Érenhel Einbrec
Leader of the Foralin Érenhel Foriaeil (a.k.a. Einbrec (Bone Breaker)
Son of Foriael and Fiondril, Érenhel was the eldest of his siblings and rallied those still loyal to the memory of the king, called the Foralin, to war against Isentin who led the Brethari. Érenhel is still remembered as perhaps the greatest warrior of the fae, he slew all before him and was known for his great courage and boldness. After the war, Érenhel did not retrieve the Laeomena jewel stolen by Isentin and returned to the west, throwing down his weapons and living in peace till the end of his days.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Of all the great warriors the fae folk have bore witness to, Érenhel is thought of as the greatest of them all. Tall and powerful, Érenhel moved with terrifying speed for one so large. To his own people he was often called Eialan meaning the Gallant but to men, he was called Érenhel Einbrec, or Érenhel Bone Breaker for his great strength. He often practiced with all manner of weapons, with a bow he had a keen eye and was precise, with a war hammer his mighty arm crashed down with dreadful effectiveness, and with his favored sword, he was simply unbeatable.
Specialized Equipment
Aestoir, the Breathtaker was a beautiful sword, often running red with the blood of those Érenhel had slain. Crafted by his father Foriael, Aestoir was carried into battle after battle by the vengeful fae prince against the forces of Isentin who also met his end at its sharp edge.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
To all he was, the greatest warrior ever known to the Huldra fae, Érenhel, the towering son of his father High King Foriael. Érenhel was showered in adoration and acclaim by his father, among the best at all manner of Faen skill of arms and well suited to the elegant ambiance of the Huldra court of Caerthwyn. Yet so too was he a towering son of the beautiful and audacious princess of the Dhateah, from the isle of Siossein came Érenhel's mother Fiondril. It's said Réahlatha gave Foralin an upbringing as though they were one of the Dhateah, she gave them their raven black hair, none could say she was mistaken.
However, in the south, the domain of Tiranghar, the lands which belonged to the eldest of the Galerainil, Eaforn, had fallen to invasion and plague and Foriael welcomed the refugees of his distant kin. Among those taken in was Isentin who was envious of the power still held by the line of Eregrin. Clouded with this envy and a listening ear for the call of the Laeomena still possessed by the Eregrinil, Isentin snuck into the High King's palace, stole the jewel, and murdered Foriael before escaping. Beyond enraged upon finding the dead body of his father, Érenhel woke his family and revealed what had happened to them. Seeking to find Isentin, Érenhel rode out in search of him but did not find him as he had fled to the east, towards the great river Adwine.
Érenhel amassed a great army, an army not seen among his people in centuries, an army of the finest swords, of the finest bowmen, and of the finest riders of war among the Huldra. To the sounding of great horns and silver trumpets, the people of Érenhel marched east, crossed the Adwine, and came upon the land of the exiled Brethari. Leading this host, the great son of the slain king made headway for the lands of his father's killer, as he marched, doom followed him. In the field of Zegur, the mightiest of the fae came to bear against one another and this battle would come to be known simply as The Great Kinslaying ever after.
Of all, over a million of the fae folk came to battle at the simple field, a field they soaked in blood. Isentin, due to his craven nature, had come to ally himself with the dispersed sons of Nidgram and had in his company, ferocious Draigs who spat molten fire at the Foralin. After the first day's contest was concluded, the Foralin saw themselves outmatched by the great fire-breathing beasts before them, swooping down from the skies with sharp talons and breathing searing heat from their great maws.
Érenhel knew something had to be done, gathering his scryers, he came to know of the location of a nearby lord of the skies, a Nagadar, one of the avian beasts of the old giants and rivals of the Draigs. Venturing out in the night with his brother Ealahad and a few companions, Érenhel came upon the large nest of this Nagadar, one called Hiemklier. Heimklier had nested along the ridges and valleys of the Adwine river valley and had been fleeing the wrath of the fae armies for some time. The great bird tested the leader of the Foralin, swooping down and slashing at him with razor-sharp talons. However, skilled Érenhel dodged these attacks and after another run at the fae prince, Érenhel leaped atop the back of Heimklier and despite all rolls and swoops attempting to dislodge him, Érenhel remained pressed to the side of the great bird and refused to yield. Impressed, Heimklier relented and agreed to aid the Foralin.
The next day, when the armies of the Foralin and Brethari amassed for battle once more, Érenhel and Heimkleir rose to the sky as the shadow of the bird rested over the armies of Isentin. As the armies below fought, slashed, hammered, and gouged, the skies were filled with screeches and roars from Heimklier and the Draigs. Atop Heimklier, Érenhel remained and with taught bowstrings he launched arrow after arrow into the hide of the great dragons, killing one by shooting it in the eye. Heimklier opened the belly of another with his talons and soon, only one other Draig remained.
With the battle turning to the favor of the Brethari once more, Érenhel in desperation leaped from the back of Heimkleir and atop the opposing Draig which bellowed towards the earth. Not deterred, Érenhel stabbed and stabbed at the sky flier until he once more leaped from the back of the dragon to the front of its maw. It was then that Érenhel was swallowed, forced down the gut of the draig which pulled up, away from the ground and back towards the sky. In moments, the sky lizard then recoiled and came crashing back down to the ground and with a great crunch, hit the earth with a loud boom. Seconds later, Érenhel emerged from the mouth, covered in mucus, blood, and pus but unhurt. The Brethari, frightened not only by the loss of their three Draigs but also by the madness of Érenhel's attack, left the field and retreated further east. Cries ran out for the brave warrior, cries and great hails were made, cries of men were, "Hail Érenhel King" and among the fae, they were "Hail son of Foriael and sky master".
But Érenhel had seen the horrors of the battle, his people were in good spirits but so many had fallen that this was a false hope. Of the nearly half a million Foralin who had come to the battle, half were dead or wounded. Among the honored dead was Érenhel's own great kinsman Cerelian, slayer of Nidgram the giant, who had died in song. While the Brethari had retreated, they had suffered fewer casualties and retained many of their best warriors. Érenhel felt a deep sorrow in his soul, this was to be a long war, a war of tragedy, of blood, and of tears. When the Foralin host set off again east, they had buried half their number and many men said goodbye to sons and sons goodbye to fathers. On the march east, Érenhel dispatched his ally, King Guisgarn, son of High King Ceradairn, to scout north and gather new troops, he had said the same to Guisgarn's brother, King Cearógil but fear had gripped him for a long time and he did not ride out to support the Fae, nor his own brother.
Forever east it seemed, the Foralin would go, forever east chasing a phantom enemy and battling the cold and heat all the same. Forever east would the children of Eregrin go, never resting until vengeance would be theirs. Forward they went, losing those who could not go further, those who abandoned the quest, abandoned the will of their forefathers. Érenhel led his people to glory, to righteousness, to immortality but also to ruin, despair, and death. Years by now had gone by, years even since the last time the host of the Foralin had seen the men of the Daoine, who many had assumed had abandoned them. When they came to the far east, Isentin and his hordes of misbegotten fiends and giants awaited them, terrible as they gripped lance, sword, and spear with ill intent. Nevertheless, Érenhel pressed on and though outnumbered, he gathered his people to battle once more. In wildlands they were now, foreign lands far from home, nothing but battle could be fought to resolve this, and soon once more, the great hosts of the fae met on the field. It seemed so, that the righteous and suffering people of Érenhel would cease at the field of the wild, and ended their quest for vengeance as it seemed the gods were cruel in their decision. Even brave Érenhel knew the end was near but he did not cease fighting, he slew hundreds and twenty giants with javelin throws and around him, the last of his strong people remained.
Until the first blast of the horns of men came behind them. The golden horns of the Géadine came with their maddened horses and their gold-helmed riders. Some seventeen thousand heavy riders came, with thousands more horse archers and thousands more footmen. The oath of Meginil remained true, the oath to defend their friends remained and was to be honored in the wild field. Both Guisgarn and Cearógil, sons of the east and west came, sons of the reunited crown and the old oath came to the field of death knowing their fate was the same. The twin head of their rank sat atop their steeds of glory. Gusigarn, forever valiant and brave, sat atop his silver horse, pale and unshining his eyes blazing in rage and battle lust. Cearógil, atop his white horse Mohbrac, stood tall, his vanity and cowardice long behind him. This once cowardly son of great blood now sat atop his saddle determined and unafraid, with a longbow of yew and a great spear that pierced and spat blood. Undaunted, the riders of the men of the east and west came and roared again and again. Horn blasts startled the snow atop mountains, horn blasts heard around the world came and the host of men screamed until their throats burned. When the riders crashed into the lines of the Brethari, blood lept like a pillar into the sky, slaughter came to both sides but fear gripped the fingers of the eastern bound Brethari and they knew death had come for them atop muddied horses and blaring golden horns. The brothers of east and west, with the might of nations behind them, ran fell fury through the ranks of their horrid foe, striding in grace like hallowed gods of older times and burning with a fury generational in its wrath.
Isentin and his sons then came, black-armored and ready for the melee towards the beleaguered Érenhel. Standing alone against them, the son of Foriael held Aestoir tightly. When the first came, Érenhel cut the cur in two and marched on, when the next came they lost their head, and thereafter, Érenhel struck terror in those before him. Six of Isentin's sons fell before the father came before the blood-stained warrior of the Foralin. Their duel was glorious and short, Isentin was old as was Érenhel but the Foralin leader, with maddening fury in his eyes, dismembered the slayer of his father. Thus routed were the Brethari and the suffering of the Foralin came to an end. In the aftermath of the battle, the field was red with blood from all, the sons of Ceradairn were dead, their oaths fulfilled with the Foralin and Géadine riding west back home. After, Érenhel searched in vain for the jewel of the Laeomena, the theft of which brought cause to the entirety of the war. Nowhere on the field or in the possession of Isentin was the jewel and in dismay, Érenhel understood that the prized heirloom of his family was now lost.
At the war's end, Érenhel and his people were exhausted, no celebrations erupted at the war's conclusion as so many lives had been lost. When Érenhel told his people that their mission had ended and the dead king was avenged, none burst out in joy, only a somber feeling of relief came upon the host of the Foralin over the end of the war. No words were said and it seems when they returned west, the fae slumped away back to their lives. Some among them had grown up and only known war with their kin and nothing else. Life could never return to what it was before, the peace of the Eregrinil was shattered, the Huldra were now scattered and their number were few. Érenhel returned home to find it in decay, none had remained but those who survived with him. Despondent, Érenhel set down his sword and ventured further west until peace came upon him. He set aside his shining armor, his great bows, spears, and javelins and picked up the plow of a simple life.
It was in this life, he met his beloved, a simple woman of modest background, Aelda who reignited the cold heart of the fae warrior. Érenhel built for his family a wooded cottage, on the frontier of the Daoine village of Nirn and settled into a peaceful life with his beloved. Érenhel by this time was nearly six hundred years old, he had remained strong in war but now he felt the cold call of the Outerking whisper his name. However, Érenhel refused the call, refusing to be swayed to madness by the call from Malon, and forged on for the sake of his new life and his new family.
The bone breaker, the greatest warrior of the Huldra, and the pride of the Eregrinil watched his children grow to adulthood before him. In peace, he lived and he lingered, content and without hate in his heart. Life was defiance enough, the prince welcomed family and friends to his home, and introduced his loved wife, his loved son, and his daughter. Ealahad taught them sweet melodies and introduced them to his own son Folen and the two brothers rested in relief and peace. When Aelda, stricken with old age and the pains of it fell sick, her husband was by her bed each moment tending to her. He was there, holding her hand and speaking sweet words to her when she went away.
Soft grief came upon the tired warrior, his children were away but came to be with their father in his painful days. When Érenhel felt tired and yearning for the embrace of eternity, he lay in the same bed as his wife, with his son and daughter beside him. Aelaeh sang him a beautiful song that her Uncle Ealahad had taught her, sung in the language of his people, Fionnaidh told him a story, a story of a great shining pillar. The pillar was gilded and covered in all manner of spectacle as it sat before the marketplace of a great city. As time rang on, the pillar's gold was taken away, its marble was chiseled away by passersby, and its spectacle faded but it remained proud and tall throughout. Nothing brought it down, not the stern rumbling of the earth nor the pouring of the rain day after day. Fionnaidh told him that the pillar shall never fall, forever standing tall even if its luster had fallen, by standing it stood in defiance of eternity.
It was by the end of this tale that Érenhel finally closed his eyes one last time, joining his forebearers in the halls beyond. So ended the life of Érenhel, son of Foriael and Fiondril, brother of Ealahad and Dywera, swinger of Aestoir, leader of his people, and greatest warrior of the Huldra, softly in the comfort of his bed, surrounded by his loved children.
However, in the south, the domain of Tiranghar, the lands which belonged to the eldest of the Galerainil, Eaforn, had fallen to invasion and plague and Foriael welcomed the refugees of his distant kin. Among those taken in was Isentin who was envious of the power still held by the line of Eregrin. Clouded with this envy and a listening ear for the call of the Laeomena still possessed by the Eregrinil, Isentin snuck into the High King's palace, stole the jewel, and murdered Foriael before escaping. Beyond enraged upon finding the dead body of his father, Érenhel woke his family and revealed what had happened to them. Seeking to find Isentin, Érenhel rode out in search of him but did not find him as he had fled to the east, towards the great river Adwine.
Érenhel amassed a great army, an army not seen among his people in centuries, an army of the finest swords, of the finest bowmen, and of the finest riders of war among the Huldra. To the sounding of great horns and silver trumpets, the people of Érenhel marched east, crossed the Adwine, and came upon the land of the exiled Brethari. Leading this host, the great son of the slain king made headway for the lands of his father's killer, as he marched, doom followed him. In the field of Zegur, the mightiest of the fae came to bear against one another and this battle would come to be known simply as The Great Kinslaying ever after.
Of all, over a million of the fae folk came to battle at the simple field, a field they soaked in blood. Isentin, due to his craven nature, had come to ally himself with the dispersed sons of Nidgram and had in his company, ferocious Draigs who spat molten fire at the Foralin. After the first day's contest was concluded, the Foralin saw themselves outmatched by the great fire-breathing beasts before them, swooping down from the skies with sharp talons and breathing searing heat from their great maws.
Érenhel knew something had to be done, gathering his scryers, he came to know of the location of a nearby lord of the skies, a Nagadar, one of the avian beasts of the old giants and rivals of the Draigs. Venturing out in the night with his brother Ealahad and a few companions, Érenhel came upon the large nest of this Nagadar, one called Hiemklier. Heimklier had nested along the ridges and valleys of the Adwine river valley and had been fleeing the wrath of the fae armies for some time. The great bird tested the leader of the Foralin, swooping down and slashing at him with razor-sharp talons. However, skilled Érenhel dodged these attacks and after another run at the fae prince, Érenhel leaped atop the back of Heimklier and despite all rolls and swoops attempting to dislodge him, Érenhel remained pressed to the side of the great bird and refused to yield. Impressed, Heimklier relented and agreed to aid the Foralin.
The next day, when the armies of the Foralin and Brethari amassed for battle once more, Érenhel and Heimkleir rose to the sky as the shadow of the bird rested over the armies of Isentin. As the armies below fought, slashed, hammered, and gouged, the skies were filled with screeches and roars from Heimklier and the Draigs. Atop Heimklier, Érenhel remained and with taught bowstrings he launched arrow after arrow into the hide of the great dragons, killing one by shooting it in the eye. Heimklier opened the belly of another with his talons and soon, only one other Draig remained.
With the battle turning to the favor of the Brethari once more, Érenhel in desperation leaped from the back of Heimkleir and atop the opposing Draig which bellowed towards the earth. Not deterred, Érenhel stabbed and stabbed at the sky flier until he once more leaped from the back of the dragon to the front of its maw. It was then that Érenhel was swallowed, forced down the gut of the draig which pulled up, away from the ground and back towards the sky. In moments, the sky lizard then recoiled and came crashing back down to the ground and with a great crunch, hit the earth with a loud boom. Seconds later, Érenhel emerged from the mouth, covered in mucus, blood, and pus but unhurt. The Brethari, frightened not only by the loss of their three Draigs but also by the madness of Érenhel's attack, left the field and retreated further east. Cries ran out for the brave warrior, cries and great hails were made, cries of men were, "Hail Érenhel King" and among the fae, they were "Hail son of Foriael and sky master".
But Érenhel had seen the horrors of the battle, his people were in good spirits but so many had fallen that this was a false hope. Of the nearly half a million Foralin who had come to the battle, half were dead or wounded. Among the honored dead was Érenhel's own great kinsman Cerelian, slayer of Nidgram the giant, who had died in song. While the Brethari had retreated, they had suffered fewer casualties and retained many of their best warriors. Érenhel felt a deep sorrow in his soul, this was to be a long war, a war of tragedy, of blood, and of tears. When the Foralin host set off again east, they had buried half their number and many men said goodbye to sons and sons goodbye to fathers. On the march east, Érenhel dispatched his ally, King Guisgarn, son of High King Ceradairn, to scout north and gather new troops, he had said the same to Guisgarn's brother, King Cearógil but fear had gripped him for a long time and he did not ride out to support the Fae, nor his own brother.
Forever east it seemed, the Foralin would go, forever east chasing a phantom enemy and battling the cold and heat all the same. Forever east would the children of Eregrin go, never resting until vengeance would be theirs. Forward they went, losing those who could not go further, those who abandoned the quest, abandoned the will of their forefathers. Érenhel led his people to glory, to righteousness, to immortality but also to ruin, despair, and death. Years by now had gone by, years even since the last time the host of the Foralin had seen the men of the Daoine, who many had assumed had abandoned them. When they came to the far east, Isentin and his hordes of misbegotten fiends and giants awaited them, terrible as they gripped lance, sword, and spear with ill intent. Nevertheless, Érenhel pressed on and though outnumbered, he gathered his people to battle once more. In wildlands they were now, foreign lands far from home, nothing but battle could be fought to resolve this, and soon once more, the great hosts of the fae met on the field. It seemed so, that the righteous and suffering people of Érenhel would cease at the field of the wild, and ended their quest for vengeance as it seemed the gods were cruel in their decision. Even brave Érenhel knew the end was near but he did not cease fighting, he slew hundreds and twenty giants with javelin throws and around him, the last of his strong people remained.
Until the first blast of the horns of men came behind them. The golden horns of the Géadine came with their maddened horses and their gold-helmed riders. Some seventeen thousand heavy riders came, with thousands more horse archers and thousands more footmen. The oath of Meginil remained true, the oath to defend their friends remained and was to be honored in the wild field. Both Guisgarn and Cearógil, sons of the east and west came, sons of the reunited crown and the old oath came to the field of death knowing their fate was the same. The twin head of their rank sat atop their steeds of glory. Gusigarn, forever valiant and brave, sat atop his silver horse, pale and unshining his eyes blazing in rage and battle lust. Cearógil, atop his white horse Mohbrac, stood tall, his vanity and cowardice long behind him. This once cowardly son of great blood now sat atop his saddle determined and unafraid, with a longbow of yew and a great spear that pierced and spat blood. Undaunted, the riders of the men of the east and west came and roared again and again. Horn blasts startled the snow atop mountains, horn blasts heard around the world came and the host of men screamed until their throats burned. When the riders crashed into the lines of the Brethari, blood lept like a pillar into the sky, slaughter came to both sides but fear gripped the fingers of the eastern bound Brethari and they knew death had come for them atop muddied horses and blaring golden horns. The brothers of east and west, with the might of nations behind them, ran fell fury through the ranks of their horrid foe, striding in grace like hallowed gods of older times and burning with a fury generational in its wrath.
Isentin and his sons then came, black-armored and ready for the melee towards the beleaguered Érenhel. Standing alone against them, the son of Foriael held Aestoir tightly. When the first came, Érenhel cut the cur in two and marched on, when the next came they lost their head, and thereafter, Érenhel struck terror in those before him. Six of Isentin's sons fell before the father came before the blood-stained warrior of the Foralin. Their duel was glorious and short, Isentin was old as was Érenhel but the Foralin leader, with maddening fury in his eyes, dismembered the slayer of his father. Thus routed were the Brethari and the suffering of the Foralin came to an end. In the aftermath of the battle, the field was red with blood from all, the sons of Ceradairn were dead, their oaths fulfilled with the Foralin and Géadine riding west back home. After, Érenhel searched in vain for the jewel of the Laeomena, the theft of which brought cause to the entirety of the war. Nowhere on the field or in the possession of Isentin was the jewel and in dismay, Érenhel understood that the prized heirloom of his family was now lost.
At the war's end, Érenhel and his people were exhausted, no celebrations erupted at the war's conclusion as so many lives had been lost. When Érenhel told his people that their mission had ended and the dead king was avenged, none burst out in joy, only a somber feeling of relief came upon the host of the Foralin over the end of the war. No words were said and it seems when they returned west, the fae slumped away back to their lives. Some among them had grown up and only known war with their kin and nothing else. Life could never return to what it was before, the peace of the Eregrinil was shattered, the Huldra were now scattered and their number were few. Érenhel returned home to find it in decay, none had remained but those who survived with him. Despondent, Érenhel set down his sword and ventured further west until peace came upon him. He set aside his shining armor, his great bows, spears, and javelins and picked up the plow of a simple life.
It was in this life, he met his beloved, a simple woman of modest background, Aelda who reignited the cold heart of the fae warrior. Érenhel built for his family a wooded cottage, on the frontier of the Daoine village of Nirn and settled into a peaceful life with his beloved. Érenhel by this time was nearly six hundred years old, he had remained strong in war but now he felt the cold call of the Outerking whisper his name. However, Érenhel refused the call, refusing to be swayed to madness by the call from Malon, and forged on for the sake of his new life and his new family.
The bone breaker, the greatest warrior of the Huldra, and the pride of the Eregrinil watched his children grow to adulthood before him. In peace, he lived and he lingered, content and without hate in his heart. Life was defiance enough, the prince welcomed family and friends to his home, and introduced his loved wife, his loved son, and his daughter. Ealahad taught them sweet melodies and introduced them to his own son Folen and the two brothers rested in relief and peace. When Aelda, stricken with old age and the pains of it fell sick, her husband was by her bed each moment tending to her. He was there, holding her hand and speaking sweet words to her when she went away.
Soft grief came upon the tired warrior, his children were away but came to be with their father in his painful days. When Érenhel felt tired and yearning for the embrace of eternity, he lay in the same bed as his wife, with his son and daughter beside him. Aelaeh sang him a beautiful song that her Uncle Ealahad had taught her, sung in the language of his people, Fionnaidh told him a story, a story of a great shining pillar. The pillar was gilded and covered in all manner of spectacle as it sat before the marketplace of a great city. As time rang on, the pillar's gold was taken away, its marble was chiseled away by passersby, and its spectacle faded but it remained proud and tall throughout. Nothing brought it down, not the stern rumbling of the earth nor the pouring of the rain day after day. Fionnaidh told him that the pillar shall never fall, forever standing tall even if its luster had fallen, by standing it stood in defiance of eternity.
It was by the end of this tale that Érenhel finally closed his eyes one last time, joining his forebearers in the halls beyond. So ended the life of Érenhel, son of Foriael and Fiondril, brother of Ealahad and Dywera, swinger of Aestoir, leader of his people, and greatest warrior of the Huldra, softly in the comfort of his bed, surrounded by his loved children.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
Avenge the murder of his father and bring those responsible to justice
Virtues & Personality perks
Loyal
Courageous
Kindhearted
Good
Courageous
Kindhearted
Good
Vices & Personality flaws
Proud
Impatient
Wrathful
Simplistic
Narrow Minded
Impatient
Wrathful
Simplistic
Narrow Minded
Social
Family Ties
Elder brother of Dywera and Ealahad
Son of High King Foriael Erá and Queen Fiondril
Uncle of Folen, Amaethyri, Ereia, and Taliesin
Grandson of King Eagriel and Queen Dynestre
Son of High King Foriael Erá and Queen Fiondril
Uncle of Folen, Amaethyri, Ereia, and Taliesin
Grandson of King Eagriel and Queen Dynestre
Social Aptitude
Contrasting his jovial and artisanal younger brother Ealahad, Érenhel was a somber and reserved figure of little words. However, he was not joyless, Érenhel loved hearing others speak as he was a willing listener and adept at learning what he could from others. He was especially loving towards his brother Ealahad and the two were very close with one another. Érenhel broke with the tradition of his people and did not take a fae bride, instead he fell in love with a human woman named Aelda who was of lowly stock.
Érenhel is traditionally thought, among the fae, as being the first among them to utter a curse word. Curse words were seen as the language of men, as Érenhel had spent many of his early days around humans he seems to have specifically introduced the high and noble fae to the word "fuck".
Érenhel is traditionally thought, among the fae, as being the first among them to utter a curse word. Curse words were seen as the language of men, as Érenhel had spent many of his early days around humans he seems to have specifically introduced the high and noble fae to the word "fuck".
Relationships
Species
Date of Birth
28th of Amiel
Date of Death
2nd of Aulza
Life
8554 B.E
7931 B.E
623 years old
Circumstances of Birth
Eldest son of High King Foriael and Queen Fiondril
Family
Spouses
Aelda Aelfelien
(spouse)
Siblings
Children
Eyes
Pale Blue
Hair
Long, Straight, Black
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Fair
Height
7'3
Weight
245 lbs
Aligned Organization
Character Prototype
Fingolfin but crazier, he is crazy brave and reckless.
(Érenhel in dark and his brother Ealahad in white)
(Érenhel's human wife Aelda and the love of his life, who he shared his better days with)
(Cearógil, son of Meginil and King of the Eridaoine)
(Isentin the Kinslayer, chief foe of Érenhel during the War of the Jewel)
Glad to see I'm not the only one like this. In the process of doing a massive entry myself and for a NPC too.
Feels good, Good luck!!