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Author Topic: [Hobbit + LotR] Alderbrow  (Read 2887 times)

Alderbrow

  • Ents
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  • Alias: Reis
  • Application: Plotter
Alderbrow
« on: June 12, 2013, 07:51:00 PM »

ALDERBROW



NAME:  Alderbrow
NICKNAMES (IF ANY):  The Tordid Ent
DATE OF BIRTH AND AGE (AS OF T.A. 2941): 19,382 | Years of the Trees
PLACE OF BIRTH:  --
RACE:  Onodrim
GENDER:  Male

HAIR COLOUR AND APPEARANCE:  Hair has always been something that has fascinated the old creature, if only for his lack of it. How anything can be so utterly pointless, yet shared by so many, is still beyond him. Alderbrow supposes that the closest thing he has to these useless tresses is a grouping of leafs that sprouts idly from the tip of his head. Precariously swinging when the breeze blows, his leafs often find themselves battered and torn. Fall takes them every year in an golden gleam, and they do not return as shy, green buds until the next spring.

EYE COLOUR:  Alderbrow is an ancient soul; he has seen much of middle earth change. Death, wars, famine, the Ent has seen all. Once, he assumes, his scarlet eyes would have been full of wonder and awe, looking at the world as if he were a newly sprouted bud, but time has taken all their liveliness. Alderbrow’s eyes are deep and solemn, eyes of one who has lived and lost much with time. While capable of staring at one with gentleness of a grandfather, or the love of a father, his eyes are often seen staring off into the distance with an odd glaze swirling about them - lost to memories, most would agree.

BODY TYPE AND HEIGHT:  Alderbrow, like many of his brothers, is an Ent of incredible size. Towering at an incredible eighteen feet, he looks down at the majority of creatures that inhabit middle earth. His shoulders are hunched, giving him the appearance of an older man, and his stiff-limbs only add to the simile.

OVERALL APPEARANCE:  Deep in Fangorn forest, away from prying eyes and curious souls that enter the winding paths and vivid green walls, sits a gentle pond full of colorful fish. Its placid waters sit in perfect stillness, its surface broken by the playful swish of a tail or by a dragonfly daring to touch it. Some say that the fish there are brazen, unafraid of coming close to any that may enter their homes. They swim around the creature, whether it be animal, man, elf, or dwarf, wide eyes set on the foreign figure, mouths open as they taste the water. If met with kindness, the fish will return it with equal gentleness, presenting river stones with unusual gleam or giving away their scales of unusual rarity.

But while the stories bring curious travelers into the gentle waters that Fangorn is said to protect, it is its guardian that captures the memory of most. By the waters, sits a tree of incredible size. Curling about a boulder, the tree looks at its pond companion with gentleness akin to a father. Its roots, mighty and strong, idly skim the pond’s surface and serve to the fish as makeshift homes. If one were to inspect the tree further, one would note the lack of proper foliage - the few leafs it has clinging precariously at two branches that stuck straight up at either side. It is an ancient tree, far older than most that inhabit Fangorn, with dry, rough bark that has begun to crack and peel throughout its frame. A curious stump is what captures the imagination of all that meet the tree, one that slouches forward almost looking like a head. Thick vines grow from its pointy chin, rolling and curling down towards a sunken chest. A large piece of bark sticks above the vines like a nose, and prominent brow is knotted in deep thought above it.

Those that have ventured close to the ancient tree say that the giant breathes. That it huffs and puffs out its cheeks. The brittle bark that covers its face cracks and snaps at the unusual movement. The branches are not branches, some would say, but rather that they are the arms and hands of the unusual creature. Elongated fingers rest idly by his knees, twitching slightly as the creature sleeps. His sunken chest rises and falls silently, the vines that grow underneath his nose in the shape of a mustache shuddering after each breath. The tree snored as it sleeps; a deep, drawn-out rumbling that sounded like a drum. It mumbles, others say, a combination of Entish and Common merged into one. For the most part, the words are nonsensical. Grunts and gurgles strung together with cryptic messages underlining the sounds.

If awoken, the creature’s head lolls up from its chest, a deep set of scarlet eyes peering from behind tired lids. It purses its lips, a thin, tight line that stretches the bark on its face. Its lips open and from them come a deep, drawn-out sound that rumbles through their chest. ‘What is it you seek in the home of Alderbrow?’

 
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: It is hard to miss the gargantuan figure that is Alderbrow - after all, how many tree herders does one come across? However, within his brothers the Tordid Ent is easy tell apart by a lantern attached to his back.  Long having been extinguished, its candle lost, and rust beginning to overtake the once pristine sides, the lantern has become something of a staple to Alderbrow. While he no longer recalls what brought the lantern to him, Alderbrow is by no means used to its presence. When it swings and taps its side, the Ent turns bewildered, trying to find the origin of the source.

WEAPONS:  While times of turmoil have torn middle earth in more than one occasion, not once has the Ent been forced to take up arms. Weapons, so says Alderbrow, are things reserved for races of a more rash nature.  Then again, when a creature is as large as Alderbrow, rarely does it seem to need a weapon to defend itself. When nature calls for him to fight, well-developed arms is all that the Ent seems to need.

FACE CLAIM:  --

STRENGTHS:  With age comes knowledge and for a creature so ancient, knowledge is something he has enough to spare. While Alderbrow may appear as a creature that takes little interest what happens outside his home, the Ent is well informed. The trees talk to one another, he says, and news travel fast amongst them. His size and girth, and the strength that comes as a combination of the two, is but another thing that seems to aid the ancient Ent.

WEAKNESSES:  Weaknesses are something that the Ent has never considered, rarely seeming to preoccupy himself with such trivial thoughts. Living a life of solitude there are few things he has encountered that the Ent can say endangers his welfare. Nevertheless, wildfires - or fire in general - comes immediately to his mind. Being a creature made up of dry bark and leafs, one should not be surprised of how easily fire can spread on him - it can feed on the giant creature for hours without end, enveloping him in unbearable pain. May the Valar spare him from ever having to feel something of that nature, the Ent begs.

ASPIRATIONS:  Many ages ago, when Alderbrow was young, he dreamt of seeing his beloved Quietfir again. Far too long he has been without her company, far too long he has wondered what time has brought to her. While the Ent knows well that seeing her again is unlikely, he can hope for the day that Ent and Entwives will be reunited again.

FEARS:  Hope is the last thing to perish, Alderbrow has said more than once before, so he cannot help but fear losing it. Too long he has hoped to see Quietfir again, and if he were to see this shattered, the Ent is unsure what he would do. Frankly, part of him doubts he would find comfort in life anymore. Loosing his brothers to the wickedness that inhabits the world is another fear that often shakes Alderbrow.

PERSONALITY:  An Ent is never hasty; everything is a careful decision that must be weighed and meditated upon. A trait that many others seem to have forgotten, Ents relish in their ability to take their time, and Alderbrow is no different. Truth be told is that when you have thousands of years to live still, reaching a decision in a short span of time seems rather ridiculous to the Ent. Yet, he cannot help but be fascinated by the short-lived children of Middle Earth, how they maximize their lives and live them to the fullest. Granted, Alderbrow cannot understand how they can function in such a fast-paced life, and the Ent is often left puffing his cheeks in annoyance, his brow knotted down to his nose.

Alderbrow has never been an excitable fellow, even as a Seedling. He has always been one for patience and poise. In his unhastiness, the giant has been known to loll into light sleeps, his eyes fluttering close and his head rolling into his chest. When awoken, Alderbrow will often resume the conversation as if nothing had transpired. However, if startled, the giant Ent will often regress to the beginning of the conversation - or change conversations entirely. It is not a lack of interest that spurs this, nor is it carelessness, but rather an odd sense of familiarity.  In his years, he has seen many travelers, heard many stories, and seen many wars, so it is becoming increasingly harder for Alderbrow to tell apart one from another.


HISTORY:  There was a time when the trees would speak freely, a time when they would sing sweetly, a time when they were connected. Alderbrow remembers a time when some of the most ancient trees that now live were nothing more than little saplings - eager and bright, with a long life before them. Alderbrow recalls a time when the two trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurelin, watched carefully over their world - a world of green, a world of trees. The Years of the Trees, the elves came to call it, though not all the world came to know its light. Alderbrow also remembers a time when his brow was unclouded by the harsh reality of life - of war, death, and despair. A time when he looked at the endless forests of green and the bright skies above with the same curiosity as men.  But, of course, it has been long since he has felt that way - thousands of years have come and gone. The world he once knew, the time of the forests has long since ended; the time of Men has begun.

Alderbrow recalls a time when all knew of the Ents’ existence - a time when they stood as proud protectors of forests in Middle Earth. He used to travel freely then, Alderbrow, often strolling from Rivendell to the Great Sea without abandoning the foliage of trees. A time when he was not restricted to live within the confines of Fangorn’s lands. But war tears, destroys and burns, and the Ents fell its full force during the Second Age. At first, they felt the loss of territory under the destructive hand of the Númenóreans. They hacked and destroyed all they came across with unusual might. Alderbrow recalls how many friends were lost during the era - how he could hear his close friends cry pitifully in the night sky, begging for aid to come. As cities rose,  the trees fell. Their connections were destroyed during that time - clusters of trees and Ents isolated with each passing day.

While their numbers fell, it was not until the calamitous War of the Elves and Sauron that ended their reign. Oh how the fires would claw the sky, how the trees would howl in the night. Fires - always fires - always screaming the trees were. But nothing could be done to stop them. The Ents were never rash and neither did they seek a war against the dark ones or the favored children of the Valar. So they watched their world crumble.

While most have forgotten, there was a time when the Ents were not alone; Entwives lived with them - such gentle, eager souls. When the Ents protected, the Entwives planted. Aldebrow recalls his own Entwife, the spitfire thing that she was. She never thought things through, Quietfir, always seemed to act instead of focusing what her actions could bring. Why worry about it? She would chide him, they had time. Alderbrow has almost forgotten what she looked like, how she smelled, but he clearly remembers the bubbling laughter that she had or the honey eyes she bore. What he does remember was that Quietfir was a being as lovely as could be.  She was graceful for a being her size, moving like a fawn. Like all Entwives she was controlling, though perhaps she never nagged, and when time came for them to seek a land they could call their own, she joined them. The Brown Lands, beyond the Great River Anduin, the Entwives said, would be the haven they sought. They parted, Alderbrow and Quietfir, gentle words exchanged muddled with reassurance.

They could not, however, escape the wrath of Sauron. The lands they were to foster and in which the Entwives would prosper, were destroyed. Alderbrow looked for Quietfir when news reached Fangorn, but he could never find her. Perhaps she has died with the land she loved, but Alderbrow remains hopeful that this wasn’t so. One day, he says, they will find each other once more,  when the Ents have lost all. For now, Alderbrow waits, a watchful servant to Fangorn, to the pond of golden fish that has won his love.

YOUR NAME:  Reis
AGE: Twenty-four
COUNTRY:  United States
EXPERIENCE:  About ten years, give or take a couple :3
OTHER CHARACTERS:  Vashti Ada Tohrein
CONTACT:  PM definitely works best - though ask for Skype if you'd like.
HOW DID YOU FIND US?:  Google accident~!
ROLE PLAY/WRITING SAMPLE: 
Quote
"I'm assuming you're the one Beriadan sent for?" Vashti turned as the voice cut through the air, Ahura raised and Manyu following in its sister’s wake. A gleam of silver caught the mercenary’s eyes, and it was as she followed it that she found herself staring at the tip of a well-aimed arrow. Vashti mentally cursed at herself as her eyes fell upon the owner of the weapon, but surprised herself to see a relatively young woman standing behind it. The girl looked at Vashti and she returned the stare, the seconds tense with both continuing to raise their weapons. Thankfully, the owner of the bow and its spiteful projectile slackened her grasp, the bow dipping slightly. Vashti followed suit, albeit slowly, her eyes never parting from the girl.

Vashti nodded her head once, “I believe that I am.” a dismissive scoff caught steadfast by her lips. Great, now this so called Beriadan sought another to do his work for him? Perfect.  Just what she needed. The grip on her blades slackened, her lips tightened, and with a small flourish turned the blades before returning them to their scarabs. “Very well then,” she nodded forward, “lead the way.”

To say the tension was palpable between the two women was a definite understatement. Neither found comfort in the other’s presence, both their bodies drawn with taut muscles and straight lines. The slightest of the girl’s movements would steal Vashti’s attention, blue eyes drawn to search the source of any possible danger. But time and time again she saw none; that is, if one were to ignore the way her hand lingered on her side. She grimaced slightly, but her eyes flicked away - at least she now knew what to expect.  Vashti kept silent as they walked through the broken city, past broken walls of white, and across wide halls that had been silenced long ago. “Keep your weapon close if it brings you ease.” Vashti suddenly said, eyes set on the road ahead. She never once wavered in her footsteps, never once returned her sight to the girl to her side. In fact, it almost seemed as if Vashti held no interest for the possible threat the girl carried on her hip. “But lest you seek my life, you will meet no wrongdoing by my hand.” And that was no lie.

Vashti cocked her eyebrows at the display the young girl produced before the elf, how she graciously knelt before the male as if he were royalty of some sort. The mercenary, whether it be from weariness or contempt, remained unmoved. Vashti stood with her head as tall as ever, her eyes locking into the elf as a sneer crept through her lips. ‘My, my, now this is someone with a false image of grandeur...’ Her head dipped in a short greeting, but the mercenary said nothing as she moved about the makeshift room - onto the slanted walls and the few decorations it held. Like Osgiliath, the room was haunting, alluring, and it didn’t take long before the mercenary had moved away from the duo to examine her surroundings. Her steps were slow as she moved about without particular interest, her eyes jumping from one object to the next. Her attention was suddenly stolen, shifting towards a shelf that sat to the right. 

"I assume that you are Vashti, the mercenary I have sent for, yes?"

As the elf spoke, her name sounded sour to her ears, forcing Vashti to crinkle her nose in obvious distaste. “As far as I am aware, we share no friendly ties for that name to cross your lips, master elf.” She began, fingers skidding past a vase that caught her interest. Pliant hands turned it, her gaze low and brows raised. The vase was returned to its place with an audible ‘clink’, the mercenary glancing over her shoulder. “If you wish to call me by something, you may call me Tohrein - and nothing else.” The sod did he think he was?

Vashti clicked her tongue thoughtlessly, breaking her eyes away from the elf. She rubbed her fingers together, as if suddenly noticing something clinging unto her skin. “As far as being a mercenary, some would agree.” She carried on after a few seconds, rolling her shoulders into a lazy shrug, “Myself? I prefer the term soldier of fortune.” Or a pietist with a heavy pocket; but some seemed taken aback by this description. Honestly, Vashti saw nothing wrong with the description - after all, she did usually exchange good deeds for their weight in gold. Or ‘good’ deeds according to her employer, which sometimes were difficult to tell apart. Vashti tested her lip slightly, her eyes flickering away as a sigh escaped the depths of her chest. Granted, sometimes she wondered if it was worth it at all. Seconds passed undisturbed - the elf and girl said nothing, and Vashti did not pursue to end the silence. This whole ordeal smelled wrong to her, it made her skin alight and for her hairs to stand on edge.

More seconds would come and go before it became impossible for Vashti to hold unto a rueful laugh. “I will admit, I never was one for unnecessary bathos.” She said, leaning listlessly against the wall. Her head lolled back, resting against the cold wall. The could feel as her skin grated slightly against the abrasive surface, but remained were she stood. “Cloak and dagger phrases, flourishes, all makings of an unexperienced hand...” She continued without particular interest, her hand waved carelessly through the air. Her posture remained as relaxed as ever, her voice flippant, but her stare hardened as she fell upon the elf named Beriadan. The mercenary did little to hide the venom that seeped through her carefully chosen words or how she nodded her head defiantly in his direction, “...next time you seek my aid, meet me in person instead of leaving a sodding letter in your wake.”


[cetner][/center]
« Last Edit: March 28, 2016, 01:51:59 PM by Mandos »

Ulmo

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Alderbrow
« Reply #1 on: June 19, 2013, 11:32:00 AM »
Oh Reis, I am absolutely delighted that you have created an Ent!  Alderbrow's application is simply marvellous.  His personality, his history, his appearance, the little pond of golden fish... you have conjured them all beautifully with your words.  I cannot wait to see this ancient, knowledgeable and slow-paced soul in the roleplay!  We don't have an Ent category presently and I do not know if Aldergrove fits into any of the others.  Hmm, I'll see what I can do about this.





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