Fíriel

Character Name: Fíriel
Name Meaning: Mortal Woman.
Age: 51, appears to be 19 thanks to her Númenorian heritage.
Date of Birth: Winter 2960
Race: Man, Dark Númenorian.
Residence: Mostly board hear ship, but does travel Middle Earth Raiding.
Profession: Corsair/Sea-Raider/Pirate/Thief

Appearance: Right off the bat people are taken back by her raven black hair. It stretches down to just barely past the middle of her back. It’s the key trait most people associate with her. She is constantly underestimated by her short physical stature, standing at just at five foot four inches. Her skin is usually darker in color than it normally would be due to her adventures on the open sea or on land. Most times she dawns the same clothing as her male counterparts upon the ship. A shirt that is looser, allowing for a comfort during the warmer months. Pants that allow her to move more freely than a dress would allow. Tall black sea boots are preferred to anything else. A live at sea can be a rough one. She also owns a leather long coat, for when the ship is forced to raid during the colder months. A basic black belt with a silver buckle holds a pair of daggers, and that sword that has been past down in her family for generations.

Personality: Growing up in a house that was broken by the free peoples of Gondor, Firiel was raised to hate with all her being. Hate and revenge usually guide her motives when she is doing the ‘good’ work of the Dark Lord. The extra loot gathered from her dealings doesn’t hurt to make her mood just a little better. Her words could make you feel better about a situation, or make you use you’d never crossed paths with the corsair. She doesn’t give a second thought towards killing. Hurting someone in front of their family doesn’t bother her in the slightest, in fact she gets a sick satisfaction from it. While not a true fanatic as the rest of her family was, Firiel still believes in being the free people’s to their knees.


Parents:
Father- Arnvidar (Dead)
Mother- Eyja (Alive)
Sibling(s):
Older Brother- Dyri (Dead)
Older Brother- Eilif (Dead)
Spouse: None
Children: None
History:
A massive winter storm had been covering the small haven for a solid week in a thick blanket of frozen precipitation. Eyja, the village’s witch and connection to the Dark Lord, had been in labor the entire day, the village midwife had been staying with. Her father had been out raiding the smaller villages of the free peoples to the north with his two eldest sons. Their lands being rich with food and material wealth, even during the frozen months. Seeking to add to the wealth of their lord as well as provide for the safe haven for raiders they’d build generations ago.

Growing up in such a small village, Fíriel only had a few friends, the children of the other families that were left behind by their corsair parents. It wasn’t a glorious life like the one her ancestors had back before the fall, but she at least had those of similar blood to bond with. A group in which would eventually grow to raid the north lands much like their parents. As was the tradition amongst this group of Dark Númenórean, a way for them to get their vengeance among the other kingdoms of men.

As she grew to womanhood, Fíriel had a way of speaking, to make others fall in line. Pretty much do anything she wanted them to do. Threats were all well and fine, one needed those, but one also had to make sure you could sell yourself and the goods you were trying to pawn off. Her father’s lessons were harsh, but she needed to understand that you had to do more than just stab at anything that came across her path. For he had been taught these lessons from his father, and his before him. For they were some of the last ones to bring about the end to the lesser kingdoms of men. Although there were lessons in sailing, thieving, and sword fighting. All in which she picked up quickly, much like her older brothers.

Eyja would teach the young Fíriel the ways of the Dark Lord. The world was much bigger than just the physical. There was a whole mystical element to its design. Learning about the darker arts wasn’t something the young girl wanted to learn, and didn’t really take it, but there wasn’t much option when it came to the studies. Not every child of the village was given proper training, just the indoctrination of their history and the Dark Lord. While she showed some aptitude for magic, Fíriel prefers a physical fight instead. In the end, it would help her loot special artifacts that were of course the most precious to the lord of Mordor.

Reaching the proper age, Fíriel and a new crew built a fine boat. Launching it in the summer of 2980, they started out small. Taking out smaller, safer, targets just to the south of the land controlled by the kingdom of Gondor. They weren’t as plentiful as their cousins in the north, but it served as a good starting point. Each time their haul was full they’d return to port of their birth to share the wealth with their families and the emissaries to the dark one.

Once they’d gotten up enough experience they’d hit larger targets. Gaining more riches and favor with their master in the bleak lands. With fear behind their reputation, Fíriel sought out the town that had been able to repel her father’s last raid. Under cover of darkness, the crew and five other ships had crept into port. They didn’t fight the townsfolk head on, but started a series of fires all around the bustling port. The blaze would keep the local militia busy, and gathered in selected places. Once gathered, they’d let loose with a hail of arrows. The place fell in less than an night, napping them massive resources to take home, as well as returning the sword that had been in Fíriel’s family for generations.