What little can be told about Mrow.

[Mrow]

Greetings.

I have been compelled to make myself known to you, my kinmates, and - mayhap - it is time I began to trust again.

My true name will, for now, remain a secret. My past... I will tell you a little of it. Please, bear with me, as the telling will be hard.

I grew up in a tough environment, by the age of 10 I had killed my first goblin. At 18 I took my inheritance to the township, where I met the most wonderful man. We bought a run-down tavern, and built it up. It was hard work, but fulfilling. Every night, we went to bed tired, but I was happy.
Naturally, I eventually became pregnant. And my life was full.

We had by this time got to the point where we employed several staff: potmen, barmaids, chambermaids. Heavy with child, I nevertheless kept working, supervising the room cleaning, overseeing the brewing, keeping the customers amused. My husband kept the books, managed the money, and played the landlord - often carousing late into the night with regulars. We were settled into a routine, where he took care of the late nights, and I arose early to supervise the breakfasts.

On the morning of the end of the world, one of the kitchen girls burnt her hand badly, and was unable to continue work. After treating her injury, I went to wake one of the other girls to take her place. When I opened the door to her room, I was met by the sight of a pumping rump. It was several seconds before I recognised the owner as my husband.

Anger gives us unbelievable strength. Both of them were unconscious, naked, and in the street before they knew I'd even seen them.

I was heartbroken, of course - but also angry. He had shown little interest in 'that' for such a long time, claiming to be too tired. Tired! Hah!
I spent the day in bed. All my energy had gone through the door with my husband.

Drunken singing awoke me. It was late - and with my husband not there, the potmen would not be able to control the regulars. I threw on a robe, and went downstairs to close the bar.
Eight or ten of the regulars were there, being led in their singing by my husband.

I remember little of anything after that. Partly because I choose not to remember. Suffice to say, I was the only one there who did not enjoy the 'party.' I have only one clear image from that night: my husband's booted foot swinging at my head.

Apparently, it was a week before I could even sit up in bed. My belly was flat, my face bore a scar, and my heart... my heart was gone. All capacity to feel had left me. He took my heart; he took my money; he took my baby. He left me with the ability to kill without hesitation.

I sold the Inn. I know travel the world, looking for my husband - or his regulars. Every face is burned into my mind. Their names, however, are useless to me. If they ever used their names again, the rangers would hear of it, and deal with them. All I can do is hope to see them, before they see me.

I WILL find them all.
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Name: Mrow
Class: Minstrel
Trade: Explorer (prospector, forester, and tailor)
Alt: Llilli Pusheen, the sneaky little burglar who has found one of my... old friends for me.
Name (RL): Ummm.. RL is non-existant.
Age: *counts on fingers, then toes, then partners fingers and toes, then gives up.* 48? 49? Around there, anyway.
Likes and dislikes: Oh boy. How long have I got?
I suppose my main dislike is ninja's. Nothing worse than fighting half-a-dozen mobs right next to a platinum lode, only to have somebody run up and mine it as the last mob is almost dead.
Another major dislike of mine is having somebody run up and hit my target. Not sure how many people realise this, but if you hit the target, heal me, or assist me in any way the exp for the kill is halved! How do you tell somebody who thought they were helping that they've just p***ed you off big-time?

[Kudosarian]

Wow, em, er, not sure what to say to that one.

Sorry event that. I hope one day you will find peace and rest in the knowledge that they are all slain. Perhaps my axe may be of use???

Kudos

[Mrow]

Some of you may have noticed how Llilli avoids talking about herself. I've tried to get her to open up, but failed.
As I am, perhaps, the closest to her in the kin, I have decided - as she seems unwilling to do so herself - that I will tell you what little I can about her.

Um...

Well, she may or not be called Llilli Pusheen.
Um, she swears blind she has never even seen the Shire.
She has a compulsion to return purses that she has 'found' - often before the owner even realises they are lost!

Now, this may not be connected in any way to Llilli, but have you noticed how so many hobbits are leaving the Shire and wandering the world? They all seem to be looking for something - or somebody.

So, if anybody asks, you haven't seen her, OK?

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