Thorì wasn’t born out of terrible parents, or despicable stepmothers; his father Hràvanen was an old sellsword who could sustain most expenses off of the coin he had gained here and there, and his mother Elisseae was a weavess who occasionally spoke of her adventures back when she had no one to bind her home, together their wealth made for a common lifestyle. In his own grove, a small Seed of huntsmen and trappers known for good linen clothing, Thorodhuin grew up alone or with friends, drifting away in wanderlust and returning to his home with a hare, or a larger game.
Eventually, his father died and his mother followed within the month. Having nothing else to stay for, the elf became a vagabond, and put to use the skills and tools his father had taught him to survive. Remembering the teachings of his two parents, Thorodhuin came to embrace the Mother, Father, and Moon as patrons of his travel. Eventually, he became aimless, the pathways ahead was the sole purpose he had attained. A state of constant wandering, roaming, without ever drowning from the lack of a goal. Whenever he found game, he hunted; whenever travellers came to his campfire, he welcomed them.
Good hardy boots, a walking staff, and a thick cloak was all Thorodhuin needed in life.
There are roads one cannot walk on. Well, Thorì certainly couldn’t walk on water. The stone walls of men were a colourless, amazing sight. And even to one accustomed to rolling hills and lush pine forests, there was no denying cities like these were quite the feat. The port held more people than he had ever seen, instinctively he pulled his hood up so as to shadow the gruesome mark that scored his cheek. A pleased smile pierced the perpetual snarl he carried.
When the docking bell signaled all was moored and roped properly, Thorì picked up his staff, shouldered his backpack and began his way down the gangplank. Already the crowd of beasts, chariots, horses and people made for a woodlands he was unaccustomed to. Not that he hadn’t been in any city before, merely that after a months or so of seafaring it would take some time to adapt once more – this was a refreshing sight. He tested his own two feet, the ground still rolled back and forth from the lurch of the sea. When he had ensured all his possessions were on him, Thorì began his way off.
It was then that the gentleman tried to address him. He probably said the same thing to everybody that boarded off… With a slight slant, Thorodhuin attempted to nudge the gentleman aside with the tip of his walking staff, his snarl making his thankful smile more aggressive than he wanted it to be. “Just passing through, thanks.” When the gentlemen egged him on, following a few quick paces, he turned around to face the liveried man with a scant frown. “I do not need directions either, no. Go pester the others.”
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