[Garen LiLorian]

Bio for the Elvish Guard from Rivendell POSTED TO GAME PLAN -- PIO



NAME: Maltóre (called Angóre)

BORN: 3rd Age 237

RACE: Grey Elf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS/EQUIPMENT: Angóre carries a sheaf of three 3ft javelins, each tipped with a steel spike extending 8 inches. He also carries an Elvish sword, 48 inches in length, wound about with spells and incantations for troll’s bane. The sword carries an inscription along the blade; “Torog dagnir,” (slayer of trolls) in Fëanorian runes. The guard is workmanlike in appearance, bearing neither stones nor especial shape, but is in the form of a straight, slightly tapered bar. The handle as well is more functional than beautiful, being wrapped in leather and the pommel is a simple circle of metal, unadorned. All of his weapons are well used and well cared for. He wears no armor or helm.

APPEARANCE: Angóre takes no delight in his appearance, and dresses however he must, often letting his garments be worn to tatters before replacing them. He wears dark colors, preferring grays and blacks. His hair is cropped close and dark, while his eyes are blue and icy. He is tall, though not thickly built, and is very slender. His skin is pale and translucent, blue veins standing out in his forehead and arms.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Angóre keeps to himself, speaking little. When his opinion is sought, he speaks bluntly and to the point, changing his speech not at all whether speaking to the humblest servant or the greatest lord of Elrond’s house. He is neither captain nor general, and gives no thought to strategy. He is not a soldier, and owes no allegiance to any lord. He is a knight-errant, and he is dangerous and fell, and gives all his delight to the hunting of Sauron’s creatures, particularly Trolls. He has a great sympathy for any under the threat of Sauron, feeling their losses keenly, as they resonate with his own.

HISTORY: A lesser scion of the house of Finarfin, all his family were born with the golden hair common to that bloodline, but Maltóre took after his mother, a Grey Elf, and so was named "golden heart," for his hair was dark.
His father was an ancient, and soon after Maltóre's birth departed for the Havens. His mother had no joy in Middle Earth after his departure but that which she found in the raising of her child. Maltóre was trained, at his mother's behest, in the traditions of the Elven minstrels, and showed a gift for that path. When he came of age and joined the court of Elrond, his mother lost her last link to Middle Earth and departed for the Havens. However, when she was waylaid and slain by trolls a mere two days from Rivendell, Maltóre lost all joy in singing and in tales, and, changing his name to Angóre, (Iron heart) became an errand rider and a warrior of Elrond, hunting trolls throughout Middle Earth.

With the forces of the Witch-King encroaching from the North, Angóre has been fighting more or less constantly for several years. During one of his periods of errantry, he came across a party of Elves bound for Fornost beset by a great Troll. He defeated the Troll, though the toll was heavy, and he was sorely wounded, and the guards killed. He was brought to Fornost at the behest of the Emissary, and recuperated there. The shadow of the Witch-king lay over the city, and Angóre, beholding the plight of the city, agreed to stay in its defense. He has taken over the protection of the Emissary and acts as a bodyguard and aide, for he is the only other Elf of Rivendell there but he longs ever to be on and perhaps beyond the walls, and takes ever more dangerous scouting missions whenever he can be spared.

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Garen LiLorien's post --- POSTED TO GAME PLAN --- PIO


”…we are to escort you to the north gate of the sanctum. We shall escape that way and remove ourselves to the North Downs. Please, gather your possessions quickly and come with us.” Angóre stood in the doorway of the hall, listening to the Dúnedain knight delivering his missive in clipped tones. The Man finished, and the emissary removed herself hastily to the depths of the chamber. Angóre did not stir. All that he owned he carried already. “Tell me then, friend. Is there no hope for the city?” His tone was measured and calm. The captain’s voice was weary as he replied, “The first gate is down, the hordes of Angmar are against the second wall and our resistance is scattered.” His eyes flashed. “And of such companies that remain whole, many of us are sent on political errands, collecting emissaries and diplomats instead of helping our brethren on the walls. Begging your pardon, master Elf.” He finished in a sarcastic tone of voice. Angóre looked out again at the walls, beyond which the sounds of battle carried clearly. “I do not think that you shall be deprived of the chance to win glory here, friend. Though in truth, I agree with you heartily. I had rather be upon the walls when they are taken then guarding those who do not seem to need it. However, we both have our duty, do we not?”

A tremendous crash forestalled any reply. “They are at the gate!” The captain stared wildly in the direction of the second gate of Fornost, as if his eyes could perceive the struggle taking place there. A fell light awoke in his eyes, and he was transformed. “No longer can I stand watch while Fornost falls! Master Elf, I lead my men to where they are needed. Make haste for the courts of the king, and the north-gate!” And, so saying, the captain gathered his force and sprinted for the gate. Angóre stood fast as they went, though his eyes followed them until they disappeared around the bend. “Happy are they who choose death over duty,” he said as the last of the men vanished, and he stood there a while longer, vying with himself, until at last he turned back into the hall.

The great hall lay bare, all the servants who could bear arms had joined in the defense of the city, and those who couldn’t had gone anyway, and done what they could. Another crash came from the direction of the gate. Angmar was knocking. Angóre could hear the distant sound of the brave men of the vanguard readying themselves, and another crash. Then the air was filled with the sounds of battle. The emissary appeared before him, clad in traveling clothes. “They have breached the second gate. Quickly, now, we must reach the third level of the city before we are overrun.” His voice betrayed no emotion; he might as well have been discussiong the weather. And, before she could respond, he had turned and was out the door.

The hall given to the elves was still a goodly distance from the gate, and the sounds of battle still echoed from that direction. The rearguard of the Dúnedain was holding, for the moment, but however valiant the Men were the massive horde of Angmar must overcome, at the last. For the moment, however, this meant the streets were empty, and Angóre lead his charge through the streets at a quick pace, making for the entrance to the uppermost city.

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(Note; rather obviously, I suppose, Angóre will be guarding Mithalwen's emissary. And, of course, let me know if I need to change anything.)
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