fed."
"No. No more shall we live within the shadows. To answer the calls that have ensnared our brothers will replace death of the body with death of the soul. For year upon year have we been lured by such calls, and for year upon year we have slowly become little more than the hunting dogs of shadow." The old man leaned heavily upon his staff-spear, peering into the east, a strange light in his eyes.
"The stone-men and their horsed allies forced us from our homes in the great green lands and into the mountains. Are we to then ride into their camps, to fetch their water and dump their slops? They have warred upon us without end, without provocation, for more years than there are rocks upon the mountainside." Lanwi shifted his spear in his grip, facing south towards Gondor, a hard look upon his face.
The headman turned to face Lanwi, his desolate look unnerving the young man. "Ah, Lanwi...it is all lies. Had we sided with those of the light and not of the shadows, had we sought the wisdom of the Elder Ones instead of that of their Enemy...we might now walk upon green lands, with our wives and our children fed and happy and not underneath cairns of stone upon which the crows roost. Come. I will tell you of a way that even a diminished folk such as we can help turn back the coming night."
***
Lanwi spent many a long night listening to the headman's hushed tales, his recounting of visions that came to him from "somewhere beyond even the sight of the Great Eagles." The lore and history of the people of Dunland was told to him once again, as when he was a child, but this time it seemed a web of deceit had been lifted from it. When the headman's teaching was finished, Lanwi was left with a feeling of utter emptiness. His people had been nothing more than the slaves and pawns of the Dark Lord and his minions. Never had they been able to become great, to stand alongside the other free folk of Middle-earth as equals, held back from their potential by schemes and machinations of those who cared nothing for them.
Lanwi was angered. It was an anger that began to fill the emptiness, but before the anger became all-consuming, the headman tempered it with hope. "A great ending comes, and we can choose the path which is hard-going, that has many crags and ravines, and many treacherous slides of rock, but which ends at the summit, upon which we can see all around us and live in the warmth and light. Or, we can choose the path that is easier, swifter, and with fewer blocked passes, but which leads to nothing but a precipice which we cannot avoid."
"We are too few to make a real difference. If we stripped the village of every man who could lift a spear, we would have little more than an understrength hunting party." Lanwi's frustration was with history and its misspent loyalties.
The headman laughed, the first laugh heard in the village in too long a time. "Ah, my boy! Numbers mean nothing! The mountain range is made up of individual peaks, each one of them great in their own right. If they stood alone, would they be any less of a mountain?"
Lanwi looked at the headman with genuine curiosity. "Are you saying that I can stave back the shadow on my own? That seems impossible."
"If each does his part in being one of the mountains in the range, an unconquerable array of peaks will soon rise up."
This time it was Lanwi's turn to laugh. "Well, old man, enough talk of mountains. You have convinced me. What is on your mind for me to do?"
The headman spoke long of duty and honor, of loyalty and friendship. "Of these things, the Dark One has none. Many of our people have been under his sway long enough to also have none. Perhaps if one of us can demonstrate that such things are still left to us as a people, then we will have redeemed ourselves."
"That does not seem like much," Lanwi said.
"Sometimes, my boy, that is all there is. And that is often enough." The headman then gave careful directions to Lanwi. "Go north and west, and look for the Windy Hill, that the stone-men called Amon Sul, and that some also call Weathertop. I have seen a vision of one for you to meet, a guide...you will know him by his green mail. Beyond that, I see little but confusion, of the potential for great loss, but also of great victory. The road will be hard, my boy, but you are strong and untiring. Do your best. That's all anyone can do."
Lanwi left one fine mountain morning, a great eagle wheeling high above. "A good omen," Lanwi thought, as he hefted his spear onto his shoulder and walked down off the mountainside.
