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Postby TheRingPrincess » Tue Jan 20, 2004 2:48 pm

Name: Syvania {{full name unknown}}<BR><BR>Race: Human<BR><BR>Gender: Female<BR><BR>Age: Unknown<BR><BR>Height: 5ft. 9in.<BR><BR>Weight: …<BR><BR>Hair: Golden white, reaching just to the shoulder blades. Usually lying onto shoulders.<BR><BR>Eyes: Blue-Green. Seems to have a lighter quality than most.<BR><BR>Physical Appearance: She is slender with a very shy look of some ranger. Shapley body and beautiful eyes. <BR><BR>Marital Status: Single<BR><BR>Occupation: Wanderer, well taught in medicinal herbs and magic. <BR><BR>Means of Travel: A white horse called Sunfire tall yet graceful, well known to battle, and is friendly to most strangers.<BR><BR>Possessions: Magical Medallion and other needs for travel.<BR><BR>Weapons: Bow and magic. <BR>{{no staff needed all attacks come from hands & magic supplied from medallion}}<BR><BR><BR>PAST:<BR>Syvania as a child was born into Middle Earth by an evil witch. She lived up in the mountains near the outskirts of The Horse lands. She spent her life in an old tower and made the towns people bring her food and clothing in order to promise for rain and good crops. Mistakenly the people took her offer although the townspeople did what she asked she sometimes became enraged. Crops would be burned and the village would be flooded. Sometimes people even went missing for many weeks and where then found near the mountain with no marks on them but dead. Some said it was lightning others blamed it on the witch.<BR><BR>One day after the villagers had found the body of a small boy near the cliffs a rumor had started. A young slave girl said that the witch was having a child. As soon as they found the rumor to be true they began to devise a plan. Then on the night of Syvania’s birth the deadly plot was set into action. The young slave girl was to go into the tower with her mother, a woman who was known in the village for helping with many births. She was to take the baby from the witch. As the woman handed the baby over her daughter the witch called for her baby. Then a man emerged form the shadows and took a knife and stabbed the witch. She let out a horrific scream the man and the young maiden quickly ran from the tower back into the village, but just before the witch died she placed a terrible curse upon the villagers. They could not eat and no water would ever come upon the land. There would be no crops and the people would never die nor could they leave the village. <BR><BR>There was one who was not in the village at the time the curse was put upon them, an ex-assassin; he was feared in the town. As soon as he rode in they all in the village asked for his aid. They asked him to take the babe and kill her. The man had turned from this rode long ago and was not sure if he could do such a thing. They offered him all the gold that they possessed. The man had nothing other than to agree so he rode out of town, pondering of what he should do with the small child. As he came to Mirkwood he decided to leave the babe for dead on the forest path if she was really ment to die she would be killed by the spiders, and if she was destine to live then she would survive. The man turned and rode far away never to return to the village or to think of the child again.<BR><BR>Two Mirkwood elves were walking by that same day. They saw the babe sitting in the middle of the rode. They watched safely hidden in the trees. Curiously she seemed happy and giggled no fear could be seen the small babes eyes. To both of the elves surprise she turned and looked at them both. When they did not move she giggle and pointed. They then walked onto the path and picked up the child and brought it back to the king. Of course none in Mirkwood had ever thought of raising a child, and one that seemed to have great magical skills not yet tapped into. Some of the elves seemed to be suspicious of her appearance in their lands. And after much debate she was to be sent with the two elves that found her into the realm or Galadriel. She stayed there for many years of her life. Galadriel had taught all that she could tell and she taught her how to use her powers which seemed to come from her medallion which she wore always. She was then sent off to find her own knowledge and memories. She was given a bow which she had learned to use quite well, light and strong it would last her through many dark battles. Also a midnight black cloak and a star white horse. She left with tears in her eyes.<BR><BR>For many years she traveled middle earth and found her powers and had learned much.<BR><BR>{{medallions magic is purified sorcery}}<BR><BR><b>RPing Threads:</b><BR><b>~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~</b><BR><BR>The Road Less Travled<BR><BR><BR>~Ring
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TheRingPrincess
Ranger of the North
 
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Postby Léanë » Wed Mar 10, 2004 12:40 pm

<BR><BR><strong>Name:</strong> Déor al Móras<BR><BR><strong>Race:</strong> Man (Rohirric)<BR><BR><strong>Gender:</strong> Male<BR><BR><strong>Age:</strong> 25 (Depends on RP Timeline)<BR><BR><strong>Height:</strong> 6’1”<BR><BR><strong>Weight:</strong> 160lbs<BR><BR><strong>Physical Appearance:</strong> Fair, golden hair, pale grey eyes, tanned and athletic. Appears much older than his 25 years, especially when you look into his eyes – there is a sadness and a wisdom there of one who has seen much of the world, and not all of it good.<BR><BR><strong>Marital Status:</strong> Single<BR><BR><strong>Occupation:</strong> Rider of the Mark, Blademaster, Weaponsmith<BR><BR><strong>Outfit:</strong> Soft leather jerkin, dark-brown shirt, dark grey pants, black leather boots, mail-shirt, dark grey cloak and hood<BR><BR><strong>Skills:</strong> Horse-riding (He’s a Rider, duh! <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-rolleyes.gif"border=0>), smithing, sword-play, archery, hand-to-hand combat, throwing knives and daggers, etc – he is a warrior, in other words<BR><BR><strong>Weapons/Other:</strong> Long-sword, spear, bow and arrows, shield, daggers<BR><BR><strong>Means of Travel:</strong> At the moment, a light grey mare of Rohan, named Mist<BR><BR><strong>Personality:</strong> Quiet, dependable, highly intelligent, precise, and careful about detail – a good person to whom to delegate the practicalities of organization and leadership. Not a great romantic. But gives devotion (in love or caring) unselfishly. Well-balanced, mature, deliberate, determined and practical – he weighs things up carefully instead of jumping to impetuous conclusions.<BR><BR><BR><strong>Will be adding</strong><BR><BR><BR>
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Léanë
Shield Bearer

 
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Postby Morion » Wed Mar 10, 2004 12:49 pm

<strong>Ánieron/Morion</strong><BR><BR><strong>Name:</strong> Was called Ánieron in his youth, but later came to be known as Morion, the Son of the Dark<BR><BR><strong>Race:</strong> Eldar (Not entirely sure which kindred, but thinks he might be Noldorin)<BR><BR><strong>Gender:</strong> Male<BR><BR><strong>Age:</strong> about 1600, again not entirely sure, because... oh, wait... this goes under bio. <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR><BR><strong>Weight:</strong> 170lbs<BR><BR><strong>Physical Appearance:</strong> Morion is about 6ft 4in tall, but he appears to be so much bigger in his stature because of the largeness of his frame, his broad sweeping back and his powerful shoulders. He is brawny and well built, but there is no excess flesh on him. He is all muscle and sinew. He exudes virility, a ruddy health, and indomitable strength. He has long legs and a surprisingly narrow and well-defined waist below an expansive chest. His thick heavy hair, which flows back from a clear brow, is as black as ebony and just as shiny, and his eyes of deep grey resembled the tempestuous sea on a stormy night. Set widely apart, under thick curving brows, these eyes are large and soft and very often wise, although they can gleam and flash with anger when Morion’s temper is aroused. Likewise they can just as easily turn mournful and tragic when his soul is troubled by melancholy thoughts. But, for the most part, they are filled with merriment and mischievousness. His skin is dark, yet not swarthy; rather, it is a nut brown and tinged with ruddiness across his high cheekbones, a sort of light mahogany colour that undoubtedly came from long exposure to the elements. His nose is straight and fairly narrow, although it broadened slightly at the tip, and his nostrils are flaring. He has a cleft in his strongly moulded chin and when he laughs, his cheeks dimple and his face take on an amazing vitality.<BR><BR><strong>Outfit:</strong> Black peasant shirt, black riding breeches, black boots and a black cloak and hood (He really likes black <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0> Suits his personality, too <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-wink.gif"border=0> – but most people (especially the women) would tell you differently).<BR><BR><strong>Occupation:</strong> Craftsman, Scribe; Warrior, Former Spy and Assassin<BR><BR><strong>Skills Include:</strong> Horseback riding; archery; sword-fighting; throwing daggers; hand to hand combat; making/creating of objects of metal, earth, wood or stone; reading, writing and speaking various languages; forgery – the skills of an assassin, spy and thief, but he does not use those skills anymore (well, he tries really hard not to! <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0>)<BR><BR><strong>Weapons:</strong> Twin daggers with ruby hilts, of his own making.<BR>Bow and arrows, fashioned after the ones the Galadhrim use, also of his own making.<BR>A blue-white sword, with elvish runes etched on the blade, found with him. He believes it to be his true father’s.<BR><BR><strong>Means of travel:</strong> In the Third Age, he used various horses from Rohan, Dol Amroth and Gondor, gifts from his many admirers. In the Fourth Age, he has a russet brown stallion, which he ‘received’ from the Easterlings (a brief summary of how he acquired the horse is given in Morion’s <strong>History</strong>), whom he named Fell Fire, or Fire for short. Fire is absolutely wild, untameable and unpredictable, and has nearly killed him a few times. However, they are good friends... well, they have a grudging respect for each other, and Fire is one of the only things Morion genuinely cares about, even though he would rather die a slow, painful death than admit anything of that sort.<BR><BR><strong>Marital Status:</strong> Resolutely single. Oh, he has his fun when he wants to – women, be they Elf or human, married or single, old or young, tend to literally fall at his feet – but he refuses to be tied down. He was, at one time, deeply in love with <strong><u>Riencuran Elenath</u></strong>, a fellow assassin of the Dark Tower and Minas Morgul, and had even thought of marrying her some day. But because of the jealousy of another, there had been misunderstandings and heated words between them, erupting into a battle, which neither had won, and Morion and Rien had parted ways, each promising never to set eyes on the other again. Morion is still in love with Rien, and hopes to win her back someday, but this too, is something Morion would never readily admit to anyone.<BR><BR><strong>Personality:</strong> Morion is naturally sociable, enjoying conversation, relationships, parties, celebrations and social events. He has an intuitive and rational mind, which makes him inquisitive and individualistic. Morion is often cheeky, provocative, critical, calculating, choosy and on the defensive. He has a great gift for getting others to confide in him, to talk to him and reveal their weaknesses, which he exploits in order to give himself more protection, or to get some personal gain from them. For he has a nose for business, especially his own. He is always charming and a charmer; but is also suspicious and cunning. Morion knows how to hide his intentions, how to use his magnetic power of seduction and how to persuade and manipulate his opponents without appearing to, in order to achieve his ends. He is a shrewd strategist, capable of being very cold-blooded and ruthless. On the other hand, he does not tolerate being used, exploited, betrayed or rejected. Morion has the knack of finding simple, practical solutions to the most complex situations or problems. Problems stimulate his imagination and his need for an outlet for his energy and brainpower. He absolutely hates routine, preferring adventure and excitement. He is meticulous and keeps a very close eye on his assets or property he has acquired. He hoards money. He economises. He abhors wastage. He does not express his feelings easily but is very sensual, passionate, possessive, jealous and loyal to his commitments (most of which are to himself!).<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR><BR><BR><strong>History:</strong> Not much is know about Morion’s early history; only fragments of information gathered over the long years. <BR><BR>He was found by Anduin, the Great River, near the eaves of Mirkwood in the year 1621 of the Third Age, by a group of Northmen of Rhovanion who were, at the time, living there. He was then perhaps a year or two old, thin and starving, wrapped in tattered blankets, a blue-white sword, elvish runes etched on the blade, lying beside him. He was taken to Gondor, and left in the care of Enerdhil the Blacksmith, a good man of Númenórean descent, although not of a noble house. Why the Northmen did not try to return him to the Elves, why they made the long and harsh journey to Gondor to deliver the Elf-child to a Man, and why Enerdhil decided to keep the child, remains a great mystery.<BR><BR>Vanesse, the wife of Enerdhil, named him Ánieron. She loved him with a fierce protective love, heightened all the more because only a few months before Ánieron came into their lives, their only child had died of a mystifying illness that no one could cure. Vanesse herself had suffered from the same illness, but she had not died, although it had left her with a weak heart and unable to ever have a child again.<BR><BR>Ánieron grew up well-loved and well-cared for, and for the most part, he was a happy child. He was kind, and gentle, thoughtful and caring, willing to lend a hand to whomever might need it. He was a talented craftsman, creating and making things from a very early age, and his skills soon surpassed that of Enerdhil, his foster-father. Most people loved him, but in his heart, Ánieron was never truly happy. He knew he was not like all the other children he played with; they did not, after all, have pointy ears or seem to age more slowly, and thousand other little things that made him feel like an outsider. His foster-parents had never kept the truth from him. He knew that he was an Elf, and that he had been found near the Anduin and brought to Gondor when he was very young. But that was all he knew. He treasured the sword that was given him on his 10th birthday, as Enerdhil told him that it had been found near him, and could possibly have belonged to his true father. Ánieron sometimes spent hours practicing with it, or just staring at it, wondering about his past. As the years passed, and he wondered more and more about his true parents, and about why he was abandoned, the sword gave him hope, however slight, that perhaps one day he might be re-united with his kindred. He had seen Elves pass through Gondor sometimes, and each time, he would look hungrily at their faces, their manners, and listen their songs and tales, and fix them in his memory forever. And each time, he would wonder if one of them could be his kin.<BR><BR>When the Great Plague swept through Gondor, leaving devastation in its wake, Ánieron and his family were not untouched by it. Ánieron was at the time about 16 years old, full of enthusiasm and exuberance, and the future lay before him like a bright star. He was, for the most part, at peace, and knew not the cold and sanctifying touch of sorrow. But that was soon to change. Vanesse, already weakened by the illness that had touched her along ago, died on March 19th, 1636 of the Third Age, one of the earliest victims of the Plague in Gondor. Enerdhil followed soon after, broken and wasted away through grief and illness. Ánieron bitterly mourned the loss of Enerdhil and Vanesse, for he had truly loved them with all his heart, and felt deeply indebted to them for having brought him up. For the first time since he had been found by the Northmen, Ánieron was once again alone in the world, and did not know where to go or who to turn to... everyone and everything he had loved was now lost.<BR><BR>He packed up whatever little belongings he had left, and his sword, and in the winter of the same year (1636), he left Gondor forever.<BR><BR>For almost 400 years, he wandered Middle-Earth, appearing now and again in Gondor, or Rohan, or other cities and towns around Middle-Earth. No one ever found out much about the strange young man, who seemed to grow more fell and grim as the years passed, nor did they know where he came from or where he was headed. But his craftsmanship was well known and much sought after, although his prices for his handiwork were at times outrageous. <BR><BR>When the Nazgûl captured Minas Ithil, Ánieron had been nearby, on his way to Gondor to sell his wares. The war between Men and Elves and the forces of darkness did not touch his life – he cared for no one but himself. Unfortunately for him, he was captured by Orcs, who thought him to be a spy, and brought to Minas Morgul, as it was now known. But Ánieron was shrewd and a master strategist, and he knew how to get himself out of the most dangerous situations. He offered his services to the Lord of the Nazgûl, in return for his life. He promised to serve the Dark Lord, and be his spy and bring him news of the plans of Elves and Men. Amazingly, the Lord of the Nazgûl agreed to his offer, but on one condition: Ánieron must serve the Dark Lord alone, and serve him faithfully, and severe all ties he may have in Middle-Earth. Ánieron had laughed grimly at that condition, and replied that he had no ties left to severe, so the condition made served no purpose, but nonetheless he would serve Sauron, for he had nothing to lose. But even then, the true darkness in Ánieron’s heart was not visible, not even to him. Ánieron was set free and allowed to return to Gondor.<BR><BR><BR>For the rest of the Third Age, Ánieron worked as a spy and assassin for the Dark Lord, bringing him valuable information about the movements and actions of Elves and Men, and killing the people who stood in his Master’s way. As a renowned craftsman, Ánieron still had access to many places and had many connections of influence. <BR><BR>He was also put in charge of expeditions to Harad, Dunland, Khand and other places, to procure the ‘help’ (by means of threats and influence and stirring up of emotions) of the people against the Elves and Dúnedain and the Rohirrim. He particularly enjoyed these little ‘trips’, because he was always richly rewarded i.e. he took whatever caught his attention. One of the things he took from the Easterlings was russet-brown stallion. The horse was the prize possession of one of the most influential (and therefore, dangerous) men of the Easterlings, but Ánieron did not care. He threatened the man, asking him, quite reasonably, to choose between giving him the horse, or risk facing one of the Nazgûl as a traitor (a lie, of course), or perhaps even the Eye of Sauron. In the end, he got what he wanted; a magnificent stallion that surpassed all the others. The horse did not take too kindly to his new master, however, and it was a long while before Ánieron could even get close enough to try to mount him. And when he did manage to mount the horse, Ánieron nearly paid for it with his life. But Ánieron was just as stubborn as the horse, which he named Fell Fire. In the end, they had what could be called a grudging respect for one another.<BR><BR>Ánieron used everything and everyone that he came across to serve his needs and that of his Master’s. Especially women. To Ánieron, women were a pleasant pastime, creatures with whom he could have some fun while gathering important news and information for his Master. The women were always willing give him gifts, to do things for him, to bring him news, to talk, to tell him whatever he asked, because Ánieron... ah, Ánieron had that rare gift, you see. He was a man that listened, and sympathised, and comforted, and understood. It was all an act of course, but he played his part well.<BR><BR>People were, however, not as blind as Ánieron had first disdainfully thought. They, especially the Elves, sensed the darkness in him; a darkness of the soul, that grew as the years passed. Soon people began to call him Morion, the Son of the Dark; they used the name in fear and bitterness, and cursed him for the havoc and destruction he brought into their lives. For wherever Morion went, sooner or later, darkness and death and evil were to follow. But none of this made any impression on him. In fact, he took this new name with pride, severing the last tenacious thread of his past. In time, the fact that he had had any other name besides Morion faded from his mind, suppressed in the far crevices of his memory. He led his life the way he pleased, and his life as it was at that time pleased him greatly. He had always been ambitious, but also hungry for power, and riches and influence, although these things had laid dormant in his heart for a long, long time. <BR><BR><BR>But sometimes, his conscience would sting him, and he would remember the love and compassion that Enerdhil and Vanesse had shown him, especially when confronted with the young, defenceless children. Sometimes, he could not carry out his Master’s orders, and in defiance to his instructions, Morion would set his prisoners free, so he would not have their blood in his hands. He did send the Orcs after the prisoners later to kill them, of course, but at least, he reasoned, it was not he who had killed them. If any should escape the Orcs, he could at least say that the Elf in command had shown mercy. None of these reasons were very plausible or truthful, but it made Morion feel better. <BR><BR><BR>As the War of the Ring approached and rumour grew that the One Ring had been found, Morion’s heart was no longer in what he did. He could no longer stand by and watch the destruction of his home, nor of his kindred, estranged from them though he was. Yet he feared to defy Sauron openly, for now he knew too much about the Dark Lord and his plans for Middle-Earth. So he began, in secret, to sabotage the Dark Lord’s preparations and plans. They were small things; a change of instruction here, forgetting to mention some important bit of news there, releasing certain prisoners by ‘forgetting’ why they had been captured in the first place. These acts did not stop the preparations for war; Morion knew it was beyond him to stop it, but he hoped that, by performing these small acts of sabotage, he would delay the start of the war just long enough to give the people of Middle-Earth a chance to defend themselves.<BR><BR><BR>Shortly after the Lord of the Nazgûl left Minas Morgul with his army to seize Gondor, Morion managed to slip away from the remainder of the troops there, and under the cover of night, after many days, he made his way to Mirkwood. He did not participate in any of the battles; rather he remained hidden, fearing he would be recognised and that his betrayal would be known to both sides, though the reasons were different. The Elves would not believe that he had renounced his life of evil, and the Orcs and the rest of Sauron’s armies would not show him any mercy either. Morion never found out whether or not his tactics helped those who defended Middle-Earth. But when the Dark Lord was finally defeated on March 25th 3019 T.A., Morion thought that he was finally free, though he could never return to the carefree life he had had before his deal with the darkness.<BR><BR><BR>Afterwards, Morion became a wanderer once more, making things out of wood, metal, earth and stone, and selling them here and there to earn his supper. And to this day he still wanders, having no place to truly call his home, and never staying anywhere too long for fear of being recognised. But now and then, the need for companionship proves too strong, and he seeks out the warmth of friendship and the sense of belonging to a family. It was during one of these times that he wandered into the Bard’s Guild, of which he had been told by an Elf he had once met, and is now a Master Bard. <BR><BR><BR>
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Morion
Citizen of Imladris
 
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Postby NewZealand » Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:15 pm

Another bio for you.<BR><BR><strong>Name:</strong> Amor<BR><strong>Father:</strong> Mortalis<BR><strong>Mother:</strong> Maeror<BR><strong>Race:</strong> Elves<BR><strong>Age:</strong> 105 (About 20 in human years.)<BR><strong>Height:</strong> 5:4 (Very short for an elf.) <BR><strong>Gender:</strong> Male<BR><strong>Marital Status:</strong> Single (Has never been in love or even been close to someone.)<BR><strong>Languages:</strong> Some Elven, and the common tongue<BR><strong>Skills:</strong> Fighting with the longbow and short bow, fighting with knives riding and sailing ships<BR><strong>Weapon:</strong> Sword <BR><strong>Secondary Weapon:</strong> Longbow or any type of knife.<BR><BR><strong>Horse:</strong> Eques<BR><strong>Type:</strong> Quarter horse.<BR><strong>Color:</strong> Buckskin.<BR><strong>Info:</strong> Fast, strong, and unflinching in battle.<BR><BR><strong>Appearance:</strong> Short, strong, majestic, far-sighted, short golden hair, wears mortal clothing, has a bow slung on back and a sword on a belt around waist. <BR><BR><strong>History:</strong> Amor was born in Valinor. He has two brothers, one of them being his twin. When Amor and Amnis his twin, were a babies his family took them and their older brother Feles sailing on one of their ships. A huge storm hit and wrecked them into some rocks near an island. Amor was separated him from his family and floated out to sea on a piece of driftwood from the ship. After the storm cleared up his mother and father went out in search of him but was never found, the family was devastated. Thinking that he had been drown they vowed never to sail again and returned home after being rescued. Starved and dirty Amor washed up on the shore of Andrast. Altor and Altrix the people that found him on the beach searched for Amor’s family but never found them, and figured that they were dead. They then raised Amor and called him Amissus. Amor grew never knowing who his real parents were but vowed to find them somehow. Being an elf Amor out lived his mortal parents and lived to see both of their deaths. He was then alone with no memory of who his real parents were or what his real name was. <BR><BR><strong>Personality:</strong> Amor’s foster father had taught him how to fight with a sword and a bow and how to ride and do hard work, he also taught him how to sail ships but Amor always had a fear of the water. He is loyal to whomever he serves, will always finish a task with best of ability, knows how to take orders and to give them, is very trustworthy, very quick on feet, is aware of his surroundings, and is an excellent fighter and mariner. Is very good at using just about anything as a weapon.<BR><BR>~~~NZ~~~
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NewZealand
Rider of the Mark

 
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Postby The_Fool » Mon May 03, 2004 2:24 am

<strong>Name:</strong> Finian Tarkwood <BR><strong>Goes by:</strong> Façade <BR><strong>Gender:</strong> Male <BR><strong>Age:</strong> 28 <BR><strong>Race:</strong> Human <BR><strong>Height:</strong> Tall, around 6’ Slight build <BR><strong>Eye Colour:</strong> Dark amber-brown <BR><strong>Hair:</strong> Thick, always well kept. A dark golden blond <BR><strong>Marital Status:</strong> Single <BR><strong>ccupation:</strong> Fool for Hire. Uses the traditional two ribbons, one green, one white, tied to his horses’ saddle or his guitar, to signal both his occupation and his employment status. When the ribbons are on display, he has no employer. <BR><strong>Usual Attire:</strong> Has no set outfit, but nearly always wears some item of green clothing. When travelling wears a green tailored shirt, with details at the collar and sleeves, brown pants, knee length leather riding boots and a thick grey, wool cloak. <BR><strong>Fooling Attire:</strong> A green and white striped shirt with large sleeves, a leather jerkin, pants and soft shoes. Sometimes wears a green hat with a feather in the band. <BR><strong>Usual Transportation:</strong> His black, highly strung, thoroughbred gelding, Lymeric, (the horse was a gift to him by an employer who grew dangerously found of him, putting both himself and Façade at risk, and forcing him to leave his employment). <BR><strong>Weapons:</strong> A small boot knife for protection against highway men and thieves. Façade has no formal training in any form of weaponry, (although is at present learning to use the dirk in Never Winters Night Rp). <BR><strong>Skills:</strong> Juggling, parlour magic tricks, acrobatics/tumbling, singing, playing guitar. <BR><strong>Personality:</strong> An deft and astute man, with a keen wit and brilliant intelligence. He is exceedingly good at reading people, finding their true motivation and meanings through body language. Is polite and well spoken to strangers, but is weary of them, due to negative prejudice normally shown towards Fools. Has a habit of talking in riddles, which, though true, can bewilder those about him. Does not eat red meat, as he dislikes the taste, though will occasionally dine on fish or poultry. This, however, is a rarity. He only tells those he loves and trusts greatly his real name or his past, as he prefers to stay as anonymous as possible. Considers flippancy in a relationship the worst crime a man can commit due to his father’s treatment of his mother. <BR> <BR><strong>Background:</strong> <BR>His mother was a serving girl in the Raphis-Vess House, his father the only son of Lord Raphis-Vess. His father, Romul Raphis-Vess, had a habit of fooling around with the servant girls but never growing attached, and as such, dropped Finian’s mother, Aria Tarkwood, as soon as he learnt she was pregnant. There was some turmoil in the Raphis-Vess House after this as Aria, angry and hurt at being so cruelly pushed aside, risked her job by throwing wine in the face of both Romul and his newest noble lover during an important dinner. She was kept on only by the charity of Lady Raphis-Vess, Finian’s grandmother. However, the damage had been done and from then on Romul began to develop an overpowering hatred for his unborn, illegitimate, son. <BR> <BR>Born in his mother’s small servants chambers, and named Finian meaning ‘Fair One’ by his mother, he soon became the darling of the House’s serving women. Most of his young life was spent in the kitchen and gardens if the Raphis-Vess House, and for a time, sheltered from his father, he was happy. <BR> <BR>As he grew older, and began to wander further in the House grounds he came in contact with his father, Lord Romul. Their first meeting was disastrous, Finian upsetting his father’s horse, causing it to throw him. Romul, in a foul mood, turned nasty when he realised just who the culprit was. His first contact with his father reduced to a violent beating, Finian quickly came to despise Romul and avoid him whenever possible. Yet Romul’s continuing cruelty towards his son left Finian upset and confused, and Aria was forced to tell him the truth about his father, which only increased his <BR>bitterness. <BR> <BR>When he was 14, (and growing to look more and more like his father each day; tall, with a straight Raphis-Vess nose and high cheekbones), Finian, on one of his now customary wanderings outside the House, came upon a band of Gypsies, camping secretly in his father’s woods. Cautious of them at first, he befriended them soon after he distracted the local Reeve whilst they were fish poaching, allowing them to escape. After his first meetings with the Gypsies he came to keep a look out for travelling Gypsy bands, spending most of his free time with them when a group were camped out in the woods. It was the Gypsies who first began to teach him guitar, singing, and the numerous other tricks he came to use as a Fool for Hire later in life. <BR> <BR>Years passed by, and on the year Finian turned 18 disaster struck. Having been forced into service as a stable boy but 2 years earlier, Finian made the mistake of both blatantly insulting one of his father’s noble friends, then calling Romul father in front of the same guest. Enraged his father beat him and ordered him out of the Raphis-Vess House, with no money or food, and bid him never to return. Finian immediately made his way to the encampment of the recent Gypsy band staying in his father’s woods, battered and bruised. He left with them the next morning, changing his name to Façade. <BR> <BR>Travelling with the Gypsies he further honed his skills as an entertainer, learning play acting, singing, acrobatics and magic tricks as a means of earning money. During his travels he met and befriended a Fool named Rhys, from whom he learnt about fooling. However, it was not at this point that Façade entered the trade. <BR> <BR>Singing in a local pub for a scoop of wine he was heard by Jovian, a Bard; who, falling in love with Façade’s voice, instantly apprenticed him. Thus, leaving his Gypsy family behind, Façade began tutorial under Jovian, who taught him to read and write music and the written word, as well as perfecting his voice. “Tainted” in Bardic eyes by the Gypsy style of both guitar and song, Jovian struggled constantly to teach him in the classical Bardic Style. However, it was to Jovian’s <BR>great chagrin, that, despite being warned to stay away from the Gypsies, Fools and Actors, the “ruffians” of society, Façade continued to socialise with them, shaming his Master. In the end, Jovian was forced to drop him, and Façade found himself out on the streets once more. However, this time, he was capable. <BR> <BR>Recalling Rhys, Façade decided to try his hand at foolery, and after getting himself employed by a lesser House, soon found he had a knack for the trade. So, moving from noble House to noble House, he gained both confidence and skill, thus becoming a professional Fool for Hire. <BR> <BR>- - - - - <BR> <BR>Wandering where he so wishes, Façade, has become his own namesake, dropping acts and personalities at will, spouting riddles and performing for the amusement of his noble employers. Mistrusted by some because of his trade, though faithful by heart, with no inclinations to steal or cheat others, he revels simply in the irony of his situation, enjoying the masks and the freedom of speech gifted to those labelled ‘Fool,’ ‘Jester,’ ‘Idiot,’ and ‘Clown.’ <BR>
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Postby corintur » Sun May 30, 2004 12:07 am

Name: Eru'ohena
Race: Elf
Gender: Male
Age: About 1500 years
Physical Appearance: 6 feet 4 inches tall and skiny. Long dark brown hair, olive green eyes. Strong yet doesn't look so strung.
Personality: Eru'ohena is a very quiet elf, he won't say a word if he doesn't realy have to. Very attentive and understanding
Weapons: A elven bow of Lorien and arrows. Two swords with elven script on them, these swords were forged by Celebron himeself many a year ago. The swords have white handels and are very thin and narrow. Eru'ohena holds the swords in two sheaths on his back in a X shape.
Dress: Elven shoes and typical travelling clothes, has a Lorien cloak.
Skills: Bowmanship and Swordsmanship, basic elven healing and scouting.
History: Eru'ohena son of Calimo and Serme was born in Lothlorien. A short while (in elven terms...) after he was born his mother Serme left Middle Earth, his father Calimo stayed in Middle Earth because of his fondness of it, Calimo loved travelling through all Middle Earth, he loved the mountains and the woods, the rivers and the seas he liked walking by stones and plants. Calimo was killed by a troll on one of his travells to the mountains.
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Postby corintur » Sun May 30, 2004 12:14 am

Name: Armo

Age: 16

Race: Human (Gondor)

Occupation: Burglar

Appearance: Only 5 feet 3" and skinny. Dirty brown hair down to his shoulders, Olive Green eyes and tanned skin.

Clothes: He wears a dark green traveling cloak over his weather worn pants and shirt. He has elvish kind of shoes, very light but very strong (he got these in a pub, well actually he took them right off of a man's feet without him noticing...)

Weapons: A short bladed sword he "found” once and a dagger. He also owns a flute which he considers as a weapon against fear and sadness.

Personality: Armo is a very cheerful and happy lad. But he is somewhat suspicious about other people. He is also kind of a coward although he would never admit it. But when time comes he knows how to be brave especially if his friends are involved.

History: About a year after Armo was born his mother left him, his older brother and his father. Armo doesn’t really blame her for leaving his father, he was a drunk and he would beat her up, he does blame her for not taking him and his brother with her.
When he was 12 and his brother 15 they ran away. They were sick of getting beaten by their drunken father. They ran away and started wandering, that’s how he became a burglar. A short time after he turned 14 he and his brother came to a small village, they were going to steal some food from a house and as his brother went in he was caught by the villagers. Armo managed to get away and hide. He saw the villagers hang his brother for stealing. Since then he wanders alone, burglaring.
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Postby Eltirwen » Thu Jul 29, 2004 9:21 pm

Name: Eltirwen
Race:
Age:
Height:
Appearance:
Attire:
Transportation:
Weapons:
Personality:
Bio:

Name: Narmir
Age:
Race:
Height:
Appearance:
Attire:
Transportation:
Personality:
Bio:

UNDER CONSTRUCTION
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Postby Orodben » Sat Aug 28, 2004 10:40 pm

*ELTIRWEN'S OTHER ID*

Name: Orodben
Age:
Race:
Height:
Appearance:
Transportation:
Weapons:
Personality:
Bio:

UNDER CONSTRUCTION
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Postby Taethowen2108 » Mon Sep 13, 2004 6:44 am

Name: Taethowen
Age: 1550
Height: 5'10"
Race: Eldar
Alliance: House of Earendil
Sex: Female
Eyes: Violet
Hair: Golden blonde
Clothing: Tae normally wears a silk lavender gown with velvet trim at the neck, sleeves, and bottom hem. A mithril and diamond belt is fastened loosely at her waist. Tae's neckline is modest enough to allow her to move and bend over without feeling exposed. The gown has cap sleeves in the summer and long sleeves in winter. Her hooded cloak is a greyish lavender that can and does serve as an excellent camouflage when needed. It is fastened with a brooch that matches her belt.
Occupation: Weaver
Marital Status: Widowed
Means of Travel: By foot or by horse, whichever is most convenient at the time.
Weapons of Choice: Daggers (defensive use only)
Personality: Tae is bubbly, friendly, and easy to talk to. She is very wise, but not so wise that she's above being goofy.
History: Tae married a warrior elf named Belher during the First Age. Their life together was happy for many years. They spent a great deal of time in Lothlorien with Galadriel and Celeborn. Tae and Belher lived Lothlorien for most of the Second Age. While Tae served as one of Galadriel's weavers, Belher spent time training the border guards. Galadriel gave Tae the cloak, belt and brooch that she wears as a token of friendship and thanks. When the time came for the Last Alliance, Belher gladly went, under the command of Gilgalad. Sadly, Belher was slain by a mountain troll in battle. Tae mourned his loss for some time. Tae decided not to go to the Grey Havens after the Third Age ended. Rather, she choses to stay until she believes that she has done as much good as possible. She misses Belher, and knows that he awaits her in the Grey Havens. Tae knows that she has a purpose on this side of the sea, and she waits until she knows that her time has truly come.


This is a work in progress. More coming!
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Postby WithyWyrm » Fri Jun 03, 2005 11:35 am

Here goes...

Name: Liscéwen, better known as Sylvrelaf

Nickname: Sylv

Height: 5’

Age: Born sometime early in the third age.

Hair: Black, thick and reedy.

Eyes: Blue

Race: A river-daughter.

Parents: Her mother was Silverehair, sister to Goldberry. Her father was a strange, dark-haired man who spoke little of his past. Perhaps he was a descendant of Numenor.

Birthplace: Tom’s house near the WithyWyndle.

History: After her parents’ death, Sylv moved out of the Old Forest and dwelt by Lake Nierniel. Some years later, she took to wandering. She rarely crossed the paths of other races, following the lonelier wildlands through the North and far to the East. The fearful Dwarves of the Iron Mountains drove her and her companion, the WithyWyrm, south. Near the sea of Rhun they encountered an amassing army bound for Mordor, and in escaping were separated. They did not meet again until several years later, when they met by chance on the road near Bree.

Skills: Sylv knows little of weapons, but she is quick and difficult to catch. She swims with the inborn skill of her race. Her voice is musical with a liquid beauty. She can, to a lesser extent, communicate with animals; was once acquainted with Radagast the Brown. Learned a limited and archaic form of Quenya from the Withywyrm.

Apparel: Sylv wears an odd assortment of traveling wear. A long-sleeved shirt, a brown frock-like tunic so worn it is almost colorless, a dark woolen cloak and dark blue leggings above leather boots. She carries a leather satchel with a carven jade salamander, a glittering green dress that was a gift from her aunt, supplies, and a few odd coins. (Fortunately most bartenders do not look closely; the gold was forged far from Middle Earth.) On her person she carries little besides a small dagger and a golden ring, forged in intricate knotwork and set with a dragon-scale. The ring is not known to have active magical properties (as of yet...), though it is of ancient make.


Updates probable.
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Edited and updated

Postby RavenTinuviel » Tue Dec 06, 2005 11:05 pm

Edited and updated
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Postby Sirion » Fri Jan 06, 2006 6:46 pm

Removed.
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Postby Sirion » Sun Jan 08, 2006 5:29 pm

Removed.
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Postby Wasara » Mon Jan 09, 2006 8:29 am

Name: Thorgrond
Gender: Male
Race: Edain
Age: About 30
Height: 6'.5"
Hair: Black
Eyes: Between grey or white blue
Build: Slender and wiry.
Habitus: However at his thirties seems like man as at his fifties but somehow dateless.Red scar on his left forehead.Open air character but face little bit pale.When he smiles it is wide and supportive.Bit silent as all Rangers.Durable as long distance runner.

Skills: Good woodcrafts skills:stealth,pathfinding,scouting,making fire etc.Skilled swordman.Dagger specialist with his daggerset.Also good horseman and marksman of bow.He left his bow and arrows to borderguards of Thranduil.

Weapons: Long sword.Daggers.

Clothing: Brown weatherbeaten cloak with hood,under it grey chain mail not long,dark green trousers,long black boots.On his back he has waterback of brown leather and brown carrier back with needed things as ropes,flint and steel,small axe,reserve clothes etc.Special:on his back in the middle of neck and right shoulder he got daggerset.In his right long boot he has all round knife attached his leg.

Language:Sindarin,Quenya,Westron

Bio:His father was one of the Dunedains captains and mother related to Gilraen,Aragorns mother.Already at his teens he followed his father to wilderness and as twenty-years old Thorgrond led small band of men to the raids and ambush to Trollshaws and Ettenmoors.There a huge black warg suprised and attacked him and caused multiple scars on his torso and that one on his forehead.After heavy duell he killed it with single blow of his sword.After recovering he continued raiding and patrolling both sides of northern Misty Mountains and crossing Anduin to the borders of Mirkwood. His mother dwelled sometimes at his teens in Imladris and he joined her time to time.

Once again on his patrols near Mirkwood he was ordered as courier of Northen Dunedain and Elrond and Thranduil to make quick contact with possible outposts of Gondor in Ithilien and Cair Andros.It was March and he started his heavy journey by foot following east bank of Anduin.His intent was to get around Emyn Muil and follow its steep eastern slopes through Dagorlad and Dead Marshes.That part of journey was grave as air was thick and eastern winds carried heavy dark smog through Morannon.Once crossing a steep ridge he found three faint little footprints heading southeast.But he had to hurry.He crossed Nindalf and made it to banks of Anduin and then followed Anduin to southeast.He cast about three weeks with cautions in Ithilen until he desided follow the path made by heavy band of armed men just recently.It led him to the bank opposite of Cair Andros.He desided the cross the river at night and gathered drifted logs and made small raft.In the darkness with long staff he struggled against strong current and once drifting down the river he heard faintly somebodys struggling against undertow.He reached that poor fellow and pulled him on the raft.After recovering the gondorian accent revealed: "Be blessed stranger and let me thank you who ever you are....it was cold drink i might say..."

It was obvious that he was one of the raiders from Gondor and Thorgrond had made it last to friendly people and his trek was over.

Thorgrond is found in A Soldier's Tale!
Last edited by Wasara on Wed Nov 22, 2006 2:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby Sirion » Tue Jan 17, 2006 6:14 pm

Removed.
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Postby Gloamglozer » Mon Jan 23, 2006 12:32 pm

Name: Gloamglozer

Race: Shapeshifter/Ancient being

Age: Was born in the creation of Middle Earth

Height: In Human form 6 foot

Hair: Short, black

Skin: White with a slight tan

Eyes: Black depths that have bright red flying creatures, like dragons etc, floating around when you look into his them

Clothes: In his human form he wears black robes beneath a red cloak. This cloak seems to be able to hold an infinite amount of things from weapons to vials to books etc.

Personality: Gloam is a being of evil or rather was. He still harbours the ancient evil inside but he has come to respect the light side so he has decided to take on a neutrality that only an immortal can. He loves a laugh and a joke. But you would be alot better off if you don't get on the wong side of him.

Skills: He is experienced with all types of weapons and almost all magiks. Infact, he has created his own magical runic language that only he knows. He is also an excellent craftsman. He has created many inventions over the years and knows many crafts, from making weapons to making jewellery.

Weapons: He has his sword named Akallabeth, a sickle, a whip, the staff of forms, a double bladed battle axe and a wrist crossbow.

History: He was created with the elements that were there after Eru came into being and began his song.
But he was sucked through a portal into a dark and evil dimension. He emerged from this place a year later as a totally different being. His essence had been forced into a physical form and he had been twisted into Evil.
He wandered Middle Earth and set up a base deep inside Mount Gundabad (Deeper than the orcs or the Dwarves have ever been). Here he waited for many years, crafting his inventions and perfecting his shapeshifting abilities and his new magical language.
He emerged every so often to take part in battles until after the fall of Sauron. At this time he set out and joined many of the new organsistaions that were promoting evil.
Over the years that he has been wandering he has lost most of his evil nature and now respects the good and virtuous.
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Profile of Raven Tinúviel

Postby RavenTinuviel » Wed Oct 25, 2006 6:39 pm

Name: Raven Tinúviel
Age: Unsure. Estimates year of birth as 1st age 305-315
Gender: Female
Race: Eldar
Height: 5 foot
Weight: 100 pounds
Build: Small, shapely feminine frame that masked her true strength.
Hair: Black with a dark brown tint when in direct sunlight.
Eyes: Dark brown, near solid black and sometimes with a silvery gleam to them.
Skin Varies from a pale tan to deep olive depending on the season and exposure to the sun.
Marital Status: Unmarried

Occupation: Many. She knew herblore and was an enchantress of sorcery. She had worked in many lands in many trades over the many years... jewelsmith, exotic dancer, metalsmith, bar wench, gardener, prostitute, cook, needleworker, thief, hunter, inn proprieteress, concubine, and friend of animals. She was a survivor for she did what she had to do to get by.

Skills: Small sword and dagger she knew how to use, but her blade of choice was a finger knife. Rarely she carried a weapon other than that, which she kept well hidden. She had learned unarmed combat and evasion as a child and furthered these skills when she lived for a time with a man, but when he was slain in battle, she learned no more but kept up with what she knew. She loved to hunt with a bow and was a fair shot with her bow of old. She could play a harp and had a few songs of her own, and had a small flute that she would play music for the birds to listen to. Lover or lore of all lands, Raven remembered knowledge especially if it interested her.

Personality: She was her own person and was sometimes headstrong. She could be passive but it was usually because she wished or had need to be. Sometimes she was too trusting, and usually her judge of character was good, but a few times she had gotten int trouble. She was subtle and found no problem weaving a tale or do what she must to gain her own ends. Having once been in love with Amras, son of Feanor, they planned to be wed, but before the wedding she fell for his twin brother Amrod. Wishing not to cause Amras grief, she left their lands in the night and Raven loved not ever another of the Eldar.

Bio: Raven was the elder child of Eöl and Aredhel, born premature and abandoned by Aredhel for she feared Eöl because she bore not a son. Aredhel told Eöl she miscarried and so the scrolls shown no record of her birth and her younger brother Maeglin was only child of Eöl, for she was forgotton. But Aredhel did for a time hold faint hope that her daughter may have lived, but she never would know for sure.

Raven was discovered soon afterward by a scouting party of the men of Bëor when they first came into the lands of Beleriand. It was they who found her, and soon it was apparent that she was not dead. They gave her the name of Raven for her dark complexion and black crop of hair, and it was a flight of ravens hovering about where she lay in the grasses that led the men to her.

She was cared for and nursed to health and soon gained strength. But she was always small, and her dark skin, hair, and eyes were always apparent to the men. As she grew, she had trouble getting along with all but a few of the other children. One incident that took place was some of the Edain children tried to drown her in a river because she was different, but she learned to swim and went across on them. She feared water from that day forward.

Since she was shunned by her peers, she would watch and talk and ask questions of adults as much as they allowed her, and watched them in their trades. She especially enjoyed the visits of ones that were called Eldar, and the dwarves who they had befriended from the mountains. In this way she began learning skills at an early age, and it seemed she remembered it all.

As she grew to womanhood, she went with her parents to a place where the dwarves come to trade with the Eldar, and the Edain would attend also. She was seen by one of Thingols tradesmen and he thought her to be Tinuviel. From that time she took that name as her last, for she knew now that she was Eldar, but she knew not her line and bent her thought to know of her birth parents.

One day she bade farewell to the families who raised her and set out on her own, wandering from place to place. Through the years she gained ever more knowledge, both by teachers and by experience, and in her wanderings, she did what she had always had done in life from the beginning, survive.
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Postby Frelga » Wed Aug 22, 2007 2:05 am

Name: Dacil

Make/model: Human male in his early 30s, originally of Dol Amroth.

Weapons: A competent rider, archer and swordsman, prefers a cudgel-type-thing bound with spiked steel for close work. Also carries a hunting knife.

Appearance: Massive and carefully unkempt, Dacil would look like a troll wannabe if not for his keen sea-grey eyes. 6'2", with bulky, deliberately cultivated muscles. Close-cropped dark hair. Heavy, cleanly shaved chin. Even though his clothes and equipment are new and well-made, they appear grungy and quickly acquire stains and scuff marks.

Personality: Dacil goes to great lengths to appear nothing more than a muscle man for hire. He communicates pleasure by grunting and displeasure by flexing his biceps or smashing things with his fist. Very few manage or care to get close enough to discern a mind as quick as his reflexes. Still, he is a guy's guy and has respect of his fellow soldiers.

Brief bio: An older son of a noble, the young Dacil became fascinated with prizefighting, spending much of his time on betting and competing. His father did not approve, and one thing led to another. The old man threatened to disown; the young man walked out.

Some years later Dacil finally made his way back home. He found no welcome there. His younger brother, now the master of the estate, blamed Dacil for the deaths of their parents. Apparently, the word had reached the old man that his son was dead. Grief and guilt proved too much for him to bear. Dacil's mother, though much younger than her husband, survived him only by a few months.

Again Dacil walked away from home. He made his living as a mercenary or bodyguard until he entered the service of the King of Dale. He served the Bardings as a Captain of Guards through the War of the Rings. When the Shadow departed and Mirkwood was tamed, Dacil took his leave and set out in search of new adventures.

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Postby Arail Fordorthien » Tue Sep 04, 2007 12:19 pm

This is my gal's bio so far, but it will evolve as time goes by.

Name: Arail Rîoniel

Nickname: Fordorthien “female dweller of the North” (given to her by a man from Harlond that she once had strong feelings for), brithla tithen “little pearl” (something her father used to call her).

Race: Elf, part Falathrim, part Noldo.

Gender: Female

Age: Not entirely certain, but about 2000 years.

Height: Close to 6 feet

Weight: About 140 lbs.

Hair colour: Darkbrown

Eye colour: Grey with a touch of blue, appears to be ‘silverblue’ at times.

Appearance: As most elves quite fair, but not more so than others of her race. Face oval and a bit narrow, with a softly pointed chin. Narrow nose, a full mouth, large, almond-shaped eyes under delicately curved eyebrows. Symmetrical features, at the same time soft and defined; over-all bodily structure well put together, legs are perhaps a bit too long for her upper body. Slender hands with long, sensitive fingers. Her hair reaches roughly to her shoulderblades, is wavy and most often kept away from the face with several braids.

Build: Tall and slender, built more for speed than strength

Marital status: Single all the way. Once she thought that she had found the one, but now she strongly doubts that she will ever love again.

Occupation: Scribe and part time borderscout and messenger to Lord Elrond of Imladris.

Outfit: Most often she is seen wearing: a coat of dark navy-blue leather (with silver buttons in the shape of feathers, one has to remember ones roots), a large green cloak, grey tunic and leggings and high boots of darkbrown leather. She does have a chainmail-shirt, a light and strong piece of elven craftsmanship, as well as a pair of equally beautiful and functional bracers, but she only wears them when there is need. Practical clothing of elven make, beautiful and often in muted colours is her melody. Nothing is ever flamboyant or impractical, not to mention in the way, but she has on the other hand never been known to say no to a gorgeous dress now and then, if the moment is right. Only jewellery is a silver necklace set with pearls, a begetting-day gift from her parents, and a thin silver ring depicting leaves and feathers, given to her by the ellon she once loved.

Means of travel: Can travel swift and lightly on her own two feet, but main means of transportation is still her irritable and fiery black, battle-trained elven-mare, Morthil “dark moon” (born during a lunar eclipse), commonly called Olvorn, “nightmare”, around the stables of Imladris.

Personality: Somewhat reserved when meeting new people, but quickly becomes a merry gal with an acute sense of humour in the right company. Intelligent and can be quite patient when needs be. Once you get on her bad side though, you better watch out, ‘cause this elf is not one to be trifled with, especially if you harm those she calls friends. She willingly helps others with their problems, but does not share her own with many. She may reveal some of them, with time, but only to trusted friends. Not all of her memories are happy, and they serve to give her a more solemn and reserved edge.

Skills include: Most battleoriented skills: Archery, swordsmanship, knifefighting. Other skills include: anything connected to a scribes work, speaks several languages (both elven and mannish) and dialects, but can also manage a song or two when in the mood. Can survive well on her own in the wilds, and with her inborn fine senses and soundless step, she is an excellent tracker. Not really much of a healer other than the basics, but when it comes to massaging stiff and aching muscles, she is a god! She has hardly any magical abilities, as they are counted, but her long years of scouting has given her a slightly sixth sense for evil and danger, but it is not always so that she realises what it is that she feels, only a sense that something is wrong. She has a strong will and mind something that has served her well several times in her life.

Weapons of choice: An ash longbow, a gift of a Mirkwood friend; an elven blade inherited from her father, or twin elven knives. If the place allows it, fiery Olvorn may join in for a few nasty kicks, and peregrine falcon Menelor (“heaven-heart”) more than gladly swoops in to cause general disarray with shrieks and scratching claws conveniently at eye-level.

Past bio: Born to a Noldo, Rîon, and a member of Círdan’s Falathrim, Mídhaer, some time during the first millennium of the Third Age of the Sun. She left Forlond partly because she wanted to see more, but largely due to the fact that the ellon she had loved lived there, and when he professed that he did not love her anymore, she felt that she couldn’t stay. Settled down in Imladris, where she lived in relative peace as a part of the Lord’s household. Adventurous in spirit she often set out on short trips to see the world, at times getting into battles of various size, but never getting hurt very badly. The rise of the Shadow darkened her lively spirit somewhat, and she centred more on protecting her home than venturing far and wide. She took no part in the War, other than guarding her home, but when peace returned, she was quick to go beyond the borders once more.
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Postby Andalion » Tue Jan 15, 2008 3:54 pm

Name: Andalion.
Nickname: The Silent Man.
Race: Grey Man.
Gender: Male.
Age: 61.
Height: 6’4”
Weight: 166 lbs.
Hair Color: Dark brown.
Eye Color: Sea-green.
Appearance: He appears quite rugged to most, and the fact that he does not indulge himself in enjoying the trivial things available to him while in “civilized” society does not help that appearance. His hair is actually quite fine and thin as it falls about his head, roughly to the jaw at the shortest length, perhaps to the mid-neck at the longest tip. A bit of scruff along the cheeks, jaw and chin give that ruggedness more to add to the table, though it’s evident that he keeps his neck clean, when he can. He has quite a toned body, with leathery skin that is weathered in color and hard, wiry muscles that aren’t quite noticeable beneath the leather of his clothes, except for in his overall stature. There are several dozen scars all along his body. From within his weathered visage shine two eyes of a color that is defined by the word “absent”. They are colorful enough, an intriguing sea-green that some have found captivating in his time, but the absence comes from the general solemnity one finds within these two orbs. Beneath the rugged exterior is a handsome enough man, to be sure, but he likes to think that the land finds him more appealing as he is.
Build: Tall, lean musculature as if hewn from stone.
Marital Status: Unmarried.
Profession: Generally speaking, he has no profession. He calls himself a "man of nature", which is basically just his way of saying he's a woodsman, although there's no denying that he's more than a simple woodsman.
Outfit: As per his travels, Andal’s outfit is subject to quite a bit of change, and yet it all normally comes down to rudimentary clothing that usually consists of leather and cloth. For instance, in his most recent travels, he has worn a green cloth tunic, belted to let the lag fall to nearly his knees over dark leather breeches tucked into very worn and weathered brown leather boots that reach to just under the knee. He also typically wears a cloak, commonly of gray color. The only long-standing item is the clasp of whatever cloak he is wearing, which is of white-gold and shaped in an oval ring, with the middle hollowed out; it is the sigil of the Grey Men.
Means of Travel: Andal can always find food for himself, but some of the places he travels are not fit in that sense for a steed, and so he travels primarily on his own two feet unless he plans ahead or certain situations make a steed necessary. He has his greatest ally in nature, and nature speeds him on his way.
Personality: He seems to be a rather quiet man, not prone to throwing himself at things emotionally. There is a solemnity to his character, a kind of melancholy, though most make the mistake of thinking he’s an unsociable person. It's hard to truly define him as a man from another point of view because of his reserved nature, which is all most people get to know about him.
Skills Include: Andalion has a variety of skills, his queerest and most complicated being a sort of empathic bond he has with nature and its animals. He can’t truly…talk to them, but in a sense, he can in fact communicate with them. The trees “speak” to him; the rocks “move” in his eyes. Animals seem to know what he’s thinking, and he them, almost at random. He’s been noted to carry a longbow of rather heavy draw weight, suggesting skill with the weapon, as well as a sword of rather unique characteristics, although just how talented he is with it isn’t widely known.
Weapons of Choice: Andal carries a handmade bow. His house traded with elves on a common basis…and somehow got their hands on a bit of mallorn wood. Not wanting to see it go to waste in building some stupid hut for one of his clansmen, he took a bit and crafted himself a fine bow, as high as his shoulder. He carries the necessary quiver and arrow supply, and a battle-tested short blade on his left hip. Over his back, the handle jutting past his right shoulder, he carries the pearlescent longsword named Hiril, meaning “Lady” in Sindarin.
Last edited by Andalion on Sun May 04, 2008 2:39 pm, edited 4 times in total.
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Postby Smeagolofthestoors » Fri Feb 22, 2008 1:47 pm

I'm new to online RP's but I've been in 13thC enactment so here's hoping it helps.
Name: Faenoldo Eglion
Called: Didymous or Faenoldo
Race: Human, raised by elves
Age: unknown, app. 25-30
Story: Some Goblins attacked some Families moving away from Eriador and cutting south around the misty mountains on their way to Gondor. The elves of Lorien went to their aid. A group of 7 humans were rescued; 2 men 3 women and 2 children. The men and women were badly injured from protecting the said children and despite the medicine of the elves died shortly after. The young children (twins) were raised in northern Lorien. One was named Faenoldo and the other Faroth since their actual names were unknown. The name Eglion (son of praise) was added simply because it was near miraculous that they survived. Faroth died the victim a giant spider attack, around the age of ten when he was out trekking through Mirkwood with their adoptive brother Gilgolodh. Faenoldo was more the type to study than to adventure, but the death of his brother made him want to learn the more war-like ways and he became an accomplished swords man. He is a horrible archer when you consider the fact that the elves of Lorien were his instructors. This is probably due to the fact that he had been injured very near his left eye the day he was found. Since the age of roughly twenty he has roamed the areas south of Lorien.
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Geli the Magnificent

Postby Frelga » Sat Apr 26, 2008 12:24 pm

Name: Geli. The Magnificent. Except on Tuesdays - on Tuesdays she's the Incredible.

Race: 17 year old human female of undetermined origin

Appearance: Medium height, and slender, athletic build. With wide shoulders and narrow hips, she looks like the gymnast she is. Huge grin. Olive skin, large black eyes and long, wavy black hair - in a few years she might become pretty.

Attributes and abilities: A street performer: acrobat, dancer, tightrope walker, juggler, singer, and a general-purpose daredevil. Has no concept of fear. Has some skills in street-wise self-defense with knife, stick and such, but her primary weapons are two fast legs. She is very hard to catch.

Personality: Geli is usually on the sunny side. She can be reckless, but mostly she is an entertainer, and will try to cheer everybody up even if she herself is falling to pieces.

Bio: Orphaned at the age of two, Geli was left in care of an elderly couple she called grandparents. As far as she knew, her father was a sailor, lost at sea; her mother had died of fever. When she was four, a traveling circus came in town. Seeing the little girl dance along with the performance, their master bought her, quite cheaply, from her guardians. Geli loved the wandering life, the freedom, the risks and the applause. Her most spectacular talent is at mimicking manner and voice until a patron thought he was looking in a mirror.

Things began to change when she reached her 16th birthday. The boys she grew up with now wanted to sneak off without her for a taste of a man's freedom. The patrons seemed to expect the sort of entertainment she was not willing to provide. A day came when her master, the one father she has ever known, walked into the tent when Geli was changing and "made a move" on her. Furious, Geli left the caravan and struck off on her own, making a precarious living from her performing skills.

Note: This is an all-purpose bio. Geli isn't tied to one time and place. Details may change to suit whatever story I'm playing her in.
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Postby Arassuil » Thu Jul 24, 2008 11:51 pm

I'm posting a collection of characters I've made up for various role-play stories here.

_____________________________________________________________________


(In the role-play story Mists Of Eriador)


Name: Malassuil

Age: 99 (in the year 2995 of the Third Age)

Race: Northern Dunedain

Appearance: Long thick dark hair peppered with silver-grey, slightly curled, and roughly hewn about the shoulders. short grey beard blending in with the grey temples. A few small scars could be seen on his bare arms. A large, very prominent scar cut down across the left cheekbone. He is considered tall even by the standards of the northern Dunedain, and quite muscular. His usual attire was his sturdy, yet supple and well-worn dark rust-brown leathers consisting of boots, breeches, and a thick leather sleeveless vest. Over it all he would wear a well-worn dark grey-green hooded cloak that had some few small tatters, unadorned except with a silver rayed brooch on the left shoulder. He was a Ranger, shadowed on his movements and deeds and keeping watch in the northlands of Eriador.

Bio: Born and raised in a remote homestead in the rugged North Downs, he didn't remember his mother for she died giving birth to him. His father was away much of the time for he was a Ranger then. Malassuil was keen to learn, and he wou;ld watch and learn from the tradesmen that would come at times. He would listen and absorb from others all he could, especially from his father and the other rangers who would stay at the house at times. He became skilled with knife and bow, and even more so with a sword. He tended to his training and would become in time, as most young men of the Dunedain did, a Ranger.

Through the years he had befriended some of the other rangers, but to others, he seemed distant. But he was keen to teach the younger rangers assigned to his company what he could, just as he was taught by those before him.



_____________________________________________________________________


(In the role-play story In Search of the Past)


Name: Malvagil

Age: 44

Race: North Dunedain

Appearance: Dark hair, slightly curled, roughly hewn about the shoulders. slight facial hair, thickening at the chin that is also roughly hewn. A few small scars could be seen on his forehead and cheek, with a larger, prominent scar cutting inward and down across the right side of his forehead, cleaving his eyebrow, and re-appearing down on his lower eyelid and out across his right cheekbone. This war wound caused the right of his sea-grey eyes to squint a bit compared to his left. He is tall, but average by the standards of the northern Dunedain. He walked with an ever-so-slight limp from his right leg. His usual attire was his sturdy, yet supple and well-worn dark rust-brown leathers consisting of boots, breeches, a sleeveless vest and a full-sleeved coat cut and fitted allowing for free arm movement. Over it all he would wear a well-worn dark grey-green hooded cloak that had some few small tatters, unadorned except with a silver rayed brooch on the left shoulder.

Bio: Born and raised in a remote homestead north of Bree, he was primarily raised by his mother as his father Malassuil was away much of the time for he was a Ranger. Malvagil was the eldest of two children, having a younger sister born a few years after he. Keen to learn, he would listen and absorb from others all he could. As he grew, he was sent to study lore under the elves in Rivendell. There he became skilled with knife and bow, and somewhat less so with a sword. He tended to his training and would become, as most young men of the Dunedain did, a Ranger.

Being accepted to ride in the year 3010, it was a darkening time in the lands. At first his main assignments were to watch the road east and south of Bree, and he learned more-so the ways of the wild. He learned combat and had his first kills when riding in the north as the orc and warg raids from the Ettenmoors became more numerous. His biggest test came at Sarn Ford where he tried to stand before the Nazgul with his comrades. His horse broke and fled, but he regained control of her to return to the ford where some few of the hardier veterans still opposed them. But darkness began to close and they were too weak to prevent the Nazgul from entering the Shire. They then withdrew and made for Bree where they hoped to hold counsel with their chieftain.

They watched and intimidated and confused when they could the Nazgul in hopes of keeping them away from their chieftain and his quest to Rivendell and beyond. It wasn't until later that year when Halbarad called them in haste to ride with him south to aid their chieftain. Malvagil was one of thirty that answered the call right away and left with little word. To war they went, and Malvagil fought well in taking the ships. In the fields of Pelennor the fighting was hard. He was wounded by a blade across the face, a spear in the thigh, and remembered little after he was struck in the head. Not far away, Halbarad lay mortally wounded. He was found after the battle, and was tended to and was deemed well enough to ride forth to the Black Gate of Mordor. There in the battle he was again wounded in the side, but lived and was healed.

After the war and their chieftain married and was made king of Arnor and Gondor, he applied for and was formally discharged of his duty, and he returned to the north. There he lingered in the inns without aim, taking odd jobs now and then, but mostly lamenting his decision to return home. He had had enough of war and killing, but a warrior was what he was. There was word that there was still work to do subduing lands to the east and south of Gondor, and he debated with himself to return there and offer his services.
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Postby Cock-Robin » Fri Feb 25, 2011 8:47 pm

Boartooth the Mace from Redemption: The Reckoning

He was called Boartooth.

Boartooth the Mace.

At least that was what he was called, and he was content with that. His true name was forgotten, and it was said that he had forgotten it himself. The few who knew his real name didn't really want to mention it, or even acknolwedge that he existed.
As for the name he was called by, there was a story behind it. Boartooth was a Beorning, a descendant of the legendary Beorn and a son of Grimbeorn the Old. As most Beornings, he was a skin-changer. He was able to change from a man into a large black bear, and woe to any foe that met him as such.
It was at his first transformation that he gained his nickname. For when he changed back from bear to man, the transformation was incomplete. A fang from his lower jaw remained, and stuck. So, he was called Boartooth from then on.
Maybe it was fated that he should be different from his kin, a rascal. He was not content to remain in the land of the Beornings, but was possessed of a wanderlust which caused him to travel far and wide. And that gave him the idea that he would be a mercenary, to sell his services to those who could afford them. In that, he was like the other Beornings, whose tolls were high to those who would pass safely through their land.
But, his family frowned on him being a mercenary. Finally, after many disputes, his father relented. Very well, go on your forays. But NEVER to orcs or servants of the Enemy. Do not sell your services to them."
Boartooth agreed to that. Although there were often many who were not too wholesome, who did not serve Sauron or his servants. Dwarves and men who needed his services, who had their own motives.
But, whoever hired him found out he was a trusty employee, as he was closed to any who would outbid them until his task was done. That made Boartooth much in demand.

As for his subtitle The Mace, that was also an accident. In one of his battles against a group of wargs and orcs, he ripped a heavy limb of a hornbeam, and after knocking it to a reasonable size, (for him) he used it as a club to fight against and slay his foes. It was a fitting weapon for it, and he never parted from it again. Over the years, he shaped it into a hardy weapon, a mace, which would last throughout his life. The handle had a tight binding of whipcord, which formed a loop to go over his hand, and the rest of the club had been fire-hardened, oiled and polished. Several arrowheads and spear-tips were half-buried in the wide, rounded head of the mace. Only Boartooth had the skill and strength to wield such a formidable weapon.

As with his Beorning kin, he had a way with beasts and birds. He befriended a horse that could bear him, a strong black horse, almost Friesian in breed. He could call a falcon in need to go up and do reconnaisance for him.

As for his appearance, he was a tall, well-built man with long black hair and a dark beard. He was somewhat of a pug-ugly, with the fang protruding from his lower jaw. His appearance when he transformed was that of a large black bear.

His services were well in demand, and his price was high. He had many caches across the land which held his earnings. And now, his travels took him to Rivendell, where there was a chance to gather news, and being between jobs, he was where he would be certain to be hired.

Those in the valley would find him, his club resting against a tree, and himself beside it, cleaning his nails with a dagger. He had no idea that his fortunes would be changing soon....

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http://pic20.picturetrail.com/VOL1320/1 ... 474091.jpg





Meneldor, Warrior Bard, and Brondgast, Mithril Knights

Gwaeryn and Robin, The Expected Party

Meneldor, Alatar and Pallando, Darkness Reigns: The Resistance


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Re: *The Character Archives!!!* See First post or Word Asid

Postby tea_and_deerstalkers » Sun Dec 30, 2012 12:55 pm

Name: Amber Knotwise
Nickname: (Doesn't really have one)
Race: Hobbit
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Height: 3ft 2 Inches
Weight: 3st 6lb
Hair Color: Ginger
Eye Color: Teal/Blue
Appearance: Amber's a little shorter than the average hobbit, but nothing to comment on. She has long red hair that reaches the small of her back, it's usually tied out of her way when she is working.
She has large, blue/teal eyes and faint freckles across her nose.
Like all hobbits, she's quite round. She has quite nice curves for someone her age but doesn't over expose herself in the clothes she wears.
Her clothes a quite plain, and usually earthy colours. She thinks it makes it easier when she gets muddy doing the gardening.
Marital Status: Single
Occupation: Errand girl for the village.
Outfit: A short sleeved blouse in a sort of light mossy colour, a dark brown basque and a loose brown skirt that reaches her calves.

Personality: In her younger years, Amber had a reputation of being a little cheeky. But at the age of 17, her dad had a fall and injured his leg, since then, she's taken over most of his jobs.
She tends to gardens, helps bring in crops and lends a hand when it's particularly busy at the Green Dragon.

Skills Include: Gardening, cooking, long distance running (From years of having to deliver things)

Weapons of Choice: Amber's never really had to defend herself in battle, but she'd be able to hold her own in a fist fight.

Past Bio: Throughout her childhood, Amber was a menace. She was one of the naugty children who were told off by farmers for scaring their livestock. But one day her father had a fall whilst painting a farmhouse and he hasn't been able to work on it since.
Her father was more upset by the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to keep Amber out of trouble. Amber could see that she was upsetting him and promised to act her age a bit more.
Since then she's taken over all his previous jobs and more, helping out people where-ever she can. It's her way of saying sorry for all the trouble she's caused people in the past.
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Re: *The Character Archives!!!* See First post or Word Asid

Postby prmiller » Tue Jun 25, 2013 11:47 pm

Name: Parm of Imladris
Nickname: The Lord the the Rhymes
Race: Half-Istari
Gender: Male
Age: 550
Height: 6' exactly
Weight: 12 st. about 170 lbs.
Hair Color: Pure white
Eye Color: Silver Grey
Appearance: Because of Parm's Istari ancestry, he is thin, but not necessarily all that tall. He has piercingly bright grey eyes, and
a steady tenor voice, almost baritone at times.
He has a long, but well-trimmed beard, whiskery eye-brows, but not like Gandalf's, and is often mistaken to be a younger version of
Saruman. It is his aquiline nose that betrays his line of descent from Saruman.

Marital Status: A widower
Occupation: Documents restorer, calligrapher, Bard of Imladris
Outfit: He wears various kinds of robes, usually silver grey, light grey, or even cream white. He has good, strong walking boots, a gift from
his old friend, Willum of Michel Delving.

Personality: He is very pensive, but quick to laugh; fond of poetry, but poor at regaling a tale...he wanders.

Skills Include: Song-weaving, Musamancy -- the power to use music as both a weapon and a tool. Parm's voice can break a troll-sized boulder
and create a sword of light that he combines with his staff, to create a dome of power, against which only pure evil can prevail...as he discovered
with Leonir and Leonir's minions.

Weapons of Choice: A staff wrought of the white tree, Nimloth the Fair; interlaced with mithril, and capped with an cup-like device that
holds two jewels, which Parm has been commanded never to use together: The Tear of Valaniel, adamantine, and the Star of Lond Daer, a white-blue
gem given to him when the Valar spared his life after his mother had been cast out by Saruman. The Star has followed Parm all his days, but only on
his last quest to Lond Daer was its terrible power made known to him. The Tear of Valaniel was gift given to him on his wedding day, from his
mysterious bride. It helps Parm to focus his musical energies and create the staff/sword fusion that he discovered on his quest to save Hobbituk's bride.

Past Bio: Parm is the offspring of Saruman's dalliance with a woman of Middle Earth, known only to Parm as The Swan Queen. Upon learning of
 the results of his liaison, Saruman cast out the woman, whom the Valar viewed with undisguised pity. As a gift to her, the child born to her would
be blessed by the slowness of time, the child would reach maturity naturally, but at 25 would age one year for every 50, yet look as if he were 80.
Thus Parm only 36 Middle Earth years, Parm shas lived for over 550 years, and it looks like each year has been etched into him.
Last edited by prmiller on Mon Sep 12, 2016 11:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Hooray for the joys of June!

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Re: *The Character Archives!!!* See First post or Word Asid

Postby LadyGaladriel123 » Sun Jan 11, 2015 6:19 pm

Name: Aliriel
Nickname: Liri
Title: None
Race: Elf
Gender:Female
Age: 322
Height:6'0"
Weight:*sniffs* I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Green
Appearance: Image
Build: ^^
Marital Status:Not married, but I'm wildly in love with my girlfriend,Sythle. Yeah, I'm gay. Get over it!
Occupation: just an adventurer
Outfit:^^

Means of Travel: my own two feet

Personality: sarcastic, snappy, and irritable, but I have a very kind heart.

Skills Include: archery,endurance,swimming,calligraphy

Weapons of Choice: bow&arrows

Past /Bio:I'd rather not talk about it.
Family/Friends: Sythle-My girlfriend
Ridmahille-A surrogate mother, she got me through the pain of my past.


Name:Sythle
Nickname:Syth
Title:None
Race:Elf
Gender:Female
Age:326
Height:5'8"
Weight:112 lbs
Appearance:Image
Marital status:Aliria and I aren't married... but I'm gonna propose tomorrow! (don't tell her!)
Occupation:bard
Personality:I'm sweet, kind, and thoughtful... but in battle, I'm vicious!
Weapons:i'm proficient with a sword, but my greatest weapon is my voice.I've learned the Captivating Voice. If i sing, I have the power to hypnotize my enemies.
Bio:I'm the real daughter of Ridmahille. My father died during the war.
Family/friends:Ridmahille:Mother
Aliria:Girlfriend
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Re: *The Character Archives!!!* See First post or Word Asid

Postby Chariot Rider » Sat Jan 02, 2016 2:56 pm

Hello community

I'm newer here so if I am doing something wrong please tell me. Anyway here is my character.

Borodin son of Borofin
Race: human (gondorian)
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Weapon: sword and tower shield
Armor: heavy platemail
Skills: Sword fighting, history, sailing
Traits: honourable, chivalrous, honest
Occupation: captain of Gondor

Personal bio
Borodin grew up in the gondorian city of Pelargir. His childhood was filled with happy memories of Mariners and ships. He was a tall, slender, almost gangly man. He had shorter black hair that fit well into his winged helmet. At a young age his father instilled him with a love of honour and honesty. When he came of the age his father presented him with his families most cherished possession. A horn with the shape of a eagle. This represented his family's dedication to honour, valour, and reliance. He was to protect this horn at all costs as without honour what is a man? He was accepted into the gondorian military at a young age. He rose through the ranks quickly because of his leadership and tactics skills especially when on the defense. He always had a love of swords. He felt they were an honorable weapon. Bows and arrows could pick men off at long range wich to him always felt slightly cowardly. "If you truly call yourself a warrior then you would not mind a hand to hand duel" we would tell an occasional archer. Borodin instead of decieving his opponents would force himself to get better or band together to fight an enemy he would have trouble defeating. Borodin eventualy was promoted to captain. He lead patrols around Pelargir. His father was a guard of the citadel. Before WR Borodin was leading his patrol when his patrol was ambushed by a company of orcs. Outnumbered him and his party got into a phalanx and decided to go out with a bang. Borodin remembered his honour in what he presumed would be his final hours. He was however deep in his heart he was upset he had never had the opportunity to have a son to keep his family name and bloodline alive. He never really was attracted to women. His call of duty always was in his way. But that didn't matter now. He was going to fight as hard as he could. He didn't have time to send out a messenger but the city needed to know that this band of orcs was coming. He had all of these thoughts almost simultaneously as he began yelling orders to his men. He had trained his men to be ready to give thier lives for the protection of Gondor but now that the moment came when he would presumably die he just wished he could live to protect Gondor one more day. The orcs were nearing the company but before they reached him he blew his fathers horn to signal for help. When the orcs finaly befell his company he fought with everything he had. One Orc caught his eye. It stood taller and faster than the others. This Orc was presumably a leader. He had a scarred face with red battle paint. His eyes radiated with evil. Many a man stared into those dark eyes but few had survived the ordeal. Borodin stood up to face this orc captain. This duel was intense. Both combatants were skilled swordsman. Shields bashed and swords swung but birthed fighter refused to fall. Until Borodin felt a sharp sudden pain in his calf. Screaming in pain he fell backwards off the rock he had been fighting on and landed in a patch of taller grass. He blacked out from pain. When he awoke he was on a wooden table in a house. "We're am I?" He said to no one. A male voice spoke out and said that he was in the home of Brand the farmer. Brand explained that he had heard a horn when he was farming. By the time he had arrived at the battle it was almost over. He saw orcs carrying off a few of his men but he had seen Borodin fall into the bushes. After the orcs had left he found Borodin and he brought him back to his home for medical aid. He suffered no major injuries aside from the arrow in his leg and that would be fairly easy to repair. Borodin didn't know what to do. His men and closest friends had all been killed or captured and probably tortured. As far as he knew he was the only survivor. Why did he have to live when he couldn't save his friends? Guilt flooded over him like a tsunami. But this guilt soon mixed with a newer emotion. Revenge. He had never really felt revenge before. His enemies had never struck so close to home to rip his noble heart in two. He would not rest until he had found this orcish filth that had no love of goodness, honour, or love. He made a promise to himself that he would find this orc and avenge his kin. But there was not much he could do now. He still had trouble walking let alone being able to be helpful to Gondor. He would need patience but he knew one day he would meet his nemesis again. And there would be no end to his wrath when that happened. Until then he waits.
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Chariot Rider
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Re: *The Character Archives!!!* See First post or Word Asid

Postby erinhue » Mon Jan 04, 2016 7:47 pm

Hmmm You might want to check out the Mithril Knights down in The Prancing Pony forum. It is currently the only (semi) active RP story on the boards. Read up a bit and then pop into the OOC thread and introduce yourself

I am the Guild Herald for the Grand Order of The Mithril Knights, Guardians of Middle Earth. The name's Erinhue, Warrior/Bard of Belfalas, song or sword at your service :D
"Where ever you go, there you are." - Buckaroo Bonzi

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erinhue
Warrior/Bard of Belfalas Illuvatar's Bright Spirit

 
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Location: Just south of Ground Zero
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