Post by Arvellas Maebenion on Feb 4, 2013 1:41:51 GMT -5
Arvellas Maebenion
THE BASICS:Name: Arvellas Maebenion
Age: 967
Gender: Male
Race: Noldor Elf
Birthplace: Lothlórien
Current Location: Imladris
Weapon(s): Throwing Knives
APPEARANCES:Facial Appearance: : Of all his mother's children, Arvellas resembles her and her distant Vanyarin kin the most, with hair such a deep gold in color that it often holds a reddish gleam in the sunlight. It tends to darken as fall fades to winter. His eyes are of a bright blue, although they are often clouded with the anger and their gaze hardened with pride. His face is well shaped, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and slightly rounded jawline.
Build: : Arvellas is tall and lithe, lacking bulk but by no means lacking strength. Life as a craftsman greatly protected him from physical harm and disfigurement, but the deftness with which his hands mastered his craft also lent itself to the study of swordplay, from which he grew strong. His build, which may be considered more slim and graceful than most other males, belies his true strength, and he does not hesitate to use this to his advantage in confrontations.
Distinguishing Marks: None
Face Claim: Eugene Simon
A LITTLE MORE IN-DEPTH:Personality: Anger and deep hurts from the loss of his family have wrapped this once free-flying heart with heavy chains and cruel thorns, and pride has filled the empty spaces where true happiness once dwelt. This haughtiness turns into a swift anger when threatened, as much as his outbursts later leave him feeling empty and cold. He nurses his wounds with this anger and the loneliness that is the self-imposed result of his now tempestuous nature. Taking counsel from older and much wiser elves has helped him learn to restrain his temper and clear his heart enough around others to at least feign congeniality. He is known for being curt and dismissive, with little patience for dalliance. When happiness does brighten his heart, he keeps it hidden away. Any desire for companionship or even casual friendship is buried beneath his pain and fear of their potential loss, as everyone in his life so far has been ripped from him.
History: Arvellas' father Maeben was an elf of Lindon, with the dark hair and grey eyes typical of his people, who eventually made the journey to the fair woods of Lothlórien, where he continued his trade as a swordsmith. The quality of his blades earned him great renown at the time, and it was that which first attracted the attention of an elleth seeking a gift for her father. Rínnaneth she was named, and her hair was long and deep gold in color. That day was the first of many the two spent together, and eventually they were wed, and children soon followed. Maebril was the first- a daughter with dark hair and blue eyes-and she never forsook her duties as eldest child and protector of her young siblings. Rinnon was next-also dark of hair but with grey eyes-and he was most like their father in temperament. Arvellas was the last child of Maeben and Rinnaneth, and his mother rejoiced when she saw the delicate strands of gold on her newborn's head. For her own father's mother had been of the Vanyar, and to see that blood presenting itself made Rinnaneth glad.
For this reason he was named in part after his mother's father, Arvelluant, as opposed to the matronymic and patronymic of his siblings. At a young age his second, or 'Mother-Name' was given, and it was Berembeth.
The family lived in relative peace in Lothlórien; all of Maeben's children inherited his creative disposition, their deft hands finding great purpose in various trades. Maebril turned to paint; Rinnon followed their father and became a swordsmith; Arvellas continued to surprise his family when he decided to become a creator of fine raiment, a dressmaker. Not that there is no great pride to be found in the creation of such beauty, for the manipulation of fabric is just as much an art and a skill as the manipulation of paint or stone or steel.
So Arvellas became an apprentice of a great dressmaker in the forest realm, and over time his skill progressed to a point where he rivaled even his master. And this fed the seed of pride that can be found in every individual, though his master was not offended, seeing it only as a phase of any young elf discovering the depths of their talent. So the two parted ways with no ill feelings, and Arvellas saw before him an endless horizon of opportunities. He would take his skill and make a life anywhere he pleased. The endless years of his life were ahead, and it seemed as though the warm light of fate swept any shadows from his path.
Maebril was quick to squash his idealistic thoughts, quite literally, when she playfully wrestled him to the floor when he returned home from his meeting with his former master. "Muindor nin, you forget your place!" she cried victoriously when her youngest brother was unable to free himself. Arvellas couldn't help the wide grin that split his face, as much as he tried to restrain it. "How can I when you assert your authority on a daily basis?" At that moment Rinnon happened to walk past. "Help me, brother!" Arvellas cried, flailing. "Our sister is oppressing me again."
At first Rinnon rolled his eyes over to his siblings with disinterest. A moment passed, then he gave a whooping call and jumped onto the pile, dislodging Maebril and elbowing Arvellas in the gut in the process. The three siblings wrestled on the floor like elflings till the shadow of their parents fell across them, causing them to look up sheepishly. Maeben and Rínnaneth just shook their heads and sighed before laughing and asking their children about their day.
This was the last memory that Arvellas had of his family, whole and happy. The next day Maeben and Rinnon departed for Imladris with a small parcel of blades to possibly sell there. Their party was waylaid ere they arrived at Imladris, and word only came when a messenger was dispatched from Lord Elrond saying that the group had never passed into his realm. Shadows seemed to be everywhere, encroaching when Arvellas looked away for the briefest of moments. Rinnaneth clung to her remaining children, and one day Maebril tired of her mother's smothering and took her horse for a ride to clear her mind. The ground was soft from a recent rain and she rode the horse too hard. Eventually it stumbled as it ran, falling, throwing the rider from its back, dashing her head against nearby stones with such force that that story of Maebril came to a close within moments.
Rínnaneth was inconsolable. Blind and deaf to the world, she crawled to the uppermost branches of a nearby tree and remained there unmoving, watching day fade to night, to day, to night. Arvellas tried to coax her down, but she would not even acknowledge her youngest child, so great and numbing was her grief.
One morning Arvellas returned home from his shop to find several older elves gathered there; their fallen expressions froze the blood where it coursed in his veins, and he swears that his heart has not beat since that moment. From what could be surmised, they said, Rinnaneth had moved further into the forest. And, from the highest point she could find therein, she cast herself towards the final embrace of the earth to escape her grief.
And thus she ensured that darkness for her son. The child most like her in appearance and nature. With her grief she extinguished also the bright, exuberant, albeit proud light of Arvellas.
He lingered in Lothlorien for a time, rejecting the assistance offered by friends and strangers alike. He needed not their pity. He would leave, yes, he would travel and expand his knowledge of style and technique. And so he sold the remainder of his father and brother's store of fine blades, keeping only a few for himself. What few paintings Maebril had left at their home he burned, for in his heart he blamed his sister for being so reckless and for sending that final blow to their mother, but in later years this action would become his greatest regret, for he had loved his sister dearly.
He departed his home and has not returned since. Long years he spent traveling alone, exploring the kingdoms of Men and the remaining outposts of the Elves, before he came to Imladris. There he was welcomed and there he has remained ever since, devoting himself to his craft. The beauty of his work has been increasingly born from his sorrow and, at times, his madness.
Roleplay Sample:[[All I have is this old post *sob*]] Apparently, this town didn't appreciate Jordie's half-hearted grumblings. So she had called it just a little 'boring' and 'bland' when compared to the city life she left; it was all part of the re-adjustment process. That was no reason for Mission Hills to respond by raining down as much chaos as it could. Jordie glared at the water fountain across from where she sat waiting with a handful of other unhappy citizens. It all actually started two days ago when her power was cut off. Then the next night a drunk man had tried to break into her apartment, thinking that it was his own. And yesterday, she woke for her late night shift to find her car, which was a 'car' in the most basic sense that a wheezing rust-bucket could be, had disappeared. There hadn't been time to call a patrol car to take a report, at least if she didn't want to be late to a new job that she was still thanking her lucky stars for.
Jordie picked at the bandage wrapped around her right hand and shifted on the plastic seat. At around dawn they were called to a house where a man had been discovered unresponsive and prone on his driveway, with signs of head trauma from his fall. Before they could load him onto the stretcher, the man suddenly bolted upright, staring wide-eyed at the pair of medics for a split second before he pounced at Jordie, who had been crouched down next to him. Self-defense was an important, albeit small, portion of emergency response training, so the confused man was quickly subdued. But not before he managed to land a bite on the hand Jordie had thrown up in front of her while bolting backwards. The blue nitrile gloves, being less durable than latex, had offered little protection.
There was still a job to do, and she saw that it was completed before tending to herself. The ordeal resulted in two stitches in her palm and a short mandatory leave from work as a result of being physically compromised. Her supervisor had informer her of the option to press charges or not. The man was obviously under some sort of influence and confused due to his fall, but damn it all if Jordie wasn't going to at least grasp at some sort of consequences, especially after the combined irritations of the past few days. The police station was on her way home, anyways, and she needed to file a report about her car. Maybe insurance would give her something for it in the end.
There had to be some free coffee in this place- what else did the police run on? Jordie glanced over at the desk of the officer who had started the process on one of her claims before telling her to go wait for a moment. Of course now the woman was nowhere to be seen, as she had been for the past half hour. Jordie held back her resentment, since no doubt the officers were busy and she was a low priority in the scope of things.
"Anyone else want to look for some joe?"
Someone coughed; the other people waiting ignored Jordie's feigned enthusiasm and continued to stare ahead or play with their cell phones. Jordie, who had changed from her uniform and back into jeans and a polo shirt with a paramedic patch on one arm, shrugged and pushed herself to her feet. The clerk was busy, and had been no help earlier as to the whereabouts of Officer.... whatever her name had been. A thought as to whether or not people were allowed to freely wander about the station didn't occur to her as she slipped back into the room and began searching for an officer who didn't look too terribly engrossed in their work.
She finally stopped in front of a desk and cocked her head at the officer, who had a file in hand. "Hello? Sorry to interrupt your...." Jordie held up her hands apologetically before continuing, "policing. But I'm looking for Officer Hernandez, I think it was. Short woman, curly hair. And maybe if there's any coffee for the poor citizenry over yonder," she gestured back to the waiting area. "They're caffeine-deficient." Jordie paused, before adding with an attempt at complete seriousness, "I would know." It had been a long twelve hours, and her sense of humor was clearly affected.
BEHIND THE SCREEN:Alias: Vellas
Codeword:
Experience: 11 years
How you found us?: I think through Google
Other Characters:
How should we contact you?: PM works
