[piosenniel]

DEDICATED CHARACTER


4.) Child of the 7th Age – Silvan Elf

NAME: Luindal

AGE: 942

RACE: Silvan Elf, but with some Sindarin blood in his mother’s line

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: He bears a silver-grey bow carved from the wood of a mallorn tree; this was given to him as a gift by his father. A short sword is girded on his left hip, and a hunting dagger on his right.

APPEARANCE: Tall and lanky, even for an Elf. He has serious grey eyes and dark curls hanging to his shoulders; the latter are usually held back by a simple leather thong. Luindal no longer favors the dark green or brown clothing he used to wear in Lorien, which enabled him to melt easily into his forest setting. Instead, on shipboard, he dons tunics of sea green or sky-blue over light-colored breeches and sturdy leather boots. For the trip north, he has brought only a thick woolen cape with a fur-trimmed hood for extra protection.

PERSONALITY, STRENGTHS, WEAKNESSES: Calm and patient, Luindal takes his work seriously. Yet he is capable of laughter, merriment, and song when he is among friends and the situation is relaxed. He keeps a small flute in his pack and sometimes plays to amuse himself and those he is with when the day’s work is done.

By nature, Luindal is a follower rather than a leader; his parents have raised him to lead a quiet life, focusing on family and the joy that comes from experiencing the natural elements in which he lives. These values are characteristic of many Wood-elves. As a result, he has few worldly ambitions. Yet it was this modest nature that initially attracted Celeborn’s attention and led him to enlist the Elf in his service. Sauron’s expanding influence and the resultant conflict gave Luindal little choice but to hone his skills for war, something that he did with great effectiveness.

Unlike most of his Elven kin, Luindal has had many dealings with other Free Peoples outside the borders of Lorien. Sailing up and down the Anduin on Celeborn’s errands, he grew to know and understand the Men of Rohan and Gondor, both their achievements and failings. He was content to see the War of the Ring come to an end, even though it meant the fading of his own people. Perhaps because of this, he now doubts whether it is right for him to become involved in another situation where he will be called upon to fight for the good of Middle-earth. Is this his place, or should he sail West and leave the problems of Arda to Men who now must struggle with them? This is not an easy question for him to answer.

Despite his keen intelligence and skills in sailing, Luindal has one weakness as a leader: with so much good in his own nature, he has trouble identifying evil and deceit in the actions of those around him. He can be too trusting at times, which could prove to be a problem on his mission to the Ice Bay.

Luindal has another characteristic that may have some bearing on this tale. Most Elves can withstand extremes of heat and cold far better than Men do. This is particularly true for Luindal. Frigid temperatures and blowing winds do little more than inconvenience him. He can survive in situations where many others, even of his own kin, might eventually perish.


HISTORY: For 360 years, Luindal lived peacefully with his parents and sister under the eaves of Lorien’s Golden Wood. These years known as “The Watchful Peace” lasted from 2063 to 2460 T.A., when Sauron withdrew from Dol Goldur and temporarily fled to the east. From his father Telcor, the young Elf learned much of the forest and its ways, becoming an accomplished scout and tracker. His mother Arborien, who was of mixed Silvan and Sindarin heritage, would often draw Luindal close to her after twilight fell, teaching him all manner of tales and songs.

While Lorien stood far from the Sea, the young Luindal loved to explore the stream of Nimrodel that ran through the wood and then spilled over into the Silverlode. He had even journeyed once with his family as far south as the Anduin River, listening as his mother explained how these waters flowed into the Bay of Belefas and, from there, joined with the Sea. The boy loved these waters with all his heart, not only as the passage to the West but for their own wonder and joy. He often sat and listened to the gulls straying inland or carved small wooden ships and set them loose upon the waters, watching them sail away to an unknown destination.

Celeborn had noticed Luindal’s special talents quite early and had asked him to work alongside those Elves who built and sailed the small swan ships that plied the waters of the woods. Luindal’s skills proved invaluable during the War of the Ring. He helped to lead the fleet of boats that Celeborn and Galadriel took up the Anduin to recapture Dol Goldur and cleanse the woods of evil.

When Luindal’s parents and sister chose to sail West at the beginning of the Fourth Age, he accompanied them as far as the Grey Havens. Still unwilling to depart Middle-earth, Luindal bade his family farewell, promising to join them at some later time. Cirdan was greatly in need of an Elf with seafaring experience. He presented Luindal with a sturdy swan ship to conduct errands and procure supplies for the Havens, since the large numbers of Elves departing at that time were straining available resources. For several years, Luindal sailed to many distant ports, including Minas Tirith. In the course of these duties, he made the acquaintance of the Shapechanger Rôg while staying with an old friend Piosenniel and her husband Mithadan on trips to deliver certain rare artifacts and manuscripts to Elessar.


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Child of the 7th Age’s post - 3rd post for game

Luindal gently pushed his cup of nectar to the side and peered intently across the Common Room; he had been startled to hear the message given to the Innkeeper. He craned his neck for a closer look and was even more surprised to observe that the messenger was someone he actually knew: Rôg the Shapechanger, a man of many talents who had last crossed his path during a visit to the home of a friend near Minas Tirith. The words the Shapechanger spoke seemed even more unlikely than the fact that the speaker had apparently materialized out of nowhere in the middle of the Havens. As Luindal well knew, the young man had certain special talents that even he and his fellow Elves could not match.

Luindal stood up and walked over to his friend, gesturing Rôg to join him at one of the corner tables; then, he stretched out his lanky frame and carefully listened to his companion’s strange tale of a Corsair sea captain who had recently arrived in the north searching for two ancient Stones at the bottom of the Ice Bay. Clearly, these were the palantiri of Annúminas and Amon Sôl that had sunk some thousand years before, when the Elven ship sent to rescue the King had capsized and all aboard, including Arvedui, perished beneath the ice.

Luindal first explained how the Stones could be used to communicate thought and images over great distances, and even to twist and manipulate the mind of the speaker on the other end, duplicitous acts similar to what Sauron had already done. With a sigh, he added, “I must take this news to Cirdan immediately. I do not know what he will say, only that this could have terrible consequences for the peace of Arda and Elessar's intention to restore goodness to the land.”

Rôg responded, “What would you do then to help the Lossoth and rescue the Stones, if this thing were left to you?”

“Do not even ask!” Luindal’s frustration was evident in his curt denial. “I am but an Elven seafarer, a simple Wood-Elf with a knack for boats. Such questions are above me. Other Elves in the Havens understand these matters better than I do. Cirdan can decide what to do and have them mount an expedition to put things right.”

With the end of their conversation, Luindal offered to shelter his friend for the night. He had plenty of room on the swan ship Phalás, or Sea-Spirit, now moored beside the dock: this vessel currently served as his home. Hastily escorting Rôg down to the quay, Luindal offered his goodbyes and promised to return by dinnertime.

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It was several hours later when Luindal returned to the Sea-Spirit. Rôg came out from below and greeted him on deck, anxious to learn what had happened.

For quite a while, Luindal said nothing, instead pulling a plug of weed from his satchel along with a pipe as he stood by the rail blowing smoke rings and staring stubbornly at the water. When he spoke, it was with a wistful voice, “A nice habit, this.” Luindal gestured to his pipe. “I picked this up on my most recent voyage to Gondor where I had the good fortune to meet two periannath who had friends in Minas Tirith.”

“That is what keeps me here instead of sailing with my family--the chance to explore the wonders of the Sea, to meet new people and learn about how they live. I could leave any day, if I wished: just walk to the harbor and climb aboard Cirdan’s vessel. Every month, I see another shipload depart. Perhaps, I should have done that.”

In a lower voice, he confided, “Your news was taken seriously. In fact, tomorrow, before we leave, Cirdan wishes to speak with you privately.”

“Before we leave?” Rôg interrupted.

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s right…. I am to go north in two days. In fact, I am to command the ship that sails to the Bay. And somehow, we are to retrieve the Stones before the Corsairs do. If we cannot do that and they get there first, we must challenge them to battle. Whatever happens, they cannot come away with that prize. It could be the death of Gondor. Cirdan says that there are few left who have experience sailing and fighting. Sadly, I happen to be one of those few.”

Luindal took another puff on his pipe before commenting. “As a youngster, I heard many tales from my mother about Elves who had such knowledge of shipbuilding and sailing that their skill was deemed an art. Even today, we sing songs that recall their golden deeds. Only now these Elves are gone, and it is left to me.”

Luindal stared over at Rôg, “These Snowmen of yours….they should have had you fly to Minas Tirith and ask the Men for help. It is their age now, not mine. I thought I had seen my last fighting when the Ring War ended. I know this must be done and I will do my best, but I wish it might be different. The last time an Elven ship was sent to the Bay, everyone aboard perished.”

“Luindal, I am sorry for that other Elven ship,” Rôg interrupted. “And sorry also that this burden must fall to you who do not wish to carry it. But, the Corsairs have made the lives of the Lossoth miserable and I feared they would do the same to others. The Snowmen cannot wait for Men to travel north. Elessar’s help would have come too late.”

“I understand,” his friend nodded. “You were right to do as you did. With these Stones, the Corsairs could force their will on many. I will not speak of my feelings again. And I promise you that I will do everything in my power to stop the Corsairs from seizing these Stones. By right, they do not even belong to the Elves, but to Elessar. Come now. Let us talk as friends and have some dinner. We will need all the strength we can muster over the next few weeks.”

With that exchange, the companions turned and went below, where Rôg had already set out a meal for them to share.

The conversation finally turned to their impending trip to the north as Luindal noted, "I have no fear of getting there. The Stars will guide us north. It should take only a week or so, once we put out to Sea. I wish it were earlier in the year. Yet, there is still time to make it through. It is what happens afterwards that bothers me. Whatever we do must happen soon or we run the risk of being trapped over the winter, or wrecking the ship. I do not want to repeat Arvedui's mistake; nor do I want to spend months battling Corsairs, of whom I personally know nothing other than the unpleasant tales I've heard from you and Mithadan."

Luindal fingered a piece of food and pushed it aside. Given the responsibilities weighing on his head, he had little appetite. “It's true that I can personally stand frigid weather and ice storms with little problem, and I know how to swim quite well. But knowing how to swim is a bit different than diving down to the bottom of the Bay and somehow locating ancient objects that have been lost over a thousand years. Once we find them, we can use a winch to heave up the Stones. It is locating them, and attaching the straps and ropes that remains the main problem. I have no ideas of my own."

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Pio’s post - 4th post for game

Rôg had listened closely to Luindal as he spoke. As sometimes happens, a word caught his attention, sending his thoughts down rambling paths. . . . swim . . . Something he had seen on his explorations with Bear, his Lossoth guide, niggled at the edges of memory. He paused in mid-chew, his eyes fixed on his plate. With his fork, he traced a pattern in the thin pool of gravy on the flat of the dish. A sleek figure in vague outline seemed to move beneath his hand. He could not quite make it out before it disappeared beneath the coalescing sauce. His journal! The entry would be there if he could just remember when he’d written it.

‘I have no ideas of my own . . .’ he heard Luindal trail off in a half question. He took a breath and refocused on the Elf across from him. ‘Give me a little time. There is something I cannot quite recall right now. It may be of some help . . .’

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Child’s post - 5th post for game

At each churning motion of the Bay, the waves swelled and crashed down against the ship’s bow, with water flying up so high that it came flooding over the deck. Despite the run off into the drains and over the side of the hull, Luindal still found himself standing ankle deep in water. Rushing from one end of the ship to the other, he barked out orders to his crew to strike the mainsail, hoist the storm sail in its stead, and drop the sea anchor over the side to provide needed weight.

Despite the heaving of the sea, the ship managed to stay upright as they struggled forward into the Ice Bay. At least the Spirit was carrying a heavy ballast, a special precaution he’d taken knowing that they’d likely encounter poor weather on the trip. Things had gone well for their first week on the open seas, but once he crossed into the Bay the heavens had opened with torrential rains and wind. It almost seemed that the Bay itself was unwilling to open its treasures to these curious outlanders, however well intentioned they might be.

The plain fact was that Luindal did not know too much about the local territory or conditions. He was used to living close to the land or water, and it bothered him that he had so little understanding of the place that he was now in. He hoped Rôg was right and that a number of the most trustworthy Lossoth would be willing to help. Their chances for success would be much greater if they could only get the local people to aid them. He grimly reminded himself of the fact that, if the Elves and Men had simply accepted the counsel of the Snowmen who had warned them not to try and sail, many lives would have been spared, to say nothing of the Stones themselves.

He glanced around at his crew to make sure that they were holding up in the storm; they were all brave hearted Elves but only a few had real experience on sailing ships. This was apparently true of Rôg as well. The greenish tinge on Rôg’s face suggested that he would rather not be on this heaving ship.

A ferocious blast of wind came scudding down from the north, hitting the vessel broadside. The ship lurched sidewise but thankfully recovered, and after swinging around halfway, continued inching into the harbor. Luindal cast a wary eye up to the mainmast. He hoped that the lines would hold and that the mast would stand tall and firm. The last thing he needed was a cracked spar.

As the winds lessened and the Spirit sailed into shallow waters, Luindal instructed the helmsman to take care not to bring them too close to the banks of ice, which lined the shore and already projected out into the Bay. In just a few more weeks, the Bay would freeze over even more, making it very difficult to navigate at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, on the far side of the Bay, Luindal caught sight of another large sailing vessel, this one very different in appearance than his own. She bore a strange black flag above her mast, with what looked like a exotic heraldic device imprinted on the material. He spied a number of men and a woman or two wearing thick fur coats, probably members of the Corsair crew; most of them had dark hair and brown or olive skin. He was too far away to pick out the expressions on their faces. But he had a feeling that they did not look too happy at the moment.