[Nuranar]

At long last, I've written my bio. Apologies for the length. And as always, I will make any requested changes.

First post coming soon, probably tomorrow, unless I finish it today.

~*~ POSTED TO GAME PLAN --- Pio

Bio for Dúnedain Woman (wife of the soldier)

NAME: Lissi

AGE: 39

RACE: Dunedain

GENDER: female

WEAPONS: For years Lissi has had a short knife. Though unremarkable in every way, it has made itself useful in scores of household tasks. Lissi sharpens it every so often, although she prefers for it not to be too sharp - she has at least one scar on her finger from it. Her husband Carthor's old stave, short and bladed, hangs on the wall in their home. Since the siege began Lissi has surreptitiously begun to practice wielding it. She knows nothing first-hand of combat, and hopes never to know, but any preparation may come in useful.

APPEARANCE: Lissi stands only a little shorter than her two tall sons, at 5'9". Her height and the delicacy of her bone structure give her form the illusion of fragility. In reality she is neither fragile, being well-muscled, nor delicate, having always delighted in outdoor exercise such as walking and riding. Her sons inherited her fine features and her fair skin, although Lissi has taken scrupulous care of her complexion and has no freckles. Nor did the boys inherit her eyes and hair. Her eyes are so light a grey they seem to glow; when she is excited, they burn like white stars. Lissi's hair, as black as soot, falls in heavy waves down her back. Charming tendrils curl around her face, softening features that would otherwise seem austere. But what transforms her face is her smile. Lissi's smile is sweet and spontaneous, and although her life has not been the easiest, her smile has never completely disappeared. Fine lines of care cross her brow, but their number are rivaled by the lines of laughter around her mouth. For the most part Lissi wears simple, dark-colored dresses and overgowns with full skirts. Since their finances began to go downhill, she spends rarely but always for quality. Even now her light woolen gowns are as warm and sturdy and well-fitting as ever.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Although a mother of two nearly-grown sons, Lissi knows and rejoices that she is still quite attractive. Furthermore she grew up privileged and has a taste for luxury and expense, which is nevertheless balanced by her practicality. She loves her sons dearly, but is no doting mother Lissi has a very intelligent, strong mind. Her devotion to duty, and the right thing to do, is stubborn and unyielding. Life has given her disappointment and sorrow, if not yet tragedy, and for the most part Lissi has weathered these storms and emerged stronger. She feels secret contempt for those too "weak-minded" to meet difficulties and she despises those who renege on their responsibilities. Despite all this, Lissi has learned to make her own happiness. Choosing to consider herself contented, she manages to enjoy her family and her duties. And her serene manner is the mellow calm of a mature woman, with even yet the merriness of girlhood breaking through.

HISTORY: Lissielle, always called Lissi, was born the youngest of three daughters. Her father was a wealthy man, and the family has been of the elite of Fornost for generations. Lissi's elder sisters were identical twins, a good five years older, and very close to each other. Lissi was often alone, but her active mind was never at a loss; she read voraciously and thought constantly, carrying on conversations in her head. She loved to be outside. She would walk and ride outside the city, even in the chill north winds, and even her studying she did in the garden. Determined not to be lonely, she made herself her own best companion. Only once did she give in to jealousy of her sisters, spending a miserable, sulky, envious week following them around. Then her common sense pulled her up sternly and she decided that although twinges of envy were uncomfortable, giving in to them was far worse than giving it rein.

This self-taught lesson was vital in later years. For if Lissi was fair, her sisters were dazzling; as the belles of society, they danced and coquetted and broke hearts left and right. Lissi herself entered society at age twenty, in her sisters' shadow. Naturally the little sister could not compete; from time to time this fretted Lissi, before she discovered that some men found her just as attractive. She found their admiration pleasant, but no one aroused her especial interest until she was introduced to Carthor, a soldier, at her sister's wedding. In his seventies, he was far older than the young men she knew. Although scarred and saturnine, his hair was yet dark and his blue eyes brilliant, and Lissi had never felt before the aura of strength he carried with him. And most intriguingly of all, he did not show the slightest interest in her.

Lissi had enough of the coquette in her blood to see his remoteness as a challenge. Drawing on all the stubbornness of her nature, she spent the ensuing months learning what she could about him and striving to excite his appreciation. Finally Carthor turned to her, not only giving his admiration but also seeking solace. By this time Lissi herself was smitten, enamored of both the brave soldier of the past and the bereaved man of the present. When he asked her to marry him, she agreed gladly. She had heard rumors that Carthor "drank," but the only drunkenness she knew was the jovial excesses of feast days; and what of it? He loved her, and he would change. Lissi's father was concerned - he knew of Carthor and saw clearer than his daughter - but balked at the trouble of a sharp conflict with her.

Faerim was born a year later, and Brander a year after that. Those two years taught Lissi many things. Carthor was always kind to her, and although unlearned, he was intelligent. He was a good companion for her life. But even before Faerim's birth she confessed to herself that she had never truly loved him; nor did he love her. She had talked herself into an infatuation with the romantic man of the stories. But Lissi would not let herself fall into self-disgust or grow bitter with disappointment. She had made her choice, and there was no turning back. Carthor needed her, even if she could not give him love. Their sons needed her, needed both of them, and she was not going to take out her disappointment on them.

As before her lesson in envy had sustained her, now her devotion to duty and care for her family stood her in good stead. His good resolutions had held for some time, but after Brander's birth Carthor slowly reverted to his drunken habits. Lissi saw it with anger at first, anger and guilt that she wasn't good enough. She berated her husband, reproaching and upbraiding, honing her scolding to a fine weapon to fence with Carthor's own sharp tongue. And once again, she made herself miserable as well as Carthor and the boys. From then on Lissi set her jaw and restrained herself. Even when he began gambling and she saw their livelihood - and her sons' inheritance - slipping away, she controlled her tongue and sought to influence instead of punish.

After her father-in-law died, Lissi saw with relief the reform that Carthor made. He gave up drinking and gambling eventually, and she thought entirely. But it seemed that Carthor had to have an obsession. When wine and gambling were abandoned, soldiering took over. Lissi grieved in secret over his withdrawal from the family, but as always she determined to stand true. Through the lonely years she strove to be the best mother possible and make their home a pleasant place, and she watched with pride as their sons grew.

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Nuranar's post

Lissi had been up since before dawn. The hideous clamor of battle reverberated through the air and penetrated every corner of the house. Tremors ran through the floor and walls as the city trembled with each projectile’s impact. Even the heavy storm shutters could not shut out the hellish glare of the fires. The red glow gave her bedroom such an alien appearance that Lissi buried her head in the blankets to shut the terrifying vision out. An instant later she jerked upright in shame and pride and slid out of bed. If she could not sleep, at least she would not cower in bed like a child afraid of shadows!

Lissi pattered across the room and defiantly flung open the shutters. Then she dressed with deliberate concentration in the weird light. Close-fitting underdress, deep red wool, laced on both sides, tight buttoned-up sleeves. Dark brown overdress, front-lacing, flared sleeves. Woolen hose and leather shoes. Small work knife, hanging from an old leather belt, around her waist. Heavy shawl around her shoulders, held together in the front by a brooch. Lissi laced every lace, buttoned every button, and arranged every fold of her raiment with scrupulous care. Moving to the polished metal mirror hanging on her wall, she arranged her hair. The white face she saw, framed by little natural curls, gazed back with calm approval as she braided her long black tresses into two braids and tied on her winter hood. Then for a moment Lissi’s busy fingers stopped, and she bowed her head.

A dull splintering thud rattled the furniture. The next instant Lissi found herself on the balcony in the next room, grey eyes straining to see the battle in the lurid light of the flames. Until the weak light of the winter sun illumined the heavy grey clouds, Lissi stayed on the balconey. She paced the whole time. At first she told herself she was keeping warm. But as she paced she thought, and as she thought her stride grew faster with nervous energy. If she only knew exactly what was happening! All she could do now was think – and think – and think.

For weeks Lissi had been thinking. It began with planning, then went to packing, but the thinking never stopped: thinking, always thinking – pondering the siege, imagining scenarios, devising a response to every one, preparing for every eventuality, desperately seeking a way to escape. Escape! What she wanted most in the world, and what she could not find. Despite all her intelligence, she could think of no escape. On the contrary, the merciless logic of her mind only built up the evidence of defeat. Of all helpless feelings this was the worst. The city was crumbling around her, her people were dying, the enemy was coming – and she could do nothing.

If she was fated to escape, escape would have to come to her, for she knew not where to find it. And if it came she would be ready. She had several packs ready to leave, and her husband’s stave was ever to hand. At the last she would leave the house, she and her blind son Brander. Lissi had scarcely seen her husband Carthor since the siege began, although she knew that if he had fallen word would have come. And her other son Faerim – he, too, was fighting, although he often came home to check on them.

But when the pale grey light of winter touched the cracked and scorched walls, she resolutely for herself from her perch. “Madam Lissielle, you will drive yourself mad if you continue in this way,” she scolded as she fled down the stairs. “You will go scrub that filthy kitchen floor until it shines, or until…” She broke off, then gave her head a little shake and hurried into the kitchen.

Ironically enough, Lissi found intense relief in her task. After laying aside her cloak – the exercise would keep her warm – and rolling up her sleeves, she threw herself into her work. She tended the fire, heated water, scrubbed the worn brick floor, and rinsed it clean with a zeal and absorption far from usual. Her anger and fear found release in attacking the mud and grease and soot that spotted the floor, and the harder she scrubbed the harder it was to hear the commotion outside. And nothing occurred to interrupt her. The house itself was almost eerily silent, Brander’s quiet movements upstairs almost unheard.

Lissi’s movements became more mechanical. She recalled her first sight of the hordes of Angmar: Rising from the eastern horizon, they spread like a black wave across the fields where she had been wont to ride, darkened the bare and lifeless land, and poured relentlessly on, lapping even at the Fornost walls. In that moment she had not felt terror. She had scarcely been afraid. But she knew. With the blood-knowledge and instinct of a hundred generations of warriors, she saw the remorseless inevitability of the coming defeat. She stood alone in that knowledge and looked into it without flinching. That evening Lissi had bade her dear husband farewell – for he was dear, if not beloved – with a smile, and watched him march to the defense of the walls. But she lay awake all night. The bitter import of defeat did not register until the darkest hour, just before dawn. And then she wept, in slow, anguished sobs, for the sheer heartbreak and tragedy of it all. But she had not shed a tear since. She only thought.

With a sigh Lissi rose to her feet, finished. As she tidied up the kitchen she felt the old gentle pride of a gentler time, the serene knowledge of a job well done. Smiling at herself, only half mockingly, she rolled down her sleeves and rearranged her clothes. Lissi was buttoning her sleeve when a crash sounded from the other side of the house, followed by quick footsteps and then silence. Side door, she thought, even as she slipped out of the kitchen, heart throbbing painfully. She had just lifted down Carthor’s bladed stave when Faerim’s voice echoed through the house. “Brander? Brander!”

Lissi gasped in relief, clutching the reassuring weight of the stave. She dashed out to the hall just in time to see her elder son vanish up the stairs, still calling for his brother. “Son! Faerim! What is it?” she cried. He was still safe! And news – at last!