Plaza Life

It was a dark, stormy night when the cry of a baby echoed throughout the encampment near Umbar. A small girl had been born on that most chilling of nights, to the Black Númenóreans Triston and Aerwyn. They named her Tarín, and I am she. This is the tale, though brief, of my life and what has made me who I am this day.

I grew up near the coasts of Umbar, for the first twelve years of my life it was spent in that place and that place alone. It was a small encampment, my parents and some other men who seemed to be intent in building themselves ships and leaving. That was it. My father Triston was often gone; I don’t remember him at all in the days of my early life. I heard stories that he had gone off with others to attempt an attack on Gondor, whether or not that is true I still have no idea. It doesn’t much matter to me these days anyway. I spent those days with my mother, who didn’t seem to be much for the wars and fighting. It didn’t surprise me, though I feel like there was much time wasted learning things such as seamstress work and cooking then, as I haven’t used it since.

At twelve, there came news that my father had died. I never knew why, as I rather blanked out after I heard that he would not be returning home. I was a proud child, and one with a quick temper as it was. Rage and a desire to have revenge at all who opposed me for my father was the only thing I could think of from then on. And when I first heard of this happening, I did not look twice at the messenger. I turned and went back to where some of my things were stored, and packed enough to survive for a few weeks. At that age, a few weeks seemed like it would be plenty. Of course the blind anger and pain did not help my decision making skills either, I have no doubt.

I left the encampment that day and have not returned to this day. I still remember my mother’s face as I took the horse that I had been learning to ride and mounted it. I nodded in a goodbye as I tucked the pack safely beside the saddle for the ride, knowing I’d not do well to lose it. A quick kick into the sides of my horse and I was off, with no way to defend myself and no way to provide for myself. Looking back on it now, so many years later, it was a rather idiotic move on my part. But I was a child, and one in the grips of anger and sadness, which did not make a good mix, especially for me.

I don’t know how long I rode on, probably days, maybe even a few weeks. I hadn’t thought I’d need as much water as food, having never seen a shortage of that living near the coast. Sure, the water would be salty there, but boil it and it would be drinkable. This proved to be a downfall earlier on in this "quest" I had for vengeance, as I soon ran out of water for both myself and my steed. Soon after, I started blacking out for short moments while I rode. I wouldn’t stop though, and would never have turned back no matter what. This kept up until finally my horse stopped from exhaustion and lack of nourishment. It wasn’t the best thing to do, stop in midday and collapse, but as my horse would not go any further it was what happened.

I never saw my horse again. When I had collapsed, I had completely lost consciousness. I still am unsure of where I was when that happened, or who found me. But they did, and they gave me food and water, took care of me until I came back from the unconscious state in which they’d found me. The time I spent there is a total blur, though it was not long before I set out once again on my own. This time I was much better prepared, those people had given me what I needed. It’s amazing what some will do to help a child in need, is it not? I still count the fact I was only a small, slight thing back then, without any skills to take care of myself as lucky. Who knows how things might have turned out then had it been different.

From the years of twelve to twenty eight I spent on the road. A natural beauty called by some, I was never in need of a place to stay. With my pale skin, black curly hair, blood red lips, and dark eyes, many seemed unable to resist my charms. I never called a single place home, and only stayed in one place for any length of time were there warriors around to teach me to fight. I had found I had a skill with a blade early on in these years, though without any training it was useless. It never was easy to find someone willing to teach a woman, much less a girl who looked like she could barely take a punch, how to wield a blade. The attributes which had so held me back with learning soon became my best ally with any fights. Who ever would think that a girl could fight, and fight well? Very few and it helped me win various bets for money and other supplies over the years.

At twenty eight I had learned most of what I could ever think to learn from these people who had slowly given their respect towards my skills. This wasn’t true, of course, having never learned those skills that people who were not the "good" people could teach me. I did not know that at that time, until I stumbled across another encampment of Black Númenóreans. I had been headed back to see if my mother still lived then, though I never made it back. When I stopped there, I noted the difference in their fighting styles from those I had learned, and stayed there for many years. It was the closest place I had called home since I had ridden off as a child.

Their own attitudes and what I had grown up on, those who hailed the Darkness and Dark Lord and causing havoc to any who opposed him, soon began to influence my thoughts and own personality. This darkness and evil appealed to me, and felt more like what I was meant to be with every passing day. It brought back memories of my own childhood, and the chaos of fighting with those I thought of back then as "just fishermen." Constant sparring in their free time, and this. It all clicked for me, I knew I was not one destined to be anything resembling good that day. My skills with a blade were amplified with the training given to me by the Black Númenóreans who were there. I had become a warrior in my own right.

There I stayed, until my thirty seventh year. That year, I felt an unrest, constantly. I traveled from land to land, trying to find out why my dreams were of darkness, of a calling, and of blood. I never had a night of peace, everything was chaos in my mind, and I would wake up in a deep sweat more than once. Every night it finished the same way though, with a voice calling my name, which prompted me to move again. After traveling even to the realms of Mordor, I felt the call be more pinpointed than it had ever been before that day. I followed it that day, and have not been the same since. I have found what called me, and know it is where I am supposed to be. Thus ends my tale on my life until now. I am Tarín, Black Númenórean and servant of the Darkness

~~**~~

Real Life

So, you want to know about me? I'm known by many names, and many things, though the most common... I won't tell you. For now, you call me Tarín, as it fits me more than any other name could. It was a cold night in January, in the year of 1989, that I first "graced" the world with my presence. Aren't you all so lucky? I grew up the only girl of a family, with two much older brothers. I think their tastes rather reflected on my own, as I have never been able to stand things like shopping and all that stuff most girls love, and can be found playing computer games, reading, or playing sports. With a mother who travels a lot, and a father who works all the time, I've become one who is very self sufficient, as well as a plazaholic. It's amazing how fast time flies, as I remember the day I found this place, and it's long past by now. For other real life details, one might be interested in the fact I am a geek, though you wouldn't tell from my pictures I've been told. I love science and music, and am planning to major in music when I reach college. I think that's about all I feel like telling you here, if you want to know more, you'll have to speak to me yourself. That is, if you dare.