User:Kerda2007/Mornach
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This article is a Player character biography page The contents herein are entirely player made and in no way represent official Lotro history or occurrences which are accurate for all worlds. The characters and events listed are of an independent nature and applied for roleplaying, fictional, speculative, or opinions from a limited playerbase only. |
| Mornach | |
|---|---|
 | |
| None | |
| World: | Landroval |
| Vocation: | Woodsman |
| Class: | Hunter |
| Race: | Man |
| Region: | Bree-land |
| Age: | 22 |
| Height: | 6'1" |
| Sex: | Male |
| Skin: | Light |
| Hair: | Brown |
| Eye: | Green |
Description
Physical Description: Mornach is a sly, quick fellow, relying on his fast reflexes to give him the advantage in a fight. He sports an unkempt appearance, belying his stoic and just nature.
Personality Description:
Simply put, Mornach is prepared to battle evil. His heart tugs him towards helping the weak and those who suffer. He has been known to rob from the rich and give to the poor, like the myths of others in ages past.
Bio
Born and raised in Combe by Graham and Ethella Hood, Mornach often ventured into the Chetwood to hunt critters. His father was a renowned fletcher to the armouries of Bree, so Mornach was naturally adept at bow, developing advanced skills quickly. Easily the best archer in Combe, he joined the local militia at age 14 and had quickly made a name for himself as a tracker in Chetwood, being able to find any creature. At age 19, he met a fine girl in the nearby village of Archet. They instantly hit it off and were betrothed shortly thereafter.
It was a dark and stormy night when brigands came to Archet and burned the town to the ground, killing without reason and enslaving many young men before shipping them off to some undisclosed location. Mornach fled the village from a collapsed and burned house, leaving behind his past and future families. Eight dead in the house of his betrothed, including his own parents. Family and Future to orphan in a few short hours of mayhem.
Mornach took to the hills and sought revenge on the brigands around Archet and the Chetwood until even their leader, Jagger Jack, had fallen to his bow. Over the course of this bitter two-year crusade Rohb had become a well-known and respected man. Many of the locals called him Morn-in-Hood for his common practice of creeping into Brigand camps and stealing their supplies under guise of night and hooded cloak, and then distributing the proceeds to local communities. He robbed them, slew them, defeated them - whatever would hurt their purposes most. That, plus his keen eye and quick bow, led him to accept this mythical name at 21 and dedicate his life to helping poor and downtrodden folk who could not withstand the evil that oppressed them.
His vengeance sated, and having grown beyond the scope of his little community, he ventured to Bree looking for work and to hone his skills. As an experienced tracker and archer, those with a broader picture of the world could surely use him. Little did he know how much he was needed...
Journal (most recent entries first)
Return to the Shire
After my experiences in the North Downs, Captain Trotter suggested that I travel to the Shire and determine how far this evil has spread. Sounds like a vacation to me!
Ah, the Shire. Small people with small concerns. Still, these people are close to my heart.
After vanquishing their spiders in Bindbole wood and setting free a large (but gentle) magical tree (it walks!!), they made me a full member of their law-enforcement group called "Bounders". I was sitting beneath a tree, relaxing with some Hobbits over some bread and pipeweed when the title of "Bounder's Friend" was bestowed upon me by the local Sherriff. The two women immediately leaped up and shouted "He needs a uniform!!" before running off amidst a flurry of quick chatter and banter about my chest size, length of legs and lack of foot-hair. They didn't even measure me for sizing, but in the distance, I saw one turn about and give me a critical once-over before catching up to the other one.
That night I stayed at the Ivy Bush Inn, enjoying the ale (a little too much) and woke up the next morning to a green and white stripped hauberk on my dressing table, neatly folded with a note that simple said: "Sir, Thanks for your help, you are welcome here - always!". A tear came to my eye as I donned my new garb. Then I noticed a second note under the Hauberk, sealed by wax with a single stylized letter "A" (message shown here). Contemplating this letter "A", I ducked low to exit my room. As I lifted my head, I was greeted in the common room with a generous group of Little Folk who uproariously shouted "Hurrah, Rohbinhood!!" at once. I was flushed, but proud at that moment as they clustered around me and patted me gently as they milled about. Exiting the Inn, I was met by numerous random cheers and comments of "You're a Bounder now? That's good!" (which seems to be a common greeting to non-native Bounders).
I was then directed to the town of Michel Delving and the Mathom Society located there. These Hobbits are dedicated to the discovery and preservation of books and various other writings. They welcomed me to their building, but I cannot gain entrance without proving myself worthy to their cause. I have since run about the four corners of the Shire recovering old writings and lost mathoms for them to add to their collection. These are small tasks for me, easily accomplished, and yet they mean so much here. I am honoured to continue helping them as I may - at least for now - until I return to larger matters.
As to my purpose - discovering the extent of evil here... there is not much to say to compare to the horrors I have found in the North Downs, though in the north-east Shire, between the triangle of Brockenborings, Oatbarton and Scary, I have found common foes - spiders with organized evil intent, more giant crows and goblins! A large group of goblins has taken up home in a western niche of the Greenfields - an otherwise peaceful and quiet area that abounds with good hunting! It was my encounter with Hallos, another Ranger, that convinced me that the evil of Angmar is widespread. In the case of the North Downs, the hostility is open and apparent. Here, in the Shire, where the people are closer and more sensitive to changes, it is subtle and quiet. Goblins have moved into areas unseen and sparsely populated. Natural creatures are used with evil intent by some unseen force. Let me explain... in Oatbarton, north of the Greenfields, locusts, wolves and spiders are used to do evil and restrict the movements of local Hobbits. After slaying many of these, I have discovered further camps of orcs east of Oatbarton that are obviously directing these nasties and using them as a front to their evil purposes. As I travel more northeast, I find more evidence of this.
Still, I am not powerful enough to travel much further without risking death. I must find others of like mind to join forces with to discover more.
In the meantime, I enjoy the leisurely pace of the Hobbits while protecting their borders where and when I can.
Adventures throughout the North Downs
As I cross the Trestlespan, my footsteps echo loudly in my ears, a welcome sound to offset the blood-curdling screams of the dead, the guttural growls of orcs and wargs, and the constant chittering of crebain and crows from the North Downs. I jog down the southern part of the Trestlespan - pausing only to view the incredible chasm beneath me and wonder how this feat of engineering came to be - before crossing the threshold into the bastion of Men's Hardiness - Trestlebridge.
Captain Trotter calls me over to ask "What word from the Downs, Hero?" (They call me Hero here now, after I made a critical strike against the orcs and their masters in Nan Wathren, destroying their ill-wrought black fire and extinguishing their signal towers (no doubt used to communicate with their kin in the Northeast reaches beyond).
What word? There are no words to describe the horrors near Amon Raith and the ancient fallen city of Fornost. As if the orcs, wargs, crebain and evil-tainted boars weren't enough for a man to handle! I related to him how I ventured north on the Greenway in search of those in need, and stumbled across the outpost of Rangers - a rag-tag band at best - nestled in the ruins of Amon Raith (once a great watch tower en route to Fornost). Here, the Greenway becomes two roads, one heading east into more orc-infested areas and one heading north into the Fields of Fornost.
"Fields" no longer describe this dark and forgotten valley. The road turns decrepit and is fouled with the excrement of wargs and the stench of death. Barrows litter the fields as far as the eye can see from east to west. Wandering wights seek vengeance against every traveler for their wrongs of ages past, their failed service as kinsmen and guardians of the lost city of Fornost. I slew many of their kind and even set some free by recovering lost artifacts and returning them to surviving family members camped at the southern edge of the Fields. The north-eastern Fields led me to a once-mighty Captain of Fornost who broke his oath to his people. He led many restless wights on a twisted crusade against the living, a wrath against those who held him to his word to defend the city against all evil. With the help of another heart-felt adventurer, I slew him with tears in my eyes at his lost hope and never-ending punishment. His final cry was filled with a lasting horror as he went to whatever fate awaits him in halls of Mandos.
After all of this, I crept north, past the city gates, finding and destroying pockets of orcs. I have discovered I have the ability to modify a torch oil to stick to the tips of my arrows to inflict more damage on my foes. Most welcome this is for these dark nights. As I rounded a corner near the gates, I beheld a field filled with creatures I have never seen before. Giant, hairy beasts wander slowly, eating grass and appear docile. I watched them intently for a while when suddenly I saw a man run past my hiding spot with a sword in hand. He attacked the nearest beast, a mere 300 yards away. The beasts lost all sense of docility and trampled him instantly, goring his corpse long after he was dead. He didn't get a single strike to land. I cowered momentarily, and crept away to the western side of the courtyard, when I heard voices. I notched a few arrows and waited... the voices were not orcs, they were men! As I listened, I heard them discussing matters of slaying and trapping these giant beasts. Rangers! I lowered my bow and rounded the corner of a ruined gatehouse slowly. In an instant, I met the end of numerous pikes and swords mere inches from my face. I heard the stretching of bowstrings. For a moment, no one moved. I whistled a forest sign I learned in my early days and a collective sigh of relief issued forth. In the middle of an orc-filled infestation, I have found an outpost of Rangers! As I huddled close to a lone fire, I heard the story of how this solitary band snuck into the southern tip of Fornost and establish a stronghold here. The orcs fear these giant creatures, but these Dunedain have made themselves appear so non-threatening that the creatures do not see them as a threat. Yet the creatures' eyes glow with the hint of evil intelligence. Like the orcs, they must be destroyed before Fornost can be reclaimed.
I took my leave of this place with renewed hope and news of further outposts to the east, even rumours of elves! I depart now for the bastion of Trestlebridge, and some much-needed rest.
Found: Hope!
I have found some like-minded individuals in my travels through Bree and the North Downs. They are called "Band of Hope" and they worship the One God of Middle-Earth and beyond, spreading the word far and wide. I have dedicated myself to helping them where I may, for they also seek to restore peace and happiness to all they meet - a fitting counterstrike to Sauron's spread of evil and darkness. They will not pass up the downtrodden and weak. They will lift up those without Hope. I have met a fellow named Linathor who seems knowledgeable of many things outside of this region. He is highly-educated in magical arts and yet has the common touch of skinning like myself - and the added ability to summon animals to do his bidding! I shall learn more of him and his quest to find his mother's family.
Darkness
Who is this foul being called Sauron? His minions abound. The brigands that slew my family and infest the Chetwood near and far, the orcs and goblins of Midgewater and the Lone-Lands, the giant spiders, the dead near Ost Guruth, even the very crows that watch the roads with a gleam of intelligence - All lead to his hand somehow! This Sauron must be foul indeed. In Bree there is an Inn called The Prancing Pony, and in a back room is a man who goes by the name of Strider. He has asked for my help in scouting the surrounding lands. I recently visited the Old Forest via the North Barrowdowns - which I thought were abandoned - to speak with a jovial fellow named Tom Bombadil. He told me stories that shivered the skin on my body. More connections to Sauron, and now I have the name of one of his close cronies - he goes by the title "Witch-King". I will learn more. So much darkness, all in the name of Sauron.
Random Ruckus
I have wandered far and wide since leaving Bree. The ancient fortress of Minas Eriol occupied by foul goblins, the bastion of Ost Guruth - truly a haven in the wilderness amidst the walking dead and evil creatures, the old town of Trestlebridge - still defended by strong and worthy men. Recently I was in Brandybuck, a town filled with Hobbits. I am accustomed to them from Combe, but so many! They are a tough and sturdy folk, and they laugh easily. I have agreed to help them on their meager - but worthy - quests.
In the northern part of the Shire, a small hamlet called Overhill is nestled in the midst of the Bindbole Wood. These Hobbits are strange, they purposely settle the most hostile areas simply to travel less for resources. Amazing! North of Overhill I found an old site that appears to have manmade ruins that have since been overcome with giant spiders. More evil in this peaceful wood. What purpose could they possibly serve here, and surely not in the service of Sauron! I have slain many of them, and continue to do so, in the name of protecting these Hobbits of Overhill as they leisurely gather their supplies, unaware of the goblins and spiders in the woods surrounding them.