Race: Numenorian (w/ some Elf & Man)
Height: 5'11
Age: 58
Family: No direct kin remaining
Animals: None
Weapons: Custom Elven longsword - Ellach (starflame): made of mithril, etched with an Elvish spell. Hunting knife. Short Recurve Bow (Ash).

Personality: A ranger at heart, whose Elven upbringing often shines through.

Appearance: I appear to be about 30 years old, as worn and weathered ranger. Long wavy hair falls to my shoulders, my face speckled with a rough beard. My eyes are dark, like my hair, and my build is lean, but not thin. The following coincides with my history below, describing the main attributes of my apperance, those being my weapon, my ring, and my cloak. (The descriptions may be better understood after reading my history) My Sword, Ellach, or "Starflame" is an entity worthy of an entire story itself, as it is one of the most unique weapons in middle-earth, made of mithril, bearing runes all across both sides of the blade, and on the sheath (which I can translate if any are curious). The runes are an Elvish spell that causes it to emit a burning bright light to all things of darkness that would look upon it. My family heirloom is a ring, which was found on my father's body and kept safe by the Elves until I departed for the ranger life, for they immediately recongized its power. The ring is extremely special, with yet another Elven spell engrave on it, which, when spoken, may, or may not give the wearer powers of telekinesis, (enough to throw orcs around without touching them) depending on the heart with which the spell is said (ie. if used in times of great peril to save that of good heart, then it would be effective, rarely otherwise). Finally my gift from the company that saved me (the four specific elves) was my cloak. It is an elven cloak that camouflages the wearer in nature, however, during battle it tends to appear white.

History:

It was long believed that the Chieftains of the Dunedain were the only heirs to Isildur, and I am about to tell a story that would change that common belief. So hear it if you will, whether you believe it, is up to you, but Men of my blood, do not lie.
My Story begins during the War of the Last Alliance, where my ancestor, Thorongil, was abandoned and considered lost in battle, left for dead. Soon after, his younger brother, Meneldil was appointed to take the throne of Gondor by Isildur himself.
The truth of the matter is, that Thorongil was indeed struck down in battle, but not killed. Upon awakening in the aftermath of the battle, and wandering from the battle-plain Dagorlad towards Minas Anor, Meneldil received word of his elder brother’s return, and consequent right to the throne. In his gluttony, he decided to have a band of assassins seek out and kill his brother prior to his return, so that Isildur would still grant Meneldil the throne upon his ill-fated departure to the North.
Thorongil managed to thwart Meneldil’s assassin’s attempts to kill him, and was consequently chased out of Gondor (North Ithilien) into the Emyn Muil where he managed to outsmart his enemies and lose them for good.
Overwhelmed and heart broken by his brother’s greed and maliciousness, Thorongil did not immediately return to Gondor, instead he decided to seek solace with the Elves of Lorien and perhaps plan a revenge.
Instead he ended up living most of his life among the elves, and fell in love with one, ironically named Luthien, after the legendary beautiful elf (who also fell for a mortal if you would recall). Luthien and Thorongil were in fact the fourth Mortal-Immortal couple (or third, since they lived before Aragorn and Arwen) to wed in Middle-Earth (after, Beren-Luthien, Tuor-Idril, Aragorn-Arwen), contrary to common knowledge. The Elves only granted this marriage under the condition that it not be spoken of, and its occurrence only be known to those of direct lineage. Thorongil passed in III 150 and Luthien soon after.

I was born Glawion, in the year 3003 of the third age, the only son of Eleriamor, son of direct lineage to Thorongil and Luthien. My mother, belonged to the race of Men, as did many partners of our unique heritage, and died giving birth. It seems that in my story, history ironically repeats itself yet again, with the death of my father. He passed, as did his distant ancestor Isildur, after being ambushed by a large band of orcs, when I was but 10 years old. I was at my father’s side in this moment of fear and was captured. I’m not sure why they kidnapped instead of killing me, I had no knowledge of the Black Speech at the time, and could not decipher their conversations. On their travels returning to Mordor the orc band crossed the path of a small company of Elves in transit from Mirkwood to Lothlorien. It almost goes without saying that the orcs were slain in their attempt to smuggle my obvious presence past the company.

Being the vengeance-wanting child that I was, the Elves decided it was best for me to be raised in Elven company, and so it was done.
I learned the ways of the Elves, especially their skill in war. For this reason, and the fact that I had such a hatred for orcs, the Elves gave me a new name, Dagnirmor, or “Slayer of Darkness” (my original name meant “Son of Good Fortune”, for obvious reasons I thought my Elven name was more appropriate and kept it).
When I was 30 I decided to leave the Elves for a life of a Ranger, and upon announcing this, the Elves made a special sword for me (for this and other items I wear, see appearance).
And so I lived, a ranger, for many a year, until the 36th year of the Fourth Age. I revealed my family secret to the wizard Earhiril, in search of guidance and answers as to my future. She advised we set out to ask King Elessar for his wisdom as to what I should do. On this journey I met and fell in love with another ranger, Anoron, daughter of Elessar, with whom adventures of love and war continue in certain threads.
After much discussion and thought, the King granted me title of Lord of Orthanc, a title and land which I still hold.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email