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Amardal

Amardal
Name | Amardal |
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Status | Active |
Occupation | Itinerant herbalist and scholar |
Age | In her prime |
Race | Man |
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Residence | Wandering |
Kinship |
Outward Appearance | “Her hair was long, her foot was light / And her eyes were wild.”—John Keats, “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” Banner image made by me. |
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Background
The wandering herbalist is called a variety of names among the folk of Bree and Cardolan whom she visits with remedies and what remains of the herb-lore of Westernesse. Among her own kin, she answers mostly to her nickname, Amardal; her original name is hardly uttered under the open sky. The truth of her past is known mostly in fragments. Some of the stories about her may even be of her own weaving.
Among her people, the Northern Dúnedain, Amardal is known as the scion of a line of women who have continued the traditions of Adanel, Andreth, and the wise-women of the Edain for thousands of years. Ever since she was a child, she expressed shattered glimpses of events that may come to pass in dreams and visions. The responsibility of continuing her family's tradition was thus placed on Amardal, the eldest daughter with a strange talent, and not her sister Bregoleth. Yet what some would call a gift is called a curse by others. For all her life, Amardal's visions have been cryptic at best and dire portents at worst.
A consummate student, Amardal sought to pursue a life as a scholar of flora and healing since she was a child. As a girl, she followed the hunter Gaellant, then yet to be Morvoran's wife, like a shadow and pestered her elders with endless questions.
Her attempts to live a quiet and peaceful life have consistently been stymied by calamities—some foretold, some not. Her father was slain in the wilds of Eriador when she was young. In the bloom of maidenhood, Amardal brought some great shame onto her family that her mother still refuses to name. Not even a year later, a series of accidents culminated in her almost drowning in Lake Evendim; when she was rescued and brought to shore, she babbled feverishly about snakes and spirits. Her burgeoning talents as a healer and herbalist earned her a chance to study in Imladris for a time, where she haunted the libraries and wilds alike. At least one elf who met her during her apprenticeship recalls a curious mind tarnished by a mortal predilection for moral failure. Even her marriage—after a rather short engagement—to one Brandir of Tornhad, an accomplished warrior who won many victories against the Hillmen of former Rhudaur, ended with her husband slain in his prime.
Amardal has weathered tragedy and misadventure by honing her skills, using her knowledge of healing and herb-lore to the benefit of both her fellow Dúnedain and the communities throughout Eriador that she visits on her journeys. Despite the misfortune she has experienced, she has emerged with confidence in her abilities, a wry sense of humor that tempers her melancholy, and courage in the face of the unfamiliar and unknown. As she never remarried, continues to suffer from strange visions, and finds fulfillment in using her gifts to pursue knowledge which was long kept from her as a daughter of the Dúnedain, she has an eccentric reputation among her own kindred. She has nurtured a few friendships, particularly with fellow odd ducks, but misfortune came for her friends. Brunfair left for Angmar with Golodir and his host, while Morvoran disgraced his family and was sent into exile, leaving Amardal to comfort Gaellant and provide company for her and her children. With the peaceful life she tried to build for herself left in chaos and the child she bore Brandir now grown, she now sets her sights on distant horizons and mysteries yet to be unraveled.
Art is "Boreas" (1903) by John William Waterhouse.
Friends | |
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Relatives | Hidden from the gaze of the Enemy. |
Rivals/Enemies | She claims none. |
Loves | Green and growing things; libraries and reading; riddles and mysteries; listening to rain and thunder. |
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Hates | Tedium and manual labor, except in the service of her own curiosity; stuffiness and sanctimoniousness; killing. |
Motivation | To follow her path, wherever it leads. |
Quotes | "A portent is a gift, even if wrapped in a riddle." |
Amardal's Adventures
A Storm of Crows | 1 week 3 days ago |
Wolf Moon | 2 weeks 4 days ago |
A Letter to Linhir | 3 weeks 3 days ago |
Bent Trees and Fallen Fruit | 6 months 2 weeks ago |
No More Yielding than a Dream | 7 months 3 weeks ago |