Post by Tinúviel Evernight on Oct 13, 2005 15:28:59 GMT -5
Full Name - Tinúviel Polyhymnia Evernight.
Pseudonym (nickname) - Those she is friendly with are free to call her "Vi". She calls herself "The Nightingale".
- coincidentally, that's Common tongue for Tinúviel -
Age - 25 years, 26 by the end of Spring.
Gender - Female.
Likes - The shroud of night, the taste of a good mead, and a warm fire.
Dislikes - Smart alecs, traitors, and those who cannot think for themselves.
Loyalty - She is closer to Gondor than any other, but she prefers not to attach herself anywhere.
Combat
Sword (on foot) - 10
Short/Long Bow - 7
Axe - 2
Halbeard - 6
Sword (Horseback) - 10
Magical Abilities - Telepathy, simple telekenisis, and a rare occurance of the Elven Eye.
Control of Element - Air, but not much.
Weapons (At least one) - Swordsmanship and a bit of staff-fighting. Longbow.
Race - Half breed; half elf, half human.
Strengths - Swordfighting, use of logic, manipulative deception (although she prefers to avoid the use of such).
Weaknesses - Attachments, poor sense of direction, temper, Axe-fighting, holding her thoughts.
Appearance - www.geocities.com/bums1998/028.jpg
Personality - Dangerous, deceptive, clever, sly, quick, logical, mysterious, unattached, mischievous, blunt.
History - Vi was born a bastard child when her mother had an affair with an elf. Her father is unknown to her. She was brought up in a simple life by her human mother. A blacksmith taught her all she knows about combat. Her mother died less than a year ago and she has taken to travelling the roads of Middle Earth.
Role Play Sample
Tinúviel stepped back from the fire she had just created. It was small, but it needed not to be, as she was hiding from no one. However, the small size of the fire would suffice for her needs, and it did not require her killing much of the forest. The forest had sheltered her for many weeks now, and she owed it at least that much.
Contented, she kneeled by the fire and warmed her hands, which had grown numb from the cold after hours of riding. She turned abruptly around at the sound of leaves cracking, her hand on the hilt of her sword. But no, it was only a squirrel. She released the breath she had drawn in, relieved. Perhaps she had grown too paranoid after her mother’s passing. She slowly released her grip on her sword, and kneeled over the fire once more. After all, it wasn’t like anyone wanted to kill her.
So could only be grateful for the peace and quiet, a state that was much influenced by the lack of companions. She was the Nightingale. She travelled alone.
Pseudonym (nickname) - Those she is friendly with are free to call her "Vi". She calls herself "The Nightingale".
- coincidentally, that's Common tongue for Tinúviel -
Age - 25 years, 26 by the end of Spring.
Gender - Female.
Likes - The shroud of night, the taste of a good mead, and a warm fire.
Dislikes - Smart alecs, traitors, and those who cannot think for themselves.
Loyalty - She is closer to Gondor than any other, but she prefers not to attach herself anywhere.
Combat
Sword (on foot) - 10
Short/Long Bow - 7
Axe - 2
Halbeard - 6
Sword (Horseback) - 10
Magical Abilities - Telepathy, simple telekenisis, and a rare occurance of the Elven Eye.
Control of Element - Air, but not much.
Weapons (At least one) - Swordsmanship and a bit of staff-fighting. Longbow.
Race - Half breed; half elf, half human.
Strengths - Swordfighting, use of logic, manipulative deception (although she prefers to avoid the use of such).
Weaknesses - Attachments, poor sense of direction, temper, Axe-fighting, holding her thoughts.
Appearance - www.geocities.com/bums1998/028.jpg
Personality - Dangerous, deceptive, clever, sly, quick, logical, mysterious, unattached, mischievous, blunt.
History - Vi was born a bastard child when her mother had an affair with an elf. Her father is unknown to her. She was brought up in a simple life by her human mother. A blacksmith taught her all she knows about combat. Her mother died less than a year ago and she has taken to travelling the roads of Middle Earth.
Role Play Sample
Tinúviel stepped back from the fire she had just created. It was small, but it needed not to be, as she was hiding from no one. However, the small size of the fire would suffice for her needs, and it did not require her killing much of the forest. The forest had sheltered her for many weeks now, and she owed it at least that much.
Contented, she kneeled by the fire and warmed her hands, which had grown numb from the cold after hours of riding. She turned abruptly around at the sound of leaves cracking, her hand on the hilt of her sword. But no, it was only a squirrel. She released the breath she had drawn in, relieved. Perhaps she had grown too paranoid after her mother’s passing. She slowly released her grip on her sword, and kneeled over the fire once more. After all, it wasn’t like anyone wanted to kill her.
So could only be grateful for the peace and quiet, a state that was much influenced by the lack of companions. She was the Nightingale. She travelled alone.
