Name: Lathronien 'Ghost-Eye'

Age, Gender, Race: 72, Female, Elf (Nandor)

Appearance: Only a little over two decades and a half till she reaches her majority, Lathronien has the cast of youthfulness about her. With dark black hair raggedly cut to hide her ears and keep it short, and blue eyes so pale they almost appear white. she was aptly named 'Ghost-Eye'. She is not of average height for a elf of her age, reaching only the shoulders of her kin that average 6 feet she grows slower. But she is growing, none the less. Her form graceful, if not a bit underweight. A beautiful face, she was oftening smiling. Mocking, laughing, or just in pleased delight. Though now she often looks haunted. Her back is horrendously scarred, something she keeps hidden. Though she cannot keep the stiffness or curl of her right hand hidden. Her pinky and ring finger of that hand move more stiffly than the others and seem to curl against her palm all too willingly. Lathronien wears a simple brown tunic, over a shirt with a tad too long sleeves that are quickly getting just barely long enough and breeches. Dressing more like a male than a female for movement. With boots, cloak, and a cowl, she also wears a set of gloves when she can. She wields two knives tucked into the top of her boots, a third at her waist along with a elegant- yet small- sword. A bow and quiver of arrows are strapped to her back.

Equipment: A short sword of Man-make. Five daggers of the same make. Two in each boot, one at her waist and two on her wrists. A secret purse is hidden inside of her tunic. A bow and quiver with arrows of Man-make. Her coin purse is light and holds merely enough for food and a cheap room. She has one large coin hidden in her boot.

Personality: Lathronien, unlike her elders, is not reserved in the least. She's open with her thoughts, though she is attaining a polished edge to it- it's a uphill battle. She respects art and poetry like others of her race, but refuses to comment upon them or stay about- especially when it is Elvish. Fierce, she has the youthful drive that she can take on the world and win. But for her blunt and fierce mannerism, she is more akin to take to the shadows and go unnoticed when around the towns of Man or grand halls of Elves. Reserving her natural self for the few number of lesser masses. Though when in such areas, items do tend to have a habit of disappearing and reappearing in her possession. Something she will blatantly deny. She keeps her secrets tightly guarded, not allowing any to learn of them.

Story: The goals for Lathronien are to see if she could find a healer for her hand, and to potentially see more of Arda before she leaves for the Valar. Her cheif interest lies in Angmar and the remains of Moria. Both places that interest her, though heading to the South to see what lies pass Gondor and what remains of Mordor.

Biography: She's alone, for a Elven child this is rare. But the reason why is not so strange, though Lathronien will not say why to any. She lived on the southern fringes of Mirkwood. Her mother and father both rather having the quietness and peace it brought, enjoying the solitude. However it was a costly mistake to be so far from the protection of others and dismiss the dangers. Her parents were killed fighting some of the more fearsome creatures (She does not remember what exactly.). It was during this her back was torn to shreds when she was struck down and a section of their home fell upon her. A portion of her hand was damaged by this leaving it partly paralyzed and damaged. After extracting herself she fled the forest, not knowing where to go and only knowing to run. It can be safely and correctly assumed she's lived among Men for a time, hiding her identity well, and thieving to survive. She joined the caravan to get to a town that would not notice her as Bree had begun to.

Name: Darcyn Telcontar

Age, Gender, Race: 36, Male, Man

Appearance: Darcyn is a tall man, standing at six foot one. His hair is lank and could be any colour under the grim, though it's brown in reality. With a thick, unkempt beard his face appears older than his years and haggard. His brown eyes are filled with hatred and some sort of blood lust. Wearing a mixture of armor from Gondor and Rohan. A chest plate, with matching greaves covers a shirt of chain mail. He wears tough leather leggings and boots, a helm of the Rohirrim style. At his waist, a sword, and on his back, a shield. He aslo has a horn and two daggers with him. When not in armor, he wears a simple shirt and tunic, with breeches- often wore and hard used. His body is fit, if a bit chubby about the middle, and he bares more scars than a sane man should.

Equipment: Armor from Gondor and Rohan which consists of leather leggins, boots, and a chest plate. His helm is of Rohan make. Two daggers on his belt, one in his boot. Under this he has a chain mail shirt, and when not wearing his gear he reverts to a stained shirt and tunic, and worn breeches. He also wields a sword and a shield with the emblem of a blue swan.

Personality: To put things in the simplest of terms would be best for Darcyn, he was never the sharpest nor the best political man. Darcyn is a man of doing, a man who thinks his race superior and himself best of all. The world focuses on him and for anyone else to interfere in his spotlight would be a blemish he could not allow. This often causes fights and ends him up either in trouble or in the middle of a brawl. He also will never, ever admit a elf may be better at sword play than he, or that dwarves are not related to goblins. This idea must have been come by in a drunken stupor. A womanizing, pig-headed man. He sees his way as the only way. Darcyn is crude at the best of times and down right volatile at the worst of times, taking his fury out on those about him. His only loves are gold, himself and arguably fighting. The bloodier, the better.

Story: He wants to go into the mountains and hunt down Orcs, exterminate their horrid race along with the goblins and trolls. He will most likely be found by most as the type of man he is and cause problems and discord. He is not about to help the people about him, but he is a good fighter.

Biography: Darcyn was a veteran to the army, but he never liked Orcs before that. Now he wanders about and slays groups of Orcs with his band of merry Bounty hunters. But due to a unsuccessful raid- which he tells everyone was a horrible slaughter on his part- his band was broken. Lost and annoyed, he is travelling to Bree to gather up more men and make the route down the Misty Mountains to Gondor again, slaughtering for their blood money. Darcyn is happy as a man like him can be with his life and should anyone question him, it's going to be a very long day until they get rid of him. He's come to the town to hope to get more men or get paid for a job.

Age: 67

Gender: Male

Race: Dwarf

Appearance: 4'4, and possessing brown hair and eyes, of a colour so similar people often remark about it. He has soft features except for a jaw so large it makes his beard look just a little odd on him. His hair is in a long unkempt mess though his beard is expertly braided. Unlike most Dwarves his body is devoid of any major scars or tattoos except for some near his mouth from when he once shattered a glass of wine whilst trying to drink it.

Equipment: no professional soldiering armour though his leather armour is thick enough to usually get arrows stuck in it and greatly soften the blows of blunt attacks, although his boots are a thick ornate Dwarven steel. He is armed with a heavy round shield as large as him if not for his clothes, and an ornate poleaxe. He also carries three throwing axes, and a (approx. one and a half handed) pickaxe from his mining days. A single bar of gold from which he takes pieces. Two loaves of bread, a massive flask of wine, and a dried fish.

Personality: He has the gold-lust of most Dwarves though significantly less of it. He is quite oblivious to the world around him, making him a little naive, and too friendly. He can even deal with Elves, only giving them the necessary "up your's git," before engaging in conversation.

Story: to be a "gentle giant," (I know that sounds odd considering his race) generally following others, having his happy views on the world shattered, yet to desperately cling to the happiness and wonder he sees in it and make others do the same.

Bio:

A son of one of Dain's soldiers arriving to the Lonely Mountain, he is the direct descendant of one of it's re-colonizers. He grew up to take a quite normal profession for Dwarves, a miner. He did it well, singing and laughing with the other miners. It all went well until the other Dwarves started accusing him of stealing, of a gold-lust horrid. In truth, he was innocent and perplexed, yet such was the flurry of accusations even his family started hiding their possessions from him.

Soon the subtle suggestions to leave began, and he took the hint. He used what little money he in truth had to get some gear, took a family shield and his pick-axe and set off to wander. Having discovered a Caravan by word of one of his few friends, he instantly joined looking for adventure and to see the world.

His clothes are a treated and extremely thick variant of something like this

Name: May Littlefoot

Age, Gender, Race: 33, Female, Hobbit

Appearance: Short, even by Hobbit standards, May stands at a proud 2 foot 11 & 3/4 inches, possessing a light, slight build that serves to make her seem even more diminutive. If not held back by her headband, long and furiously curly dirty blonde hair obscures a face with fine features, big hazel eyes and particularly long, pointed ears. She usually wears a pale yellow knee high skirt with brown leggings that reach the top of her calves, along with a loose longsleeved white tunic over which is worn a maroon buttoned up sleeveless vest. Unless it's a notably hot day it's rare to catch her without her thick, oversized dark green coat on too, worn open. The outfit is tied together with a worn yellow neck scarf. A thick tuft of curly blonde hair can be found atop little bare feet, as Hobbits will. Always being where she shouldn't tends to lend her an untidy, slightly disheveled appearance, with much of her clothing rumbled up and sporting a patch or two, her face frequently marred with dust or dirt.

Equipment: A small knife, a walking stick that reaches the top of her head, a simple but well-crafted quill, an over-sized yet fantastic dark brown leather hood and a large iron bracelet that serves as a perfectly sized headband for her, though she seldom wears it and prefers to have it dangling from her belt. Along with her big green coat these are her prized possessions which she carries everywhere with her, given to her by travelers she has met over the years. A lot of this is carried in an old leather backpack that has been repaired and patched to within an inch of it's life. Additionally she owns some meager but sufficient savings, a large book with many blank pages left, a small array of lock picks, a simple sewing kit, two pans, a basic firemaking kit, enough food for a few meals and spare clothes.

Personality: May is a confident, hopeful, effervescent young hobbit who loves making friends and is quick to lend her trust and affection. Along with this comes a poor combination of sometimes rash intrepidness and abundant curiousity, though she's pragmatic enough to learn from her mistakes. She isn't afraid to explore new, strange or scary places, also making a habit of collecting little personal treasures along the way, despite constant warnings of orcs and goblins and plenty other nasty creatures. With others she is candid, open-minded, serious about promises and just loves hearing tales of far-away places and people from the travellers who pass through town. May also delights in learning as many new things as she can and is always eager to pick up a trick or two from those willing to share them. Being acknowledged for a job well done fills her with joy and she happily helps and does little jobs for others, especially when a favour results in a reward, or even a return favour.

Story: May wants to be a bold explorer, to see and feel and touch and draw and write about everything that Middle-earth, heck, all that Arda has to offer. She wants to meet new and interesting people and dreams of talking to an elf someday. Lastly, she wishes to be a part of a grand story of her own despite being "just a Hobbit", like in some of the tales she's heard and read. Collecting some treasures along the way is a bonus!

Biography: Though she's not too sure about it all, the story goes that her mother stumbled into Bree one day on her own and heavily pregnant, seemingly unwell and incoherent. The mother of a family of hobbits took her in and May was promptly born. Her mother passed away but a few days afterwards, succumbing in her weakness to whatever illness she had arrived with. Without any family to speak of a decision was quickly made. May was adopted by her new mother, father and three elder brothers and given her name, for would any hobbit turn away a orphan and be called a bad host?

Growing up May spent almost all of her spare time out and about exploring the town and meeting people, whether it be at a market stall or in a tavern. All kinds of interesting folk pass through Bree and as her sense of curiousity grew May started taking a keen interest in all the diverse skills those she'd met possessed and shown her, taking to learning from them where she could. Though still far from mastering them some include cooking, sewing, wood carving, dancing, leather-working and the basics for many an instrument (to name a few), as well as more arbitrary talents such as lock-picking (despite not being a thief), sleight of hand, and knowing exactly where to stab a bad guy if you want to kill him (despite never even owning a sword). As she got older she started venturing outside the front gates to explore the countryside, sometimes with a friend or two, but usually alone. No nook was secure, no cranny safe. This un-hobbit like conduct led to many a long family talk filled with the firm advice to "Be more Hobbit May Littlefoot", but nothing really ever changed her adventurous attitude. She was never one prone to conform at her own expense.

Having just come of age, wanderlust has all but claimed the young halfing. Her foster mother tearily protested and foster father advised against it as she discussed her plan to set off into Middle-earth and make a name for herself as, essentially, a famous explorer. Despite contrary advice her mind was made up and they eventually gave her their blessing, realising that, quite frankly, it had always been inevitable. And so May's journey began in front of three visiting caravans. An eeny meeny miny moe and one rejection later saw her leave at dawn the next day, waving to her family from the back of the caravan until they slowly fell out of sight.

She didn't even ask where they were going.

Name: Agarwaen Braigion

Age, Gender, Race: Sylvan Elf (Mirkwood), male, a bit more than 4000 years.

Appearance: Silver, shoulder length, slightly wavy hair. Around 2,40m, has light green eyes. Slender, strong and athletic body. Has a big scar on his chest, that he got when a dragon almost killed him. Delicate face, but piercing eyes. When not wearing his armour, he prefers to wear light and comfortable clothes.

Equipment:

-Special gaundlets



-His armor.



-A reinforced longbow.



-Basic medical kit needles, bandages etc.

-A knife he mainly uses to other things than fighting

-A bag of jewels he received from the dwarf.

-A bottle of Dwarf mead.

Personality: Cheerful and relaxed when amongst friends. Loves parties and celebrations. Unlike other elves, he didn't bear resentment to other races, and tries to treat them fairly. When serious, his eyes are piercing. Those who find themselves on the other side of his stare feel like it has no escape from his eyes.

Story: Gather a group to continue his old mission: to maintain the balance between the races, hunting everything that threathens this balance.

Biography:

Name: Eodras

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Gondorian

Appearance: Eodras stands just under six feet tale. He has broad shoulders and a well built frame in general. Being outside for most of his life as made him have a slight tan. His hair is scruffy on top and usually quite short on the side, with a slight stubble covering most of his face. Eodras has olive eyes and a nose which is slightly too big for his face and is bent from breaking it as a child. Apart from the big broken nose, his youth is clear to see with his warm smile, which seems to puts people to ease.

Equipment: Eodras dresses like a Ranger of Ithilien. His outfit is mainly composed of dark brown leather armour and then covered in an olive green hooded cloak. He is usually carrying his long hunting bow wherever he goes and arrows can be seen over his right shoulder, the quiver is hidden underneath the cloak. In the bottom of his quiver is a small pouch of Tharni and also some flints to start camp fires. Attached to the quiver is a small bed roll. A plain Gondorian steel longsword dangles from his left hip and then a plain Gondorian hatchet hangs from his right hip. Finally he has a skinning dagger on his lower back.

Personality: Eodras is a loud character, before he left Belfalas he was always making jokes and winding up people who took life too seriously. In the past few months he's become a bit more of a darker person though. He keeps his darker side to himself though and acts like nothing bothers him, until he snaps.

Story: He doesn't really have a goal, apart from making money, he's just wandering around. Eventually go back to Belfalas when he's ready. Eodras wants to be a better fighter not being a very skilled swordsman.

Biography: Eodras was raised in a small town in Belfalas. His Father, who was called Iolas and used to be a Ranger of Ithilien before he settled down with Eodras' Mother. After a few years they were married but unfortunately she died giving birth to Eodras.

Growing up, Iolas taught his son how to use a bow, a sword and often took him hunting. They lived a comfortable life, it was nothing spectacular but Eodras enjoyed his upbringing. His Father on the other hand couldn't get used to not being a ranger anymore and having no wife. He left Eodras alone a lot and spent much of his time in taverns drinking and gambling. After a while people started coming round to the house asking for money. Asking eventually turned into demanding. When Eodras was twenty three, his Father had been discovered down a back alley murdered.

After the funeral, it turned out that his Father had gambled their house away and Eodras was forced to leave the house. He grabbed his Fathers old gear and decided to head off only to come back when he was rich. He headed North towards Bree, on the way he ran into a merchant caravan.

CS:
Name: Gweniera

Age, Gender, Race: 64 Years, Female, Númenorean

Appearance: Gweniera stands close to six feet but just under. She possesses a slender, girlish frame with small curvature. Her hair is a brilliant blonde, almost bordering a white color and her hair is often kept loose, lazy bun. Her eyes are perhaps even more vibrate than her hair with an almost glowing green color to them. Her face, adorned with small features, and skin has a creamy white tone and looks soft except for a large scar that runs from the top of her left cheek down to her chin with a slight outward curve to it before continuing across her shoulder. There are a few other pinkish scars elsewhere on her body but none as impressive.

Equipment: Gwen is dressed in a loose, white, cloth, long-sleeved shirt and form-fitting dark brown leather pants. She wears around knee-high leather boots, a brown color slightly lighter than the pants, and wears tight leather gloves that stretch up to her mid forearm. For protection, she wears a similar dark brown, sleeveless leather cuirass. Around her waist is a belt with a holster for sword, on her side, and dagger, across her backside. All is usually partially hidden under a forest green cloak, held around her upper body with a Dúnedain star broach. A quiver of arrows and a hunting bow can usually be found slung around the woman’s back with a small pack of basic equipment, like a sleeping roll. Basic equipment includes tobacco, pipe, tinderbox, hatchet, small cooking pot. Has a coin purse with little money. Finally, has a brown horse with white patches named Collie

Personality: Gweniera is considered by comrades as warm, approachable, and very sociable with the exception of a very dry, sarcastic humor that takes one several encounters to understand she isn’t serious. In fact, many first impression consider Gweniera to be quite cold and pessimistic but the reality is she is quite the opposite. She falls into the role of a protector very easy, although recently she has become distraught with recent events that have left her shaken and distracted. You’ll find her a bit slower to trust and perhaps a lack of interest at a companionship, at least at first.

Story: Gweniera has recently recalled her service to the Dunedain Rangers and fled stating that she “quits for good” after a near miss had almost costed her life. The truth is, she had a bad run in with some bandits, betrayed by a friend to be in such a compromised position. Those people are still out there and while Gwen has sworn revenge, she fears that she isn’t well enough to face them.

Biography: Gweniera was born in the region of Eriador to a small family of what seemed like lowly bar owners. It was their preferred patrons that set them apart from establishments, however. The Dunedain Rangers had always called the Barbed Bee a home and it became a sort of front, or headquarters, for Dunedain affairs. As a child, she loved hearing the tales that the regulars had told and always wanted her chance, one day. As she aged, her life of simply being a barmadien would soon turn to becoming an ranger's apprentice, being passed from ranger to ranger as they accomplished tasks of varied difficulty. From then on, she became a full-fledged member, claiming her birthright that her parents had given her, extended life.

Decades later, Gweniera would face a near death experience that came from a betrayal. On a routine response to a familiar town's call, she was lead into an ambush by a friend in town. Outnumbered by human assailants, she became wounded and disarmed, but instead of a quick death, her captors had plan on dragging things out. Plus, they had some other more nefarious things in mind. Thankfully, Gwen escaped early in her capture, only after a day., but the damage had been done and she quietly abandoned her position in the Dunedain. She fled east and has become a drifer ever since, failing to find strength in her quest for revenge.

Name:Mawiyah Firyal

Age, Gender, Race: 29, Female, Haradrim

Appearance:
Mawiyah is a tall and lean woman with swarthy sun tanned skin and curly black hair cut just below her jaw, with a long black line tattooed across her nose just beneath her eyes; along with three black dots on her chin. Her exact height six foot one inch weighing a hundred and seventy five pounds in excellent shape from training and surviving the harsh desert lands south of Gondor.



Equipment:
-Steel brass colored lamellar armor

-Horned brazen helm

-Three and a half foot scimitar

-Bamboo composite bow

-Bamboo arrows, iron heads (x20)

-Steel curved hunting knife

-Firestarter

Personality: Mawiyah is clever and quick of mind with no shortage of low cunning to call upon, not entirely trusting of Gondorians due to the two cultures constantly clashing. Though her travels and time around the men of the west has tempered her dislike, knowing she could end up dead if she gave any reason a thirst for the world and no direction also keeping her in check to see as much of it as she can.

Story:Being that Mawiyah is quite alone and without company she is looking for any that will talk with her, using her sharp tongue and the information she has about the dark powers arising on rare occasion seriously. More often twisting it into a fable of sorts to entertain drunks while she swipes there valuables, and learns all she can about the customs and expectations of the other cultures.

Biography:Mawiyah was born in a Haradrim port city bustling with trade and baked by the powerful desert heat, the city drawing most of its wealth off of fishing and trade of spices with neighboring cities and peoples. She was raised by an average family her mother was a spice trader and her father a guard for the Lord whom ruled the city, due to the harsh nature of the Harad Mawiyah's father taught her skills necessary to survive; starting with hunting and tracking along with the use of a sword. When she became old enough Mawiyah joined the city guard like her father before her, the remote location of the city along with the vastness of the desert sparing her from any incredible battles or sieges. She dealt with pickpockets, assaults, theft and the like eventually becoming a dirty guard bored with the repetitive life and frustrated by the Lord living like a king while everyone else footed the expense. So she took bribes and looked the other way on occasion, earning herself a fairly steady pay raise also collecting from some merchants to take extra care of their stall's. A dark man cloaked entirely in black arrived one day, a poor color in the deadly heat as any could tell you, but he never removed the cloak and had an air of death and cold around his very body; something very off putting which frightened Mawiyah. Then not even three weeks past a strange man cloaked in blue was preaching to a huddled group in the dark of a tavern warning them of a great evil arising which would seek to use their people's strength, he was promptly arrested on the orders of the Lord and thrown into a cell.

Mawiyah was set to guard the cell along with others which rotated day and night in teams of two, the formerly blue cloaked man still talking with her when she cared to listen, his ramblings sounding crazed to her until mention of the black rider arose. He begged her to free him from the cell, and she eventually did one night when the palace slept she shanked the other man on duty with her convinced of the old mans stories. Using the cover of night to sneak the man from the Lord's palace an uproar spreading quickly just as they passed through the lower port gate, where he split off from Mawiyah giving her a small silver ring with a ruby stone set in the center. It always seemed to give her comfort since the moment she touched it, granting a feeling of warmth at night and soft cold during the heat of the day, obviously unable to return to her home city Mawiyah wandered north. Finding the forests nearer to Gondor and the warlike Easternling's whom occupied them to be her kind of people, getting work as a private sellsword for some time protecting wealthy merchants and other such nobles. Saving enough coin to venture into the west, running into a caravan on the way to Minas Tirith the supposed city of several dozen tiers made of all white stones in the side of a mountain. Something she yearned to see.

Name: Egill

Age, Gender, Race: 45 years. Male. Man of Dale.

Appearance: Egill is short, especially amongst menfolk, standing at perhaps five foot seven. He is not overly muscular, with thin arms and a gut that is barely noticeable unless he is shirtless. Egill possesses alert and slitted grey eyes and thin lips. His nose is deformed as a result of being broken one too many times. He has a short beard, brown in color, with streaks of white going through it. Egill is thin-faced and relatively smooth in visage. His hair is brittle, white, and wild, he does not style it, for it is usually hidden anyways. He has many scars, with the most notable being a large one that runs from his left-ear to the top of his forehead.

Equipment: Egill wears dark leather armor, which extends from his feet, up the nape and to the forehead, over it, he wears an orange surcoat, tied at the neck and torn practically to bits. As for weaponry, he wields an Arming-sword, steel and shining as if it had just been forged, it is a beautiful weapon, with the pommel having five gems, three a deep, dark crimson and two a bright, shining ochre. The blade is of dwarven construction, and is the nicest thing he owns. He holds a color-less shield of linden wood, the wood is layered with exceptional talent and is firmer (if not more durable) than most metal shields, though it is strengthened with the metal ring around the diameter and a core of steel. He also wields two nets and a number of javelins, both of which he can throw with some accuracy.

Personality: Egill is quiet and yet not cold, he has a warm grin and his voice is quiet and re-assuring. He has no quarrel with any race but that of the goblins, who slayed his brothers and all of his nephews. He has a habit of contemplating his own mortality, as a result of his advancing age and the death of his brothers. He is humble in his accomplishments, but doubts his own skill, he had been unable to save his brothers, and although his forces had equal numbers to the goblins, he had still lost and almost died. Though a skilled warrior, Egill's doubt prevented him from reaching his potential in his prime, and now he is a weaker warrior due to it.

Story: Egill is tired of travelling, he does not wish to fight in someone else's story, he only wishes to pass on his skills to a youth and aid them in their growth. In honesty, Egill's true wish was to have someone to avenge him when his career finally takes him, and his sword is too heavy to be held by the hands of a dead man. He had none left who cared about him, and if he found his missing great-nephew, he would only have a boy, perhaps traumatized by the events of the goblin ambush. He wanted an heir, perhaps not of his own blood, but an heir nonetheless.

Biography: Egill was the middle child of three farmer's boys in Dale. Growing up on a farm was excellent for building constitution, and Egill grew exceptionally strong, though his elder and more powerful brother, Bail, was always the stronger of the two. Eventually, life as a farmer grew too much for Egill's scrappy elder brother, recruiting his youngest brother, who had recently come of age, he came before Egill with intent to start a mercenary band. Egill, pleased to be of service to his brother, who he had always admired, happily joined Bail and his elder friends in starting this band. Travelling the land, word grew of the three brothers and their exceptional strength. Armed with what Bail could steal from his post as a member of the militia, the brothers wandered Middle Earth, with a steadily multiplying war-host. Eventually, they began to take contracts from the kingdoms of the world, fighting for warring clans in the east, and even combating orcs that dared leave the mountains they called home. In the years following, Bail, white-bearded and built like a tankard of ale, sired a son, who then sired two sons of his own. Their youngest brother and head archer Luth also had a son and daughter as progeny. All of their sons joined the company, with Egill serving as their tutors while his much less dutiful brothers managed the combat operations of the band. Not siring any children of his own, Egill managed the finances of the band. Declaring that he had little time to continue as an active member of the band, he announced that he would retire from active service after one last contract.

Unfortunately, Egill would never get that chance, as during a trip through the mountains, the heavy-set and little armored Bail was suddenly run through with a spear, hefted above, and swiftly decapitated. Speared with the same weapon, his son was also slain after avenging his father, still impaled. The youngest brother and his children were cornered and battered to death. Bail's grandchildren, joining with Egill, fought alongside their tutor, until the eldest took a thrown axe to the throat and his brother fled in terror. Egill fought what goblins approached, but as more and more of his men met their ends, he decided to retreat, bleeding from many wounds. Returning to Dale, where he was bed-ridden for weeks, he noticed his hair had gone white from the trauma, and realized just how close he had been to sharing his brothers' fate. After he had recovered, Egill armed himself and stood at the edge of he city, staring into the horizon. Giving a tribute to his fallen family, he realized that one of his great nephews was still unaccounted for, if he was still alive, perhaps there would be someone to carry on their family's legacy. Walking off into the distance and joining any caravan he could, Egill prepared himself for one last trip to the Misty Mountains, perhaps to finally find someone to avenge him when he was dead.

Name: Ireth Eryn.

Age, Gender, Race: 20, Female, Dúnedain descendant.

Appearance: Ireth stands up not much taller than average height in human female standards (about 1.67m or 5'7ft tall), with a rather discrete both silhouette and aura, inheriting more of her mother's looks than her father's (a Dúnadan himself). She's got short golden brown hair (cut barely above the shoulders), usually tied in a small bun at the back of her head, and fair skin. Of rounded face, along with tender features that often makes her appear younger, such as a snub nose and thin lips; also, she has big hazel eyes and a slightly cleft chin. Depending on the light or the proximity, one could distinguish subtle dark bags under her eyes due to staying up late at night (reading or sketching, most likely).
Unlike what maidens are accustomed to, Ireth is not one to wear dresses and delicate robes. Her clothing is a little more practical out of necessity; she wears a thick maroon robe, along with a long-sleeved shirt and tan breeches underneath (though it is not common for females to wear those, she does as she thinks they are more suitable for travelling), boots and a cloak with hood as well.

Equipment: Poorly armed for a traveler, she carries a small knife in her boots and an elven dagger (from his father) hanging from her waist in its scabbard. Apart from that, she also carries a purse/bag with a strap, hanging from one shoulder to the other side over her hips, large enough to carry at least a book and a few parchments probably, her modest coin purse and an occasional fruit or piece of bread in it for the journey. It wouldn't be a surprise to find some healing herbes in her purse as well.

Personality: The hazel-eyed girl was mostly known for her curiosity, being an avid apprentice. She would always be wondering and looking for answers where she could, reading books or merely observing her surroundings. Once could tell she is quite perceptive, and seldom fails to trust her intuiton about anything. Of brave and adventurous spirit, she wanders around and travels as many regions as she can in order to know and learn more about the outer world. Nevertheless, Ireth's also got a good lot of common sense; she wouldn't go out and try something if she considers it to be dangerous or unreliable. She trusts her wit and heart to make decisions. She is kind and polite with everyone around, but also quiet and a little reluctant when it comes to talking to strangers; it takes time for her to fully trust someone. Fair to mention, Ireth's got a temper, too, so better not to mess with her.

Story: Once she turned twenty, Ireth decided it was time for her to go out of her village and see the world, hopefully learn of the topic that seemed to passionate her the most: the fantastic living nature (such as plants, herbes, animals and other creatures of several species). She /knew/, she could /feel/ they were all linked with magic, and that's what she wanted to prove herself. But of course, to do so, first she had to acquire knowledge.
Everyone in Middle-Earth, most likely, had heard of the Istari, wise creatures who knew of real sorcery and held pure magic. She had once met the famed Gandalf the Grey (Mithrandir), who had told her about his fellow wizard Radagast the Brown (Aiwendil). He said the Tender of Beasts might serve her as a better mentor than himself, due to her interests, and showed her the way to go to find him. Thus, she was going looking for the brown wizard when she got in the caravan with the rest.

Biography: Ireth was born in a humble home at the outskirts of Arnor, only daughter to an artisan woman and a Dúnadan soldier. That is all she knew about his father, for he had left to do his duty not long before she was born. He died in battle, leaving her poor mother to take care of the both of them on her own. Growing up, Ireth helped her mother with house labor and anything else she could. She never knew about her inheritage until she was sixteen, though, when her mother, Baneloth, fell sick and decided to tell her about her father (she had refused to speak of the topic until then). She was given then an elven dagger her father had given her mother when he knew she was pregnant, and kept it well with her few belongings.
Before spring arrived, when Ireth had already turned seventeen, her mother passed away. She then started working at an old reliable customer's house, who had known her mother for years, helping with the house work and cooking for them, being given food and shelter and clothes in return. She was also allowed to read the many books the old marriage had, so that's how she begun studying as much as she could before she was old enough to make some money and buy books on her own.
It was when she finally turned twenty that she knew it was time to go out and discover the world, looking for experiences that would enhance her little knowledge and help her learn some more. That's all she could aspire for, what she truly desired, so she went for it. What she found was an adventure she never expected.

Name: Dala, Dia's Daughter

Age, Gender, Race: 150, Female, Dwarf

Appearance: Dala has the traditional dwarven build with a ponytail of orange hair. Dala has a small tattoo under her eye marking her as a member of the Grey Mountains.

Equipment: Dala carries a shield and an axe. The majority of the time Dala wears chain mail armor, but when she feels safe will wear a leather armor set for speed and mobility. Dala carries a lantern and rope for hard travel through mines. A small silver necklace with a white crystal decorates Dala's chest.

Personality: Dala was always a team player growing up. It's how she earned the name Dala the soft, but more then anything she wanted to explore the outer world. Dwarf woman were always hidden away almost none were seen outside of there mountain homes. Dala is intensely curious bound often to explore whenever she gets the chance.

Story: Dala wants to travel through the mountains to assure that Thorin's mission to rid the mountains of orcs was a success. Dala also just wants to get out and see the world. The warmth of the sun and the smell of flowers have been precious gifts to her. Dala would like to see the Golden Wood she's heard so much about (Mirkwood) and to travel to the beautiful lands of Enedwaith. Dala likes to mark new locations on a blank sheet of paper only having a map from the second age.

Biography: The way Dala was raised was to serve her husband. Dala grew up in the Grey Mountains with the dwarf wives farming and training with cooking. It lead to her being a much better chef than fighter, but helps her identify edible foods. When Dala turned 100 she absconded her family in order to travel the world. In her lands the dwarves avoided going outside due to the constant threat of Dragons. When Dala reached the south it was her delight to arrive in the shire. Dala spent ten years exploring the Shire before heading to Bree and exploring it for even longer learning to fight while she lived in the low lands. Dala now was eager to see the misty mountains and travel to the east.