Solar Eclipse || urwcndi
@urwcndi
The lore of Númenor is rich in myths and legends, and one of them was how he sun descended upon Arda to douse it’s flames in ice and shadow. No more than a story of course, a lullaby, for the sun still dragged it’s path across the celestial roof of the world, but one that has always enticed Mordu the most.
As a child he would request his mother to sing to him that very lament, and he watched her not with the dreamy captivity of a child but with eyes that coolly calculated every line — trying to part legend from true accounts. Black Númenóreans, both of his parents and thus he himself. They worshipped the eclipse here in the lands of the rising sun, faces directed to the lands of Mordor, where they shadows lie.
From a young age on he was taught by his parents in the rituals and lore they have learned from Tar-Mairon back in Númenor before the seas swallowed the star of the west. And when the time came and he was old enough he was sent to Mordor where he first served as a mere soldier in queen Ariën’s army. Though he climbed quickly through the ranks and the masters of darker arts than that of the sword noticed his potential in the powers of the mind and he trained under their tutelage the use of the Black Speech and the sorcery given to men by Melkor.
“ My Lady, you wished to see me? I am but your devout servant, and I throw myself into the dirt at your feet. What is it that you desire? ”
The young man ( by Númenórean standards ) knelt at her feet, pale brow pressed firmly against he polished floor. Fear hung around his frame like a dark cloud, thoughts racing. He was a nobody, a faceless acolyte amongst the many, many others that would die before the next cycle of the moon. Mordu proved to be most ambitious and ruthless in the pursuit of his aims, willing to take the pain that came with learning the Arts. Not few lost their mind, and others died due to the strain on their mortal bodies. He too suffered, but he tried to draw strength from his misery, instead of letting it birth more misery. Alas, to be called to Her throne?
