The Shire profiles thread

[Luthien Elenese]

This is the official The Shire Profiles thread, for profiles only (as the name suggests;)). Any discussion of the thread should be put here: http://www.thetolkienforum.com/showthread.php?t=17555

[Rosalee LuAnn]

One Question: How detailed do you want these profiles to be? We didn't have to be very detailed last time, so I'll just add to this later if you PM me with any problems you find... (I'm in a small rush, you see... It's lunch time...)

Name: Elanor Gamgee (Daughter of Bilbo, the son of Samwise)
Age: 29
Race: Hobbit
Appearance: She has light-brown hair that curls fairly tightly, it is cut off about at her shoulder blades. She has wide hazel-green eyes and a round face, and dimples still show in her cheeks when she smiles, which is fairly often. She is slightly on the short side, even for a hobbit, but doesn't mind overly much about that. She likes to wear bright colors (like most hobbits), her favorites being green, blue, and yellow. She loves flowers and, as often as not, can be found with one (or more) tucked into her mane of hair.
Personality: Always optomistic and perpetually smiling, Elanor makes friends easily. She likes to sing and dance. She never thinks before she talks, however, and sometimes hurts others feelings when she says things withought thinking them through first. She is very impatient, wanting everything now, and rarely pauses to think about what she is doing or the long-term consequences, and has gotten herself and some of her less strong-willed friends into trouble for it. She is also stubborn and likes to have her own way. Through all that, however, she is usually very easy to get along with and can cheer up the gloomiest person--most of the time, that is.

[Luthien Elenese]

Yeah, that's fine. You can always go back if you want to add to it, like, but I'm not going to be picky.

Name: Merrietta Took (but Etta or Et to everyone exept her mother)
Age: 31
Appearance: Etta has dark brown, almost black hair which is cropped to the nape of her neck. She usually wears green or grey cropped trousers and loose shirts, which sometimes gives the impression of her being a particularly pretty boy, a mistake which she does nothing to correct if it can be used to her advantage. She usally has a small knife or blade with her whilst travelling, for the reason that she has a deep mistrust of anyone who lurks in the dark.

History: She had a hard time in her early tweens, she didn't get on with her mother, a very traditional and straight-laced woman who disapproved of Etta's overactive imagination and tendency to prefer breeches to skirts. They haven't spoken since Etta's father died, in a freak fire which Celandine, her mother blames Etta for entirely. Etta started travelling further and further afeild to get away from her grief and the incessant supply of bothersome aunties and cousins

[AraCelebEarwen]

Name: KhelekMeoi (goes by Varna)
Race: Dunedain/Elf -Female
Age: unknown
Place of Birth: unknown

Appearance: Lightly wavy red-brown hair that sets off blue-green eyes. Slightly more then six feet tall. Skin that, if not for having spent so much time in the sun, would look rather white. There is a thine scare that runs from beside her eye down onto her cheek. When traveling, she wears simple clothes and a dark, hooded cape.

Items: A mithriel panpipe and a small silver necklace with a pendent that, under close inspection, has a feline like eye carved into it. For any and all other random items, she carries a leather pack of medium size.

Weapons: Hidden in the folds of her cape is a slightly curved elvish long sword and dagger. On her back is a bow and quiver mainly used for hunting. Anything else is well hidden and used quickly when needed.

Personality: Secretive, likes to listen to others, a friend to those she deems worthy, sarcastic at times, enjoys playing music and being outside. Some might think her proud or even odd, but if allowed to get to know who she is they learn that she is different in some things but not anything that one can't learn to expect or except. She has a sense of humor and can smile in most situations, even battle when she knows that what comes next, is going to be their last.

History: She has been a wanderer for as long as she can remember. Traveling, fighting and seeing new places is what she has come to love, along with playing her panpipe when camping or resting along the road.
She was born with the ability to shape change into a certain animal, and will do so to get out of tight spots or, at times, for her own enjoyment.

(will be worked on as needed)(This pic was so close that I had to put it up! This IS KhelekMeoi!)

[Brania maiden]

Name: Fiwen Crescent
Race: Elf-female
Age: 59

Appearance: Has elbow-length, brown ringlets. Fairly tall, about 5'9. She has green eyes, fair skin and red-rose lips. Usually wears a plain dark purple dress occasionally with a black cape. She is never without the gold locket her father gave her.

Personality: She has a way with animals, who love her gentleness. Rumors have it she can communicate with them through her mind. She is always there when a friend (or enemy have you) needs her. She can forgive no matter what, but still demands respect for herself when dealing with others. It is said she can sense others intentions. She loves music and has a voice of an angel. Her songs seem to have healing powers. She always thinks before she speaks [sometimes too long] and carefully listens to others.

History: Grew up in [unknown magic] forests with her Grandmother. Moved often from forest to forest as her grandmother was in danger. Fiwen never knew or found out about this danger. Nothing is known of her parents. Fiwen took care of her grandmother till her death. Now she is independent and sub-consciously waiting for some great adventure to drop in.

[reem]

Name: Aldagrim Hilldweller of Bree

Race: Hobbit

Age: 83 years old

Appearance: Usually referred to as ‘Old Grim’ by the local inhabitants (though never to his face), Aldagrim Hilldweller has all the charm of a shrivelled prune and the grace of a sore-toothed bear. His mop of wispy hair dances at odd angles with the barest of breezes and crackles around his head like a snowy nimbus. Small sharp eyes watch from under a permanent scowl of wrinkles and bushy eyebrows, calculating and suspicious. A large, ruddy, bulbous nose – the only unwrinkled bit in his angular face – rests above a tight mouth and a prominent chin, dominating his features.

Yet it is not his nose that usually holds the attention of passers-by and those foolish or meddlesome enough to wander too close, but the tough oak walking stick that never leaves the old hobbit’s knobbly (if surprisingly strong) grip. Many an incautious and reckless youngster has felt the bitter crack of that unwavering rod. It is not wise to be fooled by the stooped, pot-bellied creature's appearance, frail though he seems, for a tougher, quicker fellow you will not find.

Personality: With a mood to keep hungry wolves at bay, Master Hilldweller is as malleable as old tree roots and almost impossible to appease once enraged. Though not forgiving by nature, he does have an inborn sense of justice and would not see others harmed for the sake of his own comfort.

Is a decent enough fellow once his hard shell is cracked, and can prove to be a very useful ally. His dry humour is somewhat sharp-edged at times but has no malice in it. He doesn’t hold with meaningless flattery and such smarmy behaviour, nor does he enjoy the company of boasters and those who think much of themselves.

With clarity of mind and a sharpness of memory that surprises most, he can usually see what other folk miss in situations, raising him in people’s esteem. Those stout of heart who’ve dared to ask his aid have not found it lacking, though they have found him a bit impatient when they prove slow in understanding.

One side of him that his neighbours and acquaintances almost never see is his gentle one, which is buried deep under layers of defensiveness and mistrust. There are instances, however, when he does allow himself to show grudging affection or patience for animals and very young children.

History: A Bree-hobbit born and raised, Aldagrim has led a somewhat difficult life, full of disappointments and misfortunes. Lacking the stability and peace usually found in all-hobbit communities, his family had to contend with other folk to make a decent living. He lost two brothers to sickness, a nephew and two nieces to an unfortunate carriage accident, and had various unpleasant dealings when working with men. Once too old to work at his chosen profession in tailoring, he moved to the Shire to stay with distant relatives and has been living with them ever since.

[Wraithguard]

Name: Necronum

Race: Black Nùmenorian

Age: ???

Place of Birth: Durthang (Mordor)

Appearance: Tall with black studded and spiked armor from neck to toe that glitters dimly in the moonlight. Covered constantly and completely by a black, hooded cloak, clasped around his neck with a silver brooch that bears the symbol of a white ship. Like all Black Nùmenorians, he has black hair, shoulder length, is pale, and has strange, small black text under both eyes at the top of the cheek, written in the black speech, that says "the one who fell", and yet is untouched by the wrinkles of age. Medium built with an odd calm about him, and an even tone. On his right arm there are a series of runes that crawl upwards to his elbow, and a nasty scar that leads from his forehead, over his left eye, and halfway down his cheek, yet has not touched his eye in the least.

Personality: Calm, slow to anger, and thankful for even the most humble of gifts. Years of making Mithlond his home has opened his mind to the powers of the Elves and can perform minor healing if the situation calls for it. His skills with the machines of Dwarven design and of war are envied by even Saruman. He speaks a loose combination of Adûnaic, the Black Speech, and Mannish.

Equiptment: 2 ancient bastard swords. Mithril woven spiked armor. An Elven bow of Lothlorien craftmanship, and a strange and wicked dagger he keeps as a token of his birthplace.

History: Born a Black Nùmenorian, he was involved in many attacks upon the Elves and Dwarves of Mirkwood and Erebor. Of his people he was second in rank and prestiege only to the Mouth of Sauron. That all changed one day when he realized that he was being controled by Sauron, and fled Udûn by jumping off of the Morannon. After weeks of wandering he was happened upon by an Elf out of Mithlond, who took him into the care of Cirdan where he has served loyaly since.

Other: Hate of Melkor - Runes along his arm that have five colors. Blue - healing, Green - control, Red - pain, Yellow - battle, White - purification. Elven healing - self explanitory (weak though).

[eleventy-one]

Name: Giriond

Age: 30

Race: man

Sex: male

Family: none

From: The Hills of Evendim, city of Annúminas

Weapons: Sword that he stole from a blacksmith. It is a fine and trusty sword and after many gashes and defeats he has learned to use it well. Though he has never been trained he is the best fighter in all of Annúminas.

Personality: Stubborn, very stubborn. Harsh and street-wise from many years of calling back-allies his home. Very hardy, tough, and determined. In short, he's hard to stop, hard to kill, hard to discourage. In fact, most simple call him 'impossible' in all aspects. That's not really true though, Giriond has one greivious fault as well as many little ones that are only a price of mortality. His major fault however, is simply that he WON'T stop, EVER. Let your imagination go, you know how good, and bad, this can be. Anyway, besides being utterly rough and uncivilized, Giriond, also has a highly rebelious attitude, always has and always will. It's lead him into a lot of trouble, since he's agressive. He's only come up against one situation he couldn't weasel his way out of, which happens to be the root of his evil alliances. (more in history)

Looks: brown, straight hair long. navey blue eyes, sharp nose and chin. thin and well built.

History: Most is self-explanitory if you read the "personality" paragraph. giriond's never had a spot of kindness offered to him in his life. Never been let out of a fight. Never been let alone to 'rest'. He has always been pushed far past any limits he might have had. It is both his strength and downfall that this attitude has been ingrained in his head. There has been only one time when he has failed and he does not talk about it. In fact, usually he kills the person who brings it up. It ran much deeper than simply a defeat, for he still carries the scars, inside and out. especially around his right ankle, under his knee-high boot. There is a black iron band, sealed into his skin like a brand. it shows his allegence, but few outside the clan have ever seen it. in short, Giriond is part of an evil clan that seeks nothing less than the rule of middle-earth.

[Arlina]

name: Staefia

age: Sixteen ((might be younger...haven't decided just yet))

race: Human

gender: Female

appearance: She has elbow-lenght, straight, black hair with bright sea-green eyes. She wears simply clothing and carries only a small dagger in her right boot. She's fairly short startured, considering must humans are tall, and only wears a necklace that is very dear to her.

history: Orphaned as a child, she is constantly on the run from the 'evil' that killed her parents and burned down her village. She's not very trust-worthy, nor does she trust others. She'll do anything that will help her survive, even if it mean stealing, or worse. She doesn't really know who or what is following her, but is taken over by fear when this apparition gets close. She fears the if she gets close to anyone, she will lose them again like she lost her parents.

Other: She truely believes that something 'evil' killed her parents, however there is more to that story then she lets on. She won't tell anyone unless she knows they won't do anything to her. She feels obligated to anyone who has helped her in anyway, however she's been know to end up running away from there in a fairly quick time, always taking something with her.
She doesn't appear strong, however she's taught herself how to survive on her own. She won't open up to anyone unless she truely knows them, however she loves to through in the 'pity' to scam those who help her out of more.

weapons: small dagger in her right boot, but she doesn't use it much because it's been worn down from useage.

[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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Name: Chinig

Age: 15

Sex: Male

Race: Goblin

Likes: Rotted meats(ofcourse), the smell of dirty feet, biting during mating, the taste of day old scabs, spoiled mead, loud burps of which he is an expert.

Dislikes: bright light (ofcourse), the smell of perfume and flowers, the feel of soft things, having to rush when he eats, light colored hair, jokes at his expense

General Appearance: Chinig is so named for his large, bulbus chin that protrudes out from his lower jaw. He has several scars and scabs about his face that he picks often...after all, they are good eatin. He has dark brown eyes, a long, narrow nose, and high cheek bones. His complexion is very dark, almost black as pitch like his heart. He has not grown any head or facial hair and he may never. He is very thin but wiry and very quick afoot. He has large flat feet for his size making him somewhat prone to "accidents". He and his companion are wearing old, olive drab wool blankets cut to fit them like hooded robes. They are wearing burlap on their feet to give their feet the look of lighter skin if seen from a distance. Any real close inspection of their persons would reveal who they were, if not their smell from a slightly further distance.

Possessions: He and his companion have...if caught...a leather sap in which they are experts at its use, a bola in which they are also experts, a rusted dagger more for show then anything else, a waterlogged leather belt tied in the front no buckle in which the dagger is simply pierced through to hold it in place under their robes. A small pouch with 11 coppers, 2 maggoty rolls, 1 vial of a foul smelling liquid (3 dose poison that if imbibed even a little will render its victim unconscious for a time) a large burlap sack, 2 burlap straps used for a gag and blindfold. 6 small lengths of hemp rope.

History: TBD

[yhwh1st]

Name: Tiriviel

Race: Elf

Place of birth: Imladris

Age: Unknown

Appearance: Tall and slender with big, deep blue, eyes and a ready smile that begins in her eyes. She has long and waving dark brown hair that flows past her waist, with a tinge of red or gold, depending on the light. She has fair skin, which will not tan, and is commonly clad in elvish fashion. She prefers blues and greens, and has a soft appearance but is terrible in battle.

Weapons: A long elvish blade that was a parting gift from her father. A short dagger that she keeps hidden and a long dagger strapped to her waist. She also keeps an elven bow and arrows from her great-grandmother.

Possessions: One long dark blue hooded cloak, that looks as though it has seen better days. Has one extra set of clothing. She carries healing oil that was given to her by lord Faramir, a water skin, elvish waybread, and some dried fruit. She also carries a coin pouch in which there is little money. All of these are carried in a leather pack that she carries on her back. A single, small, black stone hangs from a mithril chain around her neck. The stone has virtues. At the will of the wearer, it heals, and gives light only to the wearer and any other that she chooses. Other virtues: unknown. (For now)

Personality: She is friendly, happy, (which can easily turn into playfulness) and kind with a forgiving spirit. She smiles easily and loves to sing. She is very strongminded, fierce in battle, and has great detrmination to finish any task that is set before her.

History: Only child and daughter of Elrohir, Tiriviel lived in Imladris to adulthood and was found to have gifts of healing, fighting, and insight. She had a light heart and laughed easily and could bring a smile to anyone's face. She traveled abroad and, when her father sailed to the undying lands, she decided to stay in Middle Earth with the few of her kind. She lends her skills to the kings of the South to keep peace in the world.



Work in progress. Editing as inspired. pm for suggestions.

[Warrior93]

Name: Roan

Age:?? maybe in the 2000s

Weapons: A secret long knife on his thigh(forgets about it a lot) and two elven blades called stingwhip and Diety, and a A bow of the Anorien(Rarely uses it, keeps it in his pack.

Appearence: Blonde long hair, Muscular, Green eyes, but turn red when angry

Story: Born in Lothlorien, his parents were killed in a hunting raid by goblins, then Roan was taked to Mirkwood to his Uncle Thorendine. He accidently killed his uncle by wrenching out an arrow near his heart, that was shot by some morgul orcs. He was taken back to lorien when he was 10 and raised there by the elves, and getting the name: Son of All. He then traveled alone, towards the Men of the West. Roan also became a quester for Lord Eomer.

Dress: A Dark black tunic, and jet-black boots. Blood red gauntlets, and Black
Nature: Hot, Very hot tempered, Loses his head very easily. Very protective when it comes to love, he can take on a whole army of Uruks and win. But that has only happened once, when it was his mother, but he only manage to strangle two goblins before they were killed(He was Six!)

[Warrior93]

Name: Zelor Haverten

Race: elf

Weapons: A double-bladed sword, a sharp long knife, and an Obsidian Longbow, and a skinning knife.

Appearence: Long brown greasy hair that is raggedly cut, hazil eyes and lightly tanned skin. He has a long scar that is a gruesome reminder of the death of his brother.

Story:(Same as Roan, his brother) Born in Lothlorien, his parents were killed in a hunting raid by goblins, then Zelor was taked to Mirkwood to his Uncle Thorendine. His brother, Roan accidently killed his uncle by wrenching out an arrow near his heart, that was shot by some morgul orcs. He was taken back to lorien when he was 10 and raised there by the elves, and getting the name: Son of All. He then traveled alone, towards the East opposite of his brother. He was chased by Wargs and lived in the Ash mountains, he then had a sword forged and he called it Ered Lithui.

Clothes: A rusty mail shirt with a leather jacket over it, he has deerskin leggings and leather boots. He has a garnet gemstone on his hilt and a necklace with a topaz given to him by Lady Galadriel, it also has the power to make fire.