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Author Topic: [Hobbit + LotR] Ihsan  (Read 1304 times)

Ihsan

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Ihsan
« on: June 27, 2017, 02:05:16 AM »

IHSAN



NAME:  Ihsan Ada Tohrein

NICKNAMES (IF ANY):  The woman has never been one for informalities, nicknames seemingly useless and unnecessary. Her name, Ihsan claims, is short enough to be used without problem; though this is reserved to those who have become close to her. Her brothers in arms, the Rangers of Ithilien, have come to know her as Tohrein, carrying on the name of her forefather due to their uncanny similarity in personalities. Her assertive, resilient, and no-nonsense attitude have gained her a name whispered amongst those that dislike the ranger; after all, there is a reason why you call a dog a 'bitch.'

TRILOGY: Hobbit & LoTR
DATE OF BIRTH AND AGE (AS OF T.A. 2941/3019): 68 years young as of 3019. Born on November 17th, 2951
PLACE OF BIRTH:  Bree (assumed), Arnor-border
RACE:  Dunedain
GENDER:  Female


HAIR COLOUR AND APPEARANCE:  Once flaxen and fair, Ihsan’s hair used to be something that her aunt adored from the child. It was, in her aunt’s description, the child’s prettiest – and saving – quality. But time took away the ranger’s fair feature, tarnishing and darkening it with age. While blonde strands are still discernible, they are no longer starkly obvious; instead, Ihsan’s hair is a dark shade of blonde, nearly brunette, and looks significantly darker if left unwashed - which it usually is. The tips of her hair are significantly lighter than her roots, lightened with prolonged exposure to the Gondorian sun. Yet, it is rare to notice the subtle coloration in Ihsan’s hair, how it falls down to the middle of her back, or, for that matter, how the strands are soft to the touch. A woman of practicality, the ranger’s hair is rarely let down – both literally and figuratively – and is usually braided back into a haphazard bun.

EYE COLOUR:  Where her mother’s eyes had been bright and cheerful, Ihsan’s eyes are sharp and cold. There is a certain boldness in her gaze, unabashed and undeterred, that betrays the emotions that might be plaguing the ranger; granted, they are more often than naught narrowed down in annoyance over anything else. A stark blue, they are not bright as much as they are clear, reminiscent of ice or snow.

BODY TYPE AND HEIGHT:  There is resilience in the ranger’s 5’8’’ body, a cool indifference that is echoed in Ihsan’s tense posture and crossed arms. She is not dainty, but rather lithe, the bend of muscles visible beneath the stretch of sun-kissed shoulders and arms.  Quick with her hands – and quicker yet with her feet, it is clear she is a woman that has seen arduous, physical work for most of her life. Calloused hands further fuel the belief, the skin on her slender digits having become rough and thick – years of having worked them down to raw, bleeding messes taking a toll on them. Womanhood was generous to the ranger when she came of age, but the bend of her chest and dip of her waist is concealed, Ihsan preferring to bind her chest tight for comfort and mobility’s sake. 

OVERALL APPEARANCE:  There is something that makes the woman seem unapproachable in the best of times – and aggressive and annoyed at the worst. Perhaps it’s the way she stands rigidly in contrapposto, balancing her weight on her left leg, arms crossed defensively or perhaps it’s defiantly –maybe it’s the way her brow is knotted in annoyance, dark brows clouding the lightness of her eyes making them seem colder and sharper than they really are – or, just maybe, it’s the way that she quirks her brow in disbelief when someone starts speaking, eyes trained on them until they stop their incessant blabbering. But, for the most part, it probably is the way Ihsan remains to herself, picking her nails with a dagger as she leans precariously against a tree.

Function over form was an idea instilled upon the woman since her early days and which is reflected in her demeanor and dress. Ihsan wears dark riding pants, usually stained at the knees with dirt and grass. Matching the color of her pants, the ranger wears a leather cuirass that is meticulously cared for and oiled. A single pauldron protects her right shoulder, fastened across her chest. The woman wears a red-colored sash, the excess fabric trailing down her left thigh. Over the sash is a wide leather belt containing pouches on the back and room for four throwing knives in the front. Aside from allowing her to carry some of her material, the belt also serves to provide additional coverage to the softer parts of her body – a necessity when in battle. Leather greaves, as carefully cared for as the rest of her armor, are laced on her forearms, leaving her nimble hands room to work while providing some protection. Soft-leather and flat-soled, her boots are as carefully selected as the rest of her armor, allowing for the ranger to move quickly and quietly when needed. Dark gray or brown, depending on how you look at it, a simple cloak hangs from her shoulders, usually gathered and wrapped around her neck to keep it from getting tangled.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:  There is a small scar that drags across her temple; that is if one ignores the occasional bruises and scratches.

WEAPONS:  Her uncle trained her with a crossbow – a cumbersome weapon whose power was undeniable. However, Ihsan eventually grew to prefer a modified war bow. Lightweight and stealthy, it allowed for Ihsan to use it in a variety of circumstances as well as on horseback and on foot.  The woman also carries with her four throwing knives that are secured in the front of her belt, and a dagger secured between her cuirass and sash. Finally, the ranger carries a short blade for close-quarters combat.

FACE CLAIM:  Emily Blunt


STRENGTHS:  Training as a ranger has made the woman quick on her toes - she reacts quickly and adapts easily to unexpected situations. In ideal situations, Ihsan likes looking at the bigger picture - taking in all sides and considering possible outcomes before coming to a solution. She is good at hand-to-hand combat and with blade work, but her real strength comes in marksmanship. It has become well-known in the ranger’s unit of her archery skills. She is quick to draw her bow and quicker yet to release an arrow; more admirable is her ability to rarely miss her mark.

WEAKNESSES:  Perhaps the biggest weakness that Ihsan has is her domineering and abrasive personality. It takes a special kind of person to get to know and understand the Ranger, making it hard for the woman to form close relationships. Ihsan does not help the situation because she is also slow to trust. Afraid of becoming attached, she holds people at arms length, pushing others away when she feels they are getting close. Truth be told is that the woman is terrified of loss; and after her the majority of her unit fell prey to fellbeasts, she does not want to mourn again. Ihsan is also terribly insecure, regardless of the sure persona she projects, which has turned her into a perfectionist. If there is a moment of weakness or she does not perform as intended, the woman withdraws into herself for multiple days - practicing the same action again and again.

ASPIRATIONS:  With war imminent, there is not much the woman wishes other than have Connolly survive. With so much taken from the lad, she wishes him to be able to see a time of peace. She also wishes a long and fruitful life for her  uncle, the only parent she has ever known. While she would not admit it, Ihsan also wishes to find what happened to her biological parents - out of sheer curiosity - and find out whether they live or have died.
   
FEARS: Above all, Ihsan fears loss. She fears losing her uncles and aunts, her cousins, her unit, and Connolly. As the world grows closer to war, the reality of losing them has begun to sink in. The woman is also terrified of the prospect of death, though she would gladly give her life if she were able to ensure the safety of those she cares for. After seeing what a fellbeast is capable off, she has developed a paralyzing fear of them.
   
PERSONALITY:  Ihsan is strong and militant, favoring a “take action” approach to life. She is assertive in her efforts and vocal of her beliefs. Generally speaking, she is a moral and compassionate person, respecting the principles of honor, sacrifice, and truth – as all rangers should. Ihsan can described as a bit of hothead with a penchant to punching first and asking questions later. She chafes under restriction, preferring to do things her own way in many cases. The ranger has a strong sense of right and wrong, however, and most of her “out the book” efforts go towards keeping others safe - quality which she admires and respects in others. When she fails to accomplish her goals, it eats at her. Failure has never agreed with the Dunedain, if anything it becomes worse the longer she is unable to correct the situation.

Ihsan is a highly dedicated, loyal ranger, who would take action over sitting on her ass, especially during crisis. If you have her respect - and, thus her loyalty - she will follow you to the ends of the earth. Her duty is important to her, and she becomes easily frustrated when she can’t do what she believes is hers. Brought up under her uncle’s care, the ranger’s idealism of putting the good of the community of her own personal goals is instilled heavily unto her. To a certain degree, Ihsan sees things as black and white - either someone is innocent or they are not. It is very hard for her to see the many gray areas in between, causing her to lose sight - and sometimes faith - in her decisions.  Needless to say, this view has also made it difficult for her to be accepting of others outside the rangers - and she is naturally weary of the other races, but is willing to change her perception of them on a case-by-case basis.

Military life has made Ihsan tough, blunt, and eager to tell people to “cut the crap.” In many ways the woman can be seen as even cold and impersonal. Ihsan is not a fan of small-talk, or talking in general. She prefers to get straight to the point and avoid developing interpersonal connections. The ranger has never been one for sugarcoating her thoughts, though she is respectful of her superiors. The Maker gave her quite a mind - and a mouth to match. Those who have gained the woman's friendship finding someone who is prone to sarcasm underneath all her reservations, coming out at the most unexpected of moments. If you ever find yourself in the woman's company when this part of her personality shines through, consider yourself very lucky.

But, regardless of the respect or love that the ranger might have for another, it is fair to say that Ihsan demonstrates it through ‘tough love.’ The woman will snap and berate if she deems someone’s actions thoughtless and dangerous, pointing out flaws instead of immediately offering comfort. If you are being stupid, she’ll tell you you’re stupid. If she thinks you will poke your eye out, she will say it. Ihsan, however, is not heartless; while she will not verbalize empathy with her peers and soft, encouraging words will be absent, the ranger has found her own way to express herself. The actions she takes will always be small – a small squeeze on your shoulder, her hand on theirs, a barely there smile that vanishes far too quickly. If she is feeling generous, the ranger will cook a rabbit stew or care after your weapons. It’s the little things.

HISTORY: She was too young to remember the shrill winter that brought her to his care; the way her mother cradled her close, unsure of what so say – what to ask. Ihsan cannot recall the way the snow pounded against the frozen ground that January, too shrill and wicked for a traditional winter in Gondor. She cannot remember how eager her mother was to leave her behind – to save her from the life she had. The ranger does not recall the surprise of her uncle’s face at the sight of his sister and the child within her arms, nor the conversation that the Dunedain quietly shared. Perhaps she wailed at her mother’s departure, hunger pangs forcing low mewling cries from the infant, before they were quickly stifled – a man who had no family of his own now opening his home to a child; reservations he once held diminishing far too quickly, too easily.

He raised her as if she were his own – gave her a loving and tender father in a world that sought to give her none. That, she does remember.

Ihsan also remembers the grasses where she and her cousins played, a cloister of eleven too close to age and who found no better way to spend their time than running outside – much to their aunts’ dismay and their uncles’ amusement. She also remembers the grasses in which they played; short shrubs with small lilac blooms that gave easily under her weight and tickled her toes. They smelt rich, not quite sweet as much as herbal. Green. Yes, that is what it smelt like. Green, crisp, and fresh. They would spend hours underneath the skies that seemed to go on forever - wide and blue, with wispy white clouds – catching critters and trampling gold grasses.  Ihsan never felt the loss of her parents and was too young to comprehend her unusual situation.

She recalls when the question first came. It was the child of another ranger, close to her age, that first planted the question in Ihsan. “Where is your mum and da?” He asked, and she, all too eager, pointed to her uncle. “No.” The boy chided in disbelief, “That is your uncle. Where are your parents?” Ihsan had no answer to offer, muttering an ‘I dunno,’ under her breath before they continued with their games. The question was genuine, without malice, but it cut deeper than it should have. It was at a meager ten years old, still a child for a Dunedain, when realization first dawned upon her – there was a jarring difference between her and her cousins. They had mothers and fathers, parents that they could call their own; meanwhile she had none. Yes, she had her uncle – and she adored him greatly – but the oddity of her situation only grew more obvious with the years.  Age also made the differences between her family apparent, her cousins treating her with warmth while her aunts and uncles were wearier of the conversations they had before her. Her grandfather’s treatment of her became jarring as well, his apathy for her now perceived by the young girl as dislike. The only apparent difference that she could see between her and the rest of her family, however, was her lack of parentage; it all stemmed from there.

That is when the questions first came, shy at first but then becoming more vocal. Who are my parents? Where are my parents? When do I get to meet them? It never ceased to amaze her how exceptionally good her family were at avoiding her questions – how the taboo topic of her parentage was so efficiently evaded. Bold questions were answered by an exasperated ‘quiet down,’ or ‘enough about that,’ discomfort evident in her uncle Ardashir’s body. But while she was eager to pester her poor uncle with questions whenever she could, Ihsan learned to avoid making questions within her grandfather’s earshot. The older ranger with his taught jaw and indifferent gaze scoffing at the question, ’You’ve made your bed,’ he’d tell his son with a nod in her direction, ‘now lie in it.’

Ihsan is aware that planting such a dubious seed in his granddaughter’s mind was never Merek's intention, but once there it was hard not to humor the possibility. Was she, the young girl thought unabashed, her uncle’s bastard –a smudge on her forefather’s legacy? Certainly the idea did not come without merit and could explain the majority of her - and her uncle Ardashir's - predicament. Asking the question, however was more difficult than the child had originally anticipated and when she managed to voice it, the surprise on her uncle was genuine. The poor man nearly choked on the wine he was drinking, spending several minutes in a coughing fit. When the poor man was able to breathe again, he turned to his niece. He opened his mouth, but hesitated for a second before he spoke. He never went into much detail, and Ihsan never pushed further, as he discussed how she came to them. She was daughter of his sister, someone they thought dead but somehow lived. When they found out of her survival, she no longer was the daughter that Merek had lost and the sister that he had cared for - she had forgotten who she was, who her family was. “We lost your mother twice;” Her uncle said, a small smile forced on his lips. “…but while some of us have made peace with it, your grandfather still mourns.”

In time she followed the footsteps of her family before her, pledging a life of servitude under the rangers. Her uncle took Ihsan under his wing, beginning the training of the young woman. Training for the rangers proved to be harder than anticipated; there would rarely be a day where she wasn’t prodding at a new bruise or cleaning a scratch. More than once she found her hands reduced to raw, painful messes that had to be bandaged. But the pain did not dissuade her. She intended to correct every wrong that had been done by her mother. Time heals all wounds, and eventually that was the case with Merek. The relationship between grandfather and granddaughter was not built around warmth, but a mutual understanding and respect. Where her uncle had taught her to use a crossbow, Merek taught her to use blades. His training proved harsher than her uncle's; the expectations of the old ranger clear. Everything accomplished by Ihsan the result of her blood, sweat, and tears.

She was shy of forty when the young woman was assigned to a ranger scouting unit under the leadership of Conghal. The man was as kind as he was stubborn, with a loud, boisterous laugh and a bushy blonde beard. They were a small cluster with diverse backgrounds, and she came to see them as an extension of her family. Unfortunately, the life of a ranger does not come without risks and ten years after joining the unit she became painfully aware of it. It had been a routine scouting mission – nothing out of the ordinary – when they first came upon the beast. Snake-like and vicious, the fellbeast came from nowhere, tearing through the small group as if they were paper. Only she and two others made it out alive; though calling it living was being too kind. Ihsan had never known loss up until that point, she had never seen what could only be described as a massacre. Harder still was the aftermath, having to face the families of those lost – knowing that part of them wished for her to have died and not their husband or son. The hardest meeting, however, came when she had to tell Conghal’s wife and five year old lad that the man they cherished had been lost – Connolly was his name, wasn’t it? It was cowardice, that's all it was, an inability to leave the child and mother to their own devices that compelled the ranger to take him as a student when he came of age. She would watch out for him, she assured the young woman, and would keep his nose clean.
« Last Edit: July 05, 2017, 07:06:23 PM by Ihsan »

Nienna

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Re: Ihsan
« Reply #1 on: July 06, 2017, 04:17:39 AM »
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