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Author Topic: [Hobbit] Morwen Steelsheen  (Read 2205 times)

Morwen Steelsheen

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Morwen Steelsheen
« on: June 06, 2015, 12:54:00 AM »



Morwen Steelsheen.


Steelsheen. "Birdy" [by her little brother]. Otherwise, no, apart from whatever any try to come up with for her.


Born T.A. 2922, aged nineteen. 








A dark brown approaching black come the cold season. Falling to just below her shoulder blades in a straight sheet when freed, though often kept in a plait or a loose bun.


Dark grey -- they're one of the couple of reasons she's earned the "Steelsheen" name.


About five foot seven in height and average enough for a fairy active, tall girl, though there's a leanness to those curves that can't quite be called willowy and can't quite be called 'hungry' or 'skinny', either -- somewhere in between, perhaps.


Morwen tends to dress for the sake of practicality, down to that one mad moment in the recent year gone by where she cut off her precious waist-length hair [though she's since regretted that, enough so at least to allow it to keep growing back without her stopping it from doing so] -- if it's comfortable, warm [or cool] and doesn't upset too many people, then she's going to wear it. So while she doesn't mind looking decent, even pretty on occasion...if it's boots under a dress? Then it's boots under a dress. If it's a long tunic over leggings? Then it's a long tunic over leggings. In fact, she's more likely to be found wearing boots than anything else, and if it's not boots...bare feet. Because it's comfortable. Because something has to give, no matter how small or large, in a world that is otherwise constantly shifting it's standards.


Morwen's eyes -- large, dark, grey and intense -- tend to be her most obvious feature. However, her olive skin is perhaps worth a bit of note...and of course, being just a trifle horse-mad and with four little brothers, having pits and scars here and there [especially on your knees and feet] is going to be a bit of a thing.


Words tend to be Morwen's sharpest weapon when in use, but being the only girl in a large-ish family makes it inevitable that a girl learn a thing or two about keeping up the guard. Thus, while she carries no obvious weaponry on her [unless a horse counts], she'll always have one of two things: a knife in her belt [useful for cutting leather and rope, she'll tell you] or one hiding under her skirts [how it stays there is the baneful question of all males the world over, and it's too fun to give up the ghost to them]. Suffice to say, the boys have made sure she knows how to use both [or at least leave a black eye or a damaged groin] should the worst happen.


Gal Gadot.


Multi-linguial [Westron, Sindarin, some Rohirric].
Able to see beauty in many a thing.


Closes off/shuts down rapidly when threatened or wounded emotionally, making reconciliation hard. This extends to a habit of hiding her truest feelings when she and the other party deserves far better than that.
A tad mistrustful at times [she tends to employ guilty until innocent, not innocent until guilty].
While she is understanding on one hand, her tolerance for mooning and foolishness only extends so far once out of the circle that is her family and her horses.
Physical exertion [on her own two feet. She might have been taught to defend herself, but an illness as a child -- pneumonia -- has left her less stamina-endowed than she might have been.]


To stand out from her brothers as more than just the only girl.
Learn more of her family's history.
Visit Rohan.
Marriage/children one day. She doesn't perceive this a feminine weakness to want this one day -- to be a wife and mother is in fact two of the hardest roles many can play, for there is so much room for error and it's so easy to slip into forgetting one's self. The trick is finding a man who doesn't get on one's seventh nerve.


Enclosed spaces.
Loneliness [note, genuine loneliness, not solitude].
Freezing cold.
Dying in childbirth [if she ever comes to that].


How best to describe Morwen? Complex seems almost a cliche, though it's probably not wrong. But then, everyone is complex in their own way, so it hardly stands out. Except perhaps that's exactly the thing -- Morwen stands out just enough, without being overtly glamorous. And she likes it that way. Morwen hates the idea on one hand of simply slipping away into nothingness around others [it comes when one is from a large family], of being slotted into a neat little cage, and yet she's got such a giving personality once you dig a little under that somewhat wary first impression of her that it borders on self-sacrificing at times. She's used to thinking of the larger family, or the picture, than herself, or the tiny little details. Selfishness is a terrible sin, the precursor to greed and gluttony, and she tends to border on a bit mental with this at times; if she forgives it in others, she won't in herself, and as a result, when it comes to her own heart and her own wants and needs, she can be more than a little indecisive.

Perhaps the best way to describe her is thus: a horse. Not much better than 'complex' [she's cringing at the thought], but it is what it is. Morwen in a nutshell is the base personality of equines she's so fond of; she loves the outdoors, but she isn't too fond of extremes. The wind in her hair is lovely, but the wind smack dab in her face spooks her, and while she appreciates straightforwardness and firmness, too much force can send her bolting in the other direction. She loves bouts of solitude and being left to her own devices, but her heart is ultimately with the he--er, the family unit. She's not easily frightened and will  stand her ground, but she'll do it with a wary eye. Playful too when comfortable and relaxed, but the trick is reassuring her that it's okay to be so around you, and to be okay doing so with more than just a glimmer in her eye and cocking of her head.

 Earthy and practical with how things should be is another one, endlessly giving and attuned to her immediate environment, not overly fond of being stimulated too much, too fast and too quickly; she'll balk almost on principle if she's pushed before she's ready, and yet this is at constant war with a sort of curiousity about what's beyond in the world, something which bleeds into that mind with it's picking up of concepts and it's connection with a tongue that has shown more than once an aptitude for language and literacy. And yet, for such a smart girl, she can be remarkably dense at times when it comes to the point where she might struggle to take it seriously when you express anything bordering on passion to her, even as her own heart sings for it in the same way it sings when she's testing the swiftness and the mettle of a horse underneath her [the only time, you might have already guessed, when she opens up and comes entirely to glorious, sparkling life].


father: Risolom.
mother: Sennewyn [dec.]
brother: Morthin [age 16]
brother: Mordekai [age 16]
brother: Jisom [age 14]
brother: Ryuwer [age 8].

A young lass born originally in Belfalas, Morwen is of High Numenorean heritage, kin of the Prince of Dol Amroth on the side of her father. Though a fair serious child [mostly due to becoming the eldest of both boys and of five], her childhood was one that was if not entirely carefree, then certainly never lacking in love. Predictably, she gravitated most towards the parent she shared characteristics with -- her father, though this may have been helped along a great deal by Risolom's taking seriously Morwen's truest passion; that with horses. And hardly a passion he found difficult to humour, being a horseman himself, and later the Captain of the ridden company stationed in Lossanarch when the family moved to the flowery, lake-filled aforementioned place, doing so when Morwen was six and before her mother became too heavy with Jisom, the third born child [and again, another son. Sigh for Morwen, except not really, because one can't help loving their siblings even when they wish to throttle them].

Suffice to say, it was likely Morwen's nature, and an understanding for some outlet or other, that bore in her the resilience needed to survive her adolescence, for it was in this time that childhood was stripped away with a swifter brutality than for most, replaced by the need to mature and carry on regardless of whatever else Morwen might have wished. And she wished, many a time, in the late night, for it to be otherwise. T.A 2143 saw the surprise pregnancy [a late one for her mother] and birth of Ryuwer -- with it, the passing of Sennewyn. Perhaps it was her age [forty summers], perhaps something went wrong that nobody knew of - there'd been no indication bar an extreme case of tiredness that anything was untoward, and the robust woman had already borne four healthy children, not to mention a set of twins]. Or perhaps it was simply...just one of those things that no magic or prayer can drive away, which sounds so simple and callous, but for a Morwen so close to adolescence, it was the only way in which she could accept her mother's death to childbirth. Had no choice, really, believing -- knowing her brothers needed her to keep a stiff upper lip, including the newborn 'Ryu', that she was now the eldest and the eldest female in the family, and for a period of time, believing she needed to do so for her grieving father.

Of course, the unfortunate result of such a mindset meant two things: she's never really grieved [cried perhaps once for a short moment] for what's happened, and it's left her with a deep-seated fear of  childbirth that she's never been able to admit to anybody.

Life continued on for Morwen, though, as it so callously does despite the sadness and loss those inhabiting it suffer. Morwen herself in the course of those years since adopted [not of her own volition] the nickname of Steelsheen, both for the apparent grace [or stoicism, take your pick] in which she'd operated with following her mother's death, and for the piercing dark grey of her large eyes [and maybe, just maybe, for that tongue that sharpened considerably over time when roused], and found herself one advantage in being the only girl of five and the eldest in the household -- nobody was in any hurry to marry her [though perhaps a curse as much as a blessing for a lass who harboured the desire close to her heart to have another, despite her terror of childbirth], particularly her father in his semi-retirement., more than happy to keep her with him until otherwise dictated, happier still for her to help him with his horse business as well as learning the lay and run of their lands and Lossarnarch.

A happy enough life, Morwen will tell you these days, and she's not entirely fibbing unless you're one of those types who believe a happier life entails more of those wide, toothy smiles. Busy, at the least, which proves more than useful in some aspects -- like not thinking too hard [she's failing] about a man giving you moon-calf eyes. Constantly giving you moon-calf eyes. A prince [ling] far too old to do such things, never mind take yourself so seriously. Moon-calf eyes that turn your insides to ridiculousness [which is something only silly little girls entertain] and risk dragging far too far out of your shell. Because really. she's kidding herself

AGE:  firstimmortalitythenthebishes
EXPERIENCE:  Enough to know better by now, or I should. Honestly. xD
CONTACT:  PM. Email. Skype. <---- easiest. AIM. Yahoo Messenger.
HOW DID YOU FIND US?:  You kept cropping up. It was like a sign from the gods. With a hammer. xD
Setting: After the third assault is repelled but before the final march upon Dol Guldur.

Galadriel had become reluctant to gaze upon her reflection as of late.

An ironic notion, considering the time often spent with her Mirror meant looking upon her reflection a great deal, when it wasn’t clouded with increasingly murky visions of the future and all of its possibilities. Even more ironic a thought still to consider of her, if one knew her intimately. For though her temperament was mayhap borne of fire, Galadriel’s soul had long belonged to the rivers of the world, her heart tied intrinsically to the steady crash of the waves upon sandy shores. For her, there was nothing that soothed the aching body better than the caress of water against naked skin, or brought solace to the mind like gazing upon the skies from underneath the rippling veil of a lake’s surface. All bodies of water, these things, all beloved to her…and yet there was nothing in this world that provided a greater clarity of one’s reflection.

And Galadriel’s reflection had suffered as of late. One might, perhaps, consider it vanity on the part of the Lady. But then, one might also recollect more sensibly the fact that she was, in fact, an Elf, and then they might also consider the notion that, though always dressed well in company, the Lady of Lorien was not known for being particularly fussy with her appearance. Simple elegance, one might call it. But in truth (if you dared put it to her), it was more a casual kind of nod to the wildness of the natural world. A subtle rebellion reminiscent of her days as proud, young Artanis, she who chased her brothers with a single-minded need for vengeance through courtyard gardens if they provoked her temper once too many, who sunk her toes into warm sand and allowed salty wind to tousle her hair. and shoved Luthien without a second thought into the river that ran through Doriath’s forests before plunging in after seconds later. Who, entirely by accident and purely because of these cheeky habits, turned up to a party hosted by Elu Thingol without her shoes on…because she’d forgotten them. And yet…red face and all, had tucked her feet under her dress as best as she was able and taken her place beside Melian with all the regal bearing imposed upon her countenance through study of both her mother and the Maia Queen over the years. Had grown cheerful enough again despite her gaff that she’d ended up practically enjoying it, and had even winked with unimaginable cheekiness at poor Celeborn those who’d caught her eye.

Several thousand years and unimaginable sorrows had passed by, and yet even the heaviest of burdens upon her could not keep Galadriel from smirking with a kind of mortified mischievousness at the memory. Her reflection grinned back at her in kind, and for a moment, the hollowness that seemed to mirror the gradual darkening of Middle Earth, the gradual decline, the reflection of her own failings that slowly grew ever more prominent in her cheekbones, was transformed – shadows and weariness that sullied her appreciation of the clear night and the starlight upon the water chased away for the moment. Even the cut upon her cheek, shallow and thin as only the story of a slightly too near escape from a blade, seemed less disfiguring in starlight and warm nostalgia. Even Nenya’s constant, obsessive presence seemed muted briefly, the cold band of metal upon her finger melting into the cool wash of the river current where it danced about her fingers and dampened to a terribly delightful chill to her calves the robes she had clothed herself in earlier that morning.

She was struck, almost irresistible, by the urge to plunge herself fully into the waters of the Nimrodel. As if doing so would cleanse her of her burdens and her sins, would cleanse Lorien and Middle Earth themselves through her deep connection to both…would heal the pain carefully disguised in her heart and the wounds upon her soul, and the weary filthiness that clung to one’s self in the aftermath of battle and death and stayed long after war had ended. For death and glory indeed, how joyous it must be to be mortal – a blink of light in the turning of the universe, bright and strong, and able to hold to such beliefs as those without the eons that would slowly temper youthful passion into sorrowful wisdom.

Trained by Melian, and yet at risk of echoing a cynicism to make Thingol proud, Galadriel thought wryly. The wryness did surpassingly well in turning her thoughts from the course of wars and battles so recently fought, though, and even the memory of old Doriath lingered not in the sadness it usually did. And though Galadriel did not throw herself into the lake – though it was still enormously, enormously tempting – did she school her myriad thoughts gradually to something like peace, lifting her golden head with closed eyes to the night heavens that spun in glimpses among the Mallorn trees. Slowing, breath by breath, the maelstrom that was her heart, until she was aware of nothing but the expansion of her rib cage and the steady beat of blood pumping through her body, the physical sensuality that was the river mud her toes curled into and the chill of water moving unbidden against her skin, and the muted, innumerable sounds, both within her and without, that was the Golden Wood settling itself for the night.

As if by doing so, it – she – proved to the universe again and again that it would dwell forever in some capacity in the world despite injury and darkness done to it, come what may. It had been a difficult thing to do at first, to sink with such trust into the land around her -- she was Noldorian, not Silvan, after all, and Galadriel hated most to relinquish control, especially over herself. But with time, time and practice and patience, she had learned. It was almost as natural as sinking into a bed, now.

And I am so very tired.
« Last Edit: April 19, 2019, 03:11:03 PM by Morwen Steelsheen »

'be humble, stand proud, and don't be afraid of your fears.'


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Morwen Steelsheen
« Reply #1 on: June 07, 2015, 11:36:00 PM »

Fíli | Aesa | Kvasir | Andar | Liv | Ivorak | Haleth | Ástir |Damel
Veizla | Vex | Loire | Muunokhoi | Morvoren | Faramir | Rorion | Ashar


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Morwen Steelsheen
« Reply #2 on: June 12, 2015, 10:42:00 AM »
Ahh, I am so very excited to see Morwen come into play!  Enjoy her, Dory. ~

Fíli | Aesa | Kvasir | Andar | Liv | Ivorak | Haleth | Ástir |Damel
Veizla | Vex | Loire | Muunokhoi | Morvoren | Faramir | Rorion | Ashar


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