(Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, or languages
created by the great J.R.R. Tolkien. The rest are mine.)
Gwyndolynne slowly walked into a tavern, almost floating. Her light green cloak touched the ground with every step. Below the hood over her head one can barley see her vibrant aqua-almost with a hint of red, eyes staring angrily at the opposing wall.
Her dark brown hair falls on the middle of her chest. She slowly lifted off her hood exposing her pale face. Glaring, she sat down on a barstool. Her long cloak hangs but a few centimeters off of the dirty tavern floor.
Carelessly, she puts her hair behind her ears, showing that they have a small point to them. Her eyes settle upon a homeless sea-elf sitting on the tavern floor. Suddenly her eyes begin to change into a bluish brown colour. Dropping her anger-she strolled over to the sea-elf with a smile. Gwyndolynne pushed her cloak out of the way of her hips exposing an amber coloured sheath with elvish writing on it. She grabbed for her money sack- placing two silver coins into the straggly elf's blue hands. A glint of happiness shows in the elf's marine eyes. With one smile Gwyndolynne turns, her cloak swishes with her swift movement. Slowly, with each step precise, she walks again to her seat. A quick glance to over where the man was sitting and Gwyndolynne realizes he is suddenly gone.
Immediately Gwyndolynne thought of her father. Her father had taught her most everything she knows. Her father taught her to always do nice things. For, if you did nice things for people, it gave you an almost sure spot on a ship to the Gray Havens.
Her father always did nice things for people, Gwyndolynne is still disappointed he never got to go to the Gray Havens-he died in battle. Her father also taught Gwyndolynne everything she knows about paring and swordsmanship. Naratalion, her father, is greatly missed by Gwyndolynne.
Take Culrúnris....mel....Gwyndolynne recalled the date of her father's death. She unsheathed her sword-examining the Culrúnris. Culrúnris glinted with every move it make. Light shone upon the elvish writing. He had named his sword Culrúnris 3 months before he died.
Gwyndolynne began to realize her surroundings. Many were staring. She slowly sheathed her sword, trying to act natural. She glanced around at the tavern. Gwyndolynne looked into a corner of the tavern, noticing a hooded figure. All Gwyndolynne could see was his cherry lips.
Four very small men walked into the cavern. They looked afraid. Gwyndolynne wasn't sure to feel sorry for them, or take them as enemies. They were soaked with rain, from which 'twas pouring outside. Gwyndolynne glanced back at the hooded figure. He had begun smoking a pipe. He had let up his hood a little, exposing gorgeous blue eyes, whose radiance filled the room with magic. But Gwyndolynne realized something- seeing now his whole face- she realized he was a Man.
Gwyndolynne had now noticed the four little people had taken their hoods off, and were having a drink. They had very curly hair, and were definitely shorter than dwarves. The Man in the corner was eyeing the one with dark hair most curiously. The Man began to look very familiar, before Gwyndolynne had decided who it was, a very clumsy barmaid ran into her spilling sherry onto her light green dress. Gwyndolynne forgave the barmaid out of courtesy and sauntered to the other side of the tavern. She looked down at the cherry red stain, she muttered something under her breath, making it disappear into her dress.
Gwyndolynne struck a glance back to the Man smoking his pipe in the corner. Suddenly, realization hit her hard on the head. She knew exactly who it was. From complete bafflement, she raced out the tavern doors- forgetting about her dignity, she hit her shoulder against the door. She bolted out like an arrow coming from a tightly strung bow. She searched back and forth looking for a certain cottage. In the background one could hear songs of Men and Elvenfolk. Slipping on her hood, Gwyndolynne looked up at a house and quickly looked away. She did a double take, now realizing this was the house she was looking for. Slightly out of breath, Gwyndolynne stepped up to the cottage door giving it a soft knock.
Gwyndolynne slowly walked into a tavern, almost floating. Her light green cloak touched the ground with every step. Below the hood over her head one can barley see her vibrant aqua-almost with a hint of red, eyes staring angrily at the opposing wall.
Her dark brown hair falls on the middle of her chest. She slowly lifted off her hood exposing her pale face. Glaring, she sat down on a barstool. Her long cloak hangs but a few centimeters off of the dirty tavern floor.
Carelessly, she puts her hair behind her ears, showing that they have a small point to them. Her eyes settle upon a homeless sea-elf sitting on the tavern floor. Suddenly her eyes begin to change into a bluish brown colour. Dropping her anger-she strolled over to the sea-elf with a smile. Gwyndolynne pushed her cloak out of the way of her hips exposing an amber coloured sheath with elvish writing on it. She grabbed for her money sack- placing two silver coins into the straggly elf's blue hands. A glint of happiness shows in the elf's marine eyes. With one smile Gwyndolynne turns, her cloak swishes with her swift movement. Slowly, with each step precise, she walks again to her seat. A quick glance to over where the man was sitting and Gwyndolynne realizes he is suddenly gone.
Immediately Gwyndolynne thought of her father. Her father had taught her most everything she knows. Her father taught her to always do nice things. For, if you did nice things for people, it gave you an almost sure spot on a ship to the Gray Havens.
Her father always did nice things for people, Gwyndolynne is still disappointed he never got to go to the Gray Havens-he died in battle. Her father also taught Gwyndolynne everything she knows about paring and swordsmanship. Naratalion, her father, is greatly missed by Gwyndolynne.
Take Culrúnris....mel....Gwyndolynne recalled the date of her father's death. She unsheathed her sword-examining the Culrúnris. Culrúnris glinted with every move it make. Light shone upon the elvish writing. He had named his sword Culrúnris 3 months before he died.
Gwyndolynne began to realize her surroundings. Many were staring. She slowly sheathed her sword, trying to act natural. She glanced around at the tavern. Gwyndolynne looked into a corner of the tavern, noticing a hooded figure. All Gwyndolynne could see was his cherry lips.
Four very small men walked into the cavern. They looked afraid. Gwyndolynne wasn't sure to feel sorry for them, or take them as enemies. They were soaked with rain, from which 'twas pouring outside. Gwyndolynne glanced back at the hooded figure. He had begun smoking a pipe. He had let up his hood a little, exposing gorgeous blue eyes, whose radiance filled the room with magic. But Gwyndolynne realized something- seeing now his whole face- she realized he was a Man.
Gwyndolynne had now noticed the four little people had taken their hoods off, and were having a drink. They had very curly hair, and were definitely shorter than dwarves. The Man in the corner was eyeing the one with dark hair most curiously. The Man began to look very familiar, before Gwyndolynne had decided who it was, a very clumsy barmaid ran into her spilling sherry onto her light green dress. Gwyndolynne forgave the barmaid out of courtesy and sauntered to the other side of the tavern. She looked down at the cherry red stain, she muttered something under her breath, making it disappear into her dress.
Gwyndolynne struck a glance back to the Man smoking his pipe in the corner. Suddenly, realization hit her hard on the head. She knew exactly who it was. From complete bafflement, she raced out the tavern doors- forgetting about her dignity, she hit her shoulder against the door. She bolted out like an arrow coming from a tightly strung bow. She searched back and forth looking for a certain cottage. In the background one could hear songs of Men and Elvenfolk. Slipping on her hood, Gwyndolynne looked up at a house and quickly looked away. She did a double take, now realizing this was the house she was looking for. Slightly out of breath, Gwyndolynne stepped up to the cottage door giving it a soft knock.