10-20 Character Bio - Gwindor

My name is gwindor, and I am the son of Guilin. My life is a tragedy, and a warning of what can happen. I was once praised, celebrated, and honored. I had everything I wanted. I had a beautiful wife, and I was familiar with the joy of laughter. The memories pain me because I know I can never be the person I remember. He’s gone now, and not even iluvatar has the power to bring him back. Angband took him away and ensured he’d never reappear. Everyone says my life energy is weak, and I look 1000 years my senior. Unfortunately, this is a generous observation on their part. My body and appearance scream of the suffering that I endured, yet it still does not capture the true evil I have experienced. But am I deserving of my current condition? You can be the judge of that. It all started when I listened to my heart instead of my head and charged forward in battle. I forgot all about the situation and thought my passion would help me subdue the immense evil I faced with my bredren. However, this was not the case. I was swiftly captured and experienced things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, by my worst enemy. The strongest among us perished physically, while the weakest were obliterated mentally. I managed to leave that wretched place, but it seems that place has not left me. It seems more like Gwindor was left behind in angband, and I am now a walking messenger of the insurmountable evil that walks among us. People do not understand this though. They refuse to listen to my cries, whether I explicitly warn them against rashness, or my appearance does. The youth disregard me, and the elders pity me. For they knew this was a possibility but never anticipated that it could have happened to me. Finduilas, bless her heart, still speaks to me out of respect for what I was once, but it’s evident that the love that one danced in her eyes is now absent. My people try to hide it, but Morgoth left my eyes untouched. They dance in discomfort when I am around. They usher me away in the slightest of ways. And yet, I’m never mad. Rather, I try and anticipate when the next microaggression will occur and spare them the effort by evacuating on my own. I do this because my presence diminishes hope. My presence is a constant reminder of our inevitable suffering. My presence is a source of pain.

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