((Taurithon Peniacharon : Sindarin : Wood-Guard, Bow-Of-Vengeance))

There was a time where the eaves and groves of Greenwood were a peaceful place. where naught but the rich laughter of the Eldar and the sound of the wind shifting leaves through the rich glades of these lands did pervade the air. It was during such a time Taurithon was born into Arda. An elf born in the early second age, his sire and matron were both sentinels to the coveted and verdant groves of Greenwood. Serving their monarchs with unfaltering loyalty.

Many centuries were as bliss. The Eldar and the beasts of this fertile land lived alongside each other in harmony, there was no war, there was little strife.

Taurithon was a natural in using bows from a young age. at the age of seventy winters his sire granted him his first bow. It was made of the branch of a Silver Mallorn tree with a quiver to match.

During his training he showcased a natural ability in tracking, moving unseen and especially in ranged proficiency in archery. Such archery earned him a great deal of renown within Greenwood.

Quiet by nature, calculating by bearing. He did not take pleasure out of drinking fine wines with his companions. but instead saw bliss in solitude, perched upon the great canopies of his woodland home.

At a respectable age. He was perched atop his favorite tree; a silver birch. Tallest by build, widest by trunk compared to the trees residing within the eastern glades. Atop such a tree, he spotted what was to come! 

A horde of Spiders and Orc did scuttle and slip into the borders of Greenwood largely unnoticed. It was his attuned senses of which first gave away their movements as he was gazing up to the stars. The scuttling of the Spiders first and foremost drew his attention. With his keen, honed hearing and senses. He was more then aware of the subtleties of which would announce their arrival and proximity. He slipped down from the tree, as silent as a leaf falling. His long, swift strides take him nimbly towards the encampment he called his home. His voice carried urgency as he dashed through the forest. His shouts crying out "A Glamhoth! The Ungol! They are coming!". As if such words were interpreted as a form of a challenge by the oncoming surge of dark intent. The Orcs making way through the woods howled their responses. Their howling cries traveled for miles through the Woodland realm! 

Now he acts as a sentinel, standing vigilant against any of whom would threaten the borders of Mirkwood.