Taerethor :: Ranger of the Reunited Kingdom
Jan 27, 2019 11:29:09 GMT -5
Post by TAERETHOR on Jan 27, 2019 11:29:09 GMT -5
M E N ❂ O F ❂ T H E ❂ W E S T
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Character Name: Taerethor
Name Meaning: Sindarin for ‘Truth Teller’
Nickname or Alias: Taera
Race: Half-elf (Elf/Black Numenorean)
Age: 34
Date of Birth: December 11, Year 86 of the Fourth Age
Place of Birth: Umbar
Current Residence: Annuminas, + The Wilds
Occupation: Ranger
Sword: Elia Erudil “Friend of God who brings prosperity.”
━━ ❂ A P P E A R A N C E • • ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━ ━ ━
His ethnicity shows in his features, Taerethor is half elvish, and half Black Numenorean, and he bears the features of both. His skin is olive toned; not the kind of tan which comes to light skin in the summer, but the skin which shows his desert lineage year round. He is tall, standing at 6’2”, with dark brown hair and matching brown eyes which are constantly surveying the surroundings. His face is stoic and imposing, though his expression can be soft when desired, and he bears the elongated ears of his elvish kin. He sometimes shaves, though more often in the wilds wears a short beard, which he tends to keep trimmed as his elvish lineage does not allow it to grow properly full around the chin. Taer has a small scar above his left eyebrow from the deflection of an orc sword, and his hands bear horrific scarring from burns attained during his childhood. He is somewhat conscious of them, often covering them fully or partially with gloves, or simply clasping them behind his back. He wears what would be common for the Dunedain rangers; clothing which keeps him warm and camouflaged against the environment, ranging from greens to browns depending on the time of year.
━━ ❂ P E R S O N A L I T Y • • ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━ ━ ━
Foundationaly quiet, a listener rather than speaker, his words come short and few. Taerethor has grown beyond the shyness of his youth to know when he must take opportunity or action (not that the actions always come with words). He’s observant, often driven to extreme empathy, and if he is not careful he can take on the emotions of others, especially those who have been harmed and he feels the need to enact justice for.
He is highly sensitive to the energy surrounding him. While he has a tendency to be able to get to know others through his intense observation of both them and every interaction they have with their environment. He understands the interactions of humans with their environments, with much practice through the whole of his childhood where everyone he knew held two faces, and Taera can sense which face a person is wearing, whether it is true, or a mask, from a distance. He is an information gatherer, a silent mover, an eavesdropper, a pattern seeker, and combined with an inquisitive mind he has a way of understanding the various situations he finds himself in.
He does not really try to make friends; it either happens naturally or not at all. Often not. He has incredibly strong inward emotions and mood swings, though he is guarded and reserved in sharing this aspect of his life, keeping most of his feelings inward while remaining unreadable on the outside. He does not wish to be hurt. Past hurts are deeply felt, though he does not dwell within his past in a dour way, they affect everything he does, including the impulsive end of his decision making. It is only someone he can trust who he will open his own life to, his past, and for those people he can speak a whole conversation with his eyes alone. His expression is often stoic, though there are a few who can draw a light expression to his face, and others who can rile the sardonic look in his eyes. When he does gain a friend, Taera is devoted beyond measure. He cares deeply.
A seeker of truth, knowledge, and wisdom, freedom is valued above all else and Taerethor will strive to ensure it for others to the absolute best of his abilities. Stifled freedom to himself or others can come at the cost of his temper. He does not argue or bide annoyance, driven to anger, he simply acts, and depending on who he is acting against, the consequences can range somewhere between rebuke and death.
━━ ❂ P E R S O N A L I T Y • • ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━ ━ ━
Foundationaly quiet, a listener rather than speaker, his words come short and few. Taerethor has grown beyond the shyness of his youth to know when he must take opportunity or action (not that the actions always come with words). He’s observant, often driven to extreme empathy, and if he is not careful he can take on the emotions of others, especially those who have been harmed and he feels the need to enact justice for.
He is highly sensitive to the energy surrounding him. While he has a tendency to be able to get to know others through his intense observation of both them and every interaction they have with their environment. He understands the interactions of humans with their environments, with much practice through the whole of his childhood where everyone he knew held two faces, and Taera can sense which face a person is wearing, whether it is true, or a mask, from a distance. He is an information gatherer, a silent mover, an eavesdropper, a pattern seeker, and combined with an inquisitive mind he has a way of understanding the various situations he finds himself in.
He does not really try to make friends; it either happens naturally or not at all. Often not. He has incredibly strong inward emotions and mood swings, though he is guarded and reserved in sharing this aspect of his life, keeping most of his feelings inward while remaining unreadable on the outside. He does not wish to be hurt. Past hurts are deeply felt, though he does not dwell within his past in a dour way, they affect everything he does, including the impulsive end of his decision making. It is only someone he can trust who he will open his own life to, his past, and for those people he can speak a whole conversation with his eyes alone. His expression is often stoic, though there are a few who can draw a light expression to his face, and others who can rile the sardonic look in his eyes. When he does gain a friend, Taera is devoted beyond measure. He cares deeply.
A seeker of truth, knowledge, and wisdom, freedom is valued above all else and Taerethor will strive to ensure it for others to the absolute best of his abilities. Stifled freedom to himself or others can come at the cost of his temper. He does not argue or bide annoyance, driven to anger, he simply acts, and depending on who he is acting against, the consequences can range somewhere between rebuke and death.
━━ ❂ F A M I L Y • • ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━ ━ ━
Parents:
Adoptive Mother: Ahava, Madame of the Sareb Brothel, of Near Harad, then Minas Tirith (deceased)
Mother: Orontënya, of the North (elf)
Father: Zarif al-Navqi, of Umbar (black numenorean)
Siblings: Could be many, but he does not know them.
━━ ❂ H I S T O R Y • • ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━ ━ ━
The people of Minas Tirith called his known mother ‘Madam’, and a woman of her age had never looked better. Ahava could easily be picked from a crowd. Against the white stone walls, and the drab garb of the commoners of the first tier, she was entirely elegant. Her appearance made it clear that she was of Haradwaith. Ahava wore silk, and hoops within her ears, and her painted lips did not hide her darker skin. Even her voice held a slight accent that was unfamiliar in those of pure Gondorian blood. If that did not give it away; her gown was made in the style of her culture. Men liked when their women did look so exotic. Ahava had been procured for that very reason from from the reaches of North Harad. She had been a girl of thirteen years when her father sold her to the north man, and the north man had taken her to his home city where he kept her to himself for a time, wasting his liver on the drink in his tavern while Ahava learned what it took to work the business, which more and more she controlled on her own, until one day the north man died, and Ahava was left in charge.
In latter years, Ahava would sit her son down, and tell him of how she had worked her way from a common harlot, to the Madam of her own brothel. There was a pride in Ahava’s voice as she spoke of it. Her unique appearance for Gondor set her apart, and there were many in the city who said her skill was unrivaled, though few knew, as Ahava only spent time with particular well paying customers these days; those of the upper tiers whose wealth and company enticed her. She took a sort of pride in her work, and though her savings now was enough to live on, she was not inclined to quit any time soon, for many reasons, and most importantly, as the girls who lived in her home depended upon her. Yet Taerethor was no fool, and he could see the disconnect in his mother’s eyes.
He knew he was a half-elf from an early age; there was no hiding the delicate pointed tips of his ears. Taerethor assumed his father was the elf, One of the high men of the city who served King Elessar, and that was all Taerethor had known of him. Ahava had been discreet in her dealings as always and she never spoke the name of the elf nor where she had met him; none of her clientele were elves, though Taerethor often watched to see if any of those in the city would give him a second glance.
The business did not leave the young boy disillusioned. Though what the women in his mother’s house did on a daily basis was not hidden from him in the least; nay he had walked in more times than he cared to on the act itself, and was sometimes sent in to clean while men were still in the rooms. The female form had never been a secret to Taer, seeing the women in the house day in and day out as they went about their business. Neither were female emotions a surprise, or the way life grew in a body or was birthed into the world. There were few decent folk who wished to step into a brothel so the women within were their own healers and midwives, and Taera learned what the others knew alongside them. His mind was active and interested, and Taerethor never had a weak stomach. In his knowledge of the world they lived in, he did not find it strange to be a boy present and assisting at the births of babies, or an adolescent cleaning wounds when one of the women came to be injured by the clientele. He had the keen eyes which would thread the needle for stitching when his mother’s eyes began to weaken prematurely, and eventually he took on the full task, to much relief of those who could not stand the sight of blood.
He also found himself as an errand runner at a young age; his legs taking him swift to the markets where the women of the home might receive the side eye from the merchants. Of course, after time, he too received the look, for it was known who his mother was, and Taer did not entirely blend in with the city youth. His skin was too dark, even if one did not know him, they could guess. It left him a target on the streets when he was young, to the point Taerethor was not out upon the street unless he was running errands swiftly. He was a small youth and easy to take advantage of. It was not uncommon for him to return to the Sareb with blood on his lip and a black eye, the recipient of slurs that he didn’t always understand both pertaining to the whorehouse and his ethnicity. Discontent with those of Haradric descent on the streets of the lower tiers waxed and waned with the political dissent encountered in the realm of South Gondor. The land had once belonged to either people, but now, though it was named for Gondor, those living within it still held some disdain for their northern leader. Despite treaties, skirmishes still took place upon the boarders. When news of a particularly dreadful one reached the gates of the White City as a battalion returned bearing much loss, Taera was eight years old, and he found himself not long thereafter accosted on the street by some elder youth, one of which had lost a father and a brother. They beat Taerethor until he was bloody, and poured oil on his hands, setting him ablaze in retaliation before they vanished. It was a beggar woman who had at first turned a blind eye to the beating, agreeing with it in a way, for the White City was not place for the savages of the south, but she could not handle the sound of Taera’s scream which was as any Gondorian child, and she took haste to smother the flames and clean Taerethor’s hands before sending him back to the street in pain. The wounds healed eventually but the boy’s hands were scarred for life, and something else within him rattled. Taerethor became aware of his surroundings like none other after the incident; and his wary eyes were always reading people for their intentions.
As his adolescent years had passed by him, Taera told himself to stop trying to guess at his father. He knew what kind of man his father was. They were almost all of them married men. They had wives and children. Men who were unfaithful and hid their secret affairs from their families. Secrets. Yet he was told it was his father who had named him. Truth teller, Taera always had suspected, it was for disgrace. Taerethor had never spoken to his father, that he knew of, and he wondered if the man had ever held him as an infant. It would have been less disconcerting if the man had vanished completely, though his mother would comment here and there throughout his childhood that his father thought he was growing up fine. That his father provided payment for a tutor, and that his father willed him to become proficient in mastery of sword, bow, and spear, and one day join the tower guard. He was taken into training by an old man, stern and sharp witted; Captain Aegros of the White Tower, and taught the way of weaponry. Taera did everything asked of him, in hopes that one day his father would find that he was good enough to acknowledge him face to face.
What Taera would have given to have a normal family, though maybe those were things only of myth and legend. The Sareb House where he had lived and grown most of his years housed the closet thing he had to family, and though some of the women would come and go, others remained and they were often like aunts to him. The latent maternal instincts of those who never had their own children would kick in, and they would treat him akin to a puppy, doting upon him. Often they would tell him as he grew that they were glad he was born a boy. It meant that most who were interested in the services the house provided would not seek to abuse him, though he was not without risk himself. His swift feet and ability to slink away into the shadows saved him a number of times. and he was not the only one. Other children were born, sometimes to be sent away to family, and other times to live in the home for some years until they were either swept away, often to lives of their own forms of poverty or crime, or in many cases, if they were female, they stayed and learned the business from their mothers.
Drunkenness was rampant, ale plentiful as it brought income, and sometimes there were drugs brought from far countries. There was always a guard paid a fair income to see that any man who abused one of the girls would receive equal payback for his crime. At times it was a gruesome matter. Taera had seen the death of housemates; ‘aunts’ and ‘sisters’, and had seen the death of customers. Just reward was paid, though in come cases it was the law enforcement of the city; guards of the White Tower, Captains of the walls and the Cavalry, Lords and Proprieties from other cities, and Ahava knew well enough that her own men would have to stand down and offer no rebuke for infringements. And in truth; any man who offered the right price could buy himself a clean slate with Ahava. Those were the men which infuriated Taera, and that was how the integrity of his mother waned in his own eyes.
Taerethor wished to see justice done. When he was twelve and only a few years into his sword training, the boy left after one of the tower guard who had choked a woman, following him up through the tiers and gateways of the city. Taerethor slipped ahead of him in the tunnel passageway between the fifth and sixth tiers, and slit his throat in the darkness. It was the first time Taera would take revenge for someone in his ‘family’, but not the last. He did not return home with blood on his hands. If his mother would keep secrets, he too would hold some secrets within for the sake of justice served. His knife or his sword would speak the truth to those who who had earned the song of steel.
When he was fifteen and his mother lay dying from the ramifications of the business, she told Taera of the arrangements she’d made for him after yer death. The business was allotted to another, and the women changed, some left, some came, but those who left only worked their profession elsewhere. Nobody who entered the business ever came out of it. Taerethor could see this much was true; that his mother's release was the only way one would see the other side of harlotry. However, there was one thing told to him which shattered his world. Ahava was not his true mother. All the years she had hidden the information from her for it seemed sadder to her heart to admit to the boy that he had been disposed of by his true mother. With ill regard, she did not know the full of the tale, of how things had come to be; she only knew the name of his true father, Zarif al-Navqi. A chieftain and warlord of Umbar. A Black Numenorean. His elvish blood came in fact from his mother, a woman who, as far as Ahava knew, was a consort to Zarif. She had only spoken to the red haired elf once; the baby bundled in silk cloth and sent away with her to the north. Ahava apologized to the child who had become her son. She had not wished him to know that he had been unwanted by both his parents. Taera did not hold it against the dying woman he had known as his mother, though it hurt him inwardly.
In latter years, Ahava would sit her son down, and tell him of how she had worked her way from a common harlot, to the Madam of her own brothel. There was a pride in Ahava’s voice as she spoke of it. Her unique appearance for Gondor set her apart, and there were many in the city who said her skill was unrivaled, though few knew, as Ahava only spent time with particular well paying customers these days; those of the upper tiers whose wealth and company enticed her. She took a sort of pride in her work, and though her savings now was enough to live on, she was not inclined to quit any time soon, for many reasons, and most importantly, as the girls who lived in her home depended upon her. Yet Taerethor was no fool, and he could see the disconnect in his mother’s eyes.
He knew he was a half-elf from an early age; there was no hiding the delicate pointed tips of his ears. Taerethor assumed his father was the elf, One of the high men of the city who served King Elessar, and that was all Taerethor had known of him. Ahava had been discreet in her dealings as always and she never spoke the name of the elf nor where she had met him; none of her clientele were elves, though Taerethor often watched to see if any of those in the city would give him a second glance.
The business did not leave the young boy disillusioned. Though what the women in his mother’s house did on a daily basis was not hidden from him in the least; nay he had walked in more times than he cared to on the act itself, and was sometimes sent in to clean while men were still in the rooms. The female form had never been a secret to Taer, seeing the women in the house day in and day out as they went about their business. Neither were female emotions a surprise, or the way life grew in a body or was birthed into the world. There were few decent folk who wished to step into a brothel so the women within were their own healers and midwives, and Taera learned what the others knew alongside them. His mind was active and interested, and Taerethor never had a weak stomach. In his knowledge of the world they lived in, he did not find it strange to be a boy present and assisting at the births of babies, or an adolescent cleaning wounds when one of the women came to be injured by the clientele. He had the keen eyes which would thread the needle for stitching when his mother’s eyes began to weaken prematurely, and eventually he took on the full task, to much relief of those who could not stand the sight of blood.
He also found himself as an errand runner at a young age; his legs taking him swift to the markets where the women of the home might receive the side eye from the merchants. Of course, after time, he too received the look, for it was known who his mother was, and Taer did not entirely blend in with the city youth. His skin was too dark, even if one did not know him, they could guess. It left him a target on the streets when he was young, to the point Taerethor was not out upon the street unless he was running errands swiftly. He was a small youth and easy to take advantage of. It was not uncommon for him to return to the Sareb with blood on his lip and a black eye, the recipient of slurs that he didn’t always understand both pertaining to the whorehouse and his ethnicity. Discontent with those of Haradric descent on the streets of the lower tiers waxed and waned with the political dissent encountered in the realm of South Gondor. The land had once belonged to either people, but now, though it was named for Gondor, those living within it still held some disdain for their northern leader. Despite treaties, skirmishes still took place upon the boarders. When news of a particularly dreadful one reached the gates of the White City as a battalion returned bearing much loss, Taera was eight years old, and he found himself not long thereafter accosted on the street by some elder youth, one of which had lost a father and a brother. They beat Taerethor until he was bloody, and poured oil on his hands, setting him ablaze in retaliation before they vanished. It was a beggar woman who had at first turned a blind eye to the beating, agreeing with it in a way, for the White City was not place for the savages of the south, but she could not handle the sound of Taera’s scream which was as any Gondorian child, and she took haste to smother the flames and clean Taerethor’s hands before sending him back to the street in pain. The wounds healed eventually but the boy’s hands were scarred for life, and something else within him rattled. Taerethor became aware of his surroundings like none other after the incident; and his wary eyes were always reading people for their intentions.
As his adolescent years had passed by him, Taera told himself to stop trying to guess at his father. He knew what kind of man his father was. They were almost all of them married men. They had wives and children. Men who were unfaithful and hid their secret affairs from their families. Secrets. Yet he was told it was his father who had named him. Truth teller, Taera always had suspected, it was for disgrace. Taerethor had never spoken to his father, that he knew of, and he wondered if the man had ever held him as an infant. It would have been less disconcerting if the man had vanished completely, though his mother would comment here and there throughout his childhood that his father thought he was growing up fine. That his father provided payment for a tutor, and that his father willed him to become proficient in mastery of sword, bow, and spear, and one day join the tower guard. He was taken into training by an old man, stern and sharp witted; Captain Aegros of the White Tower, and taught the way of weaponry. Taera did everything asked of him, in hopes that one day his father would find that he was good enough to acknowledge him face to face.
What Taera would have given to have a normal family, though maybe those were things only of myth and legend. The Sareb House where he had lived and grown most of his years housed the closet thing he had to family, and though some of the women would come and go, others remained and they were often like aunts to him. The latent maternal instincts of those who never had their own children would kick in, and they would treat him akin to a puppy, doting upon him. Often they would tell him as he grew that they were glad he was born a boy. It meant that most who were interested in the services the house provided would not seek to abuse him, though he was not without risk himself. His swift feet and ability to slink away into the shadows saved him a number of times. and he was not the only one. Other children were born, sometimes to be sent away to family, and other times to live in the home for some years until they were either swept away, often to lives of their own forms of poverty or crime, or in many cases, if they were female, they stayed and learned the business from their mothers.
Drunkenness was rampant, ale plentiful as it brought income, and sometimes there were drugs brought from far countries. There was always a guard paid a fair income to see that any man who abused one of the girls would receive equal payback for his crime. At times it was a gruesome matter. Taera had seen the death of housemates; ‘aunts’ and ‘sisters’, and had seen the death of customers. Just reward was paid, though in come cases it was the law enforcement of the city; guards of the White Tower, Captains of the walls and the Cavalry, Lords and Proprieties from other cities, and Ahava knew well enough that her own men would have to stand down and offer no rebuke for infringements. And in truth; any man who offered the right price could buy himself a clean slate with Ahava. Those were the men which infuriated Taera, and that was how the integrity of his mother waned in his own eyes.
Taerethor wished to see justice done. When he was twelve and only a few years into his sword training, the boy left after one of the tower guard who had choked a woman, following him up through the tiers and gateways of the city. Taerethor slipped ahead of him in the tunnel passageway between the fifth and sixth tiers, and slit his throat in the darkness. It was the first time Taera would take revenge for someone in his ‘family’, but not the last. He did not return home with blood on his hands. If his mother would keep secrets, he too would hold some secrets within for the sake of justice served. His knife or his sword would speak the truth to those who who had earned the song of steel.
When he was fifteen and his mother lay dying from the ramifications of the business, she told Taera of the arrangements she’d made for him after yer death. The business was allotted to another, and the women changed, some left, some came, but those who left only worked their profession elsewhere. Nobody who entered the business ever came out of it. Taerethor could see this much was true; that his mother's release was the only way one would see the other side of harlotry. However, there was one thing told to him which shattered his world. Ahava was not his true mother. All the years she had hidden the information from her for it seemed sadder to her heart to admit to the boy that he had been disposed of by his true mother. With ill regard, she did not know the full of the tale, of how things had come to be; she only knew the name of his true father, Zarif al-Navqi. A chieftain and warlord of Umbar. A Black Numenorean. His elvish blood came in fact from his mother, a woman who, as far as Ahava knew, was a consort to Zarif. She had only spoken to the red haired elf once; the baby bundled in silk cloth and sent away with her to the north. Ahava apologized to the child who had become her son. She had not wished him to know that he had been unwanted by both his parents. Taera did not hold it against the dying woman he had known as his mother, though it hurt him inwardly.
Ahava's plans were set in motion. Taerethor was to continue training to join the tower guard. Knowing now his Numenorean bloodline, he understood why his mother had insisted upon it for him, and he was welcome within the ranks. Taerethor thought a long while before he decided to speak to the Captains of joining and at least working amongst the rangers outside the city. They were an elite class, and Taerethor had not hoped for much more than being allowed to serve and provide menial labor at an outpost, but even that would be a step up where he was concerned.
The passing years were spent at the outpost of Henneth Annûn, where Taera would learn from the Dunedain, his prime occupation for a time came to be as he expected, the menial tasks required to man an outpost, cooking and the domestic work that was not new to Taerethor. Any insult that came to him in these days rolled from his back; though blood had gotten him his position, he determined it was not blood which made the man. When his body grew to height, and he grew into his age, Taerethor would become a ranger. He knew the wilds, how to survive in them and move in them. His aim was deadly, his sword swift and fierce, and he could go unseen. Loyal to the cause of the Reunited Kingdom as orcs were killed or driven from the land; Henneth Annûn was his staging ground beneath the Captains.
Of his family, Taera could not continue to wonder, but the thought was painful and so for many years he refrained from speaking of it. When he did; The Captains knew the name of Zarif of Umbar, and he was said to be an ally of the Reunited Kingdom. Taerethor learned what was known of him, and determined that one day he would meet him; and ask the full story. Of his mother, he asked; but there were none who knew of Orontënya. At least, not until a lone elf straying within Ithilien told him that by her description, her birth must be simple, that she must be of the line of Mahtan, for all elves bearing flame red hair came from the line of one. That the Smith of the North was of this line and currently resided in Minas Tirith.
The look that passed between the elves he met was enough to tell him he'd found what he was looking for, and the year which followed left Taerethor and Ruivo sailing to the city of Umbar, while he listened to every story which the elf smith told him of Orontënya; for better or worse, nothing was hidden from the young ranger. Greeted in overly friendly manner by Zarif al-Navqi, who called him 'son' from the start. But it was not long before he learned that his mother, who Zarif spoke fondly of, had passed to Mandos long ago; an accident at sea, Zarif recalled sadly. The Umbar Lord tried to convince Taera to stay with him, but the son opted to return to the north with Ruivo. Neither could he stay with the elves of Minas Tirith who tried to welcome him with open arms, though he stayed in close contact thereafter to his mother's grandparents. He wished to know the northlands, the lands of his mother's birth, and so Taerethor went north to Imladris, a city abandoned and grown over. Over the past few years he has walked the expanses of the north and seen the places that his mother once called home. And he joined with the Dunedain of the north; stationed outside of Anuminas.