Name:
Elennína

Age:
790

Race:
Elvish

Sex:
Female

Personality:
Although rage left her heart many years ago, Elennína remains ever mistrustful of Men and Dwarves, some of this uncertainty even passing along to some of her woodland kin in Mirkwood; this could easily be attributed to her lack of contact with all of the above since the Battle of the Five Armies, and due to this, has seen a lack of actions from the three that could lead to her becoming more open-minded once again. Although hearing of men's triumph over Sauron's forces at Minas Tirith during the Second War of the Ring, she could not help but think of Isildur's weakness that had caused such an avoidable war in his lust for the One Ring, and the power it held. Instead, Elennína found herself having much more respect for the Hobbit-Folk, and the burden endured by Frodo Baggins and his kin for ending such an evil. However, regardless of her feelings for other races, Elennína will remain as polite and respectful as she can bare when talking with them. Unfortunately, a quick-temper and lack of tact can sometimes make such altercations tense, especially when it comes to important manners... such as the importance behind the meeting she now journeys to. Elennína cannot promise her emissary to keep her mouth shut in these talks, as long as others choose to consider what she thinks is the wrong - and foolish - path.

Outside of disagreements, Elennína remains the curious and adventurous soul that she was as a child; although more subdued in her older years, she can still find enjoyment in learning and enjoying new things and experiences; even new things about the Dwarves and Men that she has come to be wary of.

Appearance:
Like most of her kin, Elennína's stature is both tall and lithe; standing at a height just short of 6 foot, her slender frame and natural lightness allows her to move faster and quieter than any mortal man could. Even among her kin, she is known for her speed both on the ground and among trees - although not a Silvan elf, her years in Mirkwood has given her more than enough practice in traversing branches and leaves, quiet enough to evade even the most scrutinising eyes and ears. Her looks too are typical of an elf; an angled and symmetrical face, pleasant to look upon, even with her piercing green eyes and generally stern expression. Elennína's hair is not quite as immaculately kept as many Elves tend their's; preferring to simply pull it back into a tight ponytail or plait to keep it out of her way in a fight - otherwise, it hangs loose, the dark auburn tresses long enough to brush against her hips.

The fair skin of her body is marred here and there from scarring of past wounds; most of them, including the most serious, sustained during the Battle of the Five Armies. Most have faded away to nothing more than silver lines, but a more notable one sits on her midriff, curving around from her left hip, to just under her right breast. The skin has long since healed, but will never disappear.

Backstory:
Born in Imladris in T.A. 2450, Elennína's family descended from the great Ñoldo Orodreth, king of Nargothrond and father to the famous warrior-King Gil-galad. Her genealogy remains almost entirely Ñoldor, with influences of Vanyar and Teleri only having appeared in her very earliest of ancestors.

Although having been born in Imladris, Elennína and her family did not remain there for very long. Her father - being a quite forward thinking merchant - wished to move to Mirkwood, hoping the larger Elven Kingdom could provide more for he and his family; the close proximity of both the Dwarves of Erebor and the cities of Esgaroth and Dale also made the idea more tempting. Elennína's mother was hesitant at first, what with the dark shadow that had encircled the once green wood; Elennína too was unhappy. Although only 13 at the time - a rather young age for an Elf - she knew enough about Imladris and it's lands that it would be far more beautiful than Mirkwood, and she loathed to leave the peaceful Rivendell and it's people behind. The journey was long, but mostly undisturbed - her family were soon settled in the Kingdom of Thranduil.

Elennína did prefer her old home to Mirkwood, but she still found enjoyment there. The Silvan Elves had so many skills and stories that she had not even dreamed of in the West, and visiting the lands of the men and Dwarves with her father and brother were endlessly interesting for her. Her mind was opened past the discrimination of the species that still existed amongst elves, and in time she and her Ñoldor family integrated quite nicely into the people of Mirkwood, picking up the native languages of Sindarin and Silvan quite easily. As the two siblings reached adulthood, they enlisted with the Mirkwood guards, gaining skills in fighting with both sword and bow in order to protect their new home. Elennína wished that their King did something about the shadow over the forest, rather than just killing any dark creature that came too close to their borders; but she was young at this point, and didn't dwell on the thought all that much. It was several hundred years later in T.A. 2941 that she truly realised the darkness of their realm and the lands around it. The Battle of the Five Armies.

Having risen through the ranks of the Mirkwood guard at this point, Elennína and her brother Elenulo had joined the Elven host as it marched towards Erebor; the pair praised for being the swiftest runner and silent archer in Mirkwood respectively. A battle had not been expected at this point, so they had been merry at the prospect of the treasure awaiting their people at the Lonely Mountain. It wasn't long after the Dwarves were discovered alive and battle about to begin before news of Orcs came to them. As the host of darkness crested the hills in the distance, Elennína and Elenulo had promised to stay by each other's side, for if they were together, then they couldn't possibly fall.

However, as happens in war, such plans rarely go ahead without a hitch. She had lost him for what had been only a few seconds in her mind, but in the thick of battle, it had been impossible to stay with him. It was only when the dust cleared and their foes defeated did she find Elenulo, cut down by some unknown opponent, and barely clinging to life. She had held him and wept in his final moments, unable to do anything but watch as he bled out. The battle had been won, but at a high price.

After losing her beloved brother, Elennína could not bear to stay in Mirkwood any longer. An anger that she had never felt before raged in her heart, pinning the blame of his death on all parties involved in the battle; Thranduil, the humans, the Dwarves, the Orcs, and of course, herself. It was easy to hate the orcs, but she felt discomfort at her fury towards all others. They had lost beloved ones too, but the anger kept a firm hold of her - it would only do for her to leave, for peace eluded her in the stifling forests of Mirkwood.

She travelled a while, avoiding most and keeping to herself before her travels brought her back to her birthplace; Imladris. It was just as peaceful and calm as she had remembered, and so sought the council of Lord Elrond. Having already heard of the events that had transpired in the east, and the death of her brother, Elrond offered her teachings in the way of healing; out of all the magic she had developed (Which wasn't a whole lot), healing had been an art that had eluded her for years, so she had abandoned the study. Recalling how she had been helpless to save Elenulo from his wounds, Elennína gratefully took up Elrond's offer, and spent the next few decades studying beneath him. As time passed, her knowledge grew, and the fires of anger in her heart began to die down... but even since then, she has retained a distrust for Men and Dwarves. As the Second War of the Ring came about, this distrust was only instilled further in her heart; if certain members of their species had been less foolish and greedy, Elennína believed that this second War would not have even occurred. The flight of the Elves from Middle-Earth did not sit well in her heart either; evil still existed there, even with Sauron vanquished.

Elennína had been one of the several Elves to receive dreams of the restoration of Beleriand - she was unsure as to why such visions were granted to her and her kin, and if it meant they were destined to rebuild there. But Elennína had no desire to walk in those lands, other than a brief mission of recon with other Elves. East Beleriand was an alien land to her, and after the mistakes of the past still present in the ruins of lost cities, she felt no love for the place. Instead she remained in Lothlórien - the forest that held Caras Galadhon had been her home ever since Imladris was abandoned - and helped guard the people still remaining there. Beyond strange attacks on the roads leading to other cities, and erratic raids from Misty Mountain Goblins, life there has been fairly slow.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?:
A friend, Míriel, asked her to go to Dôr-min-Taur on her behalf. Míriel had once dwelled in Imladris with Elennína, and journeyed with her to Lothlórien after Lord Elrond had departed for Aman. Here she fell in love with a Silvan Elf named Sîdhael, and the two were married. In recent months, Sîdhael and his brother had left to visit Dôr-min-Taur to see a relative. At this point, they are very late in coming home, and had not sent any more letters since the spring, a good few weeks ago. Míriel, being heavy with child, could not travel, and so asked Elennína if she would undertake the journey to see what was wrong. She was only too happy to oblige, for Sîdhael was a friend to her too, and she felt a deep fear in her heart at the thought of what may have happened to him and his brother.

Other:
Although nearly all have left from Imladris, Elennína continues to wear their armour, although omitting the use of the helmet as she finds it obstructs her peripheral vision more than she is comfortable with. Although the chest-plate and other components of her armour is made up plated metal, it was made to be light and agile, and as such, does not slow her down as heavier armour may.

As for weapons, Elennína carries a bow of average Elven make; there is nothing spectacular about it, beyond the usual stunning craftsmanship of her kin in such weapons. It is in her sword that her true talent lies, and while no master of the blade, it outshines her skill with the bow, and the longsword named Amaford has saved many over the centuries it has been used. With it, she carries two knives, kept from her time in the Woodland Realm, for she would be foolish to not carry with her spare weapons. Even if she does not need them in an emergency, a fellow on the battlefield may.

Other notable items Elennína carries with her is a bracelet of woven silver, a token of good luck gifted from her parents before they departed for Aman; she also carries a satchel for treating injuries, containing herbs such as Athelas for poisons, and first aid items such as needle and thread, bandages, etc.

Name: Trewion Lhindél Magoler

Age: 230

Race: Elf (Sindarin, Silvan)

Sex: Male

Personality: As many elves do Lhindél sees himself as somewhat superior to the other free people. However he is not specifically racist, nor does he believe that he is above working with them. He is quite willing to try and judge individuals for who they are rather than for the fact they will live a shorter life than him. Lhindél is intelligent (though not as much as many other elves) and reserved, sometimes seen as quite uptight. He has a strong sense of loyalty and will dedicate himself to whatever work he is doing, or any person he wishes to be loyal to. His young age, for an elf, means that he is viewed as inexperienced by those older than him. While Lhindél has not seen or participated in any great wars he has a great deal of knowledge about these kinds of things and is far from naïve.

Appearance: Lhindél stands at 6'5", his height and slender build showing him to be Elven nobility. The natural litheness of his race is coupled with his fitness, giving him well defined muscles from years of honing his skill as a swordsman. His arms are certainly strong. His dark hair, left long and well kept, is from the Sindarin line of his family. It often will be found with simple braids running through it and is rarely tied out of the way. His skin is fair going on pale, with roughness in areas such as his hands – as you would expect of a warrior. His arms have light scars from training when younger but there is nothing noticeable. He hasn’t fought in any kinds of wars. His eyes are cold and steel grey, as colourless as his other features.

Backstory: Born in Eryn Lasgalen, Lhindél comes from a line of well-known sword wielders who are part of the Elven nobility. He is of part Sindarin descent through his father, whose skills with a blade are near unrivalled, but purely Silvan through his mother. Only aged eleven when the ring was destroyed he has grown up in a mostly peaceful land.

Lhindél’s early life consisted of training in the forest with his father and thirty year older brother, Ruiel. He completely neglected use of a bow to learn the art of sword fighting, resulting him being incredibly light footed and skilled with this. While he easily surpassed his brother, who gave attention to more than just use of the sword, he didn’t reach near the level of his father until he was over a hundred. Even then he still never beaten him.

Aged just over a hundred, and with Ruiel one hundred and thirty, the two decided it was finally time to leave Eryn Lasgalen and travel for a bit. So the two journeyed together; from Minas Tirith all the way to the borders of the Shire. Lhindél enjoyed these years travelling with his brother. After years of travelling the two returned to Mirkwood, returning through the South. The stop they made in Dôr-min-Taur was longer than both anticipated. It was here that Ruiel met and fell for a Silvan lady, and the two brothers parted ways. Lhindél left his brother in Dôr-min-Taur, forging a new life, to travel back to his home in Eryn Lasgalen.

Since travelling the world Lhindél has remained in Eryn Lasgalen, honing his skills further and participating in what he can as a member of nobility. He still keeps in contact with his brother, and visited regularly.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?: Lhindél is investigating as he wishes to know what happened to his brother, along with his brother’s wife and young daughter. He has travelled there before and thinks he is competent enough to deal with whatever may be there.

Other: His name translates to Son of Trewlang, Slender Star, Sword Song (Trewion Lhindél Magoler). This is in the order of father name / chosen name / title.

Lhindél wields a finely made Elven Saber named Hathelas, that has been passed down his family. It was only recently passed to him. Along with this he has the weapon Laegrist, a wood-elven saber that he used until passed along Hathelas. He still carries it as he is adept in wielding twin blades (though normally only uses one). Along with this he has a bow of normal elven make, along with a knife.

Name: Cassinia Fairbairn 'Cassi / Cas'

Age: 35

Race: Hobbit

Sex: Female

Personality:
Cassinia, or Cassi as she prefers to be called, is cheerful and upbeat, one to grin in most situations. Due to being very friendly she finds it easy to get along with most people and can forge friendships in unlikely circumstances. Her general friendliness is coupled with someone who enjoys joking, playing pranks on others and generally having a laugh. Sometimes this can get to an annoying point, though she tends to stop before she goes too far. Though generally friendly Cassi has a terrible temper, and very little control of it – if she gets angry, she’s angry. It really isn’t difficult to cause this as well. Along with this, though she is one of the hobbits who scout the borders she is naïve and yet to truly experience any kind of combat or hurt.

Appearance:
Cassi stands at 3’5”, with the typical stout and short figure of a hobbit. She has a soft, and round, face with freckles splashed across her cheeks. Her skin is fair, with her hands rough from years of using a bow. She has hair of a reddish-gold colour, somewhere in the realm of auburn. This is of a decent length and messy; while she isn't particularly good at keeping it, she doesn't want to cut it shorter like would probably be sensible. Instead it is often kept tied back or braided so it is off her face and doesn't get in the way. Her eyes are a bright, somewhat unusual green in colour. As Cas normally is working or scouting she can often be found wearing practical clothes in shades of green and brown; somewhat longer tunics and trousers, the kinds of clothes more suited to men. However when she is not working she will wear simple dresses in bright shades of green, yellow and blue. Like all hobbits, she does not wear shoes.

Backstory: Cassi is the fourth child (of five), and second daughter, of the current Warden of Westmarch. She is descended from Samwise Gamgee from his daughter Elanor the Fair, and was born in Undertowers (in Westmarch). She had a relatively normal and safe upbringing, but from a young age disliked being confined and had no interest in anything scholarly. She insisted in getting combat training while growing up, and her wish was granted as her father saw no point in confining his spirited daughter. She spent her time training in Undertowers and travelling to the Shire, often visiting the Took and Brandybuck family (along with the extended line of Gamgee / Gardener) – as the three families had kept close contact. The Fairbairn’s were probably around the least, however, due to their location in Westmarch.

As soon as she was old enough Cassi joined those who guarded the borders of Westmarch, and continued to train while choosing to specialising in scouting. She learned the kind of things she couldn't in Undertowers; survival, tracking and navigation to name a few. She soon gained a reputation for having an incredibly accurate shot, talented for her age and station but not quite to the level of an elven archer. While her fighting is adequate, her archery and slingshot skills make her good at her job guarding the borders.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?: Cassinia’s cousin, Roderic Fairbairn (through her father’s younger brother), was recently travelling around Mirkwood and specifically stopping in Dôr-min-Taur. Roderic was around seven years older than Cassi, and she knew him well enough. Along with this one of her closer friends in the scouts, Theobald, was good friends with Roderic and wishes to know what happened to him. So Cassi is setting off to investigate, both for the chance of adventure and to find out what happened to her cousin.

Other: Cassi is the great-great granddaughter of Samwise Gamgee. Her great-grandmother is Elanor the Fair, and her grandfather Elfstan fairbairn. Her father is his first son, and current warden of Westmarch.

Weapon wise Cassi’s main weapon is her bow, of finely crafted Silvan make. Given the name Egros (though Cas just calls it Thorn) it is a prized possession that she was gifted by Roderic after his travels. Her arrows are also finely made. Along with this she has a hobbit made slingshot and a basic sword, and a couple of knives.

Name: Theobald Noakes 'Ted’ / ‘Teddy’

Age: 48

Race: Hobbit

Sex: Male

Personality: Somewhat gruff in the way he talks, Ted is the kind of person that takes a while to get used to. He isn’t quick to trust and be friendly. Most people don’t get along with him at first unless they are the friendlier souls. Years spent travelling in isolation has created something of an unsocial and quiet man. Though more likely to listen to a conversation that participate in it, Ted is not unkind. While he can be difficult to become friends with he is not obtrusive nor does he pick fights. Calm and practical, he is most likely to be a background figure in any kind of group. However, his skills and knowledge of survival may occasionally bring him to the forefront.

Someone who has a difficulty fully relaxing, when Ted is in company of those he trusts he becomes more jovial. He has many tales to tell for his forty-eight years. He will not be the one making jokes but he is quite happy to laugh along with them. And, just like any hobbit, he enjoys the company of a good drink and some pipe-weed.

Appearance: Ted stands at 3’6”, just in the taller ranges of hobbits (though not by much, and hardly above average by any means). His somewhat round face is more angular than most hobbits with gaunt lines from years living in the outdoors and away from the easy going lifestyle of most Hobbits. Of a sturdy built, Ted has well defined muscles and very few of the soft lines you’d expect. He still has something of a stomach (he does enjoy drinking as much as the next Hobbit) but has the body of one with a clearly active lifestyle. His hair is brown and curly, kept relatively short so it can’t get in the way. He has eyes that are a couple of shades darker than his hair, but still a similar dull brown. His skin is soft and tanned brown, somewhat ruddy, and blemished with the kinds of scars you’d expect of someone who now essentially lives in the wilds.

Backstory: Born in Hobbiton as one of the middle children of nine, Ted’s family were farmers first and foremost. Ted grew up learning the trade of his family but always an adventurous sort, running away to explore and play fighting with sticks against any of his siblings who would allow it. He always wanted more to life than just settling down with a family.

When he was a bit older, but not quite the age of majority, Ted left his family and moved to Bree. Here he found someone who trained him in how to use a sword, and improved his own use of a slingshot. He learned how to survive out in the wilds, cover a trail and follow one. After a few years in Bree Ted, now aged thirty four, set out to explore the world.

He travelled from years, exploring the lands now nearly abandoned by elves and their beautiful cities. He visited a few strongholds of the dwarves, but only remained briefly. He then moved on to the lands of the humans; spending his time in Rohan and going as far as Dale and Esgaroth upon the Lake. He met many people in his time, and travelled with a few between cities, but spend much of his time alone in wilderness away from civilisation.

Some years after he had set out, perhaps six or so, Ted found himself in Minas Tirith. It was in a tavern here that he met Roderic Fairbairn, a nephew of the Warden of Westmarch. As the only hobbits in the area the two started talking and a loose friendship former. This developed as they began to travel together, slowly making their way back to the Shire.

Ted returned to the Shire almost ten years after he had set out from Bree. While he had enjoyed his adventures, he decided to settle down just for a short while, and it was at Roderic’s suggestion that he joined the guards of the borders at Westmarch. With his experience it was easy enough for Ted to become and member, soon become a mentor figure for many within the ranks.

Ted has had this job for five years now, and is beginning to get restless from staying in one place for so long.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?: Roderic, the hobbit that Ted travelled with for a few years and arguably his closest friend, recently travelled to Dôr-min-Taur. Since then there is has been no correspondence from him though the two kept in contact normally. Ted wants to know what has happened to him, as does Cassinia Fairbairn; cousin of Roderic and a member of the guards Ted is friendly with.

Other: Weapon wise Ted carries a shortsword of human make, sized so that a hobbit may wield. Along with this he carries his trusty slingshot, which he is adept with, and a small bow (just in case a slingshot doesn’t do the job). He also has a few hunting knives.

Other equipment Ted has is stuff to start fires, trail mix for when travelling, other survival equipment and a pipe for smoking pipe-weed.

Name: Thurin Stonewrought III

Age: 112

Race: Dwarf

Sex: Male

Personality: Adventurous and passionate, Thurin's delved deeper and traveled further than any Dwarf in recent memory. He truly enjoys new lands and places to explore, and new foes to fight are always an exciting challenge. Of course, he's gruff and pragmatic, and shares his races stoic nature. He's fought against Orcs and Trolls in minor skirmishes, and has a soldier's outlook and manner, when the situation calls for seriousness. During his leisure time, he'll not shy himself from a story or a song.

Appearance: He's a tough and muscled Dwarf, with dark eyes to match his hair. Thurin's Beard reaches down past his belt, unbraided, though he has bronze fixings framing his beard to keep it a tad shorter so he could fight easier. His broad bladed Axe is finely crafted Steel, used as both a walking stick and his main heavy weapon. He had four throwing axes he can use as shorter weapons as well, if need be. His armor is made for light travel, though that still means he is clad in masterwork chainmail and half plate armor on certain areas of his body.

Backstory: Thurin III was born in Khazad Dum, one hundred and twelve years ago. His father was Thurin the II, one of the initial reclaimers of Khazad-Dum, who led one of the contingents of Dwarves into the deep as they slew the foul Orcs that infested the mines. Thurin I, his grandfather, fought in the Battle of the Five Armies as a young lad, having made an acquaintance of one Biblo Baggins, and later served in the War of the North. Thurin was born in a line of proud and admirable Dwarves, and he does not intend to besmirch their legacy.

When he came of age, he took to the Axe and tried his hand at exploration to aid in the Dwarves as they delved deeper into the earth. Ever reaching for veins of precious metals, Thurin was given the task of leading a few incursions into the lesser known roads of the underworld. At times they found nothing, having to come back empty handed other than fixing the ever increasing maps with dead ends. Other times, they found veins of ore. Mostly Iron and Silver, though they did find a Golden vein at one point. Thrice, they came upon pockets of Orcs in the deep places of the world, fighting their way in and slaughtering the foul Goblins with their finely crafted weapons. And indeed, there was one instance where they found a beast they had not seen before. A nameless creature they merely caught glimpses of, and decided to delve no further, for its bulk was massive and its very presence befouled the air, having become rank with Dwarven fear. It raked into solid rock as if it were dirt, and screeched as it fed on slain Goblins.

From his experiences of the vastness that is the deep, Thurin the III decided he very much wished to see what was upon the surface as well, and was given leave to travel the lands as long as he sent back word to his father of useful places to colonize. The Blue Mountains and the Ered Luin, the Iron Hills, and even into Beleriand for a short period, his heart filled with yearning for treking into the unknown. He was gone for 23 years, and returned back with many great tales and more than a few scars. Once he had returned (age 97) he had gone back to his previous life of delving into the earth.

In between his expeditions, he would go back to mining, for he had worked as a miner as a mere Beardling to hone his muscles and, as his father claimed, teach him a good work ethic. He tried smithing a time or two, and while no slouch, it wasn't his calling. His greatest love was adventuring, and because of his successes at finding minerals and new realms to conquer, as well as his family lineage, he was chosen among a throng of Dwarves to find the lost secrets of the silent colony.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?: Thurin's second cousin, Thorgig, was one of the Dwarves who oversaw much of the preparation of Dôr-min-Taur. When the colony went silent, Thurin's ageing father sent his son the adventurer to investigate the disappearance of their cousin, and the wealth that had once flowed from there.

Other:

Name: Nehanda "Luinrildë"

Age: 28

Race: Race of Men - Haradrim, Gondorian

Sex: Female

Personality: Having known the pains of prejudices, Nehanda is often quiet and careful with her words. She shies from excessive company and forms infrequent, but very strong bonds - all of which has contributed to her being an ideal candidate for Ithilien's guard. Her loyalty, if given, does not weaken or fail. She is not without humor and has a subtle, stubborn tendency towards optimism.

Appearance: 5'5", lean of build and almost "boyish" at a glance. Dark hair, given to curl, and brown skin are trademarks of her mother's origins: Harad. The only thing that she seems to physically claim from her father are blue eyes and finer features.

Backstory: Once there was Fuinur, a Black Númenórean who served Sauron and ruled over the Haradrim - some served him because to do otherwise was to embrace torture or death. Some, however, served him happily and fanatically: they were the tools he used against the less willing tribes across Harad. One such tribe, the Madaki, gave their women to Fuinur and many children were born of his dark bloodline. When Sauron returned, the Madaki tribe once more stepped up to answer his call.

The remnants of the Madaki tribe - women, children, elders - did not do well in the wake of Sauron's defeat. Their fervor for his success and Fuinur's strong genetics in their features caused them to be even more reviled by the other tribes. Once considered a boon to share such blood, it became a curse. Eventually, in FA 180, a Madaki woman named Aminah left her homelands for better circumstances and ended up in Gondor. She married a man there and among her brood of children was a girl she named Nehanda. Lingering prejudices against the Haradrim spurred their father into giving them more accepted names, and Nehanda was called Luinrildë beyond the doors of their home - a name inspired by the hue of her eyes.

Once grown enough to venture out on her own, Nehanda made her way to Ithilien and learned the ways of those there - both those of mankind and elvenkind. It was in that way that she became something of a ranger and entered Ithilien's guard. She was not one of those that stood out for excessive bravery or prowess with a sword, but proved herself a worthy member by having sharp instincts and an innate ease with the wilderness. From there, she joined a group of several elves and men who thought her skills could be put to good use for various expeditions. Eventually Mirkwood fell under their uneasy regard.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?:
The Ithilien rangers, once captained by Faramir, have only grown in prowess since the introduction of Elvenkind to their region. Despite Ithilien being its own principality, it still serves Gondor - thus, the rangers are not strictly limited to the borders of Ithilien and ultimately answer to King Eldarion.
With spiders spotted and the attacks on the road, King Eldarion began receiving pressure to find a potential source. Scouts began trickling out, expanding their nets and bringing back the increasingly foul news. Naturally, Dôr-min-Taur falling silent roused concern. Elves residing in Ithilien offered to lead the scouting troop to Dôr-min-Taur, driven by fear for their kinfolk, and Nehanda was among several Ithilien rangers selected to go.

Other:
Although she does not have any affinity for a specific weapon, Nehanda bears the trademarks of any ranger in clothing, gear, and weaponry. Her sword is plain and well worn, her bow of worthy quality but otherwise nondescript. It is only the dagger that has any apparent value, a relic her mother gave her. Despite its age, the blade has an ornate handle that still gleams richly and holds a fierce edge. She keeps it well hidden on her person after an Elf took excessive interest in the blade and pondered over its origins.

Name: Húldas "Brighteyes", son of Hárlas Elftongue

Age: 26

Race: Man of Rohan

Sex: Male

Personality: Húldas is still, at heart, a young man, though he is both a husband and a father. He is in turns brash, quick to anger and violence, nonchalant, charming, and callow, immature; yet he can be quite serious as well. He is perhaps overeager to prove his worth--in the relatively peaceful times of the Fourth Age, there have been precious little chances to gain glory and perform feats of heroism such as are celebrated in the legends of the Horse-Lords. The epic deeds of the riders of Rohan at the close of the Third Age are lauded in verse and song, yet the Men of the Riddermark now rest on their laurels, growing fat in times of peace. Húldas, although a man grown, although possessed of a loving wife and strong son, is restless. He feels as if he's settled---as though he was funneled into such a life without trial or error,without kicking or screaming, as a sheep follows behind the shepherd's crook, because it was expected of him. Just like any proud man of Rohan, he has a strong will and the stubbornness of an ox. He feels as if he must do something, though just what it is he must do he cannot say. Something, anything, before settling for the life that was thrust upon him. Something, anything, that he can say that he did because he truly wanted to.

Appearance: Húldas is tall and broad of shoulder, with a strong and well-defined frame. His nose is somewhat large---as a child, some of his fellows gave him the epithet "Hawknose", to his dismay---and presides over high cheekbones, bright green eyes, pert lips, and a somewhat weak jaw, which he disguises with a long and curly beard. His hair is similarly long, cascading in streaks of umber and auburn to his shoulders. As an éored rider, he goes about clad in the tooled leather and chain armor of his station.

Backstory: Húldas was born in FA 193 to Hárlas "Elftongue" (thus named for his mastery of Sindarin), son of Théomax, and Délba. Since the War of the Ring and even before, his family had lived in Aldburg as riders in the éored of the household of Eorl, whose sons have since been Marshals of the East-Mark and even kings of Rohan. Húldas' great-great grandfather, Éothain, was an éored rider and captain in the company of the later King Éomer Éadig, and had even participated in the great Battle for Helm's Deep. But Éothain and Éomer had a falling out (over what, however, is a well guarded family secret, though there are some whispers of cuckoldry that are unsubstantiated and considered to be in bad taste) in the wake of the War of the Ring, and his name was disgraced. Éothains' house has felt the sting of that rebuke in the decades since. The feud between the House of Eorl and the line of Éothain has been kept alive through petty squabbling, calculating snubbing, and brazen insults. What's more, to a certain degree, Éothains' line must weather it, for they are vassals to the royal house. Éothain's descendants have tried to take it in stride, not surrendering their pride but not committing any act of disloyalty, but the snubs have caused them to lose some face and influence at court, though it is widely recognized that the feud is nothing more than juvenile foolishness.

It was into this atmosphere that Húldas was born, and he has been under its influence for as long as he can remember. "Keep your head low"; "Weather all injuries with humility and grace"; "Strive to be a man of integrity and honor"; "Do nothing untoward". These have been the refrains of Húldas' life, and both he, and his brother Dúnmer, have raged against these constraints of iron since the very moment they first had reckoning of them. Hárlas expected nothing less than perfection from them, and if they failed to reach it, then it was the birch for them, and torrents of derision. In shouldering them with great expectations, Hárlas ensured that his sons would eventually come to resent him. Yet it was Dúnmer, the heir to the line, and not Húldas, who would rebel against their father. Though a gifted equestrian, warrior, and poet, Dúnmer in his teenage years gradually devolved into a drunkard, a miscreant, and a womanizer. Hárlas was distraught, but felt as if he was powerless to change anything. It was only after Dúnmer killed a fellow éored rider in a drunken duel that Hárlas could stand no more; he offered the life of his son as weregild for the life of the man he had killed, but it was soon discovered that Dúnmer had fled the Mark, whence no one could guess. In Dúnmer's stead, Hárlas offered his wife; this was accepted, Délba was taken to serve as a servant in the deceased's household. All of this happened when Húldas was little more than a boy of ten.

Hárlas was devastated by the loss of his wife; now he would be the one to raise his only remaining child. With the experience of Dúnmer still fresh in his mind, he was even stricter with Húldas. Growing up, he was incessantly torn between a sense of great obligation to his father and his line and a desire to carve his own niche in life. Secretly, just as Dúnmer had, he began to resent his father's ceaseless chiding; yet he never went against him, always did what he asked, and, in his own estimation, lived up to his father's expectations for him. Despite the family's reputation, Hárlas was able to secure Húldas a fine match in Éolyn. He is the father of two---the eldest, Hárwyn, a girl, and the youngest, Háma, a boy.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?: In FA 216, Húldas received a letter from his elder brother Dúnmer informing him that he was in Mirkwood, working in the mining colony of Dôr-min-Taur. He was evidently doing quite well for himself: he was married, had a young daughter, and supposedly had put aside the bottle. However, knowing how bitterly his father resented Dúnmer, and how he would demand that he return to Rohan to answer for his crimes, Húldas hid the letter and began a secret correspondence with his estranged brother. It was through this correspondence that he first heard of the worrisome return of Orcs to Middle-Earth, and the spider attacks in Mirkwood. Earlier in the present year, FA 219, Dúnmer wrote him, saying, "Something foul and fell is afoot, brother. I worry for the colony more and more. If you don't hear from me within the matter of months, then something's gone wrong. We cannot flee. The road through the wood is too treacherous, and ill beasts creep in the gloom. We call for aid, yet none will come to us; no one wishes to tread on cursed ground." Húldas wrote a hasty reply and sent it off, but, as he had feared, received no answer. He rode to Gondor, seeking news of the colony, but just as his brother had written, no one had heard from Dôr-min-Taur for some time, and it was widely suspected that something had happened to the colony, and nothing good. It was only then that Húldas told his father that he had known the whereabouts of Dúnmer for some time. Hárlas, just as he had expected, was wroth, and demanded that Dúnmer be brought back to Rohan. And this was precisely Húldas' gambit: he would travel to Dôr-min-Taur in order to discover his brother's fate, under the false pretense that if Dúnmer was found alive, he would be dragged back to Rohan to answer to his father. Of course, Húldas intends to do no such thing. Rather, he sees this as perhaps his only chance to do that something that he so longs to do, to satisfy the appetite that constantly gnaws upon him, to fulfill his greatest dream: to be his own man.

Other: Húldas is an éored rider, and thus adept in horsemanship. He is likewise an able-bodied warrior, and is particularly skilled in the use of the spear and the short sword. Instead of a bow, he wields throwing spears in ranged combat, which can serve a dual role as melee weapons in close-quarters.

Name:
Adelard Took II

Age:
52

Race:
Hobbit

Sex:
Male

Personality:
For a Hobbit, Adelard has an admirably quick and keen mind, excellent for strategy and planning. Not that that comes in very handy these days, what with the West being so peaceful; but he's yet to find anyone who can beat him in a game of chess. Adelard also enjoys puzzles; any type he can get his hands on, be they jigsaws, puzzle boxes or riddles, simply to keep his mind as sharp as he makes sure his soldiers keep their swords. Other than this, he has taken to learning of the history and languages of other races, even going so far as to learn some Sindarin, and a few phrases in other versions of Elvish. He's yet to wrap his head around Khuzdul, however - very guttural, that tongue. More recently, he's began to learn Rohhiric, what with the similarities it has with "Hobbitish".

Outside of learning, and making sure everything he has learned stays in his head, Adelard remains a rather friendly and cheerful Hobbit. He can still find pleasure in the simple things, for if one couldn't, they wouldn't be a Hobbit, let alone a Took. Conversations can be struck up with most as far as he's concerned, and he'll remain amicable with even the most dour and boring of folk. Everyone has something interesting about them somewhere; he just tries to find it.

Appearance:
In terms of appearance, Adelard looks to be your typical Halfling. Considered to be above-average in height at 4'1" (However, all of his family after Peregrin was born taller than most - Pippin himself said it was probably remnants of the Ent-Draught in their blood, although Adelard had to wonder if that was ever a true story.), he attempts to keep himself as lean as possible with exercise, although a somewhat portly stomach is unavoidable at the amount he drinks. His chestnut brown hair is curly, kept trimmed along his forehead, but let to grow slightly longer at the back and sides, even going so far as to grow sideburns. A dimpled smile is usually seen upon his round face, and berry-black eyes are often crinkled with laughter.

Backstory:
Adelard Took has been perturbed by a thought for quite some time now - in fact, such a topic has always been on his mind ever since he learnt to toddle and demands stories from his parents, but since his 50th birthday two years ago, Adelard can't help but wonder what he's doing with his life. The age of 52, and not one adventure to show for it! A quite shameful thing in his eyes, what with being not-so distantly related to famous (Or infamous, depending on who you asked) Hobbits such as Bandobras Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and his very own Great-Grandfather, Peregrin Took - who went off on his own adventure as a tween! Naturally, these stories had been told to him all of his life, and Adelard has thirsted for nothing else since. Well, not counting ale, of course. And pipeweed. Oh, and mushrooms, naturally. On second thoughts, Adelard has thirsted for nothing quite as much as adventuring than anything else in his life. But unfortunately, it would seem the foolhardiness of Took's seemed to have skipped him, for rather than wandering out into the wilds to try and find some quest to have, he remained in Tookland - helping his father, the Thain, with various issues in and about Westfarthing and involving the military of the Shire. For there remains a cautious streak to Adelard, and it is something that not even his curiosity can top. He would much rather be prepared for something with a destination in mind, rather than just going where the road takes him.

Reason for investigating the silent colony?:
Adelard has joined Cassinia and Ted on their journey to Dôr-min-Taur to help them find Roderic Fairbairn. While Adelard himself hadn't had much interaction with Roderic beyond the usual parties and gatherings at pubs, he still couldn't find it in his heart to avoid the rescue party. The call to adventure was too great; besides, the Tooks and Fairbairns had been good friends for several decades now, and Adelard wouldn't consider it right to let Cassi go off with just Ted. A fine fellow, but quite grim for a travelling companion.

Other:
Carries with him a simple steel short-sword, and an old Elven cloak gifted to him by his father; the very same one that Pippin had been given in the forests of Lothlórien, passed down from father to son. Although missing the brooch and several decades old, the cloak looked and smelled brand new, bringing with it a sense of ease that Adelard hadn't even realised he was missing when he put it on, at the beginning of his journey.

Name:
Lambin Hemming

Age:
27

Race:
Human (Bree)

Sex:
Male

Personality:
Though often accustomed to finding himself in the spotlight, performing with flute and fiddle, conjuring up cheap tricks, and challenging those that think themselves of fine wit to games of riddles, Lambin is dubiously unreliable when matters of his personal life are brought into question. It would be no secret that he tells any who ask an entirely different falsehood. It would be no secret, provided that Lambin didn’t have the unique gift of remembering each and every tall tale and who exactly is privy to each alteration to the story. Lambin is a pathological liar, and makes no attempt to hide it, simply because he’s so damn good at it. Everywhere he goes, he’s wont to change his stage name and his costume, becoming an entirely different individual on complete whim, easily remembering the appropriate alias for return visits.

Appearance:
Of slight build with little muscle and far less fat, Lambin barely scrapes past five foot six inches. He sweeps his darkish, mousy hair off to one side, exposing a face of fine features one would be more likely to call pretty than handsome. His cheekbones are high, resting above a sharp jawline that tapers into a similarly sharp chin. A gently sloping nose rests between grey eyes that seem to know more than they tell.

Backstory:
While accounts differ across the board, as to Lambin’s true story, those persistent enough, or crafty enough - and none are - would be able to gather little, but perhaps enough. They would know that in a sense of things, his upbringing was an unhappy one, he left home, and somehow took up the trade of bardship. However, anyone brazen enough, or wily enough - and none are - to steal Lambin’s journal, would likely find the truest account of Lambin Hemming that exists to date. It reads as such:

I normally wouldn’t bother with this. It seems a pointless endeavor to jot down one’s history when the only reference I need is my own memory. Completely frivolous, but Callum says it’s important. He says there’s something to be said about being honest to oneself, especially if one cannot cease lying to the world. Maybe there’s some amount of truth in that, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue. I’m worldwise, and Callum deals in all abstracts. Though I suppose he’s fairly worldwise too. Anyone that knows the man like I do can see that clear as day. Anyways, I suppose I am digressing. Where to start?

Well, I’m Bree-stock, through and through, yeah? I was born in an alleyway to a mother that died before the process was quite done. Somebody had to cut her open and pull me out, she couldn’t manage to contract just a little longer. I reckon that the man with the awfully sharp knife was my Pa, though I’ve been wrong before. We didn’t really talk much, on account of him not having a tongue and me having to pick up speech from the nice folk of Bree. Mostly helpful phrases like “off with you!” and “scram!”. All useful words in their own right, but only in certain choice situations. The kind that I was usually on the receiving end of. Luckily, not too many years into my prestigious life, my most likely father brought home a sweet looking girl that introduced herself as my “sister”. And when I say “sweet looking girl”, I mean a buxom tavern whore that couldn’t have been more than ten years my senior, aged five as I was. She taught me my words, but unfortunately my letters would have to come at a later date, from a different teacher.

She was kind to me, and got kinder still as I began to grow into boyhood, and then manhood. Not that I was ever much of a man. I stopped growing around fourteen years of age and never got much more than a bit of lean muscle. Clearly, however, that didn’t seem to matter to her in the slightest. Eventually it got to the point where I wasn’t sure who bedded her more often. Me, or my Pa and all the rest of Bree combined. Something tells me that she preferred younger meat over an old man missing three quarters of a tongue and more than a few teeth. Her name was Halla.

Well, old tongueless died eventually, and it really was just me and her at that point. Unfortunately for me, whoring around wasn’t enough to support a family of two, not without the financial support tongueless brought to the table. I’d like to say that we parted amicably, but really, she kicked me to the streets without a second thought as to whether or not I appreciated the sentiment. I looked her up years later, you know, on one of my first return trips to Bree. Spent a night with her in the same tavern tongueless found her in. She didn’t recognize me, and never before had I fueled so much hatred into one night of lust. I didn’t look for her again after that, and I never found her either.

Anyways, so there I was, yes? Alone in an unforgiving city with not much going for me besides what too many drunk men would call a “pretty face”. So I suppose I took to whoring myself, no? I took their coin purses if they happened to be especially tilted. Men and women alike sought me out, and barring the exception of Halla years later, I could never bear prolonged physical contact. That’s why I never sing and I never dance during my performances. Nobody wants to disturb a flutist while they’re playing, or interrupt a magician’s trick. Those two years were perhaps the worst of my life.

I left Bree eventually. Found a place with a little caravan. Riddlers, merchants, magicians and musicians, and that’s how I picked up my trade. That’s where I learned my letters too. Compared to the first seventeen years in Bree, travelling with the caravan was a significant improvement, and I can’t help but to look upon my memories of those times with fondness.

As a young robin must spread its wings and flee the nest, so too did I feel the urge to part ways with the caravan and make my own way in the world. Notice how poet is not my vocation of choice. I had funds, so I got myself a horse, a wagon, and some hired help in the form of Callum. His formal title is Spouter of Rot Advice and Ponderer of Existential Nonsense. Alright, I think I’m done now. My hand is cramping. I don’t know why I wrote this all down.

-Lambin Hemming

Reason for investigating the silent colony?:
Dôr-min-Taur was simply the next stop on Lambin’s travels, and he was not expecting to find the colony in the state that he did.

Other:
He has a bodyguard named Callum, (an additional npc that I’ll be playing) a skilled swordsman and passable marksman, though he carries no bow

Lambin prefers to get himself out of trouble with a silver tongue, but has no issue with avoiding conflict altogether, suited to stealth and skilled in the art