[Durelin]

Character Description Form:

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – Yes. Wolf Run, Search for the Lost Messenger, Quest for the Ainereg, Truth in a Dark Place, Gondorian Housecall (sort of), Dark Seduction, Corsairs and Corsets, Brotherhood, Resistance

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? - 2 (I'm pushing my limit… [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

List them, please:

Brotherhood
Resistance

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – Yes, the Green Dragon Inn.
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For your character please include:

NAME: Rytin (long 'y', 'i' pronounced like 'ee') Cristale (short 'i', long 'a', e pronounced like 'a')

AGE: 16 and three months!

RACE: Gondorian, of Minas Tirith

GENDER: Female

WEAPONS: Table dagger, and her stubbornness.

APPEARANCE: Rytin is of normal height and build, with shoulder-length, thick dark hair, brown eyes, and thin lips. She is quite pretty, though she definitely does not see herself that way. Her milky white skin and darkness of other coloring gives her an exotic beauty.

In her choice of dress, Rytin will always choose red first, her favorite color, usually bedecked with white patterns. Red and silver is her choice in jewelry. Besides red, she stays with dark colors, dark blues, greens, purples, and black. The only light color she likes is white, and it is usually found somewhere in her dresses. Light colors on the darker make for nice patterns and such, though she does not like much décor, or she feels it is overdone. Plain, unadorned dresses of a rich and lavish style are what she desires. She detests frills and low necklines, as she feels straight cuts and high collars give her a stately image. Occasionally, though, an oval cut out below the high neckline makes up for the lack of a low cut one.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: An inborn stubbornness overcomes any other characteristic, and though it impedes her very often, it is the only thing that gives her spirit. The stubbornness overwhelms the self-consciousness, and does a great deal of good. She is able to assert herself, regardless of what she thinks of herself. Still, as she has lived all her life with a good deal of money, she is a bit selfish, and is all too used to an easy, city life (not that all city life is easy). Her father loves her dearly, and she can usually get anything she likes from him. It has developed her into a very materialistic person, and a very 'grabbing' person. She loves to have lots of expensive and inexpensive things, though, truly, she is not all that reluctant to give a few things away. She does not get along well with her mother, who wishes to marry her off. Rytin has always had a great interest in many men, but especially in Devon. Unfortunately, many other young women hold that interest too, and Devon doesn't seem to return any interest (he doesn't seem to with any, though, which heartens Rytin). Consequently, Rytin's mother wishes her to marry Calnan, whom she met through Devon. She and Devon have been friends for a good number of years, though Devon has always treated her as a sort of younger sister, and one that needed watching out for. Calnan has also been a friend for years, and he too treats her in this way. Her age, in comparison with her friends, is another thing that annoys her.

Though she was never educated as much as her brother, Rytin has a sharp mind, if not one filled with knowledge. She is cunning, even if she lacks a bit of common sense. She is able to read and write, and is very interested in many of the romantic tales of old. She is embarrassed by this, as well as by her daydreaming. Her imagination seems to have grown because of her lack of knowledge. When she is not daydreaming, Rytin can sometimes come across as haughty. Really, it is because of her lack of self-confidence that causes this. At times, Rytin will feel the need to glow with pompous arrogance, reacting indignantly to the smallest infraction upon her 'rules,' and staring down at those below her, equal to, and even above her. Most people survive these moods fairly easily, especially those who are accustomed to them.

Thought it may be surprising for many people to find, Rytin is extremely patriotic, strongly supportive, if not loudly, of Gondor, and its rise in power. She has listened to the Gondor extremist with interest, never truly considering joining that party, but interested all the same. Much of it might have to do with living in Umbar most of her life, a conquered region of Gondor. She knows of the Umbar extremists, and loathes them, as she grew up hearing the horror stories surrounding them.

HISTORY: Born in Minas Tirith to a very successful merchant, a rich, upper class household. She spent her early childhood there (living there till she was 6), and then moved to another large city, to another luxurious household: Umbar. Her father wished to expand his trade to new boundaries, and, though she was quite unhappy about it at the time of their move, Rytin is now very glad her father did so. There she met Devon, and later Calnan.

Rytin was raised to be nothing but a good wife to a rich man, and knows this. Her own ambitions make her father's career appealing, as well as her friends'. Whether debating diplomacy or haggling a sale, it is very interesting to Rytin. Unfortunately, she is also beginning to find the twists and turns, the webs, the backstabbing, the frauds -- all of these awful dealings of politics. In her tales of romance, the sad stories or stories with problems are becoming more interesting than the 'happily ever after' ones. All of these things, and so many more, make her uncertain of what she wants out of life, what she wants to do with her life, adding even more to her self-consciousness and lack of confidence.

Her father is Nicean Crystale, a well-to-do native of Minas Tirith and the son of a merchant who aspired to his father's career. Nicean is far more successful than his father was, though he did have much more to begin off of. He married Farinthaeil when he was thirty-four and already successful, and she twenty-two. After building a strong financial foundation beneath him, Nicean looked to new horizons, and saw a newly conquered Umbar as the newest. Farinthaeil would go wherever her husband wished, clinging to the man in a mix of love and greed. Coming from a farmer's family, of which she is ashamed, she did her best to rise up in society, and has accomplished many of her goals, the greatest one being riches. She has always despised the life of a pauper, and has tried to bestow that disposition upon her children. To a certain extent, she has been successful in that, too. Her brother, Calithai, was raised as an educated man, but turned away from his parent's hopes to begin the life of a soldier at age 17, four years ago. His name is hardly spoken in her household anymore, and it has been quite a while since she has seen him. She misses her brother, but almost hates him with jealousy. He has gotten away from their dreadful parents, and has pursued his dreams of being a soldier. In the past four years, she has received five letters from him, each containing news of a promotion. Startlingly, he has made his way in this career, and much to his parent's dismay. Unfortunately, Rytin has no dreams and hopes matching those her brother did, and also lacks the ambition. Plus, there is no reason to abandon luxury just yet.
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Durelin's post

Lacquered fingernails making soft clicks against the oak, Rytin unlatched a small chest, plain wood but for a gold lock and a thin border of imprinted gold, that rested on a large writing desk. It was the most unadorned object in the large bedroom. Large rugs of a heavy material covered the polished stone floor, with delicate patterns of birds in flight and flowers in bloom. Mainly there were swans on cool, slow rushing streams within the deepest part of some magical and mysterious forest. Perhaps it was supposed to be an elfin wood, those were always filled with magic. Silk tapestries of any of the same things draped upon the walls in various places. One in particular had always stood out to her: one of a scarlet rose, but without thorns. It seemed so real, even lacking the thorns. It seemed…natural, that a rose was meant to be this way, that roses were not supposed to have thorns. Perhaps they had been a mistake, thorns.

Thin lace hung covering a large canopy bad that four people could have slept in, and velvet pillows of a soft but deep purple lay atop silk bed sheets. The winter months were coming on, and so were the night chills, but Rytin refused any other blankets. She just had sixteen silk sheets, and they kept her nice and warm. An ornate oak door led to her anteroom, carved with a variety of shapes, mainly those of flowers that Rytin was not sure existed. The anteroom was less ornate, if not less luxurious. Mainly, it had been decorated to be more sophisticated, not flaunting wealth, but certainly not hiding it, and with straight lines and edges giving it a elegant, yet demure, feel. Chairs and couches, also of oak, with scarlet satin cushions and silk feather pillows, and severe vertical patterns racing up the arms and legs. Tapestries lined the walls in there also, but all were a plain, and matching the cushions and pillows.

Rytin stared at the contents of the small chest. Smoothing her dress, she wondered just why she had opened this box. And why she had all those times in the past few days. It was just a letter, and yet… She glanced down at her skirts. No wrinkles among that sea of red. Rytin was quite fond of red. Red and white went best together, she thought, and a white vine pattern ran down the sides of her skirts and around her high collar. Wide sleeves, a trailing skirt, and white slippers made it one of her favorites. But, there were so many. A ruby encased in silver hung on a silver chain to dangle in the middle of her forehead. It was just a letter…

Plucking a piece out of the carefully arranged stack of folded parchment within the chest, Rytin turned it in her hand several times before unfolding it. She did not have to think to pick out this paper. She did not even need to read it. She thought her heart skipped a beat as she ran her eyes down the page, skimming across round, careful, small script, so delicate, she ran some of the words through her head, the important part. And, for some reason, the part that lay closest to her heart, deepest in her memory.

My father is now blind, and it is hard for me to cope. I must adapt to this new lifestyle, aiding my father so, or doing his duties myself. The latter is the simpler path, on both our parts. But to do all his duties myself? I seek aid in this, friend. It is the simple thing of friendship that leads me to address my plea to you, and I hope that simple thing will lead you to my side.

Now, Rytin was not a lackwit, and she was well aware that much of what the letter appeared to be was, in truth, a shroud. The true content of it had taken time to decipher, but she had discovered it, and was very proud of herself for that. Luckily, she had connections. Her father sat high in status in the city, and he knew the goings-on, especially high up. It was a simple matter to get him to speak of them in a dinner conversation. Devon did need her help. She only knew a bit, as her father didn't hear everything -- or perhaps did not voice everything at table -- but she did know that if the little she knew sounded a bad situation, the whole of it must be ten times worse. Ambassador Thrann really was muddling this up. Rytin was not entirely sure of what 'this' was, but she got the gist of it. That told her enough: 'this' was a very large matter.

With a sigh, Rytin replaced the letter. Her heart had not skipped a beat. The boy had been encoding a message. She felt a tingling form at the pit of her stomach. No! He had not said that he wished for her at his side. She knew what it meant, she had deciphered it. The box slammed shut with a clomp of strong wood, and Rytin rose from her writing desk. Running fingers through her hair, she calmed herself, and straightened the ruby hanging down on her forehead. Oh, why couldn't he have meant it! her mind cried out. For a moment she stood there, slumped over and frowning starkly. Devon… She shook her head, coming to her senses, and whooped a laugh. She laughed at herself, a silly little girl. Calnan was right to treat her like one. Now, but Devon was not! A new heat of anger rose up. He was barely over a year older!

The door slammed shut behind her, and Rytin mumbled in growling undertones using some very rare and remarkable words. She barely saw the long hall she walked through, wide and well lit, decorated with tapestries and small stands holding porcelain and other fine, precious materials. All in this home was made to delight the eye, just as Rytin liked it. It had always been that way for her, after all. Soft swishes of her skirts resounded off the stone walls, echoing down the hallway, though the fall of her steps was not heard; she was a graceful young lady. And she would soon be married… Her mouth was set with a grim determination, and she brought her head up high, so she could stare haughtily at anyone passing by. She felt the need to, today.

Her father was not in his chambers, of course. It was late in the morning, and there were fine objects to sell, and to buy. Still, it was easy enough for her to get into them. Nicean Crystale's anteroom was much plainer than his daughter's, though much larger. Plain, dark colored tapestries lined these walls too, but the furniture lacked any decorative carving. It was quite boring, in Rytin's mind. It needs much more red, she thought with a smile. But what was not boring, was what lay behind the beautiful stained glass doors: the garden patio. There was red there, Rytin's rosebushes, as well as her mother's lilies, along with a wide array of flowering plants. Really, the rest consisted of whatever the gardener wished to plant.

Rytin strolled aimlessly, letting her mind be wiped of any real thoughts, escaping from all the troubled ones that threatened her. Whenever she allowed it, her mind would wander back to memories, mostly of Devon and Calnan, but also of her old home, of Minas Tirith. It was her birthplace, had been her home until she was nine. She had told herself and others that she was glad she lived in Umbar, but…what would her life have been like in Minas Tirith? Who would she had known, whom then would her mother wish her to marry. She could hardly remember the place, except that it was very beautiful, and, yet, she wished to live there again. Perhaps it was just that she could not. She had always wanted what she could not have, as well as what she could.

A stirring behind her made her jump, dropping the white lily she had just picked. Turning around in a whirl of red and white silk, Rytin came face to face with a very skinny, comely old woman in servant livery, frowning in a very apologetic and, at the same time, worried way. "Shari! Please, do not do that! You startled me out of my wits!"

Rytin's maid's frown grew even more worried. Anxiety overcame remorse. "Forgive me, please do, young Mistress." Rytin sighed. There was that word 'young,' again. I would not have come up on you so, but was not certain if I should disturb you. You see, when I found you not in your rooms, I came here." The old woman hesitated. She did not sound too sorry, or too worried about disturbing her Mistress. Shari did not care all that much about the expected lowliness of servants. But she was worried about something. "Mistress…" Rytin was thankful for the missing word. "Yes," she said, rather impatiently. After giving Rytin an indignant look, Shari continued. "You had said you wished to see Master Devon today, on important business."

"Oh yes!" Rytin stooped to pick up her lily. "Please, notify Jinto. It is very important business. Oh, and have a message left for my father," she added as an afterthought. As the maid turned to go, Rytin said a hurried "And thank you, Shari," before rushing off herself. As she walked those all too familiar halls again, she placed the lily in her hair, styled in a neat, somewhat ornate bun on the back of her head. Lilies certainly were not meant to have thorns, and Rytin would just bet that Devon liked flowers without thorns. Suddenly she frowned, stopping in her steps. Actually…she hoped he did not. She may not have been meant to have thorns, but they were there. Soft swishes began again, this time sounding at a much faster pace.
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Okay, you said 'be creative,' and I hope I was. You also said to be realistic, and I hope I was that too. I tried very hard in both aspects, I assure you! But, if anything in my bio or post is unrealistic or not in synch with the plot or other characters, I am sorry. I had trouble deciding how Rytin would meet different people and when in her lifetime and etc, etc. Still, I hope you like her!

Thanks!

-Durelin (who is excited, because this is her first 'good-guy' female character!)

P.S. - Please forgive that very childish earlier post! [img]smilies/frown.gif[/img]


[ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]

[ October 20, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]