Post by Nemiron on Dec 20, 2017 11:46:21 GMT -6
Years RPing: 5eva
Slot Used: Hallowe'en 2016 slot
How You Found Us: blep
Name: Nemiron ('sea jewel' in Sindarin Elvish)
Birthday: 22nd August 2014
Species: Isles wolf
Weight: 145 lbs
Coat Color: Caramel point
Eye Color: Bluish grey
Health Issues: None
Other Information: Small marking purchased on previous account; original bio here
Mental Stability: Sane
History: From the beginning, Nemiron only ever knew war.
Born amidst blood feuds and bloodshed, the wolf knew the history of his faction better than his own parents’. It was a story that had been drilled into him from birth; the story of Jhaartael and Ilsynora, the original Isles wolves. The two spawned entire generations of wolves to inhabit the island, until eventually new blood was brought in to vary the gene pool. Nemiron’s ancestry is said to be traced back to some of the earliest of the new-bloods, though it is the line of Jhaartael and Islynora’s that bears any meaning now.
Traditionally, leaders were chosen from this line. It was the way of things, and nobody questioned it – nor had they any need to. For years, things were peaceful under Jhaartael’s successors – until they weren’t.
Once Harbinger Hadyn died, and his son, Eroan, was named the new Harbinger, dissent split the wolves. The new leader was a young and inexperienced leader, and there were those that wanted to do away with tradition and be led by someone more qualified. Traeliorn, a wolf with no such noble heritage to boast as Eroan, stepped forward to lead. The pack split into two: the traditionalists who believed in Eroan’s divine right to lead, and the revisionists, who would follow Traeliorn’s rule. Traeliorn took it upon himself to claim Eonhu and Mogiya, the larger territories, for Siniath, his faction. Affronted, Eroan and his faction, Foeir, declared war.
This was the beginning that Nemiron knew.
On a warm summer afternoon, the two brothers were born. On that warm summer evening, their mother was lost. It had been a difficult birth, and Elweth’s death was comparatively easy, as though she were grateful to be free from the pain. Once she’d slipped away, Ionwe was left as the sole parent of his two sons, one sandy with eyes like a stormy sea; the other dark chocolate with eyes of pale honey. Ionwe named them Nemiron and Revion (‘sea jewel’ and ‘wanderer’ respectively) but his time with his sons was limited, and soon he was reunited with his beloved Elweth.
Their father death was one of many casualties in the war that the two orphans found themselves in. Life was precious and treasured; something they learnt they had to fight for tooth and nail. The boys were raised by foster mother’s until they were weaned, and then they were raised by warriors. Fighting and hardship were all the brothers knew, and so it was all the knew how to do. They became strong, fierce warriors in their own right. With his brother at his side, Nemiron felt invincible, and for a time they were.
When news reached him of his brother’s capture, Nemiron was furious. He was furious at the enemy, at himself, and even at Revion, who was supposed to be the careful one of the two. They were so rarely apart that he could not help but blame himself partly for not having been there, but for the most part his anger was directed at Siniath; at the captors, at Traeliorn, at every single Siniath female and pup who were free while his brother was not. There was no doubt in his mind that Nemiron would rescue him, or die trying.
In the end, Nemiron brought his brother home, but not before Revion endured days of physical and psychological torture that would continue to haunt him forever. Nemiron, on the other hand, was haunted by the guilt that he should have got to his brother sooner, or better yet, hadn’t let him been taken in the first place.
When the war reached a standstill, Nemiron had mixed feelings. He never truly cared about the politics of the war; he had always been a mere pawn in the leaders’ plans, but on some level, the peace felt bitter. How could they have endured so much only for it to come to nothing, only for the enemy to walk free? Nemiron was not the steadfast, loyal soldier that his brother is, but a warrior was still all that he knew how to be. This is why, when the option to escape the war with the outsiders arose, he took it, expecting his brother to be right behind him.
That was not, however, the case. Nemiron arrived on Anikira alone; friendless, brother-less, purposeless. When Revion disappeared, the meaning and purpose that Nemiron had been clinging onto during the war, which spanned his entire life, disappeared with him.
Personality: In his youth, Nemiron was a loose cannon. He was reckless, mischievous, arrogant. He took war and loss in his stride because he had to, hiding his pain with frivolity and humour. The brute had always been broken, but he got so good at hiding it that in the end, he managed to convince even himself that he was perfectly fine.
The loss of his brother, his rock, though, was the final tear in his carefully crafted composure, the last pressure that cracked his mask.
Where there had once been hope, there was now pessimism. The frustration and hurt that he’d held inside himself during the war came to light, pushing his natural, youthful joy to make room for a new, jaded nature. Recklessness, juvenility, and decadence became caginess, detachment, and inhibition, though his mercurial emotionality remained.
In burning his old façade to the ground, Nemiron birthed another extreme disguise. The world had only ever taken from him, and so he took it upon himself to do the same. A great storm, as tumultuous as the ocean in his gaze, rages within him, consuming itself in its fury.
Nemiron has closed himself off from love, gentleness, kindness for the sake of kindness. Time and grief have wearied him into a darker soul, though beneath the newfound cruelty, his joy and innocence remain, horrified at what he has become. All he can do is ignore it, cut it off, detach himself from his past self, so that he can be reborn, and never again feel heartache. .