[hider=Thdris Tholyr.][center][img]http://i.imgur.com/BDBfNdS.jpg[/img]
[h3]Thdris Tholyr[/h3][color=707070]Dwarf. | Thirty-nine. | No magical potency. | Ranger. | Twenty years in The Company of the Wolf.[/color]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/WjaPFHd.png[/img]
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[h3][sub][sub]PSYCHICAL DESCRIPTION — [/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img]
[indent][color=707070]She dominates a stature neither admirable or worthy of intimidation, but only understates to the typical breadth of a Dwarva head. Fed wine, battle-song and smoke, Thdris is only impressed upon with her girth and lean strength woven dexterously through her thick arms and legs, and the shadow of facial hair crawling up an angular jaw. Barely cresting to the hips of her pack mates at a height of four feet with maybe a sprinkling of an inch or two, she compensates with wide smiles, and a whimsical sort of charm hidden in those cheek-carving simpers. Her body is composed mostly of muscle and bound in the limited frame of her origins, she’s often described stocky and stout, and not just in appearances. More often than not, Thdris can pass as a man, courtesy of her constant shadow that never quite crawls up the high-set of her cheeks bones, but remains instead along the edges of her face to feed into her thick and cording hairline.

Unable to tame the thick mass of tresses that tangles down a short spine, the locks are woven with twine, cords of various colours — mostly black-earthen tones — and occasionally bronze trinkets that don’t shine or twinkle, but appear to blend into the threads reminiscent of Imperial soil. They add weight to the voluminousness mass, providing a mild method of taming and being Thdris’ only illusion to any attachment to her family’s former practice. Typically, one would witness a dwarf bound and fixated in iron and steel, but betraying her constitution, this dame dons for leathers in sequence with cured hide and furs; fortified by criss-crossing chain surrounded by padded cloth. She doesn’t boast a personal set of armor, but instead just simply wears whatever she can mesh together and find or purchase from a stall whenever the urge takes her - she bears a natural aptitude in piecing such together without even trying. The only embellishment Thdris employs is a cloak of pallid fur with brown and ebony ticking genes from the animal it was skinned from, with a dire wolf insignia emblazoned with dye along the hem of both cape and hood.

Heralding a proud nose and deep-set eyes the colour of wine, and mouth always cradled with her pipe, Thdris once upon time was bequeathed with a fond title of being a pint—sized loveliness of earthen charm. However, interlacing scars over wheat-weathered skin, age, and harsh treatment from the elements around her have chipped and roughly bedded down her person. She moves deliberately and simply, almost stomping wherever she goes. Thdris trudges after the company on stocky limbs and thick arms clapping against their backsides as she goes [she can’t reach any higher now, can she] and clamps leather—bound palms over her hips in her wiles of thought and deliberation, performing comical expressions when perplexed or awed by the packs’ many experiences.[/color][/indent]
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[h3][sub][sub]EQUIPMENT —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img]
[indent][color=707070]. An aged dagger dubbed Atuna, of Dwarven make and usually paired with her sister Tunsha: a longer sabre not quite on pair with a long sword, but shares origins with its’ kin weapon. 
. Knives thinly designed for purposes better suited to underhanded, secret methods, totaled to five.
. Various flasks, all tightly sealed, with liquids that she’d rather not share - and that you definitely don’t want to take a sniff at.
. An elongated pipe, forged from bitter oakwood to give her herb of choice a particular flavour, dark and well used in smoke song.
. A pouch, greedily kept and filled, with herbs and plants of special intention and purpose, incredibly pungent and thick in aroma if opened.
. Her parchments all loosely bound in a bestiary tome of simple aesthetics, scribbled in her looping scrawl with various details about the fauna she has encountered over the years.
. Carries an assortments of leather thongs, all varying in length, some tipped and weighed down in steel weights and others in complex and well oiled knots. 
. Miscellaneous objects of twine and caltrops nestled together in her knapsack, preferred for traps and fun at gatherings of the pomp and royal.[/color][/indent]

[h3][sub][sub]SKILLS —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img]
[color=707070][indent][b]Beast Tongue.[/b]
[indent]As a Ranger, Thdris bears a particular connection and method with the beasts of the realm. She can cajole and woo most of the wilder fauna to either flee or simply allow the company to be. She’s known to tame some into her temporary service, mostly winged predators for their gift of flight and transporting missives. Her ability to track them would suggest more to the connection she tends to share with them, almost seamlessly able to traverse the wood without hindrance.[/indent] 
[b]Dual Wielding.[/b]
[indent]Brandishing her Dwarven-sisters of dagger and sword, Thdris has the method of dueling down to a finery. She’s not graceful or waif like a typical Ranger of the usual stereotype, but her blunt and brutal ability of short-arm tactics are well used against taller and usually large opponents.[/indent]
[b]Dwarven Constitution.[/b]
[indent]It’s almost naturally cultivated, a hardy wealth of immunity and stout defense. Entirely a passive, some jeweled up rumour, but has proven in Thdris’ stance against the wear of battle many times over. And with her staunch fortitude she has the natural capability that permits her vision to be quite useful in low-light situations; akin to the way a feline can peer through the gloom of night.[/indent]
[b]Veteran Trapper.[/b]
[indent]Though not as cunning as most rouges who employ the same practice, Thdris has a knack for developing traps designed for both beast and man, sometimes consisting of little more than rope and cleverly placed plants.[/indent][/indent][/color]
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[h3][sub][sub]PSYCH PROFILE —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] 
[indent][color=707070]Thdris would describe herself as a fantastical realist, sort of an enigma and a contradiction towards the appellation, but no less true or potent in the actuality of her person. Though fantasy is to deviate from the norm, Thdris views it as the method and practice of change and development, and pragmatic solutions may stray from ideals, but the universal need to adapt is ever of importance - and if not for these ideals, how would they progress? She fancies the dreamers, the bards, and the tales, but would never attempt to repeat their grandiose tales, legends are wonderful in song, but sometimes that is all they are meant to be. Now, in the blood and sinew of the creatures of the Realm, that is where some of the better mysteries and fantastical evidence lies, they adapt with time, they develop alongside the souls of the world and Thdris is utterly enamoured with their existence. Thus her preference of designation as a Ranger, despite all peculiar glances and inquires to her stature - shouldn’t she be a barbaric ravager of the axe instead? 

But, the earthy woman simply sees it as a direction of fate; in that individuals must ply away from the norm; that in that decision they find meaning and life and death. Tragedy, to Thdris, is viewed as a necessity though cruel and crippling, and happiness and fulfillment of living is bound by honour of life and prophecy. However, even with these conceptual beliefs, it’s difficult to discern exactly what the Dwarva woman is thinking or what lays beneath these intricacies. Her lips constantly remaining tipped into a small smile, almost, quietly, saddened and depressed with the wealth of her stare bruised and straight-forward. She quickly descends into banter, quips, soft-spoken advice and boisterous laughter in whichever situation is deemed appropriate to lessen the former. Her time with the company has undoubtedly bred a strong belief and foundation in the leagues of loyalty and its’ meaning, and never has one witnessed her wrath when you have garnered her trust.

Swathed in layers of complexity and smiles, Thdris is perhaps best deduced by her expressions and mutterings carried beneath her breath if one is to know her best. The depth of her wine coloured stare is where one can gauge the whirring process of her mind, the purse of her lip and the gnash of teeth in a grimace in the proper estimation to what she’s thinking or feeling - unless she happens to notice one staring. Her words often contradict such visual keys, trying to sway attention from the truth and attempting to placate the curious individual with the lies instead. Unfortunately, Thdris is a terrible fiber, and while she can weave an excellent articulation about some legend of a thrice-horned elk, she cannot blatantly say or convince she has ever actually seen one. Her charm lays within the curve of her lip and the staunch of her stature and position and the honour of her blades. 

She judges and accepts those in her company based upon actions and beliefs, by the method they carry themselves and the tandem in which they work with the rest of the company. But, no matter how much she may be fond of her companions, Thdris will always prefer the wild company of her beloved animals just awaiting to be discovered with her silver-laden tongue.[/color][/indent]
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[h3][sub][sub]HISTORY —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img]
[indent][color=707070]Tholyr Stronghold: a strong, and well bounded fortress crested high and nestled between sister peaks capped in frigid ice and sharp precipices of ebonette stone. Bourne in the cold and rock, Thdris was the eldest among three, and the massive span of the Tholyr family heralded a contingent of skill and coin with their various trades and contracts. Tradition was steepled high within family and birth rite, and it was that your bourne mother, or father, judged your ultimate fate and decree no matter your own personal skill or selection. It was simply the long-standing method of such things, and perhaps a prideful decision and demented practice to stay true to their origins when the Realm was no longer to be called their own. Thdris often overheard many tales of refugees in the garnishes of both Elf and Man, wars and kings that bled into tyrants and the stain of magic and Will that seemed to taint all that it caressed. She was perhaps romanticized by these stories, but such was all that they were, stories. They never went into the low lands, they only uttered what passing traders supplied, news carried by a second-hand and fed whichever furnishings of grandeur available so that they could persuade more coin and trade. Her dreams never suffered though, Kings seated on thrones of gold were there to sire her fantasies every night and in their eyes was the might of draconic fire. But, truth often swindles the cotton of dreams, and Thdris felt the first sting of such when her family began to temper that wild mind and train it to their practice.

Initially, she silently endured, learning the art of fire and steel, to shape and temper the alloy to your desire and design. Jewelry was their fine make and brought with it coin aplenty, her family were proud peddlers of bronze, silvers, and golds in trinkets, and sometimes rare components that naturally gleamed scarlet or emerald. Thdris learned them all and almost envied her cousins that were learning the creative freedom of bending steel and iron, they personally met their commissioners, learned the ways of battle to better design their wears for the fighting and the wars. Often, Thdris tucked herself away into the dark to visit her cousins in the stronghold, learning from them, hearing the stories of their customers and, sometimes, becoming lost in her drink until the dawn bathed the sister peaks in rays of gold. 

But, such was not to remain for long, the Tholyr eye spanned wide and her meetings were not kept secret for long. Though it wasn't dissuaded that she spend time in her cousins' keep, but only that it took away from her studies, and her parents of proud jewel-crafters would not allow their hubris to suffer her whimsical endeavors. It was like taming a creature, wild and splendorous, but the love she had for her family - despite their cruelty to dreams - kept Thdris in line for the longest time. Long enough that she was even betrothed to a dwarven man who transferred to the stronghold from another, and gave birth to a wonderful, beautiful child that had her wine coloured eyes and her proud nose and jaw - smudged with the finest hairs of red. It was complacency, but not unhappiness, she was a fire tamed and welled down. She was young, barely encroaching seventeen years of the sun, but such was common in Tholyr and tradition, as she would give birth to many sons in her age.

Her life would have remained such if not for the raids. Determination and stubborn brutality found its' way between the sister peaks, and a night of fire and ruin was all that Thdris would carry into her nightmares. She learned that Kings seated themselves on thrones of blood and bone instead of gold, and the light in their eyes was not the might of dragons, but the furnaces of hate and greed. Tholyr Stronghold was pillaged and taken within four moons, and Thdris lost her husband to a volley of arrows in the third rotation. Her child was already taken with the rest of the children and elderly deep into the mountain caves, she wept for days without him, but, he was away from the destruction. It was meant to keep them safe and from harm, but the final moon sealed their fate, and her own, when they were ambushed in the caverns and set to flame and sword. Thdris lost everything she had known and watched helplessly with the remains of her family as the Stronghold burned and rang with the triumphant calls of the dead. Hopeless, despair, and hate crippled her heart and soul and she found herself without reason or will and aimlessly wondered as a refugee until the remaining Tholyr line found lodging in several leagues in a little town called Verndral. The days from then on passed in depression and rage until Thdris nearly went mad with her heartache, she need a purpose, a reason, she needed something to cement her woe and to hear stories once more. 

And thus, when eighteen suns come about, she purchased a sword, leathers, and set into the wood to either find death or reason. It was here she met a woman, tall and elegant, poised in deadly ebony furs and wearing a smile of secrets and charm. She called herself Kylmi and the depth of her eyes were various hues of green, true spring grass and deep leafs of emerald, her face was pointed and pale; sometimes Thdris questioned if she were mortal, but Kylmi would only laugh. She offered the dwarf her friendship and here she discovered something akin to love and purpose. Kylmi called herself a Ranger by trade, she tamed beasts, traded furs with various towns, she whispered of riding aloft a stag of pure white that granted wishes of those with a pure heart. She told of great and powerful bears that churned the earth and planted trees, of deep creatures who lived in the seas and lakes that guarded troves of gold and treasures. Thdris learned everything from Kylmi, her swordsmanship and her own trade, she learned to smile, to laugh, and studied beasts along side her. When she charmed her first creature with speech and touch, Kylmi proclaimed her life renewed and her heart, though scarred, brightened once more. The year with Kylmi seemed to pass in a mere blink, and in the late nights she would awake to see the woman gazing woefully at the stars and moon, sometimes whispering of things that had not come to pass. It was on such a night, whilst camped around a fire and Thdris had successfully tamed a beast to her side for eternity, that Kylmi spoke of herself. 

She talked about Great Spirits, magic, the soul of everything intertwined and the deep respect of the Wood that many had forgotten. She was Elven and human and something much more that she would not whisper. Kylmi traded with Thdris the remains of her teachings and kissed her brow and told her to rest, allowing her to nestle against the massive boar she had gained that morning. If only Thdris had been able to hear the farewell in her voice then, and all that she left in her sudden departure were the dwarven sword and dagger Atuna and Tunsha and a letter that spoke of a poem about the honour of wolves.

She believed in the fate that Kylmi had set her on, as the path led to The Company of Wolves were she joined with The Captain and his followers, the band of mercenaries being her finality in escaping the nightmares of fire and death. She shed her former life, and like Kymli taught, applied her skills as a Ranger into their fold and began her own bestiary and collections, traveling and attending to battle and honour. She cemented and founded her reason for a new life, and in her dreams, she could finally revisit the memory of her son and the man that he would have become.[/color][/indent] 
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[h3][sub][sub]CHARACTER MOTIVATION —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img]
[indent][color=707070]Thdris is all well for the gathering of coin and honour, and she’d happily share that she has no intention to leave the Company no matter which task they’re employed too. But the reality of her heart is swollen with the desire to charm legendary and fantastical creatures and to learn their secrets of time and wisdom. If she ever mutters of vengeance, she'd hastily deny such a thing. Though, in secret, she'd love to find Kylmi once more, but Thdris long suspects the peculiar Ranger has departed the Realm.[/color][/indent]

[h3][sub][sub]SIGNIFICANT RELATIONS —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img]
[color=707070][indent]Though the line of the Tholyr has long been culled, Thdris still maintains contact with her cousins that survived the raids. She trades letters and missives with them and sometimes personally employs those of the smith trade to craft arms for the Company.[/indent][/color]

[h3][sub][sub]OPINIONS ON OTHERS —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] 
[indent][color=707070]x x x[/color][/indent]
[h3][sub][sub]OTHER —[/sub][/sub][/h3][img]http://i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] 
[color=707070][indent][b]The Dire Boar: Durduum[/b] —[url=http://i.imgur.com/yp8Ljo2.jpg]&[/url]
[indent]Durduum has long been Thdris' mount of choice, forgoing a traditional equine to carry her through their travels. Durduum's temperament in the company of his mistress and in battle is staggering, the large boar that stands almost on par with a common gelding, becomes an affectionate, nudging swine that has a severe love of apples and Thdris' affections. In battle, with her astride him, his squeals peel through the air in a terrifying siren, his charging brutality and strength capable of sundering armour, skin and bone. There's not much that can withstand a Dire Boar's charge.[/indent]
[b]The War-Hound: Tormalk.[/b] —[url=http://i.imgur.com/ajvx8Jn.jpg]&[/url]
[indent]Standing, on all fours, with his massive head nestled in the crook of his mistress' shoulder, Tormalk is a considerable pup of size and experience, having only been with Thdris for two years in the Company. The gargantuan dog is mischievous at best, tending to snatch meals away from pack members and stealing away some of Thdris' things to bury them deep into the soil much to her fond displeasure. Tormalk even goes as far as to annoy and tease Durduum, bouncing in an out of the Boar's tusk range and uses the deep, vibrating cavern of his bark to startle any unsuspecting members. In battle, however, there is no better companion to guard your back in the thick of the fight.[/indent][/indent][/color][/hider]