[Dimturiel]

Finally I've managed to make up a bio for my character. Here it is. Let me know if anything needs changing.

NAME: Penram

AGE:14

RACE: Man

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: None at the beginning of the story since he is a thrall, after all. As the story progresses, he might be able to find something he could use as a weapon.

APPEARANCE: Smaller than a boy his age would usually be, but still growing. He has longish dark hair and grey eyes. His skin is dark for a Gondorian but he is not as swarthy as an Easterling either. He appears healthier than most thralls, although he still bears a few signs of past neglect.

PERSONALITY: He is quiet and rather awkward in the company of others. He has a tendency to mistrust people and sometimes he can make quick judgements about someone based only on his past experiences or on rumours. He is very protective of his younger sister and he seldom likes to have her out of his sight.

HISTORY: His mother was a Gondorian slave who had been taken in a raid when she had been quite young. Penram was born in slavery and had never set eyes on Gondor, but his mother used to tell him many stories about "the lands far West", as she used to call them, and Penram was able to recognise these lands as his home, although he was aware from an early age that he was never going to see them. His mother died shortly after his sister was born. The two children were sold then but they did not have one master for a very long time, since many considered thralls that young almost useless and hard to control as well. He was eventually bought by Artamir, along with his sister, and he has found this turn of events rather enjoyable, since he and his sister were given free rein around the house and their master did not seem to mind much that they spent most of their time playing instead of working like thralls usually did

That's it. First post to come soon (I hope). Let me know if the bio is ok.

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Dimturiel's post:

Penram stood at the window, unable to tear his eyes from the sights outside. Merra was next to him, but at least she was not looking out. Penram wished he could turn away too, but he still stood there, watching, as if by seeing the Easterling hunt out their slaves he would somehow understand why this was happening.

Penram was always restless when the hunt started. He knew that Mir only needed to say the word, and he and probably Merra too would be thrown outside in the hunt. Since they were hardly of any use to Mir, Penram sometimes wondered whether that was not the reason why the Easterling kept the two children with him, after all. So that one year he would set them loose on the streets to give his compatriots two more helpless thralls to pursue. Of course, Mir had never treated the two harshly and sometimes Penram wanted to believe that the Easterling would never want to hurt them. But attributing kindness to his master went against everything Penram knew. He was fond of Mir, in a way, but he knew that he was an Easterling. Penram and his sister were Gondorian. Easterlings hated and despised Gondorians. They did not protect them, not unless there was some hidden reason for that protection.

Penram was distracted by noises at the door. He turned to see what it was, in time to cacth sight of a man – a slave, he could see that, and Gondorian, too, by the looks of him - bursting in, flinging himself on Mir. Penram gasped and was ready to draw a step back, when he saw Merra making as if she was ready to head towards where the two figures were wrestling. What was she doing? Penram thought, swearing softly in an involuntary burst of irritation. He ran towards her, pulling her into a corner. Perhaps, if they managed not to draw attention to themselves, they would be left alone. What would happen to them afterwards, if their master died, was another matter. Penram felt Merra trembling and put his arms about her in an attempt both to protect and to comfort.

The man had let go of Mir by now, and his eyes had fallen on Penram and Merra. Penram felt his throat becoming dry. What was he going to do to them? He would surely not let them live, after they had just witnessed him attacking an important Easterling officer. The man seemed to take a step towards them, and Penram burst out then, in a desperate attempt to keep both him and his sister alive:

“No, don’t kill us!” he pleaded. It was most likely useless, and he knew it. People never listened to pleas. If anything, it enraged them even more. “We’re Gondorian, just like you! At least spare my sister. She will not betray you. She is only a child. She cannot even understand what is happening.”

That was a lie, and Penram knew it. Merra could understand everything very well. But it was the only thing he could think of that might determine the attacker to spare them.