Character Description
Name:Tárwen daughter of Elenarë
Species: Firindorian
Race/Nationality: Elarion
Gender: Female
Age: 125
Languages:Firindorian, Sidfirian and Arventian, all fluently. Can also read Turakindian reasonably well but will pronounce it wrong.
Appearance: Even amongst her own people, Tárwen is a tall, shapely woman, though at 5'10'', she stands as tall as most human men. She has deep gray-blue eyes and long honey-blonde hair which she usually wears loose. She has a slender nose, a cleft chin and pointed ears which mark her as one of the 'Fair folk'. All of this, combined with her fair complexion mean that Tárwen could pass as one of the Gwylfinn, rather than the 'fading' Firindor people.
125 years is not a huge length of time for the Firindor and Tárwen is still considered to be in the prime of her life.
Tárwen favours practical clothing in forest greens and browns and rarely wears either ostentatious colours or jewelry. This is fairly typical of the Firindor who tend to prefer muted, discrete tones, complimenting the natural stealthiness of the fair folk.
Personal Effects: Tárwen has a horse. Everything she carries with her fits into the saddle bags.
She has a handful of dresses in a variety of muted colours, a brown woolen sleeveless jacket and a thick grey-green woolen travelling cloak. Hard wearing leather boots complete her clothing ensemble.
An accustomed traveler in the less inhabited parts of the world, she carries a thick woolen blanket; a down pillow; a tinderbox; tools for cleaning, sewing, etc.; along with a selection of cosmetic products (including hair brushes) for when she needs to present herself to people of significance.
Tárwen carries a small seax as a utility knife rather than a weapon. Instead she carries a 5' long hornbeam staff, which as well as serving as a walking stick and more than adequate bludgeon, also acts as a magical conduit.
Background:
Role: Mage
Backstory: Tárwen is the youngest daughter in a family of three. Her father is a miller and belongs to the local militia. Her mother is a weaver. Tárwen initially intended to work as a weaver with her mother though during her 40s (while she was still far too young to be considered marriageable), she spent quite a lot of her spare time with a young man from the Elarion Mage's Guild.
While the relationship didn't last into adulthood, Tárwen was discovered to have considerable aptitude of her own and was brought under the tutelage of a mage named Curuwen. Curuwen was a good teacher and over the 75 years since Tárwen entered the guild she has become reasonably proficient, though mostly in the art forms more associated with the Fair Folk.
Tárwen is an expert illusionist and can cast spells to hide an area from people though this takes time and effort to enact. In a pinch, she can make her cloak appear as if it is a part of the natural surroundings, hiding herself and potentially another person with her.
She can produce light from her staff, which can be blinding, particularly to creatures from the Hosts of darkness who typically despise bright lights.
She is also an adequate healer if someone is injured. She can save people from mortal wounds, speed up the healing of those with less severe injuries and slow (if she's doing a particularly good job) or sometimes even stop the spread of disease from cursed injuries.
In 3975, 42 years ago, when she was still an apprentice, Tárwen travelled Curuwen and several other Elarion mages to a Conclave in Segestica which was hoped would be the beginning of a rapprochement between the Kingdom of Elarion and Regnum Arventia which had been frosty since the War of Gallus Nasica, which had been fought before she was born.
While the Conclave was a failure, Tárwen drew the notice of the Valindorian mage, Calanthor, who discerned in her a willingness to set aside the petty concerns of her short lifetime and that of her Kingdom for the greater good of the Graced peoples of Minadra - something he found many of the people of the Age of Steel lacked. He brought Tárwen into his confidence and the pair began a correspondence over the next few decades, discussing everything from the art of sorcery to the strange animals of the lands south of Varadaban.
Over the course of her letters with Calanthor, Tárwen became fascinated by the lost Gulcenedril artefact, an ancient device constructed in the first days of the Age of Steel, designed to allow the King of Caryandor to speak to the Turakindi Kings in the South, raising the alarm quickly should the Host of Darkness ever reappear.
While the first part of the artefact remained in Caryandor, the half belonging to the Turakindi had been lost in the last days of their Realms, though Calanthor assured her it had not been destroyed - it was someplace dark, though aside from that, nobody knew where. Since completing her apprenticeship some 20 years ago, Tárwen has launched several expeditions, with the people of Stormfjellheim, to explore the ruins of the Morgador in search of the Gulcenedril. Though they have located some interesting treasures, the Gulcenedril has never been amongst them.
In early 4017, Tárwen received an unexpected letter from Calanthor, asking her, in urgent terms, to meet him in Ealdormuda. While his reasons were not explained, Tárwen recognised the urgency of his tone and quickly packed a travelling bag, setting forth on to meet her friend. While Tárwen has travelled extensively in the Morgador and Taurethil forest, she has not made any forrays into human lands aside from the Conclave of 3975 and the trip is an adventure she was looking forward to.
Character Intro: Tárwen shifted on the bench she was sitting at, enjoying the warmth of the fire against her back. She kept her hood up. She wasn't sure the last time one of the fair folk had stepped foot in Eoham, but the locals were certainly curious about her; her ears were hard to hide. Almost inevitably they would conclude she was Sidfir, which she was not, which led to further interest. There wasn't any problem with the interest people showed her, it was not malicious, but sometimes it was nice to have a quiet evening with a mug of mulled wine.
Besides, some old soldier was regaling the crowds with war stories. She couldn't speak a word of the local language, so didn't know what they were, but she recognised the scene. Quintus, her bodyguard on the road, had taken himself to their room for the evening. He probably would have enjoyed the story... though he didn't speak the local language either.
She cast an idle eye across the other people in the inn... one of the Skyborn. That was unusual. While she had encountered the Skyborn before, in her limited experience she had believed they preferred the company of dwarves to humans. She took a sip from her mug of wine, realising it was the last of her drink.
She put the mug down, considering if she should, perhaps call it a night... but the night was young. But the night was young and while she doubted she would be swept up in any eager revelry tonight, Tárwen had no desire to take to her bed prematurely. So she waved to the innkeeper with her mug and a bright smile, signaling for another.
A few moments later, there was a scatter of applause as the old soldier signaled the end of his story. People seemed to be moving away from him, though the Skyborn sat down next to him. Tárwen paid them little mind, thanking the innkeeper as another mug of wine arrived.
A snippet of conversation from the other table drifted across. They were speaking Arventian. Then another. Turakindi ruins? This far West? Instantly her interest was piqued.
She hesistated a moment, she was meant to be meeting Calanthor here, in this inn... though he was a week late. What could be holding him up? The thought that anything might have happened to the old mage did not cross Tárwen's mind. There were few, if any, mortal beings more dangerous than Calanthor.
Turakindi ruins. She heard the skyborn say it again. If there were more ruins this far West that nobody had known about until recently, that would explain why the Gulcenedril had proven so hard to find. Could it be wherever this skyborn was heading? She considered what to do for a moment more, then resolved to approach her. Lifting her staff in one hand and mug of wine in the other she stood up, , crossing the few feet to where the pair were talking.
The old soldier looked up as she approached, raising an eyebrow in enquiry, "Hello!" Tárwen greeted the pair cheerfully, in fluent Arventian, "I apologise for intruding on your conversation but I couldn't help but hear you mention Turakindi ruins."
The skyborn turned to her, peering up at Tárwen with thoughtful blue eyes, "Yes, but you know that kind of place is dangerous."
Tárwen nodded, "I'm well aware. I am prepared for danger," the old soldier's eyebrow climbed a little higher, she noted, "I hadn't realised there were ruins this far West."
"Not many had," the skyborn replied.
"Are you sure you are prepared for danger, girl?" the soldier asked, "As much as I'm sure scholars and the like would love to get their hands on whatever is in those ruins, I only have the one sword arm."
"Girl? Oh," Tárwen glanced around furtively, then leaned forward, "I imagine my friend, that I'm probably older than your parents," she swept her hood back, letting the points of her ears show, "Tárwen of Elarion," she introduced herself, "I am from the Mage's guild, waiting for a friend in this city. Though he is late and your ruin could, potentially, hold something I've been looking for."
"What?" the skyborn asked.
"The Gulcenedril?" Tárwen looked between blank expressions, "It's a device to communicate over vast distances. The Turakindi made it. We have one half, the other is lost and nobody knows how it was made, making the first half a useless trinket. I would like to see if these ruins hold any clue as to its whereabouts." She saw the pair glance at each other. They still weren't sure she would be useful... "I can also heal wounds and produce light in dark places. And I've travelled in the Morgador before... I am not one of your mages who spends their whole life pondering the nature of magic in an esotericist community surrounded by servants. I am quite capable of surviving in the wilderness. And I come with a bodyguard. Arvensian fellow, called Quintus, quite handy with a bow."