The population of Mordor is vanishing and the Black Lands must be repopulated. It is your mission to breed some monsters.
This is the plaza and we operate under a PG13 guidance, and so it is unfortunately not possible for us to repopulate the Shire, Gondor, and Rohan. With Fangorn we have had some success, but it is better not to talk about it. In Mordor we are in luck, however, because when necromancers make little monsters they do not engage in what you and I might deem sexual acts.*
You will still need another person as raw material, though. So if you decide to breed monsters with another plaza member it must be consensual - no god-moding.** With NPCs you can go to town.
OOC: Basically, this is a short story thread - the shorter the better, really, as we all live busy lives. Please recount a tryst on the blasted heath in which you bred some new monsters or made a seminal contribution to their hatching.
For example: The dragon flaunted himself in a choice location in the wasteland and batted his eyelashes at a passing necromancer, whispered sweet nothings in her ear, and tricked her into singing a song of her own magic that fertilized his dragon's egg. Then he ate the necromancer.
Or more elaborate:
RANGER OF GONDOR:
—What are these,
So withered, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like th’ inhabitants o’ th’ Earth
And yet are on ’t?—Live you? Or are you aught
That man may question? You seem to understand me
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips. You should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
MINION 2: Three swan's eggs for a quickie, dearie? I'll take you to the other side.
RANGER OF GONDOR: Done!
MINIONS 1 & 3: You certainly have been.
* See Lore, men ne cunnon
** God-moding in monster breeding is a delicate legal matter. Most authorities hold that if a gift is received voluntarily and nothing untrue was said of that gift in the giving, then this is a consenual transaction. The wise, however, would not pick up a golden ring even if it were lying on the highway, still less when the offer is made by an obviously disreputable Lorist. The choice is really yours.
