[CaptainofDespair]

CaptainofDespair

Character Description Form: Applying for Silvan Elf Position

1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – YES/NO - Which one? No

2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? None

List them, please:

3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon Inn or in The White Horse in Rohan? – YES/NO – Which one? Yes. The Green Dragon Inn.

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For your character please include:

NAME: Morgoroth Aranur

AGE: 1,567

RACE: Silvan Elf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Since his captivity, Morgoroth has wielded no weapon, save for his bare hands.

APPEARANCE: Morgoroth is not the fairest of elves. He had long made a recluse of himself, staying far from his brethren in Mirkwood. His hair is dark, nearly black, and the atmosphere of Mordor has not helped its once glorious sheen. Since his confinement, he has left himself go in that respect. But nevertheless, he is still an elf, tall and lean. But due to the fact that he is more reclusive than the rest of his kind, he has had to fend more for himself, and thus he is slightly more muscular. His face bears sign of his travels, and of his captivity. He bears a small scar behind the left ear, a blow from an orc scimitar, and he has a small gash above his right eyebrow.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Morgoroth is one of many strengths, and many weaknesses. He is a strong elf, both in body and mind. He has not let his physical prowess deteriorate due to his imprisionment, and most certainly not his mind. He often makes excerises out of nothing, in primitive attempts to keep his body fit. He reminisces of the days of old, singing softly of the battles with Morgoth, and keeping the lore of the day fresh in his mind. High and noble he is, and seeks to stay a path of righteousness, preparing to do his part against the evils of Middle-Earth. He will do anything for the cause of freedom, even if it means his own death.

But for all his strength, he is flawed. His belief that the cause of all that is good must be upheld, makes him extremely impetuous. Through this, he ends up thrusting himself into situations he cannot use his blade to free himself from. He is also a merciful soul. Should an enemy repent their hateful ways before his blade can fall on their necks, he will free them, and give them safe passage. Even in his dungeon cell, this has not changed. Though he knows the Orcs must die, any evil Man who he comes across that repents, will be given freedom.

HISTORY: Morgoroth was born on a beautiful spring morning in T.A 1452 in Mirkwood. His mother gave him the name Morgoroth due to the darkness of the hair upon his head. She could see from the moment he was born, that he would become a warrior. The fire in his eyes, even at that moment, was burning brighter in him even more than that of his father, who had died fighting alongside the Last Alliance in the Siege of Barad-dur.

For years Morgoroth was seen as a distant child. He kept to himself around other children, and he seemed along interested in the machinations of war. He spent much of his time around the Elders of the Halls. He would sit patiently for hours, listening to them discuss the past, and present. It was here he learned of the evils of Gorthaur the Cruel. He wondered why one so great, would turn to such ways, and he continued to inquire more about his evil.

As he grew older, Morgoroth seemed to become more and more reclusive. He no longer went out, save for those dire times when his presence was required on the borders, defending Mirkwood from the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. Instead, he would sit for hours, studying the history of his people, and learning more of Sauron.

Finally, one autumn morn, at the age of 719 he left the home of his mother, and armed only with the blade of his father, he struck out to find his place in the world. He traveled through many differently lands in the East. During his travels, he encountered many folk, both good and evil. From these peoples, he learned much of the happenings in the world at large.

He was fascinated by the Easterling peoples, but seeing that many shunned him, he sought to live a distant life from them, but still close enough to study their ways. And so for two centuries, he lived as a nomad, wandering from region to region, studying the people he encountered.

But now, a change had come over these people whom he had spent so much time amongst. They became more war-like, more savage. Morgoroth quickly learned that Sauron had arisen again, and was using the Easterlings as part of his war machine. He detested this, and he despised Sauron. And so he left his wandering life, and journeyed to the Ash Mountains on the Northern Border of Mordor. Upon viewing that which was the Black Lands, he could not perceive why any would choose such a location as their homeland. The atmosphere itslef was a bane on him. It hung over him like a heavy fog. For a time, he could barely manage to breath in the clouded, volcanic air of Mordor. And so he thought it wise to rest himself, so that his journey back home to Mirkwood would be made easier. He moved little during the day, and went out only at night to hunt for any prey he could find. It was on one of these expeditions that he was captured. Seeing as he was an elf, the Orcs knew better than to kill him. So, they took him to Cirith Gorgor. He remained confined there for a brief time, until word from Barad-dur came that he was to be taken to Cirith Ungol. And there he was taken, and held as a prisoner for 18 long years.

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CaptainofDespair's post:

Morgoroth awoke in his cold, dank cell on a dark morning. His unusually long captivity in Cirith Ungol had made him aware of everything that went on in Mordor. He had learned to tell, just from the sounds an orc made while moving, what was going on. He was kept alone, segregated from the other prisoners. This was ordered out of caution on the Tower Guards' part. He was dangerous, not because he could free himself, but because his calming allure, and his intermittent singing, would act as a bolster to the captive population, and might allow for a rebellion.

But this day felt strange to him, for he perceived many new guard detachments being sent farther down into the Tower. He wondered what was going on down the depths of the dungeon. He could make out the faint sounds of screaming prisoners.

"Most likely they are being beaten or tortured", he muttered to himself. "They won't last long."

Suddenly, the horrid shrieking stopped. A another detachment of orcs went scurrying down the hall past his cell. Two of the guards stopped outside his door, and began conversing in their gutteral language. Morgoroth had managed to decipher some of which the orcs had said. One of them had, before the two had moved on down the hall, spoken of a small uprising on the third cell block. A few slaves had freed themselves, and were now in the process of holding of the orc contingents sent down to quell their revolt. A thought crossed Morgoroth's mind at that moment.

"Hmm...maybe this one will succeed where the others have failed..." He paused for a moment, and then continued where he left off from. "However unlikely it may be." He chuckled softly to himself. "And if the revolt has lucky on its side, the Orcs will kill each other over some paltry trinkets taken from a haul elsewhere."

Again, screams were heard reverberating from the lower levels. The orcs were dead no doubt, and many had probably turned to killing each other. The captains of the tower had never seen eye to eye, so even in a small rebellion, if they had some previous conflict, they would not aid one another. What seemed like an hour passed by quickly, and now, a hurried scampering of feet echoed up the hall, slowly making its way nearer to his cell. Morgoroth could hear the hushed mumbling of voices a few feet outside his wooden door. Slowly, he heard the clanging of keys approach. The movement hastened, as the being on the other side of the doorway searched frantically for the right key. At last, they found it, and inserted it into the lock. The mechanisms within the lock could be heard moving, as the key was twisted in its place. Silence then pervaded the area. But the thud of the lock hitting the stone floor interupted the aura of serenity that had overcome the Elf in that instant. The door was then flung open by a mysterious man standing the doorway. Morgoroth knew he was no orc, or mannish guard, but a prisoner of the Tower, awaiting his fate with Shelob. The figure quickly left, leaving Morgoroth to make his own exit from the cell. He gracefully got up from his hay-covered, stone slab bed, and bolted out the door.