[piosenniel]

Durelin's character: (Minas Tirith Group)

Name: Vernathitia (called 'Vern')

Age: 32

Race: Man of Minas Tirith

Gender: Female

Weapons: None, except for a knife she carries in a pocket sewn on the inside of her dress. For self defense, if need be. Can't be too careful.

Appearance: Vernathitia is fairly short, standing at only five feet, four inches, but the rest of her makes up for it. She is not fat, but she could be called 'plump'. She has shoulders and arms that might belong on a blacksmith, making one think she might just blacken your eye. She is amazingly speedy for her size, and Vern can run around her kitchens to catch someone adding too much salt at lightening speed.

Personality: Vern is a very stubborn woman, demanding and full of energy, always bustling about ready to give orders. She is a smart woman, though not the quickest thinker, and she can pull apart any bit of gossip if she has enough time to mull over it. She has learned that this strategy works the best, and that there is no sense in running head long into a ditch. You must take your steps nice and slow, but steady. Vernathitia is really a kind and caring woman, even with her intimidating disciplinarian self. She has a particular soft spot for young boys and their foolishness, because of her brother who died at a young age. She is always ready to laugh, though her humor is a bit dry. Her weaknesses are many, like all human beings. For one, she is not a forgiving person, in many cases. She holds a strong grudge, and one that people should avoid. She also sees men as stubborn mules, (though she is equally stubborn, if not more so than many men) but she knows she cannot live without them. Her strong will can also be a weakness, since it can blind her from many things. She hates to be wrong, and would never suspect that someone contradicting her could be right. Vern is also quite forgetful, so those grudges can be misplaced. But, so can other tidbits of information, so, even though she has an ear for gossip, she usually jots down anything she wishes to remember.

History: Vernathitia was born in the port city of Harlond, and is well versed in the ways of sailors, including the wide variety of curses. She was the eldest of six children, one of which, her younger brother, Tarik, died of a fever at only 14 years old. Her mother, Tyri, had always been best at cooking, though she taught her four daughters all the proper knowledge of ladies. Vern was the only one to excel in her mother's favorite, and actually came to cook far better than her mother ever had. Tyri was ecstastic, and sent her off to the kitchens of Minas Tirith at age 19. She has served in the kitchens for 13 years, making her way up the 'food chain' (heh, heh, corny, I know) to Head Cook in 4 years. Because of this, Vern has been accustomed to giving orders. Over the years she had also risen to become an 'eyes and ears' of some of the ladies at court. Rumor and gossip flourish in the kitchens, and servants are always likely to pick up bits of conversation, if they are deployed in the right place, at the right time, and quietly!

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Durelin's post

"You're lucky my wooden spoon isn't my favorite pitch fork!" Vernathitia, Head Cook of the Kitchens of Minas Tirith, shouted at the men and women rushing back and forth around her. The kitchens of Minas Tirith were a busy place, especially with guests. Ladies of Dol Amroth, and the Lady Finduilas herself, the woman who was to wed the Steward's son! And the wedding itself was not far away.

"Those red-currant tarts better be in the ovens!" Vernathitia, called Vern by anyone she considered a friend or of higher status, strode over to peer over the shoulder of a young girl with blonde curls at a large pot.

"What are you doing girl!" she screeched in utter astonished anger. "The potatoes should have gone in five minutes ago!"

The girl stared up at the imposing woman with large eyes filled with horror, her knees wobbling. Cowering beneath the gaze she lowered her eyes only to stand there.

"Well what are you waiting for, girl? For the taters to grow legs and leap into the soup?"
As the honey-haired girl jumped to grab the potatoes Vern suddenly gasped. The girl jumped. "The salmon!" she cried. Seeing the girl, Vern turned to her with a reassuring look. "No, not you." The girl relaxed and Vern raced off to the back of the kitchens.

Right next to the strangely curved wall at the back, six large grey fish lay on a polished stone surface. Vern quickly grabbed the fileting knife and attacked one of the fish, pulling out herbs and spices. Then the door behind her opened and two young men came up the stairs from the cellar, carrying large wheels of various cheeses. The two were speaking intently to one another.

"…and you know what the Lady Dryea says," said the taller of the two. He had short dark hair and eyes. "What?" asked the other boy. He was a head shorter and had lighter and longer hair. "She says she's not sure about these ladies who came with the Lady Finduilas, from Dol Amroth," the dark haired one continued, "And she thinks they aren't really from there."

That was all Vern needed. She had never really known the Lady Dryea or any of her retinue, they seemed quite normal to Vern. The Lady Dryea seemed nice enough, and her family had been in Minas Tirith for quite a while. Now these ladies…she'd just have to keep an eye on them. And of course she'd notify the Lady Emilia about this, that was her job. It would do her quite a lot of good if --

"Ow!" she cried. She had cut herself neatly down her finger instead of the fish. "I have to pay attention to my work, then I can worry about giving my information to m'Lady," she mumbled to herself.

"What was that you said, Mistress Vernathitia?" asked the light haired boy carrying the cheese. She had completely forgotten about the two. "Oh do shut up!" she yelled. "And give that bloody cheese to Master Domon!"

[ June 19, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]