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Icestar
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Posts : 379
Registered : 2009-01-20
Location : Iceclan territory.

PostSubject: Excellent Character apps   July 25th 2009, 8:53 am

Here I will post apps that i really enjoyed. They may be from other sites. I will have the owner's permission before posting them. I post them so that people can see my level of standards, and try to come closer to the perfect one that will be accepted right away, no editing.


(This one is from Lost Fellowship, a LOTR RP. Some of the content was edited out because the site does not follow all our rules.)

Is this application finished? Yes or No
Yes (unless any changes are required)

The Player.


Your Nick Name: Steve

Your Age: 22

How Did You Find Lost Fellowship?: google search looking for my old lord of the rings forum stumbled on to this one by mistake I believe the search was 'pro boards lord of the rings'

Previous Roles: On this site none, otherwise an ambassador of Dunland on and a Gondorian turn coat on are the only ones of mention



The Basics.


Character's Full Name: Anborn (looked really hard for his surname but couldn't find it I know I'm in theory allowed to choose their first name but I don't know if this rule also applies to surnames. If people know what it is I'd rather use the canon one)

Nicknames, pseudo names: As far as I know he has none

Age in Years && Year of Birth: Unable to find his age but taking the canon dates of his presence and position within the rangers of Ithilien I'd say he would have been around 35 and therefore born in 2984 for forum canon assuming your still in 3018-3019

Allegiance: Good

Race: Man (human)

Place of Origin: Man of Gondor

Employment: Ranger of Ithilien

The Appearance.


Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Very dark brown

Height && Weight: 6foot , 90kg/190lb

General Description: Has dark brown hair which is slightly short but at the length where it is beginning to become un-manageable and difficult to do much with and often has to be brushed away from your eyes. Has a trim, short and neat cut beard only just more than a goatee. With a square jaw and circular head. He is slightly taller then average height and physically fit, but not overly muscular more the look of someone who has high endurance then a weight lifter. More often than not has mud stains and looks scruffy although his equipment and clothes are well cared for if heavily mended in places. Generally seen carrying a bow and quiver his most prized possessions whilst wearing his ranger uniform. Which slightly unique that it is a dark almost black colour instead of the tradition brown although he still wears the green cloak of the rangers. Also if anyone should happen to see him without a shirt Proxy-Connection: keep-alive
Cache-Control: max-age=0

he has a pinkish birth mark just above the hip that looks a little like a wolf head.

The Personality.


Likes && Dislikes:
The outdoors and scenic landscapes, his home lands and close companionship not only did this attract him to his current profession it allows him to take some enjoyment from it although it can often mean that he takes a lot of the worries of the people on his shoulders because of it.
Dislikes traitors, he has a strong loyalty when earned and holds no sympathy for those that turn their back on their lord or duties.
The forces of Mordor, as most Gondorians Mordor's evil gaze has been a shadow on their lands for longer then Anborn can remember due to this he has obviously grown a strong dislike of the forces of Mordor so much so it aided his decision to join the army to fight against them.
The mistreatment of women and children, being a man who attempts to defend his people from death he can never understand why any man would use the freedom he fights for to harm or mistreat women and children who would be the future of their race.

Interests && Hobbies: Spending much of his time in Ithilien leaves little time for interests or hobbies, even more so in the hidden refuge of Henneth Annun but Anborn has found a joy in the art of landscaping nothing too fancy with little in the way of flowers but more in the style of a natural look with rocks and small brooks whilst using moss and small trees to add feeling to it.

His love however is for reading ever since he learnt to read at a young age he has loved to day dream himself in a novel or two unfortunately he is only able to keep one book with him as he travels to save space and often has to read the same book several times before he can purchase a new one of the off chance he is able to return to civilisation. Maybe some of his fellows believe his interests and hobbies odd but Faramir to his eyes seemingly has been nothing but supporting of his actives as long as the landscaping is done in such a way as to not give away their position and has often used his skills now and then to help with hiding their tracks or making fake ones look natural.

Strengths: Strong willed and loyal to Gondor with a keen sight especially at night with a natural ability to apply himself to any given task and able to work well as a group or an individual with some initiative which some other arms of the military often lack and even try to discourage. Has a good knowledge of the creatures and wildlife of middle earth although some cases still catch him unawares (first sighting of Gollum). Confident in his abilities and skills with a bow due to years of training and knowledge he is part of an elite force.

Weaknesses: With his fierce loyalty to Gondor has come a small amount of resentment to the other “good” races who seemingly have not or will not come to the aid of Gondor who have been in the middle of a war now for many years with no support. He is so used to being given some freedom and his opinions taken into account by his current commander (Faramir) has trouble adjusting to the leadership of others at times who haven't earned his respect. However due to his loyalty would find it extremely hard to disobey a direct order unless he had reason to believe it was against the wishes of Gondor. His over confidence in himself can often lead to him being egotistical and some times demeaning to others or patronising to some if he does not believe them to be of equal or higher importance then himself.


Overall Personality: A true Gondorian to the end, bound by duty to the realm and his people. It has caused him to impose some sacrifices and self imposed burdens but he is however good spirited most of the time but can sometimes come over as cold or blunt to new people. He has built up a distrust of elves due to the amount of xenophobia by them and lack of help in his eyes to the cause of the free people of middle earth. He's quite smart though often keeps to himself when he can though not because he particularly enjoys being alone he just finds it easier at times. He is however a good person and attempts to be in his life and to do the right thing, however is bound by his honour and duty which can sometimes go against his judgement.

The Background.


Parents && Siblings: One sister who lives now in Dol Amroth (but was born in Minas Tirith) with her husband who is a successful fisherman. The move was welcomed by Anborn who was worried about the increasing encroachment of Mordor forces and thought she would be safer there and happier. Her husband is a good man but has recently fallen on very hard times, his once booming fishing trade is all but ruined as corsairs have increased their raiding. His parents have passed on but not before seeing his promotion into the Rangers which was one of the proudest days of his life so far. He has never married or sired any children believing that a long term relationship would be obstructed by his duty to the realm and would be unable to fulfil his duty as a husband.

Character History: Originally born in Ithilien his parents moved from there upon the birth his sister for fear of the increasing raids from the East when he was about 15, Before this he had a simple life and it was uneventful, he didn't overly enjoy his schooling but did learn how to read and write and did find he had a quick mind but perhaps not in the traditional academic sense. Even then he always admired the rangers of the his home region and upon coming of age signed up with the army. His early training at the barracks was enjoyable to him but he really enjoyed the night hours with his new found friends. Drinking and feasting was certainly something he had never dreamed of, though looking back now he would likely say he should have spent more time sleeping and less time partying and he might have learnt a little more a little faster. It
After these events his party days were over and he took a step back from that life to return to the training barracks with a new out look to knuckle down and spent his free hours training, it paid off however when he was accepted for the Rangers of Ithilien. Not long after this his sister was wed to her husband who Anborn had done much spying or and information hunting into whether he was a good man. Since then she had moved to Dol Amroth and they saw each other extremely rarely, the latest being the funeral of their mother which Anborn was able to pull some strings to attend. Other than that they keep in touch via letters which Anborn collects on the odd occasion he returns to civilisation and collects his mail. More recently he has been busy with his duties and increasing encroachment from Mordor forces.

The Finale.


Something Unique: Anborn has a birth mark on his body of no real obvious design though Anborn always felt it looked a little like a wolf head, though his sister always teased him telling him it looked like someone had thrown a tomato at him and stained him. It is a light pink colour and placed just above his hip on his left side.

Role Playing Sample: Anborn had hidden himself as had the other rangers in the bushes surrounding
the pathway through Ithilien, they had been there for some hours in preparation for the ambush. The day was hot and the sun beat down on them. Being this far east the heat was unbearable but still they all covered themselves with their black masks and heavy green cloaks, cramp had begun to set into Anborn's legs but he tried to block it out focusing on the small minute hole between the leaves in front of him. Using his hearing more then anything and listening for the signal that would begin the attack. It was getting into the afternoon and Anborn was beginning to wonder how much longer it would take. The information they had lead them to believe that the enemy would use this route today but so far nothing had happened.

At this point the first sounds of the army approaching could be heard the drums thundering through the ground on which he lay. Anborn began to place the arrows he would use in the ground in front of him to be picked up quickly when needed, checking the fletching on each to make sure they flew true. Others around him had heard the enemy approaching and many now began to shift into a kneeling position to get a better look from their vantage points. Anborn was no different.

Kneeling now he could see a much better view of the forces below then before. The force was much larger then they had predicted almost twice what was expected and it had been a long time since a mumakil had been seen in these parts. But that mattered little now they all knew their role and if the call came from Faramir, Anborn would be ready like those around him, suspicions of the enemy's actives and discussion could happen after the vile people of Harad were dead. Sweat poured down Anborn's face, not from fear but kneeling had him out of the little shade the bush provided and the heat was starting to take its toll but he dare not move now in case the action alerted the enemy scouts.

What seemed like tens of minutes past as the formation marched further and further into the ambush and the longer it took the more chance they had of being spotted. But Anborn trusted Faramir's timing and judgement and the men around him to use their skills and abilities like they so often have in the past.

He didn't have to wait much longer for the signal to be given. All at once the rangers including Anborn lifted their bows arrow at the ready picking their targets wisely looking for officers and those of rank first. Breaking the army was worth everything, he spotted the rider of the mumakil, from this distance he seemed to have painted himself red around the face and shaved his head as seemed to be their custom. This was the vital target Anborn had been waiting to get into his sights. Without the riders control hopefully the loose creature would kill just as many of the enemy as the rangers would.

Loosing the arrow he watched for a moment as it flew into the air along with the countless others from the men positioned all around him. Already picking up the next arrow and resetting his bow he continued to watch his first arrow as it continued its course in the dry air which was once dull and lifeless now filled with the sound of war. Anborn was drawing back the arrow again taking aim once more at the rider, his aim was good but the shot slightly slower then he had hoped it to be and he feared the mumakil would rock back on its hind legs out of fear before the arrow struck home causing it to miss. Anborn cursed himself mentally but at the same moment willed the arrow on.

He didn't need to be so hard on himself though, as the arrow struck home and he watched as the rider slumped forward and slid off his mount. Anborn gave himself a slight smirk under his black mask before losing his bow into one of the men riding on the back of the beast who were beginning to organise themselves to return fire. Although it was about to get a lot more difficult for them as the mumakil started to roar with pain as arrowed thudded into the creature arrows aiming for its eyes, arching itself and throwing the enemy around as it did so.

As the hail of arrows continued it didn't take long for the battle to be over, it had gone much better then expected and they had all earned their wage that day.

As they began to mop up the stragglers, he noticed movement on the ridge to one side it seemed to him to be three small figures. He motioned to Faramir who nodded and they began to make their way stealthy to the location of the things spying on them. What they were Anborn wasn't sure from the glimpse he got but he certainly wanted to find out.

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PostSubject: Re: Excellent Character apps   March 29th 2010, 3:22 pm

(from a LOTR RP. It has been accepted, but the user is choosing to add more details.)

The Basics.


Character's Full Name: Arohtar
Nicknames, pseudo names: , Harnalfirin ( scar-immortal)- He dislikes this name. (more names coming)
Age in Years && Year of Birth: 2851 Third Age, 167
Allegiance: against forces of Morgoth, to himself, and to his homes and race.
Race: elven, but small part human
Place of Origin: Mirkwood
Employment: self employed, killing orcs, thief

The Appearance.


Eye Color: green with brown blazes coming from center, shift colors in light.
Hair Color: silver- darker then movie Celeborn's
Height && Weight: 6' 9", ??? (he is able to walk on snow, but isn't weightless.)
General Description:

Arohtar is tall, even for an elf, and extremely light. He is thin, but powerful. He does have some muscle, but he isn't especially strong. His body is tense, always ready for an attack. However, Arohtar is fair and graceful as are all of the Elven, but his face is almost always set in a grim expression. His eyes shift colors in different lighting, often frightening Men. His silver hair is mostly pulled back out of his face, although as he does not do it neatly, some sort of bangs stick out. However, he also has been known to wear it loose. He wears a necklace from his sister, a leather strip with his symbol hanging from it; two crossed knives. Often he has pain in his shoulder, a battle wound with a scar, and is blind in his right eye, although few but a trained eye can tell. He has switched from twin knives to a sword because of this. However, he is not as skilled with the sword as he was with knives. He rarely wears armor, he loves to be free to move and run. He enjoys a endurance and speed which few Elves possess. He also has superb senses, including hearing and sight. Arohtar is restless, and cannot stay in one place for long. He also dislikes enclosed places, and becomes extra restless in them. Also, on his right forearm, he has a scar in the shape of an 'X', the result of a branding, when he murdered a man.

Arohtar wears gray-green pants and tunic, along with a cloak of Lothlorien and gray boots. The tunic has silver embroidery of the mallorn leaf on it. Upon his arms are leather gauntlets, as to protect his arms.

He also possesses a brown quiver, filled with green and silver fletched arrows. His longbow is black, and carved with a gold swirly leaf design, as is his quiver. He rarely travels without his horse, Daenar. Daenar is a raven colored stallion, but his hair has a reddish hue to it. Arohtar almost always rides with neither saddle nor bridle, and rides well. He can fight of Daenar's back, and has him very well trained, although Daenar is known to be rebellious at times.

Arohtar is known to be almost undetectable. It seems to be a gift that he has, and he often doesn't realize that he is using it. Arohtar tends to not wear bright colors, which allows him to blend into shadows. His clothing seems to change to match wherever he's currently staying.

The Personality.


Likes && Dislikes:
Likes:
fighting
riding
Daenar
archery
traveling
Mirkwood
Lothlorien
sword fighting
thieving
Morwen

Dislikes:
orcs
his wounds
Mordor
his nickname
staying in one place for too long
running from a fight
too many people
enclosed spaces


Interests && Hobbies:
fighting
traveling
archery
riding
sword fighting
running
drawing
writing(on a good day)
climbing

Strengths:
Archery
Riding
fighting
Running
thieving
singing
drawing
relatively good morals
moving unoticed

Weaknesses:
shoulder wound causes him pain, and ruins his aim
blind in right eye; messes up fighting
angers too easily
impulsive
Regrets his life at times, esp. when his shoulder hurts.
Social behavior. He is often unknowingly rude, or says things in a way that cause others to dislike him.
reading
math
lying (he cannot lie)

A note on his reading and math. For some reason, Arohtar always found learning to be hard. It took him a very long time to learn how to read, and he still has problems. He never took an interest in math, and as a result, he only knows the basics. Arohtar enjoys writing, although he is often frustrated. He can come up with the sentences, but he has problems with the spelling, as well as the fact that



Secrets: he keeps secret his blind eye and shoulder, so few know it. However, if you know what you're looking for, as most healers do, it is easily spotted. Also, he tries to not show the brand on his arm, as people generally dislike the fact that he is a convicted criminal, as well as the fact that then they try to find out every detail of his life.

Overall Personality:If you were to sum up his personality into one word, it'd be loner. Arohtar is quiet, secretive, and doesn't enjoy enclosed or crowded spaces; which rules out most places to meet friends. He will only occasionally leave men to their fate, as he feels some loyalty towards them. Arohtar is honest, and will often glance away, ignore the words, change the subject, or become angry rather then lie. However, Arohtar is a impulsive, stubborn, and angers easily. A suggestion, such as cutting down on fighting to avoid shoulder pain, will often cause him to explode or storm away. This said, he regrets his decisions later, and will most likely apologize for his actions. After all, he does have morals. Arohtar is fiercely loyal to the few who gain his trust and respect. The combination of these traits, along with his restlessness/ traveling has caused him to lose most of the friends he would have had. Unfortunately most of this was caused by his unrealized decision to be immortal, and his injuries. Some of the elder Elves hope some of the undesirable traits will fade as he ages.

The person he is closest to is his twin, Morwen. He is extremely loyal to her, although they have had their share of arguments. He delayed sailing to Valinor, because she would sail with him, and he knows that she is not ready to leave yet.
Around Morwen, he becomes his old self. This personality is less serious, and more immature.


The Background.


Parents && Siblings: father: Randir (part human)
mother: Aesuithiel
younger twin sister: Morwen (not the one in the Silmarillion)

Character History: Arohtar was brought up between Mirkwood and Lorien, traveling between the two with his parents and twin, who love each other deeply. He was never told that he was part human, until after he had made the decision. Both his parents were immortal, and so he always believed he was as well. So when he was asked if he wished to be immortal at the age of 100, he responded with an "I always have been, and I always will be." type of answer. He didn't understand the magnitude of the decision he was making, and regretted it later. When he was wounded later that year, he wished he had chosen to be mortal, and thus not live with the pain that would follow him all of his life, and instead die. But as he healed, he began to enjoy being immortal, and almost only now thinks about his decision when his shoulder is causing him pain. The battle cost his father his life, and his mother died of grief soon after, as she did not want to watch her son die as well.

Now what happened was that Randir, Arohtar, and a few other Elves went hunting a band of orcs that were crossing the borders, Arohtar's first. Arohtar did splendidly, but the orcs retreated, and the Elves followed. The orcs then ambushed them, and Arohtar was wounded. He fell to the ground, as if dying or dead, and the orcs left him alone. The Elves retreated, and brought the fallen with them, his father gravely wounded as well. Randir died on the race back to the halls of Thranduil. Arohtar occasionally wears a patch over his eye, especially in the presence of the few he cares about who are disturbed by his eye.
The Finale.


Something Unique: he is forever wounded in his shoulder, blind in one eye, and left handed.

Role Playing Sample:
A pair of pale Elven blades flashed in the strangely calm dusk air, slashing the unlucky orc's chest wide open. It fell to the ground at the attacker's feet. The elf that wielded the blades paid the body no heed, instead turning swiftly and killing another one of the brutes in a streak of silver and gray-green. A primitive howl sounded from one of the orcs nearby, but he too was silenced by the twin blades. Around the elf, the orcs began to retreat. The other elves emerged from where they had been fighting, and called to their steeds. A group of horses appeared from behind clumps of trees, where they had been obediently waiting for their masters’ call. One of the horses stood out; a great black and red tinted stallion among whites and grays. He answered to his name, Narthoren.

The gray-cloaked elf mounted Narthoren, and turned to an elf wielding a broadsword, who called to him. The elf bore a striking resemblance to his son, save his dark hair, more human like appearance, including his height, yet more elf-like manner.
"Arohtar, ion nin! You did well."
Arohtar answered without emotion in his voice, not really paying attention. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, weighing him down as if it were stones.
"Thank you Ada."
A shout in Sindarin disrupted the conversation. The order was to follow the orcs and to let none survive. The pair turned their mounts and raced toward the fleeing band. Arohtar glanced toward the sky, and in the gaps between the dense trees saw violent looking clouds of shadow.

The hunting party pressed on, closing the gap between them and the orcs. Nevertheless, even to Arohtar's keen sight, they were no longer seen. Now it began to rain. The drops came down heavily, soaking all, and reducing all senses. Arohtar’s hastily done braids whipped around his face like silver flames. His currently green eyes glowed with excitement. Now he was in the lead of the company; he leaned forward and murmured a word into Narthoren's ear. "Daro." The steed responded to the command instantly, slowing and stopping in three strides. The rest of the warriors did likewise. Arohtar's heart lifted at the silent praise of the party; their attention to the relatively young elf.

His joy was cut short as his keen senses told him something was wrong. He cursed under his breath. This couldn't happen. His heart sank as realized the other warriors recognized his potentially lethal mistake. For a few heartbeats, there was the silence of the other warriors waiting for his order. He could at least partially redeem himself. "Ambush!" he cried, drawing his knives and jumping lightly from Narthoren's back; feeling at ease in the gloomy kingdom of Thranduil once more. He had just arrived the day before on one of his regular journeys to Lothlorien. His feet made no sound as he landed on the leaf littered forest floor. Surprisingly, Narthoren wore a saddle today, and here Arohtar left his bow. The conditions worsened, the sights and sounds of the storm coming even through the canopy of trees.

The party of elves was surrounded, and still heavily outnumbered. Lightning eerily lit the moonless night, distorting the faces of the Elven warriors into terrible yet divine images. Arohtar's blades, now dark with the black blood of the forces of Morgoth once again found their mark, swiftly dodging the crude scimitar and dispatching the orc. The battle continued, with Arohtar killing several more orcs. The elves were still outnumbered, but there were many orc corpses lying among the trees and undergrowth of Mirkwood. One near Arohtar leered at nothing, its’ black and crooked fangs adding to the grotesque twisted and bloodied head, lying awkwardly a few strides from a ragged and bloodied body.

After a series of violent parries, Arohtar slit another orc's throat, and spun to face an orc trying to sneak up behind him before the body fell. His eyes shifted almost constantly in the fading light; now blue, now emerald, now like Narthoren’s hide. Blade met blade with resounding force. The pair disengaged, then met once more. After a clap of thunder, Randir called for the elves to retreat; and in that moment, a blade pierced his chest. His cry was torn away by the roaring wind, which drove the rain diagonally like miniscule daggers. Arohtar had glanced towards his father as he was impaled; and his mouth opened in silent horror. Time seemed to slow down. Lightning flashed, making the image all that much clearer. Arohtar saw the blade coming closer, saw it bite into Randir’s chest. A fountain of crimson spurted from the wound, spraying the nearby fighters. Arohtar could only watch as his father sank to the ground. The sounds around him faded, everything moving slowly, distantly, as if he was underwater or in a dream.

The young elf's mouth moved, but no sound escaped his lips. Yet, there was no time to even pray to Manwë or to grieve.

While Arohtar's attention was elsewhere, the orc's blade hit home, driving deep into Arohtar's shoulder and chest. Arohtar noiselessly gasped, and sank to his knees, his face towards the dark clouds. The rain mercilessly stung his face, yet he did not feel it. Blood flowed from his wound, coming through his tunic, and staining the ground below in a sea of scarlet. The delicately embroidered mallorn leaves were torn and blotted out by the red blossom spreading across his shoulder and chest. Acting upon instinct, Arohtar lashed out hitting once the orc's blade with one of his knives in a desperate bid to save his life. It was enough to shatter the blade; whether it was his strength or if he had just hit a weak spot Arohtar never knew.

The scimitar shattered, along with Arohtar's knives. The pieces flew everywhere, some hitting the orc, some Arohtar. The orc stumbled back, howling. The elf was hit in his right eye as the orc brought up his shattered weapon, of about only a third was left. Arohtar’s vision in that eye was lost, but he figured that the Nestedhel could heal him.
'What have I done to deserve this?' Arohtar wondered hopelessly, in shock from the pain that shot through his body like molten lead. He could feel it spreading like- 'Poison.' The thought hit him with a wave of urgency. If he did not get out of the battle soon, the effects would render him helpless. The rain mingled with the blood on his face, creating an even more gruesome effect.

In one final stand, Arohtar weakly called Narthoren from where the stallion had concealed himself. Narthoren strove to heed his master’s command, and fought his way through the throng, lashing out at attackers. Yet even he was bleeding from several gashes by the time he reached Arohtar. Gritting his teeth, Arohtar struggled to stand; and made it to one knee, and then tried to push himself up farther, to the stirrup, to Narthoren's back; to call to the elves fighting out of the ambush towards safety. He never made it. As he tried to use his left arm to pull himself up, but the pain it created rendered his arm useless. However, he was able to use his other arm to pull himself up onto Narthoren. He sat slumped over, unable to grab onto the reins, or even the bow that hung uselessly on the saddle horn. An orc shambled past, accidentally slashing open Arohtar’s pants and boots. Arohtar, weaponless, could do nothing.

Lightning flashed even closer, hitting an ancient tree and causing it to begin to crash down in a charred, smoking heap. As it fell, it sent sparks and burning vegetation onto the horse. Narthoren's eyes showed the whites, and his ears laid back in panic and pain. The stallion reared, and flung Arohtar off, for the elf had no strength to hold on. His head struck a tall rock, and he slid to the ground, landing with a sickening thump, although still just barely conscious. He no longer was thinking, just feeling pain and longing for aid or death. He lay there, battered so that it seemed he should be dead. His clothes were in rags, beyond repair. Around him lay fragments of shattered weapons, and mutilated orc corpses.

Close by lay the barely breathing frame of his father. Now the burning tree hit the ground, crushing Narthoren beneath it. Arohtar’s eyes were losing their light, but he saw the death of his beloved horse. A single tear rolled down his left cheek before he saw no more. Now both his and his father’s lives were in the hands of the other elves, who would hopefully notice the missing Narthoren, and attempt to search for either a warrior or remains to take back to Arohtar's mother, Aesuithiel. It was their only hope.

note: I may fill out an NPC for Morwen.
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