User:Wulfcwyn/Wulfcwyn
 |
This article is a Player character biography page The contents herein are entirely player made and in no way represent official Lotro history or occurrences which are accurate for all worlds. The characters and events listed are of an independent nature and applied for roleplaying, fictional, speculative, or opinions from a limited playerbase only. |
| Wulfcwyn Firebrand | |
|---|---|
 | |
| The Red Arrows | |
| World: | Landroval |
| Vocation: | Explorer |
| Class: | Hunter |
| Race: | Man |
| Region: | Dale |
| Age: | 19 |
| Height: | 5'9" |
| Sex: | Female |
| Skin: | Light/Tan |
| Hair: | Red |
Description
Personality
Wulfwyn is still young and naive about the world around her. Always curious, she tends to get herself into more trouble than she can handle when left to her own devices. In some way, she is fortunately a subservient sort of person, and tends to fall readily in line when given an order. She is otherwise rather shy, and tends to speak mostly in questions, as she learns more of the world. Though she is a very simple country girl, her uniquely uneducated perspective often helps to put a different view on problems.
Physical
Her fiery red hair and freckles are her most outstanding traits, followed closely by her sharp green eyes. Her frame is compact and lithe, built more for acrobatics than for direct combat. She always walks lightly, leaving as little evidence of her passing as possible, and speaks even lighter.
Connections
She recently joined the Red Arrows. Seeking a pack to belong to, she was rapidly drawn to this group of proud warriors who sought to face the coming darkness. She quickly gained much respect for their leader, Imraheth, and would follow her orders blindly, even if it meant her own certain death. Outside of the Arrows, she has few friends, as her adventures tend to take her far afield from populated areas.
Gossip
((Please use this section to post IC reactions and reflections concerning this character.))
History
19 years ago
Though the wolves did their best to drown out all sound, howling in unison to a low full moon, a single shrill voice pierced the air, wailing louder even than the feral hunters. Though sharp and annoying, from within the small house, the cries of the newborn child were as music to the few people within earshot.
"Well, it seems the wolves have given their blessing!" stated the warrior proudly, speaking up to be heard over the wailing of his child. "Surely my son will grow up to be a proud hunter!"
"An omen if I ever heard one," replied the midwife, though she already knew better. But at the moment, she was too distracted to point out the flaw in his reasoning. The birth was difficult, and she feared the mother may not survive. Once the baby was safely wrapped in cloth and ceased crying, she attended to the poor child's mother, fighting to save her life.
The father came over to inspect his child, and gasped suddenly, "Red hair! He has red hair, like his grandfather! He will surely inherit the family title of Firebrand now!" he looked around the room, wondering why his wife was not sharing in his elation. "Dear, look! Red ... hair ..." His voice trailed off as the chaos of the last few moments settled in, and he realized what was happening.
He rushed to his wife's side, as the midwife stood back, shaking her head. He said nothing, merely looking up to her, fear in his eyes. She could not meet his sharp green eyes, and simply shook her head again, muttering, "I'm sorry, Wolf..."
Tears formed on the edges of the proud hunter's eyes as he knelt with his dying wife. No words were spoken between them, but the look between them said all there was to say. It spoke of love, of loss, and of loyalty. She looked over to cradle that held her newborn child, smiled an almost mischievous grin, and shut her eyes forever.
When his sobbing had finally calmed, the midwife rested her hand on his shoulder. "Weep not too long for the dead. There is still a living girl who needs your care, as well." Nodding slowly, he stood up, and turned serenely towards the baby's cradle, that he himself had lovingly crafted. He suddenly stopped, mid-stride, nearly tipping himself forward onto the child.
He grasped for words, and then spun back to the midwife. "Did you say girl!?"
The wolves howled in celebration.
8 years ago
The freckled little girl, her fiery red hair tucked under her padded hood, crouched comfortably in the snow on a high hilltop. Kneeling next to her, an arm around her shoulders, her father breathed softly. His strong bow was across his back, his brown hair hung loosely around his neck. Together, they watched in silence as the wolves tore apart their latest kill, a stag of no small size. Their pups would eat well this day.
After a few moments, they turned and headed back towards their camp. They had been observing the wolves all morning, and were getting hungry. As they walked, her father finally spoke. "Daughter, did you see the answer to my question yet?"
The young girl scrunched up her face in thought, running her memories of the wolf's hunt through her mind. The scenes of violence and gore did little to faze her anymore. Though only eleven years old, she had been a hunter since she could draw her tiny bow, and often accompanied her father on these trips. She had learned to sit as still and silent as a rock for hours if necessary. Her hands and her eyes were steady, and her patience was immense for a child. Though still not strong enough to pull a bow with enough force to kill a deer, she was growing up fast.
She mumbled the question aloud again, seeking the answer to her father's riddle. "What is the greatest advantage the wolf possesses?" She clicked her tongue against her teeth as she thought, for she knew the sound drove her father crazy. Finally, she gave up, shrugging. "I don't know father ... the other wolves?"
He beamed proudly, clapping her on the back roughly, nearly sending her sprawling into the snow. "Exactly! The strength of the wolf is the pack!" he said, repeating the lesson his father had taught him, smiling at the memory. "Without the pack, the wolf is vulnerable."
She smiled proudly, for it had actually been a sarcastic answer. She noted to keep that little fact to herself as her father continued. "If the individual wolf's greatest strength is the pack, then what is the pack's greatest strength?"
Starting to catch on to the pattern, she smiled brightly as she responded, "The individual wolves!"
He nodded happily, his smile wide and bright. "Yes! Little Wulfcwyn, you must remember this. The hunter may hunt alone for a time, but you should not live this way. You must find your pack. For though the wolf is strong, the pack is strongest. And though the pack is strong, without the wolves, it is nothing at all."
They walked on in silence as she thought this over. They were quiet for the next half hour, her father wise enough to let her think on the lessons of the day. Finally, as they neared the camp, she spoke up, her bright green eyes wide with curiosity. "Father, are we a pack?"
He laughed heartily, scooping her into his arms as they entered the campsite. "Of course we are! Do our kin not laughingly call me 'old wolf'? Are you not this old wolf's joy?" She giggled as he tickled her playfully. Smiling happily, the two settled in for the night, falling asleep to the howling of the wolves, full and joyous from their bountiful meal.
9 months ago
"Wulfcwyn, do not be a fool!" her father yelled. "You are a cunning hunter of beasts, and I am very proud of you... but you are not ready for this."
Stamping her feet angrily, her red hair wild about her face, she growled menacingly. "I am ready! There is war coming to Arda, whether you see it or not, and everyone who can raise a bow or a sword is needed! The Shadow grow longer, and I must go and fight!"
"No! I forbid it! You are not a warrior, my child! You are just a hunter!" He calmed suddenly, attempting to reason with her. "Besides, with whom shall you fight? Neither Brand, nor Dain, nor Thranduil will send warriors to the west. We are too hard pressed here. The goblins grow ever restless, my child."
"But the lands to the west are nearly under the thumb already. They need assistance! It is there that heroes will gather and fight off the coming darkness, while you hide here, safely under the mountain! You can cower here like a coward, but I will--" She did not get to finish the sentence, for her father has slapped her fiercely across the face. His own face was shadowed and angry, his green eyes narrow.
"Do not doubt my courage, little one. I stand here to fight with my kinsmen, should the need arise. I am not questioning the needs of those under the shadow of Angmar. I am saying that your place is in the woods, supplying meat and supplies for the warriors here. Not on the battlefield!"
Her fists were tightly clenched, her teeth grinding together. "No father, you will see. I shall prove myself a warrior. And when I return, you will see the warrior I truly am."
A flicker of sadness crossed his aging face, his gaze falling to the ground. "Daughter ... my joy ... I have learned that most warriors are only recognized as such after they have died on the field of battle. Do not test this... Stay here, with your kinsman, and do your duty."
She gathered up her satchel, and pushed past him out the door. She spat out the words, covered in venom. "If I fall in battle against the darkness, I shall be sure to arrange that my corpse is sent back home. Then you will see the truth, though too late it will be to make amends."
A few hours later, the caravan rumbled westward, the dwarves singing a marching song. Wulfcwyn sat on the back of one of the carts, sobbing gently into her hands. She instantly regretted the words she had spoken to her father, but it was too late to turn back now. She prayed that she would find a new pack to join, become strong in battle, and return home to show her father the truth of her valor.
A sorrowful note rang across the valley, as a lone wolf howled at the failing sun.