Disclaimer: I do not own nor have I sought permission from the Tolkien
estate to use the world of Middle Earth. I am doing what I think is the
best representation of what would happen at a time like this.
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There it is again. That look. That look of utter loathing and disgust. Like they never thought Eru would take the time to create a miserable wretch like me. Well, He did, and I am paying the consequences for it now. There is another look. I cannot go anywhere without being noticed and despised and as I write this I wonder why Eru chose to give me a face to warrant such looks. There is another one. Why do they all choose to stare at me when there are plenty of shady characters in this tavern? Over in the corner there is even a man feeding his pet rat. Why do they not choose to look at him? It makes me wonder if staring at the deformed somehow helps people get through their day, if it even provides some sort of twisted entertainment so they can go home happy.
You might be wondering who I am at this point after my comments on what I thinking of prying personalities. My name is Neroli Salk, I prefer people to call me Ro. I was raised in the city of Sal'is in the land of Hollin southeast of Eriador. I was born the seventh of twelve siblings: nine boys and three girls. My parents died when I was sixteen and I left my brothers' care when I was nineteen.
'No wonder she has a disdain for the world,' you might be saying, 'if she was left without proper care when she was young and if she left her only family shortly after that.' Yes, you are right. I do have a twisted view of the world. But that is only because of my mistake and not because of faulty lessons learned as a child. My father raised me to be a kind, hard-working human being, while my mother taught me the "tricks of the trade". My mother spoiled me and my father disciplined me. Yet, if I had not known my father, and had been raised under different parents, I would not be the person I am today and I would be stuck in the monotonous job of housekeeping, which I loathe. But I digress.
When I left my family's farm, I went to a place where I could learn how to take care of myself without a man's help. I learned how to defend myself and of the lore of my world. Ever since my brother, Jepal (he is the fifth oldest), came home from the Rivendell Archives and said I look like Lúthien, I have been fascinated with the myths and legends and general history of Middle Earth. So when I left my home, I went to the same place he learned his stories: the Rivendell Archives. I changed my name and my appearance, as much as I could, so that my family would not be able to find me while I was living there and learning the things they did not want.
After I left the Archives, I journeyed through Middle Earth finding the places of these legends, or seeing if the places really existed. I also, with my fighting abilities, helped and still help the people that are in dire need and have no one to turn to for relief. I can track the things that cause them harm: spiders the size of a wagon and goblins, the nasty creatures that still live in the mountains and seem to be able to hide from even the most thorough of hunters and trackers, like myself. I try, because of my learned abilities, to help people and rid the world of these pestilent, aggravating, and destructive enemies.
At the Rivendell Archives, I not only learned about the history of this earth, I also learned how to fight, how to wield a sword and staff. Actually, I finished my training in staff handling, but that is part of my story. I learned how to track and hunt: how to find the little details in a trail of dirt and be able to tell if a bird picked up a worm for dinner or if a child walking home had picked up an interesting stone to bring home and show his parents. With my father's teaching and my new teaching, I learned how to work hard and help the few who are not against me. I also learned how to heal simple wounds and where the more experienced healers lived, so that if I did come across a pressing case, I would be able to get the sick person to the help he needed. With my mother's teaching, I learned how to cook, sew, raise children, and all the other things proper wives need to know, as well as how to manipulate people to do the things you want, but that is also a part of my story.
I have traveled far and wide. I have years of practice putting what I learned to use. I have also learned things about myself that only a long life and unusual circumstances can teach. If you are wondering, I am in my early fifties while writing this. My family's history is known for having very old descendants. We are known to live to be one hundred twenty easily. So it is no surprise to me that I have just reached my prime. I am still able to keep up with the younger generation, mostly because I still look like the younger generation, with the exception of my scar. I have also kept a journal, a record of my day to day activities and adventures, since I was ten years old.
If you are interested, when I travel I walk with a staff, I carry a sword and a knife at my left hip, three daggers: two on each leg hidden by each boot and one strapped to my right forearm. I carry a satchel strapped to my back filled with a few simple herbs and my few belongings consisting of a bed roll, a cloak, some dried bread, an extra set of clothes, and my journals. I wear dark clothing, though not all black, so I can blend in with my surroundings whether it is night or day, and I always wear a hood. When I am dealing with people, I find that if they do not see my scar, they will not feel repulsed by me and treat me like I am dirt and thus a shady, conniving character. But when I am out in the wild, with no living person near me, I feel free to let my hood drop, as well as my reserve.
Do not worry, dear reader, I have not been caught in the wild skipping and singing to my heart's content oblivious to my surroundings. I do not allow myself that much freedom, but I do allow myself to enjoy the little things in life, the simple things that make life worth living. Every once and a while, for example, when I am traveling, I will go out into the open and sit, hidden, and wait. I wait for the animals of the area to be comfortable with my presence; I wait for them to come out of their hiding places and begin to continue on with their daily lives. I wait for the rabbit to sneak out of her hole and start nibbling on the grass. I wait for the birds to start hopping from branch to branch, trilling all the while and making the most beautiful music. I wait for the timid doe to creep out of her hiding place, make sure the intruder to her peace is gone, and then let her fawn come out and enjoy the warm sunshine with her. It is those things, the beauty of nature, that I find joy.
Sometimes, when I am walking out in the wild, hot and tired, I am surprised by a short shower. It is long enough to cool me down, but short enough so I do not get soaked in moisture. The relief I feel after that summer rain is given in thanks for Eru's perfect timing. When I am walking between towns and I happen upon a flower-laden meadow, the waft of perfume I get sends me flying. And when I am walking next to a river, following its course to see where it ends, I am energized by the sound a joyous waterfall makes. When I am hungry, but it is not near enough for luncheon or supper, and I cross a patch of wild berries, I find my mouth exploding with the pure sweetness those berries bring. Or when I am walking and am surprised by the delicate fluttering of a butterfly crossing my path, determined to flit and float despite so many of its predators around, I am encouraged. It is in these things, these simple beauties, reader, that I find I enjoy more than the common wants and covets of this world. I seek those simple moments more than gold or silver or precious jewels. But again, I digress.
I come from a Muscalli lineage. I am the average height for a Muscalli: five feet ten inches; I also have my mother's long, curly black hair and my father's famous golden- green Muscalli eyes. But other than that, you would not be able to link me with the rest of my family, owing much to my accident. I have reasonably good hearing and seeing, both honed by my training to be a tracker and hunter. I also have a very unusual gift, gained when I earned my scar, but that is for another time to reveal.
There. Someone else is looking at my scar. I do not know why I made such a stupid decision to not wear my hood in this tavern and I am most certainly paying the consequences for such an action now. There is now a good sized space around me as I sit, eat, and write where people who do not have to deal with me dare not cross into. I do not know what makes them stay away more, my scar or my glares. But back to what I was saying. What was I saying? Oh, yes, I was talking about my unusual gift, thought that is all I will tell of it for now.
No doubt you are slightly shocked at how a person with a mark such as mine would be able to do so many more things than just mourn her wretched appearance to the point of death. Believe me, reader, you are closer to the truth than even you realize, but I will tell you how close you have come later.
Why am I telling you all these things about me and what I have learned and what I enjoy and how I dress and what I look like? Well, I wanted you to have a proper picture of my appearance and what kind of person I am, so as you read my story you can picture me doing those things and not some person from your imagination. I also wanted you to know what kind of person I am today, so that when I let you read my journals, you will be able to see how far I have come in my quest to be the perfect Ranger. What is a Ranger? A Ranger is a person from old that used to track and protect whoever needed help. They were guardian angels of sorts without being seen by the people they protected. They were the servants of Middle Earth, willing to be exiled and outcast to protect the people who cannot protect themselves. I learned of them in my lessons of the past. I especially liked the story of the one named Strider who became king.
Though most of the legends of the past are just that: legends and myths, I can sometimes, with my gift, be able to see that some of these legends are in fact true, and not only that, but some of the details in the way they are told to us, are wrong. I will show you what I mean, soon. In the meantime, let me finish my introduction. I aspire to be like these Rangers of old in the way they lived and loved. I am constantly also trying to find if all of the legends and fairy tales we learned as children are true, whether they are based on fact and not drawn from some very imaginative mind. I also am trying to prepare Middle Earth for war. You have no doubt noticed that the boundaries of old are being crossed: men are becoming filled with more and more greed, and that life as we know it is gone forever. I suspect that we are again heading towards a life changing, Middle Earth encompassing war. But it is a slow process getting the people of this world knowledgeable about the evidence. How I came to these conclusions are also a part of my story, and I have come to the end of what I must say.
Let us now thank the face Eru gave me at the beginning, so when the time comes, we will not trip over our tongues in anxious anticipation, for it is because of this face that I have my story to tell you. And I have kept you from it for far too long.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There it is again. That look. That look of utter loathing and disgust. Like they never thought Eru would take the time to create a miserable wretch like me. Well, He did, and I am paying the consequences for it now. There is another look. I cannot go anywhere without being noticed and despised and as I write this I wonder why Eru chose to give me a face to warrant such looks. There is another one. Why do they all choose to stare at me when there are plenty of shady characters in this tavern? Over in the corner there is even a man feeding his pet rat. Why do they not choose to look at him? It makes me wonder if staring at the deformed somehow helps people get through their day, if it even provides some sort of twisted entertainment so they can go home happy.
You might be wondering who I am at this point after my comments on what I thinking of prying personalities. My name is Neroli Salk, I prefer people to call me Ro. I was raised in the city of Sal'is in the land of Hollin southeast of Eriador. I was born the seventh of twelve siblings: nine boys and three girls. My parents died when I was sixteen and I left my brothers' care when I was nineteen.
'No wonder she has a disdain for the world,' you might be saying, 'if she was left without proper care when she was young and if she left her only family shortly after that.' Yes, you are right. I do have a twisted view of the world. But that is only because of my mistake and not because of faulty lessons learned as a child. My father raised me to be a kind, hard-working human being, while my mother taught me the "tricks of the trade". My mother spoiled me and my father disciplined me. Yet, if I had not known my father, and had been raised under different parents, I would not be the person I am today and I would be stuck in the monotonous job of housekeeping, which I loathe. But I digress.
When I left my family's farm, I went to a place where I could learn how to take care of myself without a man's help. I learned how to defend myself and of the lore of my world. Ever since my brother, Jepal (he is the fifth oldest), came home from the Rivendell Archives and said I look like Lúthien, I have been fascinated with the myths and legends and general history of Middle Earth. So when I left my home, I went to the same place he learned his stories: the Rivendell Archives. I changed my name and my appearance, as much as I could, so that my family would not be able to find me while I was living there and learning the things they did not want.
After I left the Archives, I journeyed through Middle Earth finding the places of these legends, or seeing if the places really existed. I also, with my fighting abilities, helped and still help the people that are in dire need and have no one to turn to for relief. I can track the things that cause them harm: spiders the size of a wagon and goblins, the nasty creatures that still live in the mountains and seem to be able to hide from even the most thorough of hunters and trackers, like myself. I try, because of my learned abilities, to help people and rid the world of these pestilent, aggravating, and destructive enemies.
At the Rivendell Archives, I not only learned about the history of this earth, I also learned how to fight, how to wield a sword and staff. Actually, I finished my training in staff handling, but that is part of my story. I learned how to track and hunt: how to find the little details in a trail of dirt and be able to tell if a bird picked up a worm for dinner or if a child walking home had picked up an interesting stone to bring home and show his parents. With my father's teaching and my new teaching, I learned how to work hard and help the few who are not against me. I also learned how to heal simple wounds and where the more experienced healers lived, so that if I did come across a pressing case, I would be able to get the sick person to the help he needed. With my mother's teaching, I learned how to cook, sew, raise children, and all the other things proper wives need to know, as well as how to manipulate people to do the things you want, but that is also a part of my story.
I have traveled far and wide. I have years of practice putting what I learned to use. I have also learned things about myself that only a long life and unusual circumstances can teach. If you are wondering, I am in my early fifties while writing this. My family's history is known for having very old descendants. We are known to live to be one hundred twenty easily. So it is no surprise to me that I have just reached my prime. I am still able to keep up with the younger generation, mostly because I still look like the younger generation, with the exception of my scar. I have also kept a journal, a record of my day to day activities and adventures, since I was ten years old.
If you are interested, when I travel I walk with a staff, I carry a sword and a knife at my left hip, three daggers: two on each leg hidden by each boot and one strapped to my right forearm. I carry a satchel strapped to my back filled with a few simple herbs and my few belongings consisting of a bed roll, a cloak, some dried bread, an extra set of clothes, and my journals. I wear dark clothing, though not all black, so I can blend in with my surroundings whether it is night or day, and I always wear a hood. When I am dealing with people, I find that if they do not see my scar, they will not feel repulsed by me and treat me like I am dirt and thus a shady, conniving character. But when I am out in the wild, with no living person near me, I feel free to let my hood drop, as well as my reserve.
Do not worry, dear reader, I have not been caught in the wild skipping and singing to my heart's content oblivious to my surroundings. I do not allow myself that much freedom, but I do allow myself to enjoy the little things in life, the simple things that make life worth living. Every once and a while, for example, when I am traveling, I will go out into the open and sit, hidden, and wait. I wait for the animals of the area to be comfortable with my presence; I wait for them to come out of their hiding places and begin to continue on with their daily lives. I wait for the rabbit to sneak out of her hole and start nibbling on the grass. I wait for the birds to start hopping from branch to branch, trilling all the while and making the most beautiful music. I wait for the timid doe to creep out of her hiding place, make sure the intruder to her peace is gone, and then let her fawn come out and enjoy the warm sunshine with her. It is those things, the beauty of nature, that I find joy.
Sometimes, when I am walking out in the wild, hot and tired, I am surprised by a short shower. It is long enough to cool me down, but short enough so I do not get soaked in moisture. The relief I feel after that summer rain is given in thanks for Eru's perfect timing. When I am walking between towns and I happen upon a flower-laden meadow, the waft of perfume I get sends me flying. And when I am walking next to a river, following its course to see where it ends, I am energized by the sound a joyous waterfall makes. When I am hungry, but it is not near enough for luncheon or supper, and I cross a patch of wild berries, I find my mouth exploding with the pure sweetness those berries bring. Or when I am walking and am surprised by the delicate fluttering of a butterfly crossing my path, determined to flit and float despite so many of its predators around, I am encouraged. It is in these things, these simple beauties, reader, that I find I enjoy more than the common wants and covets of this world. I seek those simple moments more than gold or silver or precious jewels. But again, I digress.
I come from a Muscalli lineage. I am the average height for a Muscalli: five feet ten inches; I also have my mother's long, curly black hair and my father's famous golden- green Muscalli eyes. But other than that, you would not be able to link me with the rest of my family, owing much to my accident. I have reasonably good hearing and seeing, both honed by my training to be a tracker and hunter. I also have a very unusual gift, gained when I earned my scar, but that is for another time to reveal.
There. Someone else is looking at my scar. I do not know why I made such a stupid decision to not wear my hood in this tavern and I am most certainly paying the consequences for such an action now. There is now a good sized space around me as I sit, eat, and write where people who do not have to deal with me dare not cross into. I do not know what makes them stay away more, my scar or my glares. But back to what I was saying. What was I saying? Oh, yes, I was talking about my unusual gift, thought that is all I will tell of it for now.
No doubt you are slightly shocked at how a person with a mark such as mine would be able to do so many more things than just mourn her wretched appearance to the point of death. Believe me, reader, you are closer to the truth than even you realize, but I will tell you how close you have come later.
Why am I telling you all these things about me and what I have learned and what I enjoy and how I dress and what I look like? Well, I wanted you to have a proper picture of my appearance and what kind of person I am, so as you read my story you can picture me doing those things and not some person from your imagination. I also wanted you to know what kind of person I am today, so that when I let you read my journals, you will be able to see how far I have come in my quest to be the perfect Ranger. What is a Ranger? A Ranger is a person from old that used to track and protect whoever needed help. They were guardian angels of sorts without being seen by the people they protected. They were the servants of Middle Earth, willing to be exiled and outcast to protect the people who cannot protect themselves. I learned of them in my lessons of the past. I especially liked the story of the one named Strider who became king.
Though most of the legends of the past are just that: legends and myths, I can sometimes, with my gift, be able to see that some of these legends are in fact true, and not only that, but some of the details in the way they are told to us, are wrong. I will show you what I mean, soon. In the meantime, let me finish my introduction. I aspire to be like these Rangers of old in the way they lived and loved. I am constantly also trying to find if all of the legends and fairy tales we learned as children are true, whether they are based on fact and not drawn from some very imaginative mind. I also am trying to prepare Middle Earth for war. You have no doubt noticed that the boundaries of old are being crossed: men are becoming filled with more and more greed, and that life as we know it is gone forever. I suspect that we are again heading towards a life changing, Middle Earth encompassing war. But it is a slow process getting the people of this world knowledgeable about the evidence. How I came to these conclusions are also a part of my story, and I have come to the end of what I must say.
Let us now thank the face Eru gave me at the beginning, so when the time comes, we will not trip over our tongues in anxious anticipation, for it is because of this face that I have my story to tell you. And I have kept you from it for far too long.