Part 1: The Basics
1. What is your full name?
"Adriellyn. Though most folks just call me Adri. Or 'little Adri' if'n my aunt's around."
2. Where and when were you born?
"Esgaroth. That's the Lake-Town in the Dale-Lands. About twenty-six, working on twenty-seven winters ago. Oh! And my birth-mother says it was 17 October."
3. Who are/were your parents?
"Marnewyn. Oh, there had to have been a bloke involved, but she's never said anything about him, except he obviously didn't stick around. And as for calling her my 'birth mother', well, Magpie and Wren were more my mums in terms of taking care of me growing up, but I don't reckon that's how you meant it. Not considering Marney's still alive, anyways."
4. Do you have any siblings?
"Nope."
5. Where do you live now, and with whom?
"Hah! Well, that's a good one. For all I left coin enough to keep up the rent on a few places up in and around the Bree-lands, though, I gotta say it's on the trail, and with my horse, Aduial."
She sighs heavily.
"I miss Rascal. That's a big goat I rescued, of the sort the dwarfs breed. Mebbe someday I'll make my way back down to see my adopted aunties and at least get to visit him again. I was with both him and her, though, until I felt I had to leave him behind for both my speed and the aunties' needs."
6. What is your occupation?
"Mm. I suppose I'll still have work waiting for me as a courier and scout when I get to checking in again. Given I ain't been afraid to liberate bits of silver from the enemy soldiers I been killing, though, I suppose 'adventurer' is the nice word for the kind of bum I been of late."
7. Write a full physical description of yourself.
"Pfft! That'd take a longer roll of parchment than I am tall! Do you really wanna know about all my scars that bad? Or you just mean how I look right now, with them mostly covered? Hrmph. Nosy sort, ain'tcha? Fine, but just remember that you asked!
"So, from the soles of my bare, calloused, long-toed feet to the top of my head, if'n I'm stretched out as straight as I can stand, and it's first thing in the morning, I might reach a whole five feet even. Maybe. Still might be a hair or two short. Sometimes I tell people I'm four foot twelve, and let them work out how that means that last inch ain't quite full. Of course, being as we're not far enough yet from where we might run into some Draig-lûth louts, the scars on my body are covered by my dark gambeson, what I made myself. Sewed discs of horn and metal into it to help blunt and deflect arrows and spear-points, and it has a leather outside to help with the rain. That and my riding trews, made with leather on linen, kinda like the gambeson, but not in sixteen total layers like that is.
"Oh, right! I got distracted on looking at what I got on. So, besides being short, I'm small-framed. I been putting on more muscle, so I might be near six and a half stone now, but that still means there's some wind-storms could make me fly away. Yes, I do know how to use those weapons I have. But I do it on the move. A whole lot of moving. The elves what trained me in it called it combat-dancing. Well, in elvish, that was. But anyways. Lots of scars, but the ones you can see right now are on my knuckles and fingers, mostly from knife-fighting when younger, and on my face, mostly from losing my very first battle with orcs. Though the ones that left these didn't survive meeting me, at least.
"So, my face. Each cheek got cut to the bone. Scars run from the jaw to just under the eye. On the right it's closer in, and pulls at the corner of my mouth. Makes me try to avoid smiling too much, 'cause it twists it out of shape. Makes it gap a bit and look like that side of my face is sneering or growling even when the rest is smiling. Scares some folks. Otherwise, got a bit too much mouth and nose for my size. I suppose, despite how often I've said it, I can't really chisel with my beak, but it seems like it when I see my reflection. My hair… well, the dye from the walnuts and such ain't thinned much, so that's still brown, even my brows. But if'n you look at my lashes, you'll see they're white. Yep, and big blue eyes, besides normally being a tow-head. The white-blonde hair and blue eyes run in the family, it seems. Marney and aunt Adriwen both have that look, anyways.
"And, of course, being that kinda blonde from the Dale-lands, and mostly wearing armour and scouting for a living, I don't get a lot of sun. Pretty pale for how much time I spend outdoors.
"And that's enough of that. I ain't going into detail about scars you can't see right now."
8. To which social class do you belong?
She laughs bitterly.
"Like the way I talk don't give it away? For all I been practicing trying to do better in speaking Westron, for the sake of the Kymric lass I been travelling with, I still swallow my haitches and tees all too much for most people. And then there's saying 'I been', and 'ain't', and the like.
"But to give you a more direct answer – street-scut. Gutter-snipe. The lowest of the low. People look even worse on my sort than they do outlaws. Mostly because they don't see outlaws so much, and manage to have romantic notions about that kinda life. Ain't nothing romantic about urchins in the streets with nowhere to go. Reminds them that even their towns ain't perfect."
9. Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?
"Besides being a scarred-up runt that could blow away in a high wind?" She giggles. "Nope. Well, milk don't agree with me much, but I don't get it offered much, neither."
10. Are you right- or left-handed?
"Got one of each, yep." She smirks for a moment. "Not quite what you meant? Well, I do most of my writing with my right hand, but that's because the custom for how to write Westron makes it easier to not smudge the ink that way. Depending on who might read my writing when it's in Elvish, though, I don't care, since the original custom for that was to write it both ways across the page, and I do. And I use both hands just fine. Only ever matters for writing, and like I said, only even then for convenience."
11. What does your voice sound like?
"What? You afraid to write your own impressions of that for fear I'll take offence?" She shakes her head with amusement. "Well, I ain't the highest soprano around, but I am one. Aside from how awful my mangled Westron can get on the ears, though, I don't seem to have a bad voice even talking. And on the occasions I find to sing, well, that involved elves, too, eventually. And even the real old one who still calls herself a song-elf, and not a grey-elf or the like, she doesn't mind my singing. So I guess it's all right."
12. What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?
"Mm. Well, 'ain't' and 'reckon' come to mind as things folks point out. I prob'ly say 'just' too often. Not sure, otherwise."
13. What do you have in your pockets?
She gets a sly grin, then spouts off in an altered tone of voice, "String or nothing!" A fit of giggles follows.
"Sorry. Couldn't help it. It's from a story this lovely old hobbit bloke tells sometimes in Imladris. Chap's name is Bilbo. He loves to write songs and poems, and sometimes I can get him telling me stories for hours. Love him to pieces.
"But as to what's in my pocketses, well, I have a lot of little pouches hidden away, and I ain't gonna go giving away all of my secrets about what I got stashed where. But some coins, mostly silver, and some knives, and waxed-up sewing kit for cuts. I'll admit to that much."
14. Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?
She snorts. "Besides being a scarred-up runt what might blow away in a stiff breeze?" She shrugs and ponders a moment. "Well, there's making fun of questions I find funny, and shrugging, and going barefoot so much, and moving so quiet, and keeping off to myself in corners so much. I mean, I'm a scout. I try not to stick out too much, even in towns. But some folks can be annoyed by anything. But 'defining'? That's the sharp lookout, being quiet, and how much I go barefoot, I reckon."
