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Earganon

Earganon or Aehên

Name Earganon
Status
Active
Occupation
A grim wanderer.
Age
Old in years, but young in both body and spirit
Race
Man
Residence
Wandering the north.
Kinship
none
Outward Appearance

A tranquil melody echoes through the leaves of the forest paths, violin strings vibrating in near perfect harmony with the rustling wind and native striding wild life. Near magical it may appear to some.

 

Following the violin music unto a clearing, a single old tree trunk remains of a once mighty tree akin to those still standing.  Upon it sits the musician, by first glance a mere hermit only a few years out his true prime. Estimated to be about 6’5” and covered in cloth and leather of green and brown. There is so little to set him apart from the root tangled realm itself, were it not for his raven black hair flowing to his shoulders, gently following the wind currents when they pass.

 

His eyelids covering the irises green like the leaves in high spring, while his long fingers continuously slide past the horsehair strings upon the ash wooden fiddle from which the melody hailed. A hint of grim nobility lay upon his overall facial features, yet none ever grasp why.

 

On the grass beside him lay a bow guessed to be about 6 feet long in size. An old an weatherworn object, seen its prime in times long gone, with little remaining of the original ornate runes it once behold.

 

Little else of worth does the forest hermit hold; a worn hilted blade laying in black coloured waiting, a knife at rest with his boot, a dark grey quiver filled with bright fletched arrows hung over his shoulders alongside a black bedroll. Nay the wanderer isn’t considered a wealthy man, yet his ash wooden seemingly magical fiddle. Ornately decorated with a single seven-rayed star upon its fingerboard, not unlike the whitely silver seven-rayed star brooch keeping his far-reaching cloak.

 

Alas there is no glimpse of magic, neither forgotten or new to keep the wilds peaceful. Only a hermit and his fiddle upon an old tree trunk. Playing his strings into beautiful melodies. 

Yet when the strings come to a halt, all vanishes. The hermit and his fiddle passed away along the tune, as if dissolved into empty air. Had it all been a dream or perhaps the eye played tricks and stumbled upon sorcery after all.

Background

The great sea truely a beauty to behold,
Thine waves flowing over many a foundered land,
On which shore shalt thou strand,
Ever since the dawn till world is old,
 
But be weary before its calling thou fold,
It is only a dream to sail upon the ocean free,
And to across the Eldar harbours see,
If only all could be so bold,
 
Alas for us this beach of earth and mountains cold,
To in thine long life stay vigil till come rest,
For none of thine kin will ever wander west,
Like in the Mariner's tale is told-Nathron
Friends
But few are locked unto his heart, being but a wandering loner doing his part. But long ago one companionship he made, his name Argadane being a friend to never fade.
Relatives
His father and his mother, though he does not know if they still wander. As well as Elgaraen daughter of his oldest friend whom is the daugher of his hearth.
Rivals/Enemies
Those whom thwart the exiled and endanger the inhabitants of a once peaceful land.
Loves
The great sea whom becons, His kin and the wildlands in which they roam, his horse Dunsûl whom he loves to ride and he loves to play on his ash wooden fiddle.
Hates
The calling of the sea, which he holds both love and fear.
Motivation
To sail upon the great sea like the Mariner did in elder days, before his days be done.
Quotes
Mae govannon, mellon nín.

Earganon's Adventures

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Earganon's Adventures

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Earganon's Gallery