[Annunfuiniel]

Beren87's Character - Minastan Helmman


NAME: Minastan Helmman

AGE: 37

RACE: Man

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: One long sword, named Calalim (Q: light-giver..or close to it), which has gotten little use in it’s time at his side. His skills with a bow are lacking, at best, as his use of stealth allows him to get close enough to never need to use the long-distance weapon.

APPEARANCE: Sandy brownish hair contrasts well with his tanned skin, highlighting his brown eyes. His clothes tend to be meticulously clean, despite his time in the forest, though on close inspection one can see they’re worn from washing and the general wear and tear of a traveler. His face is generally covered by a smirk directed towards those around him, which gives him the appearance of being cocky.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Minastan is, because of his time alone with himself away from town, a smart-aleck when it comes to social interaction. He’s puts up with people well, often explaining things multiple times without ever getting angry, but when he can see the chance to make a wise-crack, he generally seizes upon the moment. This is a put off to some, but he lets it go. He is slow to anger, having attuned his emotions to a point where he’s nearly always in control. Having grown in a village without Hobbits, he was at first oddened by the little folk, but soon learned to live amongst them. Yet, he isn't respectful of his fellow Hobbit Rangers, finding them too meek to do their duties appropriately. He works with them, but doesn't generally rely on them.


HISTORY: Minastan was raised west of Rohan, in the open plains of that rolling country. He led a happy life within a small village, learning the various skills he would need as an adult in the community, to defend against marauders and wild beasts. But at the age of 19, the longing for adventure in his soul took control, and with hardly a warning he embarked out across the wilderness until he was nearly killed by a pack of wolves near the forests of Mirkwood. Yet he was saved by a wandering group calling themselves “Rangers.” He soon joined up with the men, learning their talents of scouting and the ways of the wilderness.

Now at 37 he is a wanderer who lives life as he sees fit, with no ties to anyone around him. His journeys have now brought him, along with a few other rangers, to the village of Bree, after the discovery of marauders on the road.

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Beren87's post for Minastan

Minastan walked along the main road in Bree, the Prancing Pony ahead of him in the distance. The notice he carried in his hand, the ink still slightly wet from the Mayor's assitant, waved in his wake. He continued moving on, ignoring the idle stares of the people of the city. A ranger will always draw stares, he said to himself, lofting his position in his mind higher than the people of the city ever cared to do.

Some began to follow him, interested in the paper fluttering in his hand. They gathered around the steps as he climbed them, growing larger as time progressed. He took out a tac, and placed it on the top and bottom of the notice, then proceeded to step to the side, so that the gathered mass would have time enough to read.

He blinked at the crowd around him, the subtle grin on his face mearly covering the amusement he felt inside for their sudden voluminous chaos. His hand rested lightly on the sign he had just posted. The people weren't generally trusting of Rangers as it was, and he knew that, but surely they would take the words of the Mayor?

"What on Earth does this mean?" shouted one man from the crowd, his voice rising above the rest. "Cooperate with Hobbits? What on earth for?"

A tall man in the front of the crowd proceeded to state "You rangers had best be watching where you're posting these things, I'm sure the Innkeeper won't abide by you simply nailing things to the Pony."

Suddenly, a woman came elbowing through the crowd, her recently unoccupied cart easily seen in the road. He smiled down at her from the step, her grim face revealing her grim attitude towards the commotion his notice was posting. She proceeded to proclaim herself the owner of the Inn, bellowing about posting notices without warning. He merely continued pointing at the sign, waiting for her to see the raised seal on the bottom. Suddenly she flushed, noticing the sign of the Mayor, and then apologized for her initial anger.

Her hand shot out to the door, opening it and then inviting him in, leaving the crowd to ponder as they liked. She led him down a small, side corridor, her pace quickening with the assurance of a widower. A door arose out of the end of the hall, their obvious destination. She opened it without a glance, and invited him in. There were a few ruffles of paper upon the desk, which she hurriedly tidied.

"Now then, what's the meaning of all this?

[ September 09, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]