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Old 10-28-2006, 02:15 PM   #158
Pilgrim Soul
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Join Date: May 2004
Location: watching the wonga-wonga birds circle...
Posts: 9,752
Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
What I remember .... on a different PC

NAME: Tathren (epessė meaning willowy derived from his "mother name". Full name Menelmir Tathardil)

AGE: 36 (which I think is about 16 in elf years)

RACE: Noldorin elf

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: (No magical, super-hero, mithril weapons. Just good solid Middle-earth weapons and armor only that is appropriate to the race of the character and the time period.) Has a long knife formerly the property of his uncle (I am assuming the page would not be more heavily armed than his lord).

APPEARANCE:Raven hair shorn to his shoulders, large dark grey eyes which give him a watchful appearance, pale complexion. He is dressed in a like manner to Lachrandir but his garments are plainer. Not yet full grown he stands already over six feet tall but the increase in height has as yet far outstripped increase in stature making his long standing (and universally used) nickname even more appropriate. His horse is younger than Lachrandir's and so a darker grey.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: (No half-Elven characters. No mixed-type characters. No super-heroes. No assassins. No one all powerful, martial arts proficient, or having any magical traits. Just regular characters with normal abilities for their races only)

Tathren is stronger both physically and mentally than he appears. He is fair spoken and soft voiced but aware of his role he is likely to be doing more listening than speaking at first. He has a quiet but mischievous sense of humour and can be quite spirited when the spirit moves him.

Lachrandir took an interest in the boy for the sake of his uncle - one of the companions slain at the Dagor Bragollach) but Tathren's skill as a horseman combined with his lithe frame meant that he had more chance of keeping up with Lachrandir than other possible companions.


Tathren is the son of exiles. His father was also killed in the Dagor Bragollach but earlier in the battle than his elder brother. His mother and an elder sister,born at the beginning of the long peace, survive.


Mithalwen's post

Exhilaration and apprehension had been the emotions duelling in Tathren's heart the length of their journey, for he was young and high hearted and no danger or duty could dispel the delight of youth freed from maternal supervision to ride far and fast on one of the finest horses his people possessed alongside - well at the heels of - their swiftest rider. Yet this was no essay of skill to fill a time of leisure; though he had spoken in jest to Lachrandir he had wit enough to appreciate the significance of their mission and the honour that had been accorded him.

An honour he hoped that was not entirely to the charge put on Lachrandir some fifteen years ago by his brother in arms. Tathren's mischievous form of address had masked a certain sincerity, for he admired Lachrandir as much as his late uncle and, if truth be told, liked him rather better, never having quite forgiven or forgotten.... but this was not a time for walking the paths of memory. He dispelled the recollection. as his senses were assaulted by the sights sounds and indeed smells of the Ulfing settlement.

Lachrandir had spoken truly; this was unlike anything he had experienced before. Though their own dwellings since the loss of Thargelion were far from the finest of the Noldor, it was in the nature of his people to make things fair even when they made for necessity. He doubted that any straits would lead them to make buildings as crudely as this. The roughly thatched huts seemed to be built of wattle and daub and were arranged haphazardly within the stockade . In such buildings we might house our beasts, thought Tathren, as indeed they seem to… but we would not dwell so close by them. The young elf was hard put not to gawp as much as the guards. He found these people quite as astonishing as they did him. To his eyes they were no more finely constructed than their dwellings - short, squat and crude. Scarce taller than dwarves, he realised having dismounted and somewhat reluctantly entrusted his colt to one of them. His face betrayed none of the wonderment he felt; he used every scrap of self control to assume the dignity he deemed essential to his role as he followed Lachrandir into the great hall. Tathren had tried to ride by his side, now he walked carefully in his shadow, his dark grey eyes watching, waiting …
I see dead people.

Last edited by Mithalwen; 11-02-2006 at 12:37 PM.
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