[piosenniel]

TomBrady12's character

NAME: Marsillion Thoronfaer/Nimilroth Narâkmanô

AGE: 52

RACE: Human/Númenorean

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Ziraphel, the mother of Marsillion, presented him with the sword of his father on the eve of his departure for Middle Earth. It was originally intended as a marriage present, but Ziraphel deemed Marsillion's situation dangerous, and felt that he may need to carry a sturdy blade on his person. His mother's forethought proved very useful, as Marsillion used the sword on many occasions. The blade is 33 inches in length, and 2 2/3 inches wide. Its long handle is of a dark brown wood, and intended for two handed use. The guard is short, and of polished silver, as is the crown shaped pommel, the most prominent feature of the sword. This weapon is wielded in similar fashion to an axe. Its wide heavy blade, and two handed design make it an ideal hacking weapon. Marsillion is very adept with the sword as he has participated in a number of skirmishes and small battles, most of which against attacking bandits on the wild roads of Middle Earth.

Marsillion has some skill with a bow; however, he prefers to fight with the sword, and leave the bow for hunting. Marsillion also carries a long dagger inside his boot at all times. He has done so since he was given the blade before his first hunting trip as a young boy.

APPEARANCE: Average height for a Númenorean, Marsillion stands 6'6'' and is of a muscular, heavy build. He is by all means a physical presence. He is stronger than most men his age. His wide shoulders and strong arms contrast slightly with his lingering boyish features. His shoulder length hair is dark blond and wispy, even in light breezes. He is very fair skinned, with a dark brow, and no facial hair covering his strong jawline.

PERSONALITY: Marsillion is still young, and at times suffers lapses of judgment, but is, at his core, kind hearted and generous. He tends to be quiet and reflective, usually content to watch as others bicker and squabble around him, but once inspired to action he can be quite fiery. He is not above taking the counsel of older, wiser souls, but can make quick decisions when situations require it. He is well educated, and quick witted. His years traversing Middle Earth have made him mature beyond his years.

HISTORY: Marsillion was born in 3267 at his family home in Andunië. He was the second and youngest child of Azaruth Narâkmanô and Ziraphel Karíbzîr. His sister, Nîlomîth, was much older than he, and married when he was just a young boy. His father was a renowned naval officer, who through a series of military victories, achieved a nearly iconic status. Ziraphel, the sister of Abârpânaru, was a member of the Faithful, and worked tirelessly to convince Azaruth to retire from the King’s service and join the Faithful. She was a convincing speaker, and her reasoning soon changed Azaruth's loyalties. Marsillion endeavored to be like his father in all ways, and planned to follow his path into the military. Azaruth; however, forbade Marsillion to join the military, stating that fighting for the King was no longer an honorable profession. Azaruth became a prominent leader of the Faithful. He found his fame a curse as well as a blessing, though he was able to convince many people to join the faithful he often found it extremely difficult to keep any secrecy in his life. Ar-Pharazôn got wind of Azaruth's betrayal and sent troops to arrest him in the fall of 3305. When the troops arrived Azaruth and Marsillion were relaxing in the garden outside their Andunië home discussing Marsillion's future, as he would soon be a man. Ar-Pharazôn’s men broke into the home and came upon the two in the garden. They seized Azaruth, and commanded Marsillion to vow fealty to the King, or be arrested. Azaruth, knowing he would be killed, ordered Marsillion to swear the oath to Ar-Pharazôn, and tearfully Marsillion obeyed. Azaruth was beaten in front of friends and family in Andunië before being taken to Armenelos. He was sacrificed to Melkor in the temple of Armenelos on the coldest afternoon of the winter of 3305.

In 3312, at 45, Marsillion became apprentice to Sâpathan Gimilzayân, the head tax and tribute collector of the Númenorean holdings in Middle Earth. Marsillion traveled Middle Earth, from petty kingdom to kingdom, with Sâpathan, collecting treasures beyond his imagination to be shipped back to Númenor. He saw the strain the people of Middle Earth were under, and it went to his heart. It was his job to weasel all the treasures he could from people who fought everyday just to feed their families. Already angry and bitter with Ar-Pharazôn for the murder of his father, Marsillion's rage was fueled as he witnessed the intense greed of his own people.

While traveling, his party was attacked on many occasions by bandits, as well as by local militias. Marsillion found fighting to be a good release for his pent up anger. These attacks, helped make him a strong warrior, even though he was technically not supposed to participate in battle. Marsillion befriended the company of warriors who served as his bodyguard, and with their help he became a master swordsman. His swordsmanship was the only positive gain Marsillion saw from his time in Middle Earth; however, in truth he gained maturity, compassion, and mercy, which were lessons he probably would have learned slowly, or missed completely, had he stayed in Númenor. Tax collector was no position for a compassionate man, and Marsillion did not last long. Being under contract, he could not quit his job, so by night, in the summer of 3317, he came to Umbar and hired a private merchant to sail him back to Númenor. With luck, the ship (the Azargimil) avoided the King's Navy and arrived off the coast a few miles north of Andunië. Marsillion loaded his possessions into a small raft and came ashore alone under the cover of darkness. Travelling secretly and using the name Abârkan, he came at last to his uncle, Abârpânaru Karíbzîr's home outside Andunië, where his mother had dwelt since the death of his father.

Marsillion lived secretly in Andunië with the Karíbzîr family learning the ways of the Faithful, and becoming deeply imbedded in their plans. He grew quite close to his younger cousin Kâthaanî, and became her protector, so to speak. Marsillion found her reckless, and quite frequently in need of protection. He made it his task to look after her safety and well being, and from his arrival in early winter 3317, through the summer of 3319 he spent many hours bailing her out of the trouble she so easily found.

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TomBrady12's post

Marsillion sat quietly in a dark corner of an obscure Andunië inn sipping a pint of ale. The ale was poor, but that was the least of his trouble. He'd come to meet his cousin, Nusaphad Narâkmanô, who had summoned him here the night before. Nusaphad was fairly unskilled, had no taste for books or learning, nor for any serious forms of work. Luckily for him, he was born into a wealthy family, and had overachieving brothers to carry on the pride of his father. Nusaphad ran an Andunië inn belonging to his father as a pretense of work, but most who knew him knew that he consumed more ale then he sold. Marsillion, clever as he was, managed to find a use even for his lazy cousin.

Nusaphad's Inn, The Tîrevia, was a favorite gathering spot for the King's Men garrisoned in and around Andunië, and after a few pints of ale they were often more than willing to pull a slovenly underachiever into their confidence. Through Nusaphad, who was not a member of the faithful, Marsillion gained much information on the plans and movements of the King's Men.

When his older cousin at last slid into the semi dilapidated inn, Marsillion couldn't help but notice how little resemblance there was between them. Nusaphad's olive skin and thick black beard were a stark contrast to Marsillion's fair skin and clean face. Nusaphad took a seat across the table from Marsillion without a word.

“What then, cousin, have you called me here for?” Marsillion asked gingerly. News from Nusaphad was rarely good.

“Breakfast with an old friend not enough of a lure?” Nusaphad replied, with a sarcastic grin spreading across his bearded face.

“Aye,” Marsillion perked up, “the food in this dank hole is far from good, but I suspect it's a mite bit better than whatever news you've brought for me.”

“True enough,” Nusaphad said, the grin disappearing from his face. The smiling eyes that normally defined the otherwise drab man were devoid of light and rimmed in red. Dark matters he left to others when possible, preferring women and drink to matters of business. Marsillion could see that the role of spy was taking its toll on his cousin.

Nusaphad ordered a fresh pitcher of ale and waited for the waitress to leave. “The news is indeed worse than this ale, Nimilroth, a good deal worse in truth. Your mother's brother is in grave danger. The King's Men mean to arrest him on charges of treason,” Nusaphad said quietly, even though the inn was deserted except for the young waitress.

“Is that all you have for me cousin?” Marsillion asked, stretching his arms above his head and slowly getting to his feet. “Perhaps your ale has lost its potency, for we have known this for a fortnight. Besides, what proof is there? A serious charge requires serious proof.”

“Sit down Nimilroth,” Nusaphad replied with pity in his voice. “My ale is potent enough, and I've not told you all that I have brought you here for.” Marsillion sat down and stared hard into his cousin's unblinking eyes.

“Go on then,” was all he could say.

“The King's men have been watching your uncle for sometime and saw him and his daughter leave Andunië with his prized horses days ago. They know not only his destination, but also his intended route. A company of the King's Men lie in wait as we speak near the junction of Forostar and Orrostar. Your uncle is walking into a trap. And as for proof, it seems to me that Ar-Pharazôn needs none these days but that which his own mind can conjure.”

“Why have you not spoken of this before?” Marsillion demanded, the anger in his voice shattering the silence of the inn.

“I knew not until late in the evening,” Nusaphad said sheepishly, seemingly afraid of the strong armed young man he'd known for so long. “If I'd have ridden out myself to tell you we may both have been discovered.”

“I must go,” Marsillion nearly shouted as he jumped to his feet. He rushed to the door, knocking over a mug of beer on the way.

“You're gonna have to pay for that, mister!” the waitress shouted after him, but the words were meaningless in his ears. He had been there when his father was seized by the King years before. He had to get to Kâthaanî before it was too late. He could not allow her to undergo the same fate as he. The only sound to reach his ears was the beating rhythm of his young mare’s galloping footfalls, moving rapidly down the dirt street, into the east.