Tauriel

*RP Backstory: Of Tauriel of Ostia*

Tauriel grew up within city walls of Ostia, Born in the Spring, a time of new beginnings. Born with brown hair and hazel eyes, I was my father’s shining gem. My mother, a respected Scribe, had once hoped I would follow in her footsteps long before her passing. Yet she never bound me to her path. She allowed me the freedom to discover who I would become.

And by her Parents named Tauriel. In Ostia a place where knowledge was hoarded carefully, copied faithfully, and rarely questioned. As a child, she showed an unusual patience she was not born restless, She was trained to be still. hands steady, eyes sharp, mind able to hold long chains of thought without drifting. The scribes noticed early. She could copy texts without error. She remembered footnotes.

She noticed contradictions.So they trained her. Still, when I wore my mother’s blue scribe robes, I felt as though I were only playing at the role. No matter how carefully I walked, I knew I would never truly fill her shoes simply by imitation.

When I entered Gorean University, I studied deeply immersing myself in the histories of my mother’s lineage as a Scribe, and the traditions of my grandmother, who practiced medicine. Knowledge surrounded me, yet my mind often wandered beyond the walls of the city. I longed to learn everything, and the more I learned, the harder it became to choose who I was meant to be.

Ink before dawn. Candles after dusk. Shelves of books that smelled of dust and permanence. Her world became margins, glosses, annotations other people’s discoveries preserved, never expanded. And she was good at it. Too good to be dismissed. Too obedient to be feared. But knowledge, when it stays still too long, begins to rot.

My schooling took longer than expected but I endured. I graduated as a Physician. No longer playing dress-up in my mother’s robes, I stood fully in my own right. Upon the conclusion of my studies, I received parchment bearing my next directive: I was to board a vessel and chart a course to Turmus. Despite all my achievements, this was to be my next trial to meet a stranger I was promised to companion.

Per my father’s final wishes, I was turned over to a man who carries a sword as naturally as he breathes. The idea struck me as a laughable cure for boredom, or perhaps a quiet curse.

*Arrival in Turmus*

The journey was long. Upon arrival, I was greeted by the man to whom I am intended. He showed me the city its stone, its rhythm, its guarded beauty before leaving me at the tea house, granting me much-needed solitude. There, alone with my thoughts, I wondered what a Warrior and a Physician could possibly hope to build together. As I in my mind said I could poison him and return to my goals but even that made me laugh.

With my companionship all but decided for me, I find myself asking: Will this union offer the promise of family, purpose, and joy? Or will it demand compromise I am unwilling to give? Later after my tea, this man failed to claim what he believed he had already won. With my father’s passing his final choice made and his voice silenced it was assumed I would accept the life arranged for me. That I would take a companion and build within the boundaries set in his absence.

But when I looked upon the man presented to me, it required no more than an arn to know he was beneath what I desired for my life. It was not knowledge I turned away from, nor duty I dismissed but limitation. I chose instead to become someone worth remembering, even if my name survived only as a dusted entry on a forgotten page in a scribe’s office. I would make my mark beyond the shadow of any man beyond his claim, beyond his final word, and beyond the notion that permission was ever required. My path would be authored by my own hand. And not permissed by any Man ever again.

*Tauriel's Journey*

Tauriel started noticing patterns the scholars dismissed: illnesses described once and never mentioned again, remedies that worked in one province but failed in another, footnotes written by travelers who never returned. The city’s knowledge was clean but incomplete. Sanitized by distance. So She asked questions and was told to stop.

Tauriel is not, nor has she ever been, known for anything dishonorable or shady. I am a vibrant woman by nature, guided by integrity that reaches beyond most of my peers. I live with internal consistency belief, behavior, and action bound tightly by honor and ethical code. Even in adversity, my convictions are not easily swayed.

While beliefs may evolve with time and experience, such change only comes when I allow it to take root. My sense of morality does not bend on a whim, nor does it shift simply because a man believes it should. I am kind sometimes to a fault. Growing up, I observed women who wore their positions with proud, disdainful distance. That was never my nature. I can only be what I am. Being true to myself outweighs the smear campaigns so commonly practiced among the Free.

I hold myself to a higher standard: Bold. Untamed. A Silent Storm. Especially when unjustified violence dares to surface. The moment that changed her life wasn’t dramatic. No fire. No exile. It was a dying woman brought to the scriptorium steps. The woman had traveled weeks to reach the city because Tauriel had once copied a text mentioning a cure once. A single line in a forgotten appendix. Tauriel remembered it. She ran for the book. She checked the margins. She cross-referenced. The remedy worked in theory. But not in practice. The woman died before sunset.

That night, Tauriel realized something that shattered her loyalty to the walls: Books remember what people forget but they cannot adapt. She stayed awake until dawn, packing her satchel. Heading back yo the University to set out on a new journey to become more than a restorer of the Knowledge she had learned to treasure. Tauriel for once wanted more freedoms, and her thirst for more would not be requited easily.

*Leaving the Walls*

Tauriel didn’t abandon being a scribe. She redefined it. She left with blank journals, not finished ones. She carried inks meant for weather, blood, plant resin, and ash. She taught herself field-binding so her books could be repaired on the road. She learned to write small, fast, and anywhere. Her goal wasn’t heroism. It was accuracy.

She traveled to learn how knowledge behaves when it meets hunger, fear, dirt, and desperation. She apprenticed herself briefly to village healers, midwives, and hedge-doctors. She listened more than she spoke. She paid with labor when she had no coin. And slowly, people noticed something strange about her. She did not promise miracles. She promised honesty. Fueled by Knowledge and the Remedies behind the Study she went to pursue..

*The Cost of the Road*

This life carved her down to essentials. She learned how loneliness sounds when it echoes for weeks. How grief feels when you help bury someone you knew for only three days—but saved for three weeks. How dangerous it is to be a woman who carries knowledge others don’t understand. She learned to sleep lightly. To leave towns before people grew too grateful. Dependency frightened her more than solitude.

Some nights, she missed the certainty of shelves and walls. The clean morality of rules. The safety of being unremarkable. But she never missed the lie. What She Becomes Known For Over time, Tauriel’s journals began to circulate without her. Copies appeared on shelves, remedies on parchment that was saved like gold. Marginal notes were rewritten into local dialects, for even the most privative tongues to read. This time knowledge was shared, instead of kept secret.

Her symbols simple marks denoting risk, failure, or uncertainty became quietly respected. People began to say: “She writes what works and what doesn’t.” That made her dangerous to false healers, threatened authorities, and anyone who relied on ignorance to maintain control. It also made her indispensable.

*Who Tauriel Is at Her Core*

Tauriel is not driven by wanderlust. She is driven by responsibility. She believes knowledge is a living thing and if you do not walk with it, it dies. She carries the weight of every failure alongside every success, because she refuses to edit herself into legend. She walks the road not because she has nowhere to belong, but because belonging, to her, means leaving the door open behind her.

To Be Continued.....