Tyulussë was born in the 800th year of the Second Age in Ost-in-Edhil, the capitol of Eregion.  He is of Noldorin descent, his mother an herbalist and his father a smith of some small renown who had both followed the High King Fingon in Dor-lómin.  They raised their only son in peace and prosperity, in the heart of Eregion in its brightest days, and all his life, Tyulussë carried with him a fierce love for that beautiful city.  

Though he dabbled in smith-work and various other trades in his youth, Tyulussë ultimately preferred to cultivate his skills as an herbalist and a healer.  As a steady, cool-headed, and reasonable fellow, he had the temperament for it.  Even the most hot-blooded of Fëanorian craftsmen settled under his hand when he treated them for the various burns and scrapes they suffered in the forge.

But he did not come into his full strength as a healer until the black day that Sauron swept Ost-in-Edhil clean off the map.  Staggered by loss, Tyulussë focused all on the task of patching up his fellow refugees during and after their flight from Eregion -- warriors, crafstmen, men, women, children. Such was their confusion and such was his calm and easy demeanour that oftimes his patients would confide in him as he worked, sharing their pain or their fear or their guilt, and Tyulussë learned to listen and comfort these troubled souls even as he treated the wounds of their body.  Even after the war, settled into their new homes, elves would come to him with no ailment other than the shadows in their mind.

After staying in Lórien for a time, Tyulussë returned to what was left of his people in Imladris, and served the House of Elrond as a healer for many years.  He recovered slowly from the wounds that the sacking of Eregion had inflicted upon him, but never shook a desire to return one day to reclaim his homeland.  He offered his services to Vanimar in the hopes that it might, somehow, lead him to his goal.

He is older now, wiser, and more reserved, though with a spiky wit and an unending willingness to listen, though he might share little in return.  He spends some days simply loitering in the Hall of Fire, plucking at a harp with a glass of wine at his elbow, and some days simply exercising and jogging about the Valley.  He waits, mostly, for an end of idleness as the world starts plunging into shadow once more.