Grey Hill Inn Profiles

[Raithnait]

Innkeeper of The Grey Hill Inn:

History/Bio/Thing- A merry old widow, she ran the Inn with her husband many a year before his death, and she runs it now on her own. The Grey Hill Inn is considered for miles around to be the best place for good meals, drinks, and rest this side of the Misty Mountains, and probably the other side of the Mountains, too. Often the Common Room will be filled with songs or laughter on a summer evening, with the dear old woman surverying it all, her eyes glittering in seeming amusement as she serves some new traveller with blatant good humour.

Name - Molly Thistlewool
Age - old as the hill the Inn is named after. Never you mind, deary, it's not really important.
Appearance - petite and strong, hair of white, dressed simply in shades of blue and grey and brown, eyes of a deep clear blue.
Weapons - good food and better drink. Ready laughter and a quick wit that can unarm any man, elf, dwarf, or hobbit and put him at his ease.


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Help Wanted, Inquire Within:
Any young lad or lass that is in need of temporary employment. I have a whole Inn to run and I'm not as young as I used to be, not to mention the stable out back and the horses that'll need tending.

Send me a pm if you're interested in being a cook, maid, stable-hand, assistant-innkeeper(for those times of inescapable lack-of-internet when I need someone to cover for me), or whatever else you can think of that might possibly need doing around an Inn. I'll want to see a profile when you apply. It's not necessary to have profile to post in the Inn, just to work there.

~Molly/Rai, at your service*

[Mirelena]

Mirelena


Name: Mirelena


Race/Sex: Elf/Female


Age: 3,007

Family: Hand servants to the King of Mirkwood and an older brother who serves in the king’s militia. Toward the end of the Third Age married Elladan of Rivendell.

Animals: Findol- horse


Weapons: Long knives, Mirkwood bow and arrows, boot dagger and Lorien rope

Skills/Abilities: Stealth, tracking, silence, weapons ‘specialist’

Magic: Nothing out of the ‘ordinary.’

Occupation: King’s messenger, strategist, covert operations. Later on, Wife of Elladan and mistress of Rivendell (do I detect a trend?)

Appearance: Blond hair to the shoulderblade. Gray-green eyes. Brown, green and silver clothing including tall boots and a silver cape.

Items: A necklace, earrings and bracelet gifted to her by King Thranduil in honor of her hard work and in appreciation of her family… (Isn’t that sweet? I’ll see if I can find a picture because I stink at descriptions.)


Personality: the calculating mind of an assassin with the compassion of a sister/mother/whatever-you-can-think-of. Mirelena is an elf of extremes. :rolleyes:


History: Mirlena was born to the Royal hand servants at the beginning of the Third age after the Last Alliance had been dissolved, during the watchful peace.

Mirelena was the Jewel of the Stars to all who knew her. Laughing and smiling freely, music was as food and water to her soul. At their request of her parents, the King agreed to have their daughter trained and raised as nobility. She did not have the status of nobility; however her learning often came in handy.

When her teaching was complete, she became Royal messenger and ambassador for the King and Queen. Mirelena has traveled most of Middle-Earth on the King’s business. She has visited the Lady of Lorien, braved the tamer part of Fangorn forest and, while in the North, met the Rangers of old. She didn’t often travel with them until she wed Elladan and they traveled together. After the Last Battle and Elrond’s departure, Mirelena remained as mistress of Rivendell, occasionally traveling when it suited her.

[Ghorim]

Name: Helmin, son of Hurdor

Race: Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 134

Place of Birth: Iron Hills

Attire/Armor: Basic shirt, pants (with belt, of course), boots, and a thick leather vest. Usually wears a hooded travel cloak when roaming the land. Helmin's armor is fairly sparse, and consists only of a simple yet sturdy helmet, a pair of leather vambraces to protect his forearms, and two leather greaves for his shins. He prefers mobility in battle, so he avoids heavy plate armor.

Weapons: Ten throwing axes (four in cloak, four in belt, two in vest). One dagger hidden in his right boot.

Physical Appearance: Typically stocky dwarf, standing at 4'5". Black beard/mustache, thick eyebrows. His face is quite stoney most of the time, but his minute facial twitches (little smirks, frowns, etc.) communicate just as much as broad facial expressions would. He has a dark look about him; he seems harried and pursued, and quite world-weary.

Personality: How Helmin acts around someone else depends on how useful he thinks this someone is to him, or in some rare cases, how much respect he has for them. He has a rather gruff, off-putting demeanor around strangers, but can be fairly personable if drawn into a conversation. Dry talker, with a sense of humor to match. He's not on the road to make friends, however.

History: Helmin was working as a young journeyman in the Iron Hills, completing various tedious crafting projects in the half-hearted hope of someday becoming a master smith, when he received an order for a batch of throwing axes. After completing the weapons, Helmin went to a local shooting range to test them. His first few tosses were painfully awkward, but he quickly grew enamored, perhaps even addicted to the feel of letting fly such dangerous objects. He enjoyed the power of being able to deal out death from afar. This sensation stoked the smoldering desire for adventure that had long burned in his heart, and he quickly decided that smithing was no longer the line of work for him.

He created his own assortment of throwing axes, and while still holding on to his smithing job for the time being, set to practicing on his own for hours on end. He was blessed with a fairly gifted set of hands, and with his new, deadly tools he began to develop a startling proficiency. There was soon no doubt in his mind that he could put this talent to good use in the outside world and make quite a bit of money off of it, certainly moreso than he ever could as a blacksmith or a soldier. So one day, without warning the few distant friends and relatives that he had, Helmin set off to find his own grand adventure.

It took some time, but soon he began to find a good many odd jobs that needed to be carried out. In the human cities and villages there was a vibrant criminal underground, and people needed to be protected, others intimidated, and still others eradicated. Helmin became embroiled in several of these dirty conflicts, plying his trade as a mercenary of sorts and developing a solid reputation in several regions for his handiwork.

Only recently has he begun to question the nature of his trade, perhaps because only recently its thrills have begun to wear off on him. Now nagging doubts plague Helmin's thoughts, and he wonders if maybe there is a way out of this dangerous profession...

[Rosalee LuAnn]

Name: Rosaline, but more commonly known as Rosie

Race: Human

Age: 17 or so, she actually isn't sure

Place of Birth: Rohan

Appearance: She is a bit shorter than most girls her age, just above five feet. Her hair is light blond and slightly wavy, reaching all the way down her back, though it is evident that it is steadily turning from blond to brown. She usually keeps it in a single braid or in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Her face is slightly on the thin side, her nose is especially thin and turns up very slightly at the end. Her eyes, for such a thin face, are wide spaced, and sharp hazel green, when she stares at anyone they often find her gaze disconcerting, even all knowing, though she usually means nothing by it. Her body is agile, lythe, and compact, her movements generally quick.

Personality: She is very quiet and will rarely ever initiate a conversation unless she is particularly acquainted with who she is speaking with. She is generally very serious, to find her smiling is rare and to find her laughing is rarer still. This is her greatest weakness, she has a difficult time loosening up and just having fun. She almost never jokes with or at a person, and if someone jokes with her she will usually take them seriously; sarcasm usually escapes her completely. She has a generally unforgiving temperament, once she has been given a reason to mistrust someone, to regain her trust again is very difficult. She tries, however, to be fair minded, and give each person a fair chance at her trust -- though, obviously, sometimes she jumps to the wrong conclusions. She also, for all her taciturn and shy disposition, she is somewhat prideful, and an insult to her is taken very seriously, even in joking. She takes great pride in her honor, the very worst insult that can be dealt to her is one to her honor. She also feels strongly that emotions are for the fools that can afford them, and hides hers from even her closest friends. Her closest friend and confidante is her horse, Sage, one of the few living creatures to ever see her cry.

Clothing/Armour: She wears loose grey, blue, and green clothing generally, designed for comfort and trevel, not fashion. All of her clothing is old and trail worn. She wears old brown leather boots that come mid-way up her calf, which she tuckes the bottom of her pant legs into. She has a leather breastplate and shield, though she doesn't like to wear them day-to-day for the sake of comfort. She has a thick leather belt she wears around her waist that usually has at least one dagger stuck in it.

Weapons: She has a small and thin sword she carries when she believes she'll have use for it, though it is usually left strapped to her saddle. She is fairly competent with it, though she if far from skilled in it's use. She keeps a bow and a quiver of arrows, which she prefers above her sword, and is more competent with; When she shoots, as often as not she'll hit her mark, and if she doesn't, she'll be fairly close. Her preferred weapon, however, is the dagger. Or daggers, rather. She has fifteen or more of varying shape, size, variety, and worth. In her sleeves and oftentimes her boots she keeps those for throwing, and a couple in her belt. Most of them are hidden away, though there is one in particular she keeps in her belt. It is fairly long and made of silver, with black leather wrapped around the handle for grip and a blue stone set in the pommel. This is her oldest and favorite dagger, and can often be found polishing and sharpening it when she has nothing else to do.

Abilities: As mentioned above, she is fairly competent with the sword and a bow, and is very good with daggers, especially throwing them. She has some crude healing skills learned cheifly from experience, and keeps a small pouch on her belt with a few dried herbs and bandages for this purpose. She is also and excellent horsewoman, and rides her horse, Sage, in a stirrupless saddle and rarely uses the reigns, and she can ride elf-fashion if driven to it, though she is more comfortable with a saddle and bridle.

History: She was born in Rohan as the oldest of a small farming family. She lived on their small farm until the age of ten, when a mob attacked their small farm, siezed everything of value they could possibly carry away, blockaded the door and torched their home. Only she and her seven-year-old brother, Gaedry, survived. She cared for him for two years until one night he dissappeared completely, no footprints, no note, no signs of any kind. She set out to find him, but never has, and has wandered since, looking for him.

[Maggot]

Name:Sam Maggot (one of Maggot's many sons)

Race: Hobbit.

Age: 11.

Place of birth: The Shire

Appearance: Short (obviously) long, shoulder reaching hair which is unclean and looks like it hasn't been combed since he was born. A podgy fellow with fat cheeks and a short, stumpy nose. His eyes are a piercing navy blue shade. His movements are sluggish and slow. His cloth is poor with a simple, grain coloured t-shirt which he tucks into his dungarees. In hope of slimming, instead of cutting his food intake Maggot (that's what he prefers to be called) has a very tight belt which is many rolls just flop over. The dungarees are weather-worn and too small.

Personality: A jolly, loving boy who will do anything for anyone who asks politely enough. He enjoys working at the inn and idolises Raithnait the inkeeper of the superb inn. Loves horses and delights in growing crops just like his father. He is always telling jokes and drinking if not working. He's a very trusting person and a bit on the dim side. He rarely throws a punch or gets angry and he only does these terrible things when he is very drunk or his honour has been insulted. He is very protective of his honour and an insult against his family has led to broken noses for the culprit.

History: Born as the eight youngest child in a family with ten children and three dogs. He started working at the Grey Hill inn because he wanted to follow his dream of looking after horses. He regularly sends money home to his poor family who accept it greatfully. He used to be a potato picker and farmer but he has left that boring past behind him and is now living his dream.

[Morohtar]

Name: Deren, son of Theren

Race: Elf of the Galadhrim

Sex: Male



Age: 3257

Birthplace: Lothlorien

Family: Son of Theren and Sefaria

Appearance: Tall and thin, with proud shoulders seemingly unburdened by the petty troubles of life. Long blonde hair, common to all elves. Usually dressed in autumn colours, oranges and golds being his favorite.

Weapons: None. Though proficient with all bladed weapons and exceptional with a bow, Deren chooses not to tempt fate by carrying such items. Should such a situations arise, his speed and skills in hand to hand combat should suffice.

Armour: None.

Magic: Typical elven stealth, healing, and skill with animals.

Companions: A small red fox that Deren met while traveling through Greenwood. The fox has followed him ever since.

History: Born in Lothlorien in the year 3262 of the Second Age, Deren participated in the Last Alliance, then remained in the Lothlorien army till the end of the Third Age. Following the War of the Ring, Deren decided to remain on Middle Earth, rather than depart for the Undying Lands. He has been traveling since then.

[YayGollum]

Name: Truor Tupnm

Race/Sex: Beorning/Male

Appearance: short (about five feet), long black hair, green eyes, not the handsomest dude you've ever seen, wears hodge-podge armour and a helmet, he also has a superly cool and large and silver shield with a golden bear embossed on it

Weapons: crossbow, throwing knives, poison dart blower, badly made and clublike sword (for the few times he'd be anywhere near the enemy)

Personality: stubborn, loyal, lover of lost causes, but will do much to be on the side that wins, hates elves, openminded to pretty much anything else, curious, hates responsibility, thinks of himself first, then the other Beornings, then whoever he's with, he is pretty much me

History: he was superly bored with the Vale of Anduin and left to explore, he learned all kinds of things about all kinds of races (some Dwarves, Lossoth, corsairs of Umbar, and Woses) then he *heroic music in the background* became the king of the Vale of Anduin when he got back home after his dad died. He didn't like the job and gave it to his younger brother Tilit a while ago.

Other: has a best friend of a horse named Anthrax, a sidekick of a raven named Shadowflaps, and an annoying follower of a compulsive liar of a small giant eagle named Knockondor

__________________________________________________ _________

Name: Knockondor

Race/Sex: one of those giant eagle thingys/Male

Appearance: picture a really really big one of those African fish eagles, sometimes his feathers look a little out of order, but that's just because he's trying to hide little trinkets he steals, he's short for a giant eagle (around ten or eleven feet tall). I found a place with a picture of an African fish eagle, but it's only for the people who can't picture him already. Why not? I had
only seen the adult before, but now I picture Knockondor as one of the younger ones. Crazy looking. http://www.kenyabirds.org.uk/fish_eagles.htm

Weapons: Well, since it'd be pretty impractical to be a giant eagle hopping around on one foot and holding a sword or something in the other, I'll just say his talons and beak.

History: born in those big mountains in Valinor, left when that crazy sinking of Numenor thing was going on, 'saved' some random kid, dropped him off at the first place he saw after getting freaked out by the scary giant eagles showing up, finds out way later that he should have been a little more choosy with the scary looking castles he leaves impressionable minds in, couldn't find his way back afterwards, he ended up getting adopted by a family of scout type giant eagles in the Misty Mountains, he was a huge Outcast there, but most accepted him anyways, he was captured by Orcs and was saved by Truor and comes back to stay with Truor a lot, trying to repay him in usually not very helpful ways, also, after finding an Entwife, he thinks that he's doing something noble by uselessly looking for any Ent to set her up with.

Personality: a compulsive and not very successful liar, superly low self esteem, annoying most of the time, but impressive to people who actually believe him, he's a coward, but loves to attack and eat Orcs, very forgetful and not able to tell most races apart, but then, lots of his eccentricities are there just to get attention, he may seem unintelligent and full of unnecessary quirks most of the time, but I found out that he actually knows what he's doing.

[eleventy-one]

Name: Fuinur

Age: 29

Sex: Male

Race: Numrenorian

Lives: Harad

Family: Father was of medium standing, living in Gondor but had Numrenor blood in him. Mother was of the same. Fuinur had one twin borther whom he has lost track of by now. His parents are both dead.

Wives: 3, an elf, a women of the harad, and a woman of rohan.

Status: High Lord of the Haradrim, Commander of the Haradrim Army

Horse: Black stallion, no name. Red, gold, and leather trappings, not too extravagant.

Looks: Tuquoise eyes, that are very compelling. They are ususally the first thing you notice about him, simply because they do not match the typical look for people of the Harad. Fuinur used to have fair skin, but the sun has turned it slightly orange. Also, his hair, which was once chocolate-brown, dark, wavy, and down to his sholders, is now red sand-streaked. He is well-built and very strong. Average height and a softly built face. He usually wears brown leggings and a yellow-golden/wine-red/ash-black/tan tunic with a head scarf (yellow-golden/wine-red) wraped around his head and face. He also always wears 3 necklaces which he never takes off. One is the symbol of the Haradrim carved into piece of sandstone. One is a clear orb in which a blue spot of light is suspended, this light morphs continuously and with no apparent pattern though every shade of blue. The third is a smooth black stone on which the eye of Sauron is painted with beautiful detial.

Weapons/Fighting/Armor: Fuinur can often be seen with simple leather armor on, but for battles he wears much more expensive chain mail. His sword is a Scimitar. A curved blade that hangs from a loop at his side and has 1 ruby and one emerald set into the hilt. He is very good with this sword and is also fair with a spear and his bare hands. Long or broad swords are not his best suit and he is not very acurate with any type of bow. However, he has extremly quick reflexes and had very good tactics. He himslef trains his personal gaurd and the select few that make it to the top rank of the army. He's a tough teacher and knows how to push one to the very edge.

Personality: Fuinur has a rather intersting personality. He believes strongly in truth and never lies. Ever. When you have the word of Fuinur, you have a bond stronger than iron. However, he is also very clever, quick , and smart. Loopholes are his specialty. He also believes strongly in perserverance and he is not one to let himself or others give up. He is tough to the very last. He knows how to push someone past where they think they can go. The third intersting thing about him is his opinions. When he was little, he was famous for contradicting is father on the simpliest of matters. Most commonly, the difference between 'good' and 'evil'. Fuinur always wondered what makes 'evil' bad? The 'good' side only calls the 'evil' side 'evil' because they are against them. However, that means that the 'evil' side believes itself to be 'good' and for the other side to be 'evil'. This later lead Fuinur to form interesting opinions and rebelious attitudes against most things taken for granted. It is also the reason he is allied with 'evil'. And lastly, Fuinur is extremely open-minded. He rarely judges people.

History: (this may not be as accuarate with Tolkein than I would like, but I'm trying to fill in gaps and still make it interesting so bear with me) When Fuinur was young he ran away from Gondor, this was about 200 years into the 4th age. Herumor came with him, as he had been kicked out of Gondor for starting a rebelious and secret cult which practised faith in Sauron, Orcs, and any other ancient evils in the world. This cult was started in the 4th age and got a few followers. However, Herumor and Fuinur set out from Gondor by sea, eventually landing on the south shore. Their ship was detroyed by the rocks and they were forced to wander the desert. A group of straying Orcs still loyal to the now-detroyed Sauron found them both and the scene was not at all pretty. To this day it is a scar he bears physically and mentally. After some time, Herumor moved into the abandoned Mordor which was in ruin and began the process of secretly rebuilding it. His cult sent out messages far and wide for allies of all the ancient followers. Herumor planned to become the next Sauron. Fuinur was accepted into the Haradrim army and worked his way up to the High Lord of the Haradrim and the Commander of thier Army. He serves, along with many, Lord Herumor who has adopeted Sauron's policy fully but has not yet made public his motives, still, many of his followers refer to him as the Risen Lord, the Dark Lord, Master, or even, Sauron. He plans to make allies and a strong army before he does so. He also seeks a way to reforge the Ring and bring Sauron back to life within himself. His symbol is that of the Eye of Sauron.

[Darotek]

Always the gentleman, he wears a black tuxedo with a red rose tucked in one of his chest pockets. This was done first out of habit (being king and all) but soon out of choice. He will never wear anything else, for the suits were made in the dark wood, his home. And he felt the icy chill of darkness that the apparel held inside them. His dark brown curls fell to his shoulders, his red eyes big and handsome. He had a slender figure, not too tall either, roughly five foot nine. He was thought very attractive, and he knew it well.

Deadly with any weapon given to him, Darotek proves the lover and the fighter. He had lead an army of rebels while Thranduil had control of Mirkwood, yet, with his passing, Darotek took the forest as his own. His every step oozes with sarcasm and every word out of his mouth is dripping with silky charm. Among his favorite hobbies are making trouble and flirting with women.

After he took control of Mirkwood, he no longer was the elf he used to be. He became spoiled and rude. Still, he knows when to play his cards right and hasn't been defeated in battle yet (and surely this says something). He only had one long-lasting relationship, and that was to a witch. She and he broke it off after the power of being ruler got to his head. He calls himself 'prince' to sound more elegible to young girls, but in reality he is Mirkwood's king. His curcle of friends consists of his servant Hadurail and his friends from the rebellion who alone he acts decent for; Selena and Nrelki. Another witch and a vampire.

He practices every day with his sword, making it the deadliest weapon in his posession. His second specialty is with his blood-red bow and black arrows. Darotek rides a black horse named Asta, but hardly brings it out of Mirkwood.

[AraCelebEarwen]

Name: AraCelebEarwen

Race: Elf/Female *-mostly Sea Elf, part... something else...-*

Age: Old enough to have fun, young enough to know better

Place of Birth: Having been an outcast for so long, she knows not where she was born, but there are few places she has not visited or seen from afar.

Appearance: Tall and slender (as any Elf should be) with fair though slightly tanned skin, a silent step and deep blue eyes. She lets her long, dark brown hair fall down here back and over her shoulder, blending with a soft, chocolate colored cape. Her favorite dress is made of an ocean blue fabric with small, hand embroidered silver trim. She always wears a gold chain necklace. Hanging from it is a green, cats eye marble. It seems to mean something to her, for every now and then she can be seen carefully playing with it when thinking or letting her mind wander. When talking she sometimes slips into using what little elvish she knows mixed with the common tongue.

Personality: wary, careful when speaking, inventive, secretive, creative. Loves to listen to things around her. Has few friends for she will never stay in one spot until she finds somewhere she is safe and happy. Likes helping others. Would never betray a friend...

History: As a young girl, her father let her wonder the hills and forests of his land. Her mother, having lived by the sea all her long life, taught her to love the water, the smell of the air and the way of life of the Sea Elves.
As she grew older she found that she had an odd ability. When telling her father he would raise his eyebrows and smile slightly but stay silent. Her mother, when told, acted as though she had been betrayed.
Many things happened then, only leaving Ara lost and confused, for she had been cast out of the land she loved. From then on she has traveled far and wide, tried to learn how to use and control the ability she was gifted with and has seen many years pass by.

Weapons: if she has any weapons, you would never know until it was to late. Though disgusted of the sight of blood she is not afraid to defend friends and herself.

Abilities: That is yet a secret ... Loves to sing and play her panpipe.

[Slinker]

Name: Daronir.

Age: 38.

Sex: Male.

Race: Human (Gondorian).

Family: Father is still alive in Gondor. Sister is somewhere, if still alive.

Appearance: 5'11", with dark green eyes that sometimes fade into blue when he is in despair. Long brown hair and a stubbley beard, from having been out in the wild so long. Light skin, but most of it is covered by some kind of armour. He also has a long blue cape that his father gave him right before he headed out into the wilderness, it's rather beaten up by now, but is still noticably beautiful.

Weapons: Long sword, called Aduial (twilight), with a dark handle and sturdy blade. One the handle is carved an elvish phrase he cannot read. Therefore he does not know it's an elvish blessing, which allows his sword never to dull or be damaged. He also has a medium shield, which has saved him many times, but because of that fact is quite beaten.

Armour: A chest and back plate that protect him from attacks from the front or back, but that leave his sides and head open. He also has a chain mail skirt that at one point included some leg plates, but he lost those wading through a bog.

Personality: Rather grim, but kind character. He loves most creatures, but those who do any evil are his sworn enemies. He is rather detatched at times, and occaisionally trails off in his sentences and stares into the distance before realizing he was still talking to you.

History: He was brought up along with his sister, (younger by 12 years), by their parents in Gondor. His mother and father loved to go off every now and then and wander in a nearby wood. They were great lovers of the beauty of the world. But it was in this lovely wood that his mother was attacked by a warg. It didn't kill her though, as his father heard the ruckus from farther off and quickly killed the warg. Although it hadn't killed her, it had terribly injured her and she died later that week due to infection. His sister was so grief-stricken, she ran from the house and never came back. It is un-likely she is still alive, considering she took with her no weapons or armour of any kind.

But his father refused to believe this and sent Daronir out into the world to try to not only find his sister, but whoever was responsible for his mother's death. His father would have accompanied him, were it not for his injuries the warg gave him in combat. Daronir set out and soon met a caravan of travellers and joined them for a while, earning a warm bed and a free ride most of the journey by doing grunt work for them. Eventually he befriended the wise leader of the group, who told him which direction to go to find a likely place to find his sister, if she was alive.

[Elendae]

Name: Elendae

Age: Unknown

Sex: Male

Race: ?

Apperance: Seems to be about 6 feet tall, with a dark and mysterious aura about him. Usually only wears a traveling tunic, trousers, and hooded cloak.

Personality: Tends to keep to himself.

History: No one knows what race Elendae is or what his past contains, except that he appears to be a well-expirienced traveler.

[Daranavo]

Name: Daranavo Savoy

Age: 28

Sex: (often) Male

Race: (only when chased) Man of the West

Likes: the company of a beautiful, well-mannered woman, a song of victory, a good joke, a nice mug of mead at room temperature, a smoke of tabac just after sunset, haggling, gambling, a clean Inn room, and of course, to ride at any time of day.

Dislikes: rudeness, disrespect to a lady, Orcs and goblins of any sort, cheaters and liars, boiled meats, hard liquor.

General Appearance: His hair is a dingy blonde, unkept, wavy, and shoulder length. He has similar colors washed into his beard that is kept short when it is kept at all. He has 2 visible scars each about a half of inch long. The first just left of his left eye. The other, just below his chin. Other scars exist among his body parts, a testiment to a harsh living environment. He is every bit of 6 feet, and has an obvious athletic build. Broad shoulders as if he has done much swimming and well muscled triceps, calves and thighs. His complextion might be fairer if not for the amount of time he has spent in the sun. He wears no jewelry of any kind and overtime has come to appreciate the durability of fine leather. He wears alot of it, in Dark browns he has long boots and a belt with heavy iron buckles, gloves (often tucked in the front of his belt when not riding) with lighter, more natural looking pants and vest. His cloak is of a thick, lighter blue wool. His long-sleeved tunic, normally stained of sweat, at times could pass for an off-white when cleaned and mended proper. He has a brown leather headband flattened around his head and tied in the back. Its over-lengths swinging to his right side with the flow of his hair. His sword scabbard is made of a light metal somewhat ornate, and covered in a very fine brown leather. A small leather coin pouch hangs to his right near his scabbard with a small amount of coin. His look is common among the Long riders and may be recognized.

Weapons: Atop the scabbard is the hilt and covered pommel of a rapier. From what you can see due to the cloak, it appears to be of fine craftmanship, etched with silver.

Possessions: A fine, well bred, well trained horse of the like of the Men of the West. A dark brown gelding named Gaidon. Of which he trained himself from a fowl. Bedroll, horse blanket, bridle, tack and saddle stylized similar to that of a rider of Rohan, however, to a trained eye, much of the heraldry and distiguishing errata have been removed making it appear very plain. A large saddle bag: that holds a pommel of a rapier, a bloodied cloak, and a plain leather headband, much like that of which he wears now. 2 Waterskins, ration cloths and binding, a fine reed pipe, tabac, 2 bloodstained tunics, both in bad shape, a small mirror, soap powder, a crossbow with 17 bolts.

History: Daranavo grew up in the plains of Rohan, born to a Lord and lady of lesser nobility. His affinity for horsemanship became apparent early in his life and at the age of 15, he was inducted into the military. He learned the way of the shield, spear, sword, and bow and fought many orcs and men that encroached upon the plains. At age 22, his skill of horse was nearly legendary among his people. He became a respected and battle hardened Lieutenent, and was given a fowl to train from the finest stock of horses. However, as the days and nights came and went, he lost his thirst for battle and decided to step down. His lord would have him serve him still in some fashion, for his skills should not be wasted. He charged Daranavo with the delivery of dispatches to the outlining territories. There were a few men like him who undertook these long and dangerous missions, they were called the Long Riders. It is said, a long rider could fight, eat, sleep, all of horse without halt for many days. He befriended a fellow Long Rider, a son of status and fortune but with great skill of horse. For years the two would ride and complete mission after mission, until betrayal reeled its ugly head. He discovered that his companion's father would soon attempt the throne by treachery and that his companion and friend was aiding in the endeavor. One night, he followed his companion to a meeting place and was discovered. 3 men afoot, and his companion of horse he did spy conspiring against his lord. He escaped but only after a long chase that ended in the death of his friend. In the custom of the Long Riders to a fallen man, he broke the blade from his dead companion's rapier, collected his headband, rapier pommel and cloak, and loosed his horse upon the plains. He knew that he could now never return to his homeland again for what he had done. With hands forever stained with blood and a heavy heart he rode like the wind and never looked back.

[L'Silinrul]

Name: L'Silinrul Zauvirr
Race: Morquendi
Class: Rogue/bounty hunter
Gender: Male
Age: 321

Appearance: The first thing to notice about L'Sil when he is seen is the majority of the time he's completely wrapped within a long cloak, its pinned at the throat, but open below to allow easy access to his weaponary. The cloak's coloring is jet, much darker than his flesh as he tends to be of a lighter shade. Beneath his cloak is a set of equally dark clothing, a tunic and breeches. They carry golden trim along them and his boots are of the same golden coloration.

L'Silinrul has crimson colored eyes with snow white hair and often times unkept. He carries no tattoos nor noticeable scarring, at least not where is visible with clothes on... but, if he were wearing none a great many scars on his back would be visible from beatings he took early in life, as well a number line his legs (inner and outer). He carries twin short swords of a simple simple design, and within brown sheath with little decoration. A crossbow is also visible as he carries one from time to time, though its location tends to vary.

He carries himself in a slow and deliberate manner, most often, as he is rarely in a hurry to get anywhere. About the only time he doesn't take his sweet time walking from place to place is when he has something that requires his attention. aka: A job, whether already taken or simply a potential one. He stands at six feet tall and weighs in the area of one hundred fifty-four pounds, his slender build is well muscled from tireless training and exercise to keep himself at peek conditioning.

[Eglantine]

Hi guys - can I jump in with a new character?

The one I'm picturing is an older human female -- not an obvious warrior type (one of the very few!). Most people would mistake her for a farmwife or grandmother (she feeds this impression by calling herself Gammy Olham) but ....

Let me know & Thanks!
- Eglantine
(my first day on TTF) :)

ps - Where, geographically, is Gray Hill Inn?