[Elfwine]

-Apllication for the role of Fourth Ally- {I’m currently involced in the Setting Sails for Valinor RP, and it will be my first, and I do believe that answers all the questions}

Name: Talis Doran

Age: 19

Race: Man, of mixed origin

Gender: Male

Weapons: As a child wandering the docks of countless coastal seaports, he picked up various arts of weaponry at a startlingly young age. As it was the only thing he owned, young Talis became most familiar with the short blade; something between a dirk and a cutlass. Later in life, when he traveled inland for his own reasons, he reverted to using the long blade, as it was more appropriate for the woodland setting and the enemies lurking within. The sword he wielded and still wields is a fine one, two inches wide at the base, and crafted of white metal – tainted in old age. The hilt, wrapped and rewrapped in stalwart bore’s hide is both comforting to the hand and pleasing to the eye, capped with an ornately carved knob of ivory bone, also stained in old age.

Appearance: Tall, as it would seem appropriate, he stands at an even six feet. Long legged and lanky in figure, he is of muscular build and fit as any wanderer of the wilds should be. Hair of wheaten blonde (like his mother’s) falls evenly in an unintended bowl cut, parted at his brow, and slightly longer at the nape of his neck. His eyes, however, he inherited from his father; a soft, nut brown, rich in color and emotion. Sun-touched in complexion, with tall and angled features, he is an attractive young man. His attire is that of a wanderer’s, composed of a worn leather jerkin with braided collar and buttons, over a sag-sleeved shirt of creamy hue – tall black-weave boots cause his dark leggings to bunch at the knee, and a heavy weather-beaten travelor’s cloak, drab in color, hangs back against thin shoulders, providing a small bit of protection for all.

Personality/Strengths/Weaknesses: On the contrary of a harsh upbringing, Talis is really quite genial and understanding towards others. Though he is not as bold and boisterous as some, he is quick-minded and in control of a quick tongue. In turn, he is rather smooth with his words and can, more importantly, hold them. His greatest weakness, as he perceives it, is his belief in his luck and his love for money. The blood of the Corsairs and their ‘culture’ in running fluently through his veins, he can’t help but once in awhile put his fortune and future on the line for a few gold pieces in a game of dice. He knows full well that it is an inhonorable habit, and his being concious of his wrongdoings like so is perhaps another one of his weaknesses. His virtues, however, lie in his strength of spirit, his perpetual poise, his faith in others, and his ability to understand the feelings of those around him.

History: The illegitimate son of the Corsair and current prominent politician, Jythralo Doran and his young ‘misstress’ Iyevnna, Talis’ childhood was one of unpleasant memories. From the moment Jythralo knew of the child Iyevnna carried, the pirate decided then and there that no one else must know, that this child was merely the brat of some wench, a ‘motherless goat’. And so, Iyevnna was mistreated and shunned during the nine long months of her pregnancy, only
to pass on, a wary, hollow creature, at her son’s birth. The bawling infant in his hands, Jythralo could not bring himself to kill his son. And so he left young Talis in the care of a trusted sea merchant, to hire him as a hand just seven years later.

There were no secrets kept, and though he did not understand it, the boy knew that Cap’n Jythralo was indeed his father. Stern glares and a few belts across the jaw helped conceal the fact, and quickly, both father and son became professional players on deck, around the crew. A few years passed, and adolecence plagued their masked relationship – harsh words brought on a bitter parting, and Talis, at fourteen years, left the deep blue for the north; inland.

In the wilds where it was pure forest, untouched by the wrath of civilation, he uncovered a new side of himself; a new way of life. It was there that he rid himself of Corsair ideals and set for himself his own morals. It was there that he honed is skill with the blade, and discovered his connection to the wilderness; his ability to survive. Days to months, months to years, he became a self-christened ranger, and has been ever since.

Gossip traveled throughout the country as quick as lightening, and news of the mysterious contender Jythralo’s election reached the Talis’s open ears in the blink of an eye. A politician. He was not surprised. No doubt the old man was planning something nasty. Perhaps it was time for the young man’s return to the coastal region.

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Elfwine's post

The sound of silence, which was so familiar, was but a distant dream. Even as the red sun woke the moon and its children, the city buzzed with life and the distant waves of the ocean crashed. The comfortable darkness that had become his blanket on lonely midsummer evenings was weakened by the blaring lights of center town. As far as the young man’s keen eyes could see, nothing had changed at Umbar. Sighing a heavy sigh, Talis reslung his satchel over a tired shoulder and continued down the cobblestone path towards the tavern ahead, bursting with merry yellow light.

Nearing the entrance, sharp ears caught the tidbits of peoples’ conversations; gossip on the Ambassador, whose name was apparently Thrann, and one of his kindred called Devon. Another name also caught his attention, that of Lord Jythralo’s. “I’m impressed, old man.” He mumbled to himself as he reached for the rusted latch on the double doors of the Inn. Inside, the tavern was busseling with energy; a roaring fire reached its many arms towards the heavens, while faces, flushed with merriment, bobbed about gleefully to the sprightly music coming from the bearded man managing a fiddle.

This brought a warm smile to the wanderer’s pale lips, and he took a seat at a table near the door. As soon as he felt the hard wood, a young barmaid emerged from the throng of customers, a wide grin stretched across her pretty face.

“What’ll it be, outlander?” She asked in a perky voice, strained with youth and too much cider.

Outlander? I haven’t changed that much, no?, he thought to himself, staring down at his heavy clothes and hearing his voice, which had long since adopted the northern accent. “A pint.” –he nodded, confirming his decision- “Yes, I’d like a pint.” He looked up at her from his stool at the hardwood table.

She smiled foxily and winked at him, “Right away!” With a muffled giggle, and the twirl of her long skirt, she was lost in the crowd.

His ears the picked up the same voices babbling on about the government and lords and ladies, “I ‘ear the boy master hates ‘im, what with risin’ to ‘is pater’s level an’ all. I say it’s about time that someone from the slums make it with them high-nosed politicians…”

“But ar’n’t them pirates nasty people? Inhuman even! Real ruthless they are, says ol’ Gran; manslaughterers!”

“Ol’ Gran’s a bag ‘o rubbish, and a rotten one ‘o that. Now them pirates might not be the properest people around, but this Jythralo character, I 'ear says ‘e took some oaf-“

“Oath?”

“Aye, aye ‘sposed t’be one ‘o them sacred ones that cause ye to burn t’ashes if ye break’t.”

“Ashes? …” The conversation trailed on, but that was all Talis heard.

Your supporters may be blind, but I can see, I can see. -His eyes narrowed and became distant- What’re you up to, old man? No good, that’s what… And I’m going to stop you.

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{ Lord, now I wish I had started one this character earlier. I really had no idea what to do, and I really don't think what I did was the right thing. All right, so it isn’t the best of what could have become of the idea, but I thougt a lot about it, and spent a good four hours on my rump trying to figure it out. I really do hope you like it, and if there’s anything, anything at all, let me know and I’ll to’t, ESPECIALLY you, Earendil. Anyway, thank you for your time.
Waiting and hopeful,
Elfwine}

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]