Mathudea
tBS Traveller
Posts: 1
(5/20/04 6:53 pm)
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Mathudea Kalhis Elaron
The Broken Sword
Information
Screen Name(s): Mathudea
Contact Information: n/a
Your Character
Character's Name: Mathudea Kalhis Elaron
Age: 17
Race: Human, common, Esgaroth
Gender: Female
Description Hair color/Style: Chestnut brown, straight, with the occasional silver hair. Short, rough-cut.
Eye Color: brown.
Height: 174cm
Carrying her figure with a sullen slump of her shoulders, she would have been beautiful if it weren't for two things, her 102 Kg weight and her troubled skin. Self-indulgence has dire consequences.
A pale brown mole, the size of a child's thumbprint, sits above her short black eyebrows, whose downward slope at the ends she forever combats by making them as straight as possible without plucking them off completely. Her eyelashes are black and close, giving the impression of her wearing the black pigment women of the Corsairs have been claimed to do. Her nose, straight without being Greek, is perfect for looking down on people without intimidating them too much (Only noses like Duke Wellington's could have full effect). Beneath that is a red mouth that pouts continuously, more from a sour temperament than anything else. She has a cleft chin, and would have had powerful jaw lines if she'd allowed them to appear by curbing her appetite.
Personality:
Scholar-type. Unprepared for any sort of physical combat, hence untrained to sense trouble brewing. Archetypal geek.
Weaknesses:
-Jumpy as a rabbit
-Stubborn
-Arrogant
-Malcontent
-Show-off
-Coward
-Talks big behind her opponents? backs, but inept when it comes to action
-Daydreams too much for her own good
-Does not live in the reality of her situation
-Knows nothing outside the confines of her world
-Awkward
-Temperamental
-Gets angry at little offences, bears greater offences with patience, reject insults outright
-Slow reaction to being hurt- cannot understand how others can harm her, or anyone
-Does not know evil, though she may commit it, and thereby learn
-Incurable Romantic
-Afflicted by unexpected bursts of courage
-Impulsive
-Never on time for anything
Strengths:
-Loyal friend
-Potential good mother, if she bothers to grow up
-Very high protective instinct
-Generous
-Gentle when left to her own ways
-Loves and craves good company (could be a weakness!)
-High intelligence: the academic kind
-Very skilled with her hands: excellent calligrapher, painter, can model figurines
-Good visual memory
-Highly imaginative
-Likes to serve those who serve her
-Has a sense of justice
-Almost never lies
Possesions: Clothing/Attire:
Head:
-Rectangular/soft-cornered dark lead-grey coloured metal spectacles.
-Dark green woolen hood, with long ?ear flaps? that can wind cross-fashion across the waist, and fitted into the belt at the sides of the torso. These can be wrapped around the face in bad weather. Silver tassel at the tip.
Neck:
-Silver chain with silver feather-shaped pendant
-Vermillion red silk scarf, 25x120cm.
Torso:
-Undergarments: plain white cotton stays, supporting and minimizing breasts, support sections made of thin reeds encased in linen. Waist-length. Knickerbockers, reaching to half the thighs, white linen.
-Black, plain linen undershirt, long sleeves, tucked into breeches.
-Thin, iron grey elegant woolen tunic, long, narrow sleeves, hem reaching to middle of thighs, side slits to enable movement.
-Thick black hooded woolen cloak, calf-length, front buttons till base of torso, wide, with side-openings for arms.
-brown leather backpack (40x30x35cm): 3 main divisions: 1 insulated inner section, padded back, waist& chest straps, 3 front pockets with segments for small objects.
-black leather cross-body black shoulder pouch/purse.
-black leather belt, 3cm wide.
-Dwarven dagger, with black-inlaid silverwork on hilt and leather sheath, made in Erebor, The Lonely Mountain, approx. 45cm long, double-edged blade 35cm approx; 3 grooves along its blade. Black leather scabbard.
Hands:
-Right wrist: Wide, black-inlaid handcarved silver Dwarven bracelet, name engraved in Dwarven runes on the inside. 5mm thick.
-Left wrist: Long wrist guard of hide, steel plate with elven patterns. Thick silver bangle with two rams? heads at its tips.
Both hands:
-leather gloves, black with red stitching and cloth lining. Cover till 10cm after wrist. Left glove overlaps wrist guard, both gloves held in place by bangle and bracelet. Thick plates of hide protect flat top of hand, reach slightly above knuckles. Knuckles studded with steel rivets. Embroidery in red thread at base of gloves.
Legs: Black woolen breeches, wide, stained near the feet by random brown dye-marks. Tucked into boots.
Feet:
-Plain off-white thick woolen stockings, knee-high. Hand-knit.
-Black leather boots, knee-high, side-buttons from ankle upwards. Stiff woolen calf guards, embroidered with bold pattern in black and white.
Gear:
Backpack:
-Light leather book-holder, waterproof, containing the following books:
-?Poems and Lays of Arda?
-Lexicon, Elven-Common, Common-Elven.
-Waterproof leather Scroll case containing 25 blank sheets of parchment.
-Needle and black thread
-Light wooden Quill-case, containing:
-3 pencils
-small knife
-2 writing reeds, plus one uncut reed, and one ?reed? of bone.
-Hardbound diary/sketchbook
-2 ink bottles, blue &black
-flint and steel
-small cloth pouch containing 5 small crystals: 1 agate, 3 quartz (1 pink, 2polished, one of them natural),1 snowflake obsidian.
-small steel mirror
-small bone whistle
-small steel scissors
-tweezers
-packet of lemon balm dragees, 25g.
-clean towel
-bandage linen
-traveling rations, good for one week.
-leather water-skin
-small wooden pot of herb balm for small cuts
-Small steel cooking pot.
-small wooden bowl
-small pouch of salt
-herbs (both savoury and medical)
-steel spoon
-soap (or equivalent)
-spare underclothing, 2 sets, plus 2 pairs of woolen stockings.
-small brass oil lamp with glass cover.
-lamp oil, one small hide flask
-bedroll
-Letter of dishonourable dismissal, sealed.
Shoulder pouch/purse:
-Small stainless steel sundial, 4 cm diameter.
-House key
-Small sheathed knife, thick blade of steel, total 10 cm, blade 4 cm long, 1.5 cm wide, single edge, grooved.
-Withered map of Middle Earth, a bad copy.
-Leather money purse: 2 gold coins.
-Handkerchief.
-Pouch of pipeweed.
-Wooden pipe.
History: Mathudea Kalhis Elaron was the child of a reasonably well-off merchant of the Lake-town Esgaroth, whose kind disposition spoiled her; he sent her to be educated to Minas Tirith, where the best scholars were. Her laziness and arrogance, however, made her a dejected, disgruntled malcontent who had all but lost faith in the meaning of the words ?beauty" and "wonder". Shards of their existence must have remained in some lost corner of her mind, or else she wouldn't have decided to take a vague interest in history, when they were still very much alive -at least to others.
NOTE: an additional paragraph was offered but must've been deleted by accident in a subsequent post. -poetchic
Sample RP:
She had a presentation to make at her tutorial that day for her History of Art lecture, about present-day work Dwarven goldsmithing of Erebor, and connecting its style to that of ancient Moria, and its influence of the craft of Gondor till the present day. It went horribly. Her theory was disproved on the basis of her evidence being insufficient. Not that the class minded -they had all slept when she had spoken, and the only one awake had been the tutor, watching her words like a hawk.
She left the arena- "Room!" she reminded herself- 'full sore wounded'.
She went through her other lectures listlessly, and was glad to be out of her daily grind and hurried to see her friends- rare among many who scoffed at her obsession with elven and Dwarven lore, holding them above that of Numenor. One in particular she was keen on meeting that day, as she was to return her collected volume of ?Poems and Lays of Arda?. After parting with the gentle Astani of the Numenor, she felt the need to sit in a quiet place away from everyone, so she chose a suitable spot under some trees. She took the book lovingly out of her bag and looked at it. It had been so long, so long since... She opened it, and began reading. As she read, she heard a jeering behind her.
?Fat Maiden of Esgaroth! Which hero will you become today??
?Pa-hey! I?ll bet my boots she?s at one of those heroic lays again, aren?t you?? said another voice. Some voices giggled.
She did not turn to look. She couldn?t. She recognized the voice though. It was that of Eraldun Piladir and his friends, not to mention their usual entourage of girlish admirers. His raven hair, falling to his shoulders, was typical of the Dunedain. His ice-blue eyes would have been merry had it not been for his sarcastic demeanour. The only thing that prevented Eraldun from being a complete dandy was his sharp wit and equally sharp tongue. He was of the blood of Numenor, as were many of his close friends. They had always mocked her and others like her for their origin among common men and women. She heard them approach behind her, but tried to concentrate on the poem she was reading. It was a translation from Elven, telling the tale of the stream Nimrodel. She could barely read the Elven script, and usually read the translation in common on the opposite page. But this poem she loved dearly, and had always tried to memorise in Elven.
Eraldun reached forward and snatched the book out of her hands.
??Poems and lays of Arda?! Look at this!? he jeered, holding the book aloft by one of its pages.
?Did you think that you could become one of the heroes of Arda merely by reading of them? Dame Mathudea Kalhis, shield-maiden of Esgaroth!?
Laughter.
?Will you venture to Rivendell, dear?? asked one of the maidens sarcastically. She had wavy hair that cascaded down to her knees in a waterfall of silken flame.
?I doubt she could survive the passes through the Misty Mountains,? joined in his companion, a plain-faced youth with keen brown eyes.
?Or perhaps she shall speak with Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien,? scoffed a youth with brown locks, his forest green eyes shining with malice. The group answered with a chorus of laughter.
Mathudea rose slowly to her feet. Before anyone could speak, she began to recite the tale of Nimrodel in Elven. At first it came out in a staccato chant, in a deep, coarse voice, but, as she progressed, she began to feel its melody, and it came out in her voice, tender, soothing and pure. She was no longer standing in Gondor: she could see the Golden Wood, feel it. Her soul rejoiced at its beauty.
She did not complete the poem, however, for the book flew at her head with a ?THWOCK!-
Tears streaming down her fat cheeks, she stood stunned, finally being able to see Eraldun standing with an ugly grimace on his face. The sheer arrogance of his stance, the leering, laughing faces of the youths and maidens in his company made her temper rise like white heat in a forge.
?You are an insult to the Dunedain!? she roared, finally finding her voice. ?The lot of you!?
One of the maidens, a beauty as though of graven ivory, stepped forward and slapped her. She addressed Mathudea in the speech of Numenor, which Mathudea could barely speak, but understand somewhat better:
?It is YOU who is an insult to our kind. Go back to your village, you daughter of a pilfering peasant.? She snatched the book from Eraldun and started tearing out the pages.
The world became red. Mathudea?s hands did things she did not know they could. When she could finally see through the mist of her rage, she was being held back, feeling blows as they struck upon her abdomen. She heard weeping, and saw the maiden, her gown torn, her face covered in scratches and bruises, crumpled upon the ground. When she stopped struggling, she was thrown to the ground, and started feeling kicks all round her body. She curled up, trying to shield her face. She felt the book hit her head, and the pain began to throb across her skull. A warm trickle crept across it, meeting the dust on the ground as she turned to and fro to guard herself.
?Stop!? cried the voice of a tutor.
Mathudea and the rest were called to a council of discipline. They were all scolded, and punished according to their offences. She was expelled with a letter of dishonourable dismissal. The maiden who?d slapped her was given a dismissal, only to return the next season. Eraldun was given a sound whipping, expelled, and ordered to confinement in his student chambers until his father came to collect him. Letters were dispatched to the parents of all.
Mathudea had three days to prepare for her homeward journey.
In the silence of her room, she had many, many thoughts. The first was to throw herself off the highest tower of Gondor. But her mind reasoned with her, drawing from her emotions for support. Apparently it drew too much, for one of the emotions that came with the will to live was that of adventure. She smiled. She gathered and counted whatever money she had left, and stole out of the student quarters to buy clothes and gear better suited to traveling than her rich gowns. She also sold off whatever possessions she could not carry with her.
Having done this, she went to her tutor?s council-room to take leave, and not finding him there, left a note stating how sorry she was for beating a living being, but how NOT sorry she was for beating an insult to her own people?s grace. She understood her tutor. She thanked him for all the knowledge he had given her, and hoped to put it to better use than wasting it on the spoiled offspring of corrupt families.
Upon her return to her room, she bathed. Before dressing, she looked herself in the mirror, and spat into the image. She took out a pair of scissors from her drawer and began to hack off her long, soft brown hair that had once reached to her waist. She looked in the mirror again. She looked like a fat boy who?d been bruised badly in a fight. Good. She donned the clothing she had set out for herself, and was about to wear her cloak when there was a knock upon the door.
?Name yourself,? she said.
?It is I, Astani.? Mathudea opened the door a crack, and beckoned her to enter. Resting against the door as she closed it behind her, she faced her friend. ?This is against rules, you know,? she said. Astani?s pretty blue eyes were wide open at the sight of Mathudea?s apparel.
?Is this how you dress in Esgaroth?? she asked.
?Erm, yes. These are my traveling clothes,? replied Mathudea half-truthfully.
?Women wear daggers? Mathudea!?
?Shh! They?ll hear you.?
?You?re supposed to wait for your family to take you.?
?Bah! That is for weaklings like Eraldun. A maid of Esgaroth travels alone. Besides,? she stepped in front of the mirror and surveyed her bruised features. ?Who?d pick a fight with a face like this?? She grinned-it hurt.
Astani sighed, then hugged her. ?Mad, mad Mathudea!? she said. She smiled at her redoubtable friend. ?Here. This is from me and the girls.? She handed Mathudea a parcel in brown paper. Mathudea unwrapped it to reveal a copy of ?Poetry and Lays of Arda?, beautifully bound. ?And this is from Kairan and Thearos,? she added, as she hung a silver pendant, shaped like a feather, about Mathudea?s neck.
Mathudea was speechless. Tears streamed down her eyes. She choked, but stopped herself and said, ?Tell them how I love them, and how I wish them open paths in their lives.?
Her hands shook as she tried to see through her tears. Going to her dresser, she unlocked a small drawer and took out her jewel-casket. Handing it to Astani, she said, ?Distribute its contents among the girls, but you I want to wear this,? Thereupon took out from the casket a golden ring, set with a blue diamond. ? Kairan and Thearos, to them I send these.? They were an identical pair of thick mithril bracelets of Dwarven make, made for men. They were covered in runes.
?Mathudea! These are too much!?
?My friends are my true treasures. I shall never forget any of you.?
They both began to cry softly. Mathudea shook herself, and looked cheerfully up at Astani.
?I must leave tonight. Farewell, friend!? They shook hands, and then embraced before Astani took her leave. ?Promise me one thing, friend, ? said Astani as she looked her friend in the eye. ?Promise that you will wend your way home, without straying.? Guilt flashed across Mathudea?s eyes as she nodded her promise.
That night, Mathudea stole out of her room, and made her way quietly across the courtyard of the student houses. Astani watched her disappear amongst the shadows. Another pair of eyes, colder than the ice they emulated, were watching as well. About half an hour later, another figure crossed the silence of the night.
Edited by: poetchic  at: 6/30/04 7:03 pm
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