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Burn it. Remind them that their loyalty belongs to us.
|Occupation||Lord of the Morgëthri|
A child of prophecy, one who’s birth was marked by the appearance of a new moon. A blood moon. The child that would drench the world in blood. The king of the morgëthri, their savior. Even though his life was already decided for him, Fëarandir
tried to live a normal, peaceful life. He was trained in warfare and swordplay by Shairën. Unfortunately fighting was not his passion and his lack of enthusiasm earned him severe abuse from his trainer.
Despite the turmoil he has managed to keep a sound and sane mind. Something that can’t be said about his son and many other morgëthri.
Being a child expected to theoretically be an incarnation of a god did not save him from many unpleasant experiences as he grew up. All nevaari suffered despite status. Food and proper shelter was hard to come by. Corrupted winds blowing
through the Ashland's brought insanity and shadowy creatures from unseen realms to torment the living.
Blood was the only bountiful resource and it was eagerly spent, both by Fëarandir and his people. Blood was the key to his power, a power he didn't want or cared for. He understood his duties however and did his best to do what was expected
of him. He loved his people, embraced the morgëthri as his brothers and sisters, even struggled to retain the tradition that neither group had any real leaders or kings. The morgëthri however, were used to someone to guide them and
Shairën, though ready to lead when asked, would refuse to be treated as one.
When dealing with the elves outside the Ashland's someone respected and powerful had to be put forth, Fëarandir was the one. An odd time of peace and trade emerged under his lead until certain events sent the elven races and the Nevaari
into a bloody war. A war that could have meant the very extinction of Ithraën’s children.