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Morion » Wed Mar 10, 2004 12:49 pm
<strong>Ánieron/Morion</strong><BR><BR><strong>Name:</strong> Was called Ánieron in his youth, but later came to be known as Morion, the Son of the Dark<BR><BR><strong>Race:</strong> Eldar (Not entirely sure which kindred, but thinks he might be Noldorin)<BR><BR><strong>Gender:</strong> Male<BR><BR><strong>Age:</strong> about 1600, again not entirely sure, because... oh, wait... this goes under bio. <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR><BR><strong>Weight:</strong> 170lbs<BR><BR><strong>Physical Appearance:</strong> Morion is about 6ft 4in tall, but he appears to be so much bigger in his stature because of the largeness of his frame, his broad sweeping back and his powerful shoulders. He is brawny and well built, but there is no excess flesh on him. He is all muscle and sinew. He exudes virility, a ruddy health, and indomitable strength. He has long legs and a surprisingly narrow and well-defined waist below an expansive chest. His thick heavy hair, which flows back from a clear brow, is as black as ebony and just as shiny, and his eyes of deep grey resembled the tempestuous sea on a stormy night. Set widely apart, under thick curving brows, these eyes are large and soft and very often wise, although they can gleam and flash with anger when Morion’s temper is aroused. Likewise they can just as easily turn mournful and tragic when his soul is troubled by melancholy thoughts. But, for the most part, they are filled with merriment and mischievousness. His skin is dark, yet not swarthy; rather, it is a nut brown and tinged with ruddiness across his high cheekbones, a sort of light mahogany colour that undoubtedly came from long exposure to the elements. His nose is straight and fairly narrow, although it broadened slightly at the tip, and his nostrils are flaring. He has a cleft in his strongly moulded chin and when he laughs, his cheeks dimple and his face take on an amazing vitality.<BR><BR><strong>Outfit:</strong> Black peasant shirt, black riding breeches, black boots and a black cloak and hood (He really likes black <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0> Suits his personality, too <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-wink.gif"border=0> – but most people (especially the women) would tell you differently).<BR><BR><strong>Occupation:</strong> Craftsman, Scribe; Warrior, Former Spy and Assassin<BR><BR><strong>Skills Include:</strong> Horseback riding; archery; sword-fighting; throwing daggers; hand to hand combat; making/creating of objects of metal, earth, wood or stone; reading, writing and speaking various languages; forgery – the skills of an assassin, spy and thief, but he does not use those skills anymore (well, he tries really hard not to! <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0>)<BR><BR><strong>Weapons:</strong> Twin daggers with ruby hilts, of his own making.<BR>Bow and arrows, fashioned after the ones the Galadhrim use, also of his own making.<BR>A blue-white sword, with elvish runes etched on the blade, found with him. He believes it to be his true father’s.<BR><BR><strong>Means of travel:</strong> In the Third Age, he used various horses from Rohan, Dol Amroth and Gondor, gifts from his many admirers. In the Fourth Age, he has a russet brown stallion, which he ‘received’ from the Easterlings (a brief summary of how he acquired the horse is given in Morion’s <strong>History</strong>), whom he named Fell Fire, or Fire for short. Fire is absolutely wild, untameable and unpredictable, and has nearly killed him a few times. However, they are good friends... well, they have a grudging respect for each other, and Fire is one of the only things Morion genuinely cares about, even though he would rather die a slow, painful death than admit anything of that sort.<BR><BR><strong>Marital Status:</strong> Resolutely single. Oh, he has his fun when he wants to – women, be they Elf or human, married or single, old or young, tend to literally fall at his feet – but he refuses to be tied down. He was, at one time, deeply in love with <strong><u>Riencuran Elenath</u></strong>, a fellow assassin of the Dark Tower and Minas Morgul, and had even thought of marrying her some day. But because of the jealousy of another, there had been misunderstandings and heated words between them, erupting into a battle, which neither had won, and Morion and Rien had parted ways, each promising never to set eyes on the other again. Morion is still in love with Rien, and hopes to win her back someday, but this too, is something Morion would never readily admit to anyone.<BR><BR><strong>Personality:</strong> Morion is naturally sociable, enjoying conversation, relationships, parties, celebrations and social events. He has an intuitive and rational mind, which makes him inquisitive and individualistic. Morion is often cheeky, provocative, critical, calculating, choosy and on the defensive. He has a great gift for getting others to confide in him, to talk to him and reveal their weaknesses, which he exploits in order to give himself more protection, or to get some personal gain from them. For he has a nose for business, especially his own. He is always charming and a charmer; but is also suspicious and cunning. Morion knows how to hide his intentions, how to use his magnetic power of seduction and how to persuade and manipulate his opponents without appearing to, in order to achieve his ends. He is a shrewd strategist, capable of being very cold-blooded and ruthless. On the other hand, he does not tolerate being used, exploited, betrayed or rejected. Morion has the knack of finding simple, practical solutions to the most complex situations or problems. Problems stimulate his imagination and his need for an outlet for his energy and brainpower. He absolutely hates routine, preferring adventure and excitement. He is meticulous and keeps a very close eye on his assets or property he has acquired. He hoards money. He economises. He abhors wastage. He does not express his feelings easily but is very sensual, passionate, possessive, jealous and loyal to his commitments (most of which are to himself!).<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR><BR><BR><strong>History:</strong> Not much is know about Morion’s early history; only fragments of information gathered over the long years. <BR><BR>He was found by Anduin, the Great River, near the eaves of Mirkwood in the year 1621 of the Third Age, by a group of Northmen of Rhovanion who were, at the time, living there. He was then perhaps a year or two old, thin and starving, wrapped in tattered blankets, a blue-white sword, elvish runes etched on the blade, lying beside him. He was taken to Gondor, and left in the care of Enerdhil the Blacksmith, a good man of Númenórean descent, although not of a noble house. Why the Northmen did not try to return him to the Elves, why they made the long and harsh journey to Gondor to deliver the Elf-child to a Man, and why Enerdhil decided to keep the child, remains a great mystery.<BR><BR>Vanesse, the wife of Enerdhil, named him Ánieron. She loved him with a fierce protective love, heightened all the more because only a few months before Ánieron came into their lives, their only child had died of a mystifying illness that no one could cure. Vanesse herself had suffered from the same illness, but she had not died, although it had left her with a weak heart and unable to ever have a child again.<BR><BR>Ánieron grew up well-loved and well-cared for, and for the most part, he was a happy child. He was kind, and gentle, thoughtful and caring, willing to lend a hand to whomever might need it. He was a talented craftsman, creating and making things from a very early age, and his skills soon surpassed that of Enerdhil, his foster-father. Most people loved him, but in his heart, Ánieron was never truly happy. He knew he was not like all the other children he played with; they did not, after all, have pointy ears or seem to age more slowly, and thousand other little things that made him feel like an outsider. His foster-parents had never kept the truth from him. He knew that he was an Elf, and that he had been found near the Anduin and brought to Gondor when he was very young. But that was all he knew. He treasured the sword that was given him on his 10th birthday, as Enerdhil told him that it had been found near him, and could possibly have belonged to his true father. Ánieron sometimes spent hours practicing with it, or just staring at it, wondering about his past. As the years passed, and he wondered more and more about his true parents, and about why he was abandoned, the sword gave him hope, however slight, that perhaps one day he might be re-united with his kindred. He had seen Elves pass through Gondor sometimes, and each time, he would look hungrily at their faces, their manners, and listen their songs and tales, and fix them in his memory forever. And each time, he would wonder if one of them could be his kin.<BR><BR>When the Great Plague swept through Gondor, leaving devastation in its wake, Ánieron and his family were not untouched by it. Ánieron was at the time about 16 years old, full of enthusiasm and exuberance, and the future lay before him like a bright star. He was, for the most part, at peace, and knew not the cold and sanctifying touch of sorrow. But that was soon to change. Vanesse, already weakened by the illness that had touched her along ago, died on March 19th, 1636 of the Third Age, one of the earliest victims of the Plague in Gondor. Enerdhil followed soon after, broken and wasted away through grief and illness. Ánieron bitterly mourned the loss of Enerdhil and Vanesse, for he had truly loved them with all his heart, and felt deeply indebted to them for having brought him up. For the first time since he had been found by the Northmen, Ánieron was once again alone in the world, and did not know where to go or who to turn to... everyone and everything he had loved was now lost.<BR><BR>He packed up whatever little belongings he had left, and his sword, and in the winter of the same year (1636), he left Gondor forever.<BR><BR>For almost 400 years, he wandered Middle-Earth, appearing now and again in Gondor, or Rohan, or other cities and towns around Middle-Earth. No one ever found out much about the strange young man, who seemed to grow more fell and grim as the years passed, nor did they know where he came from or where he was headed. But his craftsmanship was well known and much sought after, although his prices for his handiwork were at times outrageous. <BR><BR>When the Nazgûl captured Minas Ithil, Ánieron had been nearby, on his way to Gondor to sell his wares. The war between Men and Elves and the forces of darkness did not touch his life – he cared for no one but himself. Unfortunately for him, he was captured by Orcs, who thought him to be a spy, and brought to Minas Morgul, as it was now known. But Ánieron was shrewd and a master strategist, and he knew how to get himself out of the most dangerous situations. He offered his services to the Lord of the Nazgûl, in return for his life. He promised to serve the Dark Lord, and be his spy and bring him news of the plans of Elves and Men. Amazingly, the Lord of the Nazgûl agreed to his offer, but on one condition: Ánieron must serve the Dark Lord alone, and serve him faithfully, and severe all ties he may have in Middle-Earth. Ánieron had laughed grimly at that condition, and replied that he had no ties left to severe, so the condition made served no purpose, but nonetheless he would serve Sauron, for he had nothing to lose. But even then, the true darkness in Ánieron’s heart was not visible, not even to him. Ánieron was set free and allowed to return to Gondor.<BR><BR><BR>For the rest of the Third Age, Ánieron worked as a spy and assassin for the Dark Lord, bringing him valuable information about the movements and actions of Elves and Men, and killing the people who stood in his Master’s way. As a renowned craftsman, Ánieron still had access to many places and had many connections of influence. <BR><BR>He was also put in charge of expeditions to Harad, Dunland, Khand and other places, to procure the ‘help’ (by means of threats and influence and stirring up of emotions) of the people against the Elves and Dúnedain and the Rohirrim. He particularly enjoyed these little ‘trips’, because he was always richly rewarded i.e. he took whatever caught his attention. One of the things he took from the Easterlings was russet-brown stallion. The horse was the prize possession of one of the most influential (and therefore, dangerous) men of the Easterlings, but Ánieron did not care. He threatened the man, asking him, quite reasonably, to choose between giving him the horse, or risk facing one of the Nazgûl as a traitor (a lie, of course), or perhaps even the Eye of Sauron. In the end, he got what he wanted; a magnificent stallion that surpassed all the others. The horse did not take too kindly to his new master, however, and it was a long while before Ánieron could even get close enough to try to mount him. And when he did manage to mount the horse, Ánieron nearly paid for it with his life. But Ánieron was just as stubborn as the horse, which he named Fell Fire. In the end, they had what could be called a grudging respect for one another.<BR><BR>Ánieron used everything and everyone that he came across to serve his needs and that of his Master’s. Especially women. To Ánieron, women were a pleasant pastime, creatures with whom he could have some fun while gathering important news and information for his Master. The women were always willing give him gifts, to do things for him, to bring him news, to talk, to tell him whatever he asked, because Ánieron... ah, Ánieron had that rare gift, you see. He was a man that listened, and sympathised, and comforted, and understood. It was all an act of course, but he played his part well.<BR><BR>People were, however, not as blind as Ánieron had first disdainfully thought. They, especially the Elves, sensed the darkness in him; a darkness of the soul, that grew as the years passed. Soon people began to call him Morion, the Son of the Dark; they used the name in fear and bitterness, and cursed him for the havoc and destruction he brought into their lives. For wherever Morion went, sooner or later, darkness and death and evil were to follow. But none of this made any impression on him. In fact, he took this new name with pride, severing the last tenacious thread of his past. In time, the fact that he had had any other name besides Morion faded from his mind, suppressed in the far crevices of his memory. He led his life the way he pleased, and his life as it was at that time pleased him greatly. He had always been ambitious, but also hungry for power, and riches and influence, although these things had laid dormant in his heart for a long, long time. <BR><BR><BR>But sometimes, his conscience would sting him, and he would remember the love and compassion that Enerdhil and Vanesse had shown him, especially when confronted with the young, defenceless children. Sometimes, he could not carry out his Master’s orders, and in defiance to his instructions, Morion would set his prisoners free, so he would not have their blood in his hands. He did send the Orcs after the prisoners later to kill them, of course, but at least, he reasoned, it was not he who had killed them. If any should escape the Orcs, he could at least say that the Elf in command had shown mercy. None of these reasons were very plausible or truthful, but it made Morion feel better. <BR><BR><BR>As the War of the Ring approached and rumour grew that the One Ring had been found, Morion’s heart was no longer in what he did. He could no longer stand by and watch the destruction of his home, nor of his kindred, estranged from them though he was. Yet he feared to defy Sauron openly, for now he knew too much about the Dark Lord and his plans for Middle-Earth. So he began, in secret, to sabotage the Dark Lord’s preparations and plans. They were small things; a change of instruction here, forgetting to mention some important bit of news there, releasing certain prisoners by ‘forgetting’ why they had been captured in the first place. These acts did not stop the preparations for war; Morion knew it was beyond him to stop it, but he hoped that, by performing these small acts of sabotage, he would delay the start of the war just long enough to give the people of Middle-Earth a chance to defend themselves.<BR><BR><BR>Shortly after the Lord of the Nazgûl left Minas Morgul with his army to seize Gondor, Morion managed to slip away from the remainder of the troops there, and under the cover of night, after many days, he made his way to Mirkwood. He did not participate in any of the battles; rather he remained hidden, fearing he would be recognised and that his betrayal would be known to both sides, though the reasons were different. The Elves would not believe that he had renounced his life of evil, and the Orcs and the rest of Sauron’s armies would not show him any mercy either. Morion never found out whether or not his tactics helped those who defended Middle-Earth. But when the Dark Lord was finally defeated on March 25th 3019 T.A., Morion thought that he was finally free, though he could never return to the carefree life he had had before his deal with the darkness.<BR><BR><BR>Afterwards, Morion became a wanderer once more, making things out of wood, metal, earth and stone, and selling them here and there to earn his supper. And to this day he still wanders, having no place to truly call his home, and never staying anywhere too long for fear of being recognised. But now and then, the need for companionship proves too strong, and he seeks out the warmth of friendship and the sense of belonging to a family. It was during one of these times that he wandered into the Bard’s Guild, of which he had been told by an Elf he had once met, and is now a Master Bard. <BR><BR><BR>