Brunfair

Brúnfair "Crágaidh"

Name Brunfair
Status
Active
Occupation
Ranger and Field-Medic of the Northern Dunedain, Sworn-man to the Lord-Protector of Dolindir Morvoran
Age
70-80's
Race
Man
Residence
Northern Eriador, Dolindir and later Gath Forthnir in Angmar
Kinship
Outward Appearance

 Beyond the muddy clay-grey hair that waves slightly behind his ears, beyond the unremarkable height of but five foot and nine, Brúnfair's piercing star-like grey eyes are the first thing one notices of him. This startling aspect belies his modest lineage amongst his Dunedain brethren, but that is all. He carries no storied blade and bears no ornate seal or shining gem of beauty and ancientry. His bearing is humble and there is no warrior's sinew to him, only a tightly slender and slinking grace.

 

Weariness is worn around his eyes, etching many thin lines and deeper dark circles around them and over his arched nose. He has high and hollow cheeks and the drawn, pallid look of a man accustomed to hard living. One gets the uncanny impression that they know too much of his skull to look at him, the bones too obvious under thin skin. Unusually, however, he is unmarked by scarring except for one jagged cut upon his right brow.

 

When he speaks, it is low and breathy, more of a loud whisper than anything else, even his laugh coming under his breath. But his diction is clear and his natural voice is deeper than one might expect to look at him. In general the impression Brúnfair gives is one of quiet but keen contemplation, a man easily fading to the background and forgotten amongst his far nobler acquaintances.

Background

The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

In his earliest memories Brúnfair had been young lord Rívorn's dedicated servant. It was a position he had been raised too with all the seriousness that the Lord-Protector of Dolindir showed in raising his own son to his birthright. And though Rívorn was often sickly, he had also been courageous and noble. He had played with Brúnfair as a baby and lead him in his toddling with kind encouragement, Brúnfair had known before anything else that his life would be in service to this boy of barely fifteen.

But Rívorn never made it to sixteen, taken by yet another of his particularly vicious fevers and lost to memory forever. And so, said Brúnfair's father, did his inherited service of stewardship fall to Morvoran, the younger brother, only a year older than him and yet now the scion of his family.

No bad thing surely! Morvoran and Brúnfair had been playmates, the closest of friends from their earliest memories and neither of them found any desire to shuck such a bond. And yet Morvoran was Brúnfair's friend, not his lord. And a seed of understanding was planted in his young mind that very little was as men thought it should be, and the only thing between them and the shattering of 'truths' was performance.

Brúnfair and Morvoran learned young to perform their roles as servant and lord, even to each other, especially after their fathers made it harshly clear that they would accept nothing less from their behaviour. And Brúnfair knew that he needed not just the appearance of servitude, but the appearance of belief as well. Made doubly true when, in counter to their set places, Morvoran found great skill in battle and the leading of men, whilst Brúnfair became learned in rhetoric and history and language. They were not naturally suited to their duties, but Morvoran had no other siblings to take his place, and Brúnfair had too many whom he loved too dearly to push such a life upon them.

But, with effort and cunning, he made himself of great use to his brethren as well, excelling in caution and care in the wilds and making field-leechcraft his particular specialty. He might flit across a dangerous field like a ghost to tend to wounded men, never catching a single cut himself. It was a fact that drew both admiration and scorn from his fellows, coupled with his delicate features and build that made him unique amongst the tall and powerful Dunedain.

And though he earned his place amongst the Rangers of the North for many years, when Golodir called for volunteers to join him in voyaging deep into Angmar, Brúnfair offered his help. This was a defiance of the natural order that his old father rebuked him for, but old as he was Brúnamath had no strength left in hand nor voice to restrain him. For Morvoran it was a great grief, but just as it had always been between them he felt none of a Lord's right to command him to stay and could only bid him a tearful farewell.

Yet, though this goodbye pained him, something still drove Brúnfair to leave, whether that was a drive to know more of the darker places of the world or something else of deeper hurt. And it was no happy doom it drove him too, no sooner had their company crossed the Rammas Deluon than they had been met with madness and dread and an ambush of foes. Many were slain in the immediate fury as the terrible Watchers (now awakened) denied any retreat and Brúnfair's brow caught the arc of a jagged sword in the chaos. Still, he was as ever unnoted in the struggle and pulled many a wounded man to safety as the battle raged.

In the aftermath they gathered themselves, and found many reasons to be grateful for Brúnfair's herblore and cautious council. Which became quite the running theme the longer they were forced to stay in Angmar. They found shelter and food with his help and as the years passed Brúnfair also began infiltrating Angmarim lands and fortresses posing as one of their number named 'Crágaidh'. He blended in better with those men than his fellows and through them learned much in the way of their plans.

And in this task he remained, becoming more and more familiar with the scattered tribes of Angmar and it's history, more curious than a loyal son of the Elendili perhaps should be, but being rewarded for his investigation the longer and longer it helped them survive. By the time a hero defeated the Watchers and opened the way back out of Angmar, Brúnfair was already as comfortable in the robes of Carn Dum as he was in a Ranger's garb.

Friends
Relatives
Rivals/Enemies
Loves
Hates
Motivation
Quotes
For the heart, both altar and hell.

Brunfair's Adventures

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Brunfair's Adventures

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Brunfair's Gallery