[Will Witfoot]

Greetings. I vie for the position of one of the Rivendell elves.


1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – Yes, the 'Last Hope for Moria'

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in?

List them, please: 'Search for Rhûn'

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – Yes, the Green Dragon

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NAME: Eldín

AGE: 302

RACE: Elf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Eldín carries a long, finelly crafted elven blade. It is a light and deadly weapon, capable of being wielded with blistering speed by a warrior with the skill to do so. He also keeps a long, curved dagger tucked in his belt. It is finelly balanced and may be used for throwing.
He wears no armour, rellying instead on his aggility to get out of harms way.

APPEARANCE: Eldín is tall and lithe, with long raven black hair tied in an ornate ponytail. His face is almost constantly set in a melancholy expression and his grey eyes are as the mist of the sea. He wears white robes under a light grey cloak, and his feet are encassed in black shoes.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Born a deaf mute, it was necessary to train Eldín's skill of perception to unpararelled decree for him to survive in the cruel world. His eyes can see many details that others can not. He has also been trained well in the art of swordmanship, and to use other senses than hearing in battle. He has the uncanny ability to 'feel' an enemies blow before it connects, a fact which has allowed him to live this long.
From his early childhood Eldín was taught to communicate through gestures and different facial expressions. He also spent countless hours learning to read, which without hearing proved a difficult task.

Not being able to hear is a terrible dissadvantage most of the time, for one can not allways relly on ones eyes for guidance. Darkness is the chief weakness of Eldín, for his fighting skill's and means of communication are effectively rendered useless.

Allthough deaf, Eldín has suprisingly proved himself to be a fine dancer, even compared to other elves. Numerous speculations on how this can be have been made by many, though none know, and Eldín cannot tell. He is sadened by the fact that he cant hear the world, not the sound of water, the rustle of the wind in the trees or even music. He is a very even personality, solemn and melancholy for most of the time.

HISTORY: Eldín was born as the only son of Elríng and Cerímb, both elves of Imladris. He was taught in the arts of communication, reading and fighting by the warriors and sages of Imladris. He has accompanied the sons of lord Elrond on many scouting expeditions, and it was through his bond to Elladan and Elrohir that he came to join Arathorns last ride. He is forever seeking to do something of worth, and he does'nt want to be a burden for others.

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Will Witfoot's post

The light of the morning sun gilded the scented garden's of the hidden valley, Imladris, and radiated from the robes of a lonely figure seated under a tree, making him appear as made of light himself. Then the wind granted the gardens it's chill kiss and the figure drew it's grey cloak around itself, dimming the light, and revealling a lithe, gaunt elf staring thoughtfully into the waters of the river Loudwater flowing past Rivendel, the Last Homely House East of the Sea.

Cerímb watched her son, her only child, sitting all alone with the same air of melancholy around him that had marked his life since he was born. When not practising with the sword or poring over the many tomes of the libraries, he could be found seated deep in thought, usually as far away from others as possible. Few were those whose company could provide him with any joy.
Desspite all the years of having to live with the knowledge of her son's dissability, Cerímb could not stop a tear from trickling onto her cheek.
As if sensing the presence of his mother, Eldín turned. Seeing her standing there, he got up from where he had been sitting, his cloak oppening to reveal an elegant blade seathed by his side. Realizing that his mother was crying Eldín embraced her, gently wiping away the tears that fell silently to Cerímb's cheek's.

'Is it time?' Eldín asked, using the peculiar mode of communicating through gestures that he had been taught since he was a small child.

Cerímb nodded. 'Yes, Arathorn is leaving. They will be waiting for you.' She knew that her son could read her lips, but she preffered using the same way of communication that Eldín himself used, when conversing with him.

Eldín leaned forward to kiss his mother on the brow. 'Fear not, mother. I will return as certainly as the sun rises.'

He turned from her and begun to walk towards the courtyard where he knew the warriors would assemble. Cerímb watched her son go, before bursting into tears.

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