All Servants of the Secret Fire should post their character Bios here, and I will then organize them alphabetically in this first post.
Servant's Stories: Being the Origin Tales of our Kin
Chief, Servants of the Secret Fire
Athelian used to spend her days happily decorating and cleaning her house in Breeland, making pork chops for her squat husband Nogg and giving her children horse and cart rides to and from the Bree school. She rarely concerned herself with the ominous reports from the Bree Herald about the evil stirrings in the East and the rumors of impending war. It was a simple and quiet life, yet in her heart, she yearned for adventure.
One day, while shopping for taters and lard in The Shire, she came across a rather confused and indignant looking hobbit with a pancake on his head. He was handing out pamphlets. “Mae govannen, sir”, she said. “Will you help me?” he replied. “My name is Biffbo and I wish to gather together a group of warriors to help the Big Folk in their fight against Sauron. I am going to be the leader of this group and they shall be named The Servants of the Secret Fire”.
Athelian reluctantly accepted the pamphlet Boffo handed her, wondering why this strange hobbit thought she was a warrior. As she glanced over it, something stirred in her…a longing to travel to far lands and slay hideous creatures.
She read over the job descriptions listed in the pamphlet. The Guardian position immediately caught her eye. “Guardians protect the weak. They bravely stand in front of the enemy and draw his attention from the others." "What a perfect job for a mom! I can slay foul beasts and be home in time to make dinner!” she thought.
“I’ll do it!” she said, running into the auction house to purchase armour and weapons.
Since that moment, Athelian has been running around Middle Earth, throwing herself in harms way and protecting the innocent, whether they want it or not.
From Gondor did come young Bereleth Longbranch, only daughter of a man who was away from home so much of the time she didn't even know him and a stepmother who was more concerned with her appearance and social standing than with raising a child.
So off Bereleth went into the woods to play with the animals every day for years and years. When she was grown, it was there in the woods that she met seven Dwarves from the Blue Mountains who were quite lost indeed. They kidnapped her and took her back to their cabin where they forced her to cook and clean for them.
One afternoon while the Dwarves were off "prospecting" (which meant they were busy getting drunk at the local Inn) an old woman happened by the cabin (how she got there is a mystery to this day since it was far off the beaten path otherwise Bereleth would have managed to find her way out already of course). The old woman handed over an apple promising that it was poisoned and would end her misery.
"That seems a bit extreme," Bereleth told the old woman. "I'd rather simply escape the way you came in."
"Don't be daft, girl! That's not how this story is supposed to go."
"But I don't like this story. Let's rewrite it. You eat the apple."
"Bah! Idiot girl!" Shrieked the old woman, and stuffed the apple into Bereleth's mouth.
Bereleth woke up days later in a prison with some Ranger named Amdir who extorted help in breaking some Hobbits out of their cells in return for killing the crazed bandit fellow who was about to kill her off. Naturally, since she had no desire to be slain by the hideously disgusting bandits, she complied.
The rest is another tale for another time.
Founder of the Servants of the Secret Fire
My lineage is a noble one that extends well and far beyond the pathetically parochial reaches of the average hobbit mind. I am descended from the great Bimbo Proudbottom who once was acquainted with a hobbit from the Southfarthing who was a cousin twice removed of a lass from Hardbottle who once heard someone tell a tale of their great grandfather seeing from afar (and possibly even brushing up against) the great Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took. As such, my blood is often stirred by tales of deeds and doings from distant lands and I have become quite dismissive and contemptuous of the silly fat hobbits of my hopelessly insular birthplace. I also enjoy the placing of pancakes atop my head......Below is an explanation of why, and how I came to fashion this inimitable kinship:
The Servants of the Secret Fire were forged in the fires of the ridiculously indignant designs of a diminutive hobbit of uncertain identity, though it is know that he was a direct descendant of the wise, yet debilitatingly obtuse, Bimbo Proudbottom, in the latter part of the Third Age of Middle Earth. Let us call him Biffbo. As rumors of war to the East began to penetrate the impenetrable Shire, they were largely dismissed by the majority of halflings, who continued their usual slumber. However, not all were unaffected.
Biffbo, who at the time was living in a tenuous situation on the border of Buckland and the Old Forest (he had been evicted from his hole for "unacceptable arrogance"), heeded the words of passing dwarves, elves, and the occasional fox, who warned of a great evil approaching. As he prepared for the inevitable onslaught upon his person (for he naturally assumed the War was directed at him, due to his delusional perception of himself as a hobbit of great importance), it seemed to him that a menacing host of foul fly swarms, malicious mice, and belligerent badgers were mustering in the grasslands outside of his humble abode (which was, in effect, a 3-foot hole he had dug for himself, although he will deny this). Rather than cower in fear, or flee to the West, Biffbo placed his tin-foil cap upon his head, and invoked the glory of his ancestors, who were thought to have once possibly known someone who had almost certainly seen, from a safe and respectable distance, the Great Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took. Biffbo's glorious heritage demanded that he fulfill his duty, immediately after he had a bit of breakfast and a couple seed cakes, and of course a generous helping of cold chicken, pickles, buttered taters and yellow cream. Actually, Biffbo had quite a long nap as well, after which he woke up, puffed on his pipe for a bit, napped again for a while, and then set to eating some head cheese leftover from the previous evening.
Following this interlude, Biffbo became very indignant.
After smiting a particularly large squirrel with a ridiculously large ham sandwich (conveniently the only weapon on hand), Biffbo found himself in the throes of a ferocious battle with a great winged beast made of flame and ash and other horrid substances (it was in fact, a small, furry brown bat, but Biffbo continues to deny this). Biffbo grappled with this nameless horror as he hurtled ever downwards, into a seeming abyss, with no beginning or end. Before long, Biffbo and the beast hit a floor of cold water, at which point Biffbo's adversary became a writhing reptilian form. It was horrible and Biffbo was hungry and in need of a nap. Nonetheless, after much drowning and escaping, and running about on snowy mountaintops and falling and hitting and swatting and falling again, Biffbo smote his assailant upon the ground, only to swoon and fall into deep darkness. During this shameful blackout, Biffbo claims to have seen a flame burning in a black void. As he approached it, a deep voice emanating from the flame apparently declared: "Pancake, good. Sauron, bad."
Biffbo awoke transfixed and inspired. The familial pride that had stirred in His heart had been elevated and sanctified. No longer was there simply pride and vengeance. There now lay before Him a duty of the highest order - a Quest in service of Iluvatar. Biffbo gathered all those of high name to his side, placed marmite upon their heads, and dubbed all those who would follow him, Servants of the Secret Fire. All those who would heed the advice of the Flame Imperishable, and stand in opposition to the dark designs of the Dark Lord Sauron (and his late master, Morgoth) were awarded membership to this inimitable brotherhood, provided that they either knew famous people or knew people that knew famous people. There first came Athelian of Rohan, whose grandmother was acquainted with a brave fellow who claimed to have shaken the hand of one whom had (with his bare hands) cleaned the horse dung from Eorl the Young's cousin's stables, and Finduilion, who possessed a painting of someone that was once laughed at by Anarion, son of Elendil. There was also Nogg the Dwarf, who knew a dwarf who knew a dwarf who knew a dwarf who knew a dwarf whose great grand uncle had once been "accidentally slapped" by Dáin I, son of Náin II, the last King of Durin's Folk united. And there were many others of equal importance. Since then, a growing band of enlightened individuals of all races and creeds have been touched (or rather, singed) by the Secret Fire, and have been ridiculously (and indignantly) filling Middle Earth with the sounds of their shrill, yet determined voices.
Since that time, Biffbo has sailed West across the Sea, and sits comfortably on a stack of pancakes, at the right hand of Eru himself (honestly...not joking here). From this august seat, Biffbo declared in a voice that shook the Earth to its very foundations (and promptly had him arrested for violating a noise ordinance) that Athelian the Fair shall acquire all his temporal and heavenly powers, and that all shall grovel before her, and avert their eyes, and praise her with great praise.
-P.S. I, the humble scribe of the Servants, wrote the last paragraph above only under extreme duress. It was dictated to me by Athelian the Cruel, who threatened to turn me into a newt and squash me into jelly if I did not write it, and.....aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.
Eddardric Starkfoot is a hobbit of fifty years - close to the same age that Mad Baggins was when he departed the Shire suddenly with a dozen and one dwarves. Eddardric, however, appears to have gained the wrinkles of fifty additional years upon his weather stained face, along with gray hair to match it. He appears to carry a sort of worry about him very unlike many hobbits, and even the curmudgeonly elderly of Brockenborings felt an additional gloom at his approach, which was never looked upon kindly because gloom was second only to gossip-mongering as their own realm of expertise.
And gossip they do, in Eddardric's case, and rumors abound about his past. He certainly doesn't help the situation by being so secretive about himself, as withholding information only makes the curious even more so. He has denied every plausible story that those curious hobbits have confronted him with, and his gruff attitude and general lack of humor have earned him the nickname "The Dwarf of Overhill". None would actually say that name in his presence, however, partly due to his history of lecturing a hobbit to tears when he perceived what he would call "an affront to his honor and station", and partly due to the fact that he was an imposing figure of a hobbit, since he was as strong and healthy as he was dour.
What most hobbits do not know is that Eddardric feels a strong sense of duty which guides all of his actions, a code of conduct that he placed upon himself which encompasses his desire to protect potential victims of the numerous evils that are gathering strength in these days. Evils that no sensible hobbit would give credence to the rumors of. Yet Eddardric spends all of his efforts to this end, fighting anything that he perceives as evil, perhaps out of a sense of guilt that he could not protect his family from whatever horror had devoured them according to the latest rumor.
His honor dictates that he does no harm to any living thing he sees as innocent, and before any task he will spend a fitting amount of time brooding over the injustice of the world. Once he has completed his ritual gloom session, he sets out determined, stoic, and just under 4 feet of bottled indignation.
I am called Fialar. I am dwarf, giant and cockerel, brimstone, deep stone and deep earth. I am Skallagrim, Broadbeard, Helm-less hewer, Son of Erebor, Hammer-shard of Mahal, whom the elves call Aule. I am the sinews of a bear and the sound of a cat's footsteps. Fear me only if you do ill.
What can one say? With a name more like a Hobbit's, and a delight in the culinary arts of the same, she is quick of mind and wit, has the musical talent of a collection of five year olds given pots and pans, and Frostflower has barely enough grace to sew a straight line (and is more likely to stab herself into a faint). For all her faults, Frosty was blessed with enough curiosity to drive a bag of cats to distraction,
Her parents were traders, and the time Frosty spent in the Shire as a wee lass (or a tall hobbit) certainly shows in much of her outlook and upbringing.
All of which resulted in Frostflower hardly being the typical girl of Rohan.
Which is probably why she's not still there....
An Elf hailing from Mirkwood. She's left her forest home in order to chronicle the deeds of the free peoples of Middle Earth. She's spent considerable time within Bree-lands and the Lone Lands watching as Elf, Man, Dwarf, and, surprisingly, Hobbits go about accomplishing great deeds. One Hobbit that has piqued her interest goes by the name of Boffo Proudfoot. She's observed this hobbit several times within Bree. Frankly she's not sure how he came into his position of power, but she will continue to observe in hopes of having this mystery unearthed.
Kigelia (Sausage Tree) Fumblefoot is a very well-behaved hobbit lass just entering her 'tweens. As a child, she lived in a waggon in Waymeet with her parents, grandparents, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, cousins, and some old hobbit gentleman whom no one would claim, who liked to stick things in his nose.
The family waggon was quite versatile, and doubled as a sausage stand. Kigelia's gaffer (grandfather), Orville Fumblefoot, having fallen into one too many rivers, decided as a young hobbit to settle down and start a business. Needing a waggon to run it out of, the good hobbit married his wife, Perdita Bigpockets, of the Michel Delving Bigpockets. With the money in Perdita's pockets, Orville bought the waggon and all of its furnishings. Orville and Perdita parked on the corner in Waymeet, and began selling sausages to all and sundry.
Kigelia's father, Standford Fumblefoot, continued the family business, and has expanded to the point of adding sleeping cots in the back garden for all the family that doesn't fit in the waggon. Greatly appreciative of this move, the family grumbled about someday buying an actual hole or house to live in, but nothing came of the grumbles but an unexplained and sudden lack of sausage.
Kigelia was born in this friendly atmosphere, and named after the tree the family gets its sausage from. Orville insists he never named the tree, and therefore Kigelia should be named Wood, but her mother, the most excellent and well-bred Iris Haybank, refused to allow her daughter to be named Wood. When another squabble and sausage raid came from this unorthodox behaviour, the Fumblefoots stumbled their way into Hobbiton, to speak with Eliana Smartbritches, the local advice columnist, to see what she had to say.
Goodhobbit Smartbritches, being a very wise and learned hobbit, looked up "sausage tree" in her Orange Book of Obscure Names, and discovered the name Kigelia. To this, all agreed, and Kigelia Fumblefoot was an official member of the family.
Being one with this great history, and wishing to add her part to the familial sausage business, Kigelia could almost always be found standing at the sausage stand, eating sausage. Thus it was that she grew into a most lithesome and beautiful hobbit lass.
A dutiful daughter, Kigelia paid close attention to her lessons, and to the wisdom of her elders. It was in these lessons that she learned of the untoward disappearance of two Bagginses, a Gamgee, a Brandybuck, and a Took. As it was rumored that the Bagginses had dealings with dwarves, it was assumed that the missing hobbits ended up as meals for hungry and sausageless dwarves. Kigelia learned her lesson well, and always gives dwarves enough sausage that they shouldn't carry her off and eat her.
As she grew, Kigelia began hunting wild boars, bringing them back to the waggon to be turned into sausages. If said boars happened to be on some farmer's land, why, it mattered not to Kigelia. She would bravely kill the boar anyway, thereby saving the farmer of a dangerous, and delicious, animal. Realizing the farmers would want to recognize her for her kindness, Kigelia would often help herself to double handfuls of whatever crops were ripe.
The day finally came when Kigelia decided she didn't like sleeping in the backyard of a sausage stand, and she bought a small hole of her own. Moving her things from the backyard to the new hole took several hours, as Kigelia, living up to her family's legacy, fell into every body of water between Waymeet and Folkhop.
Having just entered her 'tweens, Kigelia is up for adventure (such as falling into bodies of water and travelling all the way to Bree to spend the night at the inn), and has joined the Servants of the Secret Fire. She hopes one day to find the Secret Fire and cook some Secret Sausage on it.
The most valiant, yet most murderous member of the Servants (he has been known to clear vast forests of their entire squirrel populations). Though he sits in honor on the Council of the Flame Imperishable, there is nothing else known of this Grey Elf's shadowy past.
My earliest memory is of the cool autumn wind whipping through my hair. I was sitting in my father’s lap as he rode Anomir, his faithful battle-horse, swiftly across the open fields of Rohan. My father, proud and strong, raised me, his daughter, his only child, as though I was his son. I learned the way of the blade and my mind grew into that of a warrior. I remember my mother, confident and pure. She showed me that humility and meekness are not flaws, but rather they are virtues to which we must all aspire. With virtue comes strength, and with modesty comes honor. Though they have passed from this earth, their legacy lives in me: Lloryn, shield-maiden of the Horse Lords, Defender of the Halls of Rohan, Servant of the Secret Fire.
I am Nearamir of Gondor, a close relation of Faramir's (honestly) who has gone unnoticed, has been underappreciated and has endured universal mockery from the general population of Gondor. Not finding the situation particularly comfortable, I fled far away to Eriador, where noone would know that I wasn't actually related to the Stewards, and that Faramir was once forced to take an emergency bath after accidentally coming in contact with me in an alleyway in Minas Tirith. I have fashioned myself a princely figure in the Breeland area, and I occasionally slap hobbits around to feel better about myself.
Pareth hails from Gondor. Orphaned as a child, she learned how to take care of herself rather quickly and took to hunting. She became a sharp archer and she discovered that her skills were needed elsewhere and whispered rumours of a sword re-forged and the return of the king brought her west.
She bought a modest home in the Bree Homesteads and retreats there as often as she can. When not hunting, Pareth prospects for metals for her jewelcraft, and spends time cooking simple fare for herself and companions she meets in her travels. She has been travelling to the Shire at times, loving the joyous simplicity of the little people. She has fought evil in the North Downs and the Lone Lands. She goes where she is needed most and she is tireless.
Some say she is driven to rid Middle Earth of Sauron's minions since many of her family and friends were slaughtered by orcs who over ran Osgiliath not so long ago.
Pareth knows that eventually she will have to return east to help her people withstand a great battle that is destined to happen. Will she make it back to Gondor before all of Middle Earth is covered in darkness?
Martin Ravenwicke was born in the Man-town of Dale during a relatively prosperous period in the towns history, following the slaying of Smaug the Golden and the subsequent Battle of the Five Armies. His father, Barind Ravenwicke, was descended from a long line of hunters and woodsmen from the Northlands. These skills were passed on to Martin from a very early age, and while he became a master of all that he was taught, in the area of archery he truly excelled.
He spent his youth hunting and trapping in the wilds around Lonely Mountain, which often brought him into contact with Dwarves. Martin developed something of a reputation with the Dwarves of Lonely Mountain during this period in his life, often joining scouting parties and twice rescuing lost contingents of Dwarves unfortunate enough to get caught in the sometimes-severe weather in the area. He is considered a Dwarf-Friend, sometimes referred to by the Dwarves as Khazad Giluk or "Dwarf of the Green."
As years went by Martin found himself in the wilds less often for the purposes hunting and trapping. Rather, the majority of his time was spent scouting for the Dwarves in the lands to the south, and around the borders of Mirkwood the Great to the west for movements of ever-increasing numbers of orcs, goblins, and other vile servants of The Enemy. Although many of the men of Dale refused to accept it, war was coming and the Dwarves knew it.
When Dale was finally attacked by an army of Easterlings sent by Sauron himself, the dwarves were prepared. Most of the townsfolk of Dale managed to escape the army, fleeing to the relative safety of Lonely Mountain through the Front Gate. Martin was scouting the enemies southern flank at the time of the attack, and was cut-off from Lonely Mountain. He was forced to flee and traveled to the ranger stronghold of Esteldin. It was here that he met a curious Hobbit named Boffo, who invited him to join the Servants of the Secret Fire, a group of like-minded heroes intent on bringing a final end to the Dark Lord's reign.
Harpist of the Shire
The Snugglebutters have always been a quiet, humble family, quite out-of-the-ordinary for the hobbits of Bywater. For many generations, however, they have been known throughout the Shire as one of the best sheep-raising families (specializing in black sheep), and their farm has been rather well off as a result of their high quality black wool.
Within the family circle, perhaps the most revered and talked about conversation piece has been Old Tobi Snugglebutter's magical harp, fashioned by the elves over four centuries ago. As a young child, Shella found the instrument fascinating, but was never permitted to touch it, let alone stand within several feet of it. Since a wee baby, she had proven herself to be somewhat of a klutz, and her family took no chances with their sacred heirloom. This did not stop Shella from secretly playing the harp, however, when her parents were out or asleep. By the time she was a young woman, the farm girl was actually quite proficient at the instrument.
Her parents may never have found out her secret talent, had she not brought the harp with her on an "adventure" while rescuing a poor hobbit from a mysterious Black Rider. Unfortunate happenstances, combined with Shella's not-quite-so-graceful slashing about, resulted in the horrifying act of "accidentally" breaking poor Old Tobi's harp. Ashamed and filled with overwhelming regret, Shella informed her astonished parents, at the same time vowing to join the Big Folk's fight against whatever evil forces had infiltrated the beautiful Shire, and using her newly-admitted musical talent to bring hope and peace to all she met.
One day, she promised her parents, she would craft her own magical harp, with the help of the rare and diminishing elves if needed, to repay her parents the loss of their family heirloom. And so, Shella travels with the Servants of the Secret Fire in her journey toward that great aspiration.
The Shennanigan Story
The tale of the renowned burglar Shennanigan is a long and twisted tale of intrigue, suspense and much licking of toads. With the telling of this tale, you may laugh, you may cry, but probably more likely, you’ll simply fall asleep. In the interests of avoiding this last possibility, I, Shennanigan’s unofficial biographer, will keep it as short as possible while simultaneously stuffing it with as much gratuitous depravity as humanly – and hobbitly – possible.
Shennanigan’s origins may well have been lost to History had this author not gotten him rip-roaring drunk one night on Bombur’s Beard Ale in the tavern at Thorin’s Hall. During that evening, amid much loud shouting of obscenities at passing dwarves and low mutterings which seemed to call Frodo Baggins’ parentage into question, I was able to glean some important facts about his early life.
His place of birth and parentage were not ascertained, though there are some who say that he is in some way related to the Bracegirdles of Hardbottle, probably due to intellectual similarities. Shennanigan swears, however, that the rumor was perpetrated by Bilbo Baggins himself in a blatant attempt to smear his “good” name.
What is known is that he grew up as something of a wild child in Rushock Bog. The poor folks of Needlehole kindly took him in, but he would always be more of a nuisance than anything else, given his rampant kleptomania. Fortunately for the good people of Needlehole, he was exceptionally bad at it. As an adolescent he seemed well on his way to becoming a complete boggard, spending most of his time trying to steal ale from the dwarves, singing bawdy drinking songs and licking the backs of toads in the bog. His best friend was another young hobbit named Egwise, who came from a respectable family in town, and helped plan his ale heists. Imagine the family’s disappointment. The height of Shennanigan’s ambition at this time of his life was to travel to Frogmorton and see if the frogs there might give him a better high.
His life changed when he had the audacity to ruin the annual Needlhole cooking contest by entering his favorite dish, Bog Slug Etoufee, which made every hobbit in the town (being hobbits, they all have to taste every dish at the contest) sick for days. Finally fed up with his antics, they threw Shennanigan out of town. Upset that he didn’t win the contest and bewildered by everyone’s lack of appreciation for his obvious contribution to the town, he set forth from Needlehole swearing to become “the most famousest of hobbits,” and to return one day and steal the underwear of all its inhabitants as well as any toads he might happen to find on the premises. “That’ll teach’em,” fumed Shennanigan in impotent rage. Exactly how, I’ve not yet determined. From that moment on, Shennanigan came to see Frodo Baggins and his eccentric uncle as bitter rivals, whom he assumes are constantly maligning him and turning everyone in Middle Earth against him.
He set out for Frogmorton and after a long journey, a rather rude innkeeper at Noglond informed him that he had gone the wrong way “and get that disgusting toad out of my tavern, you nitwit!” Clearly, the Baggins’ had slandered him even as far West as the Blue Mountains! When at long last, he finally reached the Promised Land that was Frogmorton, he discovered to his horror that the frogs there, while not tasting so bad as his toads, had no affect upon him. Disillusioned, he wandered about the Shire until, after a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt to break into the Mathom House in which he donned a burlap sack with a crude smiley face drawn on it and attempted to gain entry by claiming he was Bilbo Baggins, a professional burglar took pity upon him, sprang him from jail and taught him everything he could about the trade. Had Shennanigan not lost so many brain cells to toad licking, he certainly would have been a better student, but he did indeed eventually become a successful burglar. He reconnected with his old friend Egwise, now a minstrel, and began to wander about Middle Earth.
During his adventures, he heard about a kinship known as the Servants of the Secret Fire. Concluding that said “Secret Fire” must be a very valuable item indeed, he sought to infiltrate the group in the hopes of learning its whereabouts so that he might be able to steal it. He gained membership on the highly doubtful claim that he was an aunt’s nephew’s father’s son of Bombur’s dietician and personal trainer. Once in, however, his attempts to locate this Secret Fire proved unsuccessful. At one point he felt sure that it would be somewhere in Rivendell and while skulking around a shrine in the Last Homely House, he managed to set the hair on both feet ablaze. With smoke streaming from his feet, he ran shrieking from the Homely House to the amazement of all and sundry. It is said that Frodo, when hearing the dreadful row, remarked that the noise reminded him of a time old Bilbo chased a young niece around the Party Tree pretending to be a troll. From that point on, Shennanigan gave up his search for the Secret Fire. He decided to remain in the kinship, however, as Biffbo, Egwise and Tule proved to be first-rate drinking buddies.
The rest, as they say, is History
Besides having a name that is pleasant to say, Thefren is a generally pleasant fellow. Prone to rambling too. A man of Rohan, he was the one that volunteered to deliver the important messages to all corners of middle earth. He could ride like the wind, but unlike the famed Riders of Rohan, he wasn't so comfortable in mounted combat. So now the time is upon us, when every man needs to take up arms in the dark days ahead, whatever was Thefren to do? Crack wise and take up the spear and shield of the Warden. Because if you can hold the line, that's good. But if you can hold the line and make fun of your enemy, that's waaaay better.
Tule was just a simple hobbit from the marshes, content to wiggle toes in the mud and dream of far off places like Little Delving. Then one day she got tired of waiting for a friend's letter to arrive. "It's not too far to ask the post master if there's a problem" she thought, I'll just head down that way.
Along the way she bumped into a wolf. "That's odd" she thought, as she sent it fleeing with a well placed swing of her lute. Wolves were such a rarity, something you hear about in stories not see on the roads.
Then some large smelly person accosted her, demanding some money to use the road. "Well, I never..." she said, and pulled out a club to express her displeasure with the man. "The Shire certainly seems a bit under the weather it seems."
Arriving at the post master's residence, she was told that nothing could be done, and wouldn't she mind checking out the problems for herself. Leaving in a huff, she set off down the road. Encountering more wolves, men, boars, and even enormous spiders. All of which she sent on their way of course.
Extremely put out over her adventures, she exclaimed loudly in the traditional hobbit complaint, "This is intolerable! Somebody should DO something!" Then an odd hobbit passing by stopped and bowed at her. He was not the typical sort of hobbit and was wearing armor with bits of breakfast dribbled down the front. She had little interest in conversing with these strange sorts ("probably a Took" she thought). But he just said "Why not you?"
"What do you mean? Why not me what?", she spluttered out.
"Why don't you do something?", the strange man insisted.
"Why? What? Who?", she was feeling a bit confused.
"You asked why doesn't somebody do something, and you certainly seem to be a somebody, so why don't you do this something?"
"Ow, my head" she moaned (a bandit had thumped her there earlier, and the hobbit's words weren't helping any). "But aren't there, you know, people that do these sorts of things?" she countered, "bounders and such?"
"Of course, of course. I do those sorts of things now and then. I'm certain you could too, if you had a mind to." Then he continued down the road, leaving Tule confused and irritated.
But the seed had been planted. It wasn't long before Tule agreed that maybe she should do something, and she hunted down this hobbit (who had helpfully left a trail of pie crumbs to follow). She was introduced to a whole group of people who called each other friend and went on adventures, some of whom seemed to have some sort of delusions. "Odd fellows they are and not the proper sort at all, but I can't deny that they do a bit of good" she thought as she joined their ranks. "We'll just kick out the bandits and scare off the wolves, and I'll probably be home in time for dinner."
Ulfi was born into the Stonefoot clan in the White Mountains in the year T.A. 2781. He was brought up in the mountains and there lived until his mother was killed in a tunnel collapse in the year T.A. 2812. His father Ulfr decided to take Ulfi, at the tender young age of 33, to the Iron Hills, where Ulfr's only brother lived. In the Iron Hills Ulfr worked in smithing and Ulfi took odd jobs mining and smelting. In the year T.A. 2864 Ulfi met and was wed to his first and only wife Grali. With Grali he had two sons, Uldi and Ulfr II. His children also went on to have children of their own and they theirs as well making Ulfi a great grandfather. In the year T.A. 2924 his wife also ironicaly died in another tunnel collapse while delving and Ulfi was left all alone. Having naught to do and the burden of his wife's loss to carry he decided to join the Iron Hills standing army. Here he served many years with distinction. In the year T.A. 2941 he was at the battle of five armies and personally killed 3 wargs and 13 goblins. As Ulfi grew older he left the army and went to join the guard in the newly reopened Thorin's Hall. Here he served until his retirement in the year T.A. 2998. He has recently left his comfortable retirement to carry his axe once more to defend the halls of Thorin and his people.
Last edited by Gandalf'sMother
on Wed Aug 03, 2011 10:02 pm, edited 39 times in total.