Westemnet Forester, Farmer, and guilded Woodworker

Red-line traited (bowmaster) for DPS, though I switch to blue (huntsman) when going against underlevel content.

First-age bow and dagger, but otherwise no raid-level gear.

Scarce a night would pass, in my youth, without someone speaking of my great-grandfather, Mirgren. Odd that he was the most renowned of the family and yet we know almost nothing about him. My father Mircolath is sure that, like him and his father, Mirgren was a woodworker who helped build Lake-Town. But the one time I asked my grandfather Mirrel, he only laughed, long and loud, at the very idea, and would say nothing.

What all knew of my great-grandfather is that he died in the flames when the last dragon, Smaug, awoke from under Lonely Mountain and unleashed his wrath upon the dry timbers of Lake-Town. Many died in those days: from the fires, the collapsing buildings, and the battles that followed, the famed Battle of Five Armies. More were orphaned, including my grandfather, who had several summers to wait for his first beard the day he learned his parents had died, and held back tears to take up the saw and get to work rebuilding the home of the men of Long Lake.

The years that followed were a time of peace. The goblins and wargs were driven back into the Misty Mountains in fear. King Bard used the gold given by Dain, King Under The Mountain, to rebuild the town upon the lake, with wood floated down the river by the elves of King Thranduil. But Dale wept for those it had lost, and every man found his way to help heal the town on the Long Lake.

Some took up arms in defense of Dale, for while there was peace, King Bard knew it would not last forever, that another shadow would one day rise and Lake-Town must be better ready. But not all had the courage to serve by sword and bow, and my grandfather was one of those who instead labored with axe and saw, building the town itself from its ashes. He made a good accounting of himself, and in his time, passed the saw to his son. And his son, my father, gained more renown in the crafts of woodcraft and architecture, devising cunning means to build stronger buildings from lighter materials, better prepared to withstand both wind and warcraft. So great was his skill, in fact, that King Thranduil invited him to spend a season amongst his own crafters, to learn and to teach.

It was during that summer when I, a young boy playing amongst the children of the elves, got my first bow. It was made for me by an elven bowyer of great skill, as a token of thanks to my father, thought I did know how great an honor it was. That same day I was first a hunter, bringing home the tattered remains of a humble coney, ever so proud of myself despite the mess I'd made trying to skin the creature.

My father was sure that I would, when the first shadows of a beard on my chin marked my path to manhood, take up the saw and axe. How angry he was when I told him that I would join the defenders of Esgaroth. He never spoke to me again; indeed, I would see him only once more, as I was being cast out in exile, and I dare not guess if his gaze was more full of anger or pity that day.

So young was I, so eager, so bright of eye, and so ignorant of the ways of the world. There were twelve of us, recruits assigned to be trained in the ways of sword and shield by a sergeant of the Watch, and none of us had more than fifteen summers. Our training started under the morning stars and lasted until after they hung high again in the night sky, and what little sleep we got was deep in exhaustion. We learned the knife and bow, but also we learned how to take and give orders, how to defend one another, to fight back to back, to put trust in the man that stood beside us.

Or woman, for two of the twelve of us were of the fairer sex. One of these, a lass named Meluin, was a creature of surpassing beauty, with honey-gold hair so flaxen she might have come from the far lands of Rohan, and eyes dark as the stars reflected in Long Lake's depths. I had scarce noticed the gentle sex before this, but Meluin enchanted me with her beauty. I was smitten with the wild, misguided love of the young.

So besotted was I that I did not glimpse at all the truth of her, which I would learn to my regret. For in my youthful, fumbling overtures, she saw only opportunity for her ambition. She encouraged me in ways that, without my seeing it, led me to do work that she would earn praise for, to lend my skill to her renown, to ensure that she would quickly rise in the estimation of the sergeant.

As the first chill of autumn crept in, half of the twelve had left training, having concluded that the soldier's life was not for them. The rest of us were assigned to a lieutenant of the watch for the next stage of our training, and Meluin saw something in the lieutenant's eyes that never had she seen from the sergeant: that he saw her beauty, and that with some turns of her wiles, he might be as smitten as was I.

Soon, without me knowing, she had him wrapped around her finger. And what of me? Having thus served her ambition, I was now an obstacle, though one that cunning shrew might make into another stepping stone. She spun a web of lies to make him believe that I was a rival for her affections, and more, that I had made unseemly, unwanted, and unrelenting overtures to her despite her expression of disapproval. Thus incensed, he moved against me; and she could be sure he would do anything she wished, so dedicated was he to protect her.

There is no place for a mere recruit to challenge the word of a trusted lieutenant, even when he speaks false accusations about disloyalty. I scarce had time to piece together what had happened before I was cast out in exile, sent into Mirkwood with naught but my bow and quiver, my horse Tansy, and a waterskin half full. As I was marched in shame out of Esgaroth toward Mirkwood, my father watched me go, and I do not know: did he hate me for the treason that had been said of me, or was there something in his eye, that he knew I had been wronged?

Mirkwood is a place of considerable danger, and no man that saw me that day thought I would survive the night. Nor would I have, had it not been for that summer I had whiled away in the realm of King Thranduil. I knew just enough of the places to avoid to survive the night, and in a few days, I found my way to a hidden entrance to the city of the elves. There, I was admitted only because of my bow of elven make, and once led to the bowyer, in gratitude for the work my father had done I was given shelter. Though I had no silver with which to pay my way, and what labor I could offer was of little value to the elves, still I did what I could to be a respectful guest, until such time as it was arranged I would travel with a party of dwarves carrying a wagon of trade goods west to Bree, where I might start a new life.

Trade goods that were later stolen by Blackwold bandits, who took me and several others prisoner; but that is a story for another day.