Appearance

'Grey eyes shine bright,

under his brows dark as night.

Pale skin to match the snow,

though veiled in twilight's glow.

Sleek is his dusky hair,

and so are his fingers fair.

And so this being stands real tall,

even mountains are in his thrall.'

   Tinnurion's face is pale like snow and stands in stark contrast to his black brows and long sleek black hair. His grey eyes are reminiscent of a beauty and wisdom long gone, and though they may betray some hint of his past life, in all other ways he nigh appears as if one aged among mortal men. For though he was once among the tallest of the Teleri, he now seems stooped and maimed in posture.

   Clad in protective raiment or in garbs that match the night, he walks silently and with careful steps. He carries a blade named Níniolêg, 'Weeping Thorn', forged long ago from the pitch black metal galvorn. The sword's leather hilt is adorned with silver motives, twirling around the hilt from the guard to the pommel. The blade itself shines like black glass. He also carries two knives, Thônan a Lhingnîr.

Character

   Tinnurion is a Sinda who once lived in Doriath under the rule of Thingol and Melian, but much of the beauty and wisdom of that realm has long since left him. Even in his time with the Iathrim, he was averse to concourse of people and could only enjoy the company of a trusted few. He is prone to long silences, and if he does speak, his words may bring to doubt lesser hearts. Throughout the years he has grown increasingly reserved and secretive, perhaps in part due to the hardships he endured.

   His love for dwarfkind ever set him apart from his kin, and like them he is stubborn and easily offended. When treated unjustly, he may become fierce, but rarely violent, for he is quick to despair and faint in heart. In these ways the power of Morgoth Bauglir is written within him. But he can also be exceptionally loyal and kind, and he is remarkably resourceful.

   Unlike the Calaquendi, he never longed to travel west to Aman because of his profound love for the lands of Middle-Earth. However, he would not go as far as to wage war over them. Ever since the terrors of the First Battle of Beleriand he has had no further part in the wars of his kin against Morgoth, or his minion Sauron. Yet it is true that he has not been careless either and that he has wielded his blade in the defence of both himself and others when the moment required it, though more than oft through stealth and secrecy. Ever since his captivity in Angband, he was deprived of much of his former youth and strength.

   Tinnurion has ever been appreciative of the night and the light of the stars, the only light that shone on Middle-Earth in the Years of the Trees. He greatly shuns the sun, the spawn of Laurelin. Because of this he rarely ventures out in daylight, save in great need. Regardless of his rather gloomy demeanor, he also likes to dance, sing and write poetry, and while he often dresses in black garments and pitch black armour, he appreciates the beauty of colours, especially in things that grow.

   Throughout his lifetime he indulged in many a craft, though he mastered few, for in the making of things he was not like his master of old, and more than oft he marred what he made. Only in the brewing of cordials and the art of being unseen did he gain mastery few others possessed. He could even walk among Men as if seemingly one of their own. But such deceptiveness would not work on his own kin, though he ever sought ways to make it so.

   He cares a great deal for the wilds but he knows well the dangers that lurk therein. Of all the dangerous creatures he has encountered, he hates the spawn of Ungoliant the most; and the enmity between them is great for his blade Níniolêg has slain many and they have not forgotten. But like them he indulges in the use of poison, coating dart and blade, subsequently distancing himself even further from the grace of the Eldar.

   Many years of his lifetime he spent on his own in the wide lands of Middle-Earth. Ever a wanderer, he grew accustomed to a life in the wild, staying nowhere for long. But the longing for a place to call home has gripped his heart since the day he left Nan Elmoth.

   Lastly, Tinnurion has no love for the Noldor, who he deems usurpers, warmongers and kinslayers. He blames them for the state of the world and the death of Eöl his master of old. The worst in him surfaces when face to face with one of that people, though that has not happened in quite some time.

Dread and suspicion was ever between the Eldar and those of their kin who had tasted the slavery of Melkor.

-The Silmarillion