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Old 10-28-2006, 10:18 AM   #12
piosenniel
Desultory Dwimmerlaik
 
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Thinlómien’s character


NAME: Thin-Gloomy. Had previously a different name but has chosen to forget it.

AGE: 84 (Not a young dwarf anymore since he's from a lesser and short-lived house, but not a gaffer yet either.)

RACE: dwarf (from the Iron Hills)

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: used to have a big, broad-blade knife called the Thistle-cleaver and a crossbow with ten bolts, but they were taken away when Thin-Gloomy was captured.

APPEARANCE: Thin-Gloomy is short for a dwarf. (What would be an appropriate height?) He is bandylegged, slightly hunchbacked and skinny. His complexion is papery and pox has left faint marks on his face. His sparse hair and beard are mat black. His small eyes are deep-set and so dark brown they're almost black. Thin-Gloomy is an ugly creature.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Thin-Gloomy is grumpy, grudgy and suspicious of everything. His a cynic and his sense of humour is somehow crooked. He is wary of strangers and embittered of old wrongs. He has a low self-esteem, though it has improved greatly during the Great Golden Hoard race.
Thin-Gloomy is a badly trained craftsman and knows how to work stone, wood and coal.
Thin-Gloomy's crooked back and bowed legs give him some physical limits.

HISTORY: Thin-Gloomy was born in the Iron Hills. He had two brothers, both healthy, strong and comely. His parents let him live, but there was never much love for him in the family. He grew in his brothers' shadow. He was continuously bullied by all the people, both children and adults.

His only friend was an old clerk. Alongside with reading and writing, she taught him the use of crossbow. When she died of old age, Thin-Gloomy saw no reason to stay in the Iron Hills any more and left for his fortune with his weak craftsman training.

Years wandering about north-east Middle-Earth and bad jobs taught him more about craftsmanship than his teachers back home ever. He learned more of human and dwarf nature than he would have wanted to. Wherever he went, he was mostly despised. (He made friends with some beornings, though, curiously enough.)

His life changed totally when he was mysteriously invited to seek the Great Golden Hoard. After escaping from trolls' pot and helping the King of Arthedain, he was - to his own surprise - the first to reach the Hoard.

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Thinlómien’s post


When Thin-Gloomy had won the race for the hoard, all the things he had could thought of had been the victory and what to do with the prize. The reality had hit him the next day. How was he to carry the enormous treasure home? And what was 'home' for him? Did he really wish to return to the Iron Hills? Where else could he go?

He had had no idea what to do, so he had started from the smallest of matters. He had begged an audience from King Malvegil of Arthedain. He had told the King he was about to establish a trade caravan carrying coal, and needed a few wagons and able drivers. King Malvegil had agreed after a little while. He had probably wanted to seem generous and, after all, he had owed Thin-Gloomy quite a lot of his knowledge of the Angmarian army.

Thin-Gloomy had made a fatal mistake. Instead of asking the king for guards to protect him he had decided to hire some sellswords from Annúminas after he had got the treasure. He had not expected that the knowledge of the prize and his victory had already been heard by ears whose owners bore little good intention.

The day had been a beautiful one, more beautiful that it had been for weeks. The sun had shone and there had been no clouds. Even Thin-Gloomy couldn't have expected an attack on such a lovely day. I have doubtlessly become softer and lost all my wits, if I ever had any, Thin-Gloomy thought later. He was angry with himself and well, gloomy.

The attackers had hidden in the trees and shot the wagon drivers before their attack was even noticed. Thin-Gloomy had managed to hit one with a bolt from his crossbow, when a shrill female voice had called: "Drop your crossbow right now, or there'll be five arrows through your heart." Thin-Gloomy dropped the bow. It was from old memory. When the bulliers had attacked him, he had always given up to shorten his torment.

"Thomas and Jack, tie the dwarf and see that he's not harmed... yet. Cover his eyes and his mouth too so that he can't scream for help", the same shrill voice had ordered. "Mica, help Samson down and to one of the wagons. We'll take just one wagon. When you've done that, stay here and look after the remaining beasts and wagons. Thomas and Jack will come back to help you to fetch them."

All had been done as the shrill-voiced woman had bidden. She obviously had a firm grip over the four men. A nice little harem she has, Thin-Gloomy thought dryly.

The journey to their destination hadn't been long, but it had been uncomfortable. The only pleasure for Thin-Gloomy had been hearing the wounded man, Samson, wailing with every bump the wagon took before the woman ruined it and told the man to shut up.

In their destination, Thin-Gloomy had been carried at least a few stairs down and locked in a cell.


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Last edited by piosenniel; 11-08-2006 at 04:09 AM.
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