Post by Dhaerdin on Sept 16, 2018 10:45:19 GMT -5
.The Facade.
Character Name: Dhaerdin
Name Meaning: Great Silence. Also known as Black Bear, Shadowfoot, and Cob.
Age: 36
Date of Birth: July 18, 2974
Race: Man, Dunlending
Residence: The Wilds
Profession: Hired Sword
Appearance: At six-and-one, he easily towers over his younger sister with equally bright blue eyes gleaming beneath a dark, heavy brow and a crop of massively unruly curls. Despite his thick frame and strong build, Dhaerdin is arguably the more pleasant of the pair, prone more frequently to smiles and deep, booming laughter in the presence of good humor.
Personality: Though tender in heart, Dhaerdin is often observed to be aloof and quiet-natured among others, lending to a misleadingly intimidating first impression. A thoughtful, intelligent, and eager learner, he is a compliment to his sister's leadership and tactical mind, the much-needed voice of reason and empathy in their small operation.
.The Blood.
Parents: Del Hopeweaver, Deceased. Angun Blackwolf, Deceased.
Sibling(s): Maegineth
Spouse: N/A
Children: N/A
History: The chorus of pounding hooves roared like a beast at his heels, angry breath hot in the shining kiss of sunlight upon his neck as he ran, the very sky afire in every desperate breath. He gasped, his legs small and scrawny, calling for his mother as he stumbled on the hill and slid down its face, scraped along by the dirt and rock. The beast drew nearer, its vibration in his chest, now, in his lungs, choking back the screams. The tears. In his hands, he held his father's hand. In his heart, father's heart.
And on his tongue, his mother's name, overtaken by the deafening roll of thunder in the visceral light of dawn.
-
In the heart of Gondor, he filled his mind with thoughts to drown out the sorrow. Histories, myths, customs, language -- the origins of Middle Earth into the beginning, so carefully crafted by each hand and quill, their pages tender and fragile under his fingertips. Dhaerdin, he learned, was the great silence of his soul amidst the void, where no voice escaped such icy black to lay upon a friendly ear. Solitude became his comfort, for there was none to be taken from the company of his sister, nor any company at all among the Gondorians, and in the absence of gentle hearts to surround him, he spent his days among such cold, unfeeling friends as books and tomes, a scraggled Dunlending rat chased more than once from the from the sacred records of Minas Tirith for having dirty hands.
He had always been a quiet boy, even as he clung to his father's shoulders amongst the devastation of a village raid, a natural observer with an innate desire to understand all things and pursue that understanding with all the determination of his hunter's blood and none of the taste for destruction. And while his sister played with swords and learned to scrape and scratch at the streets of Minas Tirith, he would grow up in her shadowed places, staring out with a tired, luminous gaze into the lives he knew he would never lead.
It is the way things must be, his father once had told him, but it is not the way things must always be.
At Maegineth's behest, he managed to scrape together a handful of sword skills -- though he rarely carries more than a long hunting knife which is, in his opinion, endlessly more useful -- and with a natural talent for tracking, has done well to hold his own in their combined endeavor despite a more than lax interest in the value of coin. Like a shadow, Dhaerdin has simply followed his sister in the dark for all their years, resigned to his role of necessity, resigned to solitude and the safekeeping of vicious Mag, who needs as much protection from herself as others need from her. He is the sadness to his sister's vengeance, the embodiment of their mourning and the single bright light between them, illuminating the gloom.
One day, it will consume him.