Morzan

It is impossible to overstate my love, respect, and esteem for this man. There is only one other creature to whom I was closer, and I have lived without him for most of my life. Morzan was, and indeed in many ways is, the very definition of strength, tenacity, ferocity, and survival to me. In the past thousand years, there was not a man better suited to the blade, nor more earnest in its employ. He was as much an artist as he was a butcher. When one comes to know him well, every aspect of the man becomes easily understood.

Where precisely his story begins, even he did not know. He barely even remembered the father that sold him and his four siblings into the- then very small and very illegal- slave trade. He never saw a single member of his birth family again. The chains they put on him weren't changed until they had bit into the skin underneath, leaving him with permanent scars that he covered always. He spoke only rarely of this period, only when deep in a bottle or in a fit of rage at some reminder of it.

By the end of his childhood, he had been acquired by a man to work on his estate. He detested the old wretch, but he developed quite the sweet spot for his daughter. She was five years older than him, a massive margin when considering a thirteen and eighteen-year-old respectively, but he was convinced she was the love of his life. He asked every day for the next six years if she would marry him. She, of course, refused. Still, the two fostered a bizarre friendship. When Morzan was nineteen, her father arranged a marriage to a wealthy lord approximately twice her age. As her last act of defiance before accepting this fate, she decided to take Morzan up on his offer of a romantic afternoon in the town.

It was on this very trip that his life would change forever. The egg couriers landed in the square just as the young pair were strolling past. They joined the throng, as any and all would, and waited. No one expected the- then very grown man- to be the one chosen. Most often, new riders joined the order young, between the ages of eight and fourteen. He never returned to that estate, and the young woman that had given him his chance passed away in childbirth a few years later.

His life had not prepared him in any way for becoming a rider. A grown man, standing closer to seven feet than to six, silent, with long raven hair and mismatched eyes (one so brown it was nearly black and the other a piercing blue), Morzan would have stood out in any company, let alone the highly organized and image-conscious Order. He floundered for a few months, both unwilling to stand up for himself but also unable to fit in. Until, finally, a fellow student made the mistake of taking his quiet for complacency. He unleashed such hell on the aggressor that he was very nearly expelled from the organization. Lucky for him, one elf in the city was famous for his even temper and a deft hand with trouble cases.

Oromis-elda maintained a measure of respect in my companion's view even after our defection, if only because he saw in Morzan that which no one had ever bothered to see: potential. He gave Morzan the opportunity to grow into his own, to acquire structure, skills, and confidence. It was here that Morzan found his voice, and at no point in the decades that followed did he ever refrain from using it again.

The main audience subjected to his newfound bravado was, of course, Brom. At the time, the two developed an almost brotherly relationship, with all the tensions and complex emotions that entails. Brom was much younger than he, almost half his age at the time, and saw Morzan's rapid growth and blooming confidence as a child sees any hero. Morzan was a difficult sort of sibling, but he was also fairly protective of his fellow student. He was a bully, but he was Brom's only bully. This may be immeasurably tragic considering how their bond ended, but I don't believe that in any way erases the simple beauty of this more innocent time.

Enter the death of that innocence~ I first met Morzan soon after he began living with Oromis. The moment I dismounted Jarnunvosk I was met with the most mischievous smile I'd ever seen, coupled with a baritone purr of "Daddy~". The only response I could think of was "Mommy?" to which he responded by simply shrugging, "If you want me to be~". Morzan's understanding of sexuality was firmly rooted in the logic of "if it's fun, do it" and the word 'shameless' cannot begin to describe him. He lived the rest of his life by exactly one person's standard: his own. He even insisted on keeping that first nickname well into our lives. From jokingly flirtatious beginnings sprouted the friendship that could (and did) outlast empires.

I saw him only rarely in those days, both of us busy on the path to becoming Shur'tugal. It wasn't until my defection that we truly became bonded on a deeper level.

The night I fled Ilirea, every rider within two days' flight was out hunting for me. I sequestered myself as best as I could, but I couldn't escape a man who was truly desperate.

Morzan was expressly forbidden from joining the search. So, of course, he flew farther and faster than anyone else. He found me first. I expected him to kill me. Instead, he put his hands out wide and with an exasperated air yelled out, "Daddy, what the fuck?"

So I told him every event that led me to that moment, every awful detail. The corruption of the order went down to its rotten core, and I was determined to rip it up by the root. He sat with me to absorb it all. When I finished he just flashed a smile and asked where we were going next. He surrendered his first home, his first mentor, and his first true friend purely because he believed in me.

The world never stood a chance.

He assisted in Shruikan's abduction and then fled with me into the wilderness. Durza preferred his leash long, so for a time, it was the four of us. As more members joined us, Morzan reigned as my de facto lieutenant. He was brash and fearless on and off the field. No group ever had such an asset.

Morzan was, in my very informed opinion, the single greatest warrior of the past millennia (seeing as I have either met or personally fought nearly every runner up for that title, I would take that stake with confidence). His talents came from more than raw power; the man simply had an instinct for battle that even a dragon would covet. He was fast, accurate, ruthless, unpredictable. Fear of Morzan alone kept agents in line for decades. He was also clever and oddly philosophical if one caught him in the right frame of mind. He was always sure of himself, and never felt pressured to be understood or even acknowledged. And, even more, he was unflinchingly loyal. Only rarely did we fight, and these were unfailingly over hills upon which Morzan would rather die.

The reinstation of the slave trade, for example.

The fact is that, with a pitiful and ever-dwindling supply of dragons, we did not have the means to police the wilds as the riders did. Meanwhile, vermin came from all around to enjoy the easy profit. We opted to legalize the operation in hopes of better controlling it. When Morzan found out, he very nearly broke rank. I think he would have killed me right then and there if he could. I know he never forgave me; Morzan was not the forgiving type.

In his later years, he sank ever deeper into a rage so profound that it threatened to consume everything around him. I believe it was ****'s anger bleeding through their link. The only thing that numbed him enough to function was an endless supply of alcohol. We did not begrudge him his relief as, by then, the remaining thirteen were likewise suffering. There was, however, one brief period of lucidity: Selena.

Never have I seen a man so obsessed. He met her by chance on a trip for me. Apparently, he jokingly challenged this petite farm girl to a drinking match. She not only accepted but kept pace with him so well that she didn't slur her words when she took her winnings. He offered her the chance to escape her mundanity and she accepted. He introduced her to me as his wife, and I confess I was almost envious. She was lovely and earthy with a truly fiendish wit. He brightened so much in her presence that for an absurd time I thought he may actually be able to claw his way out of his despair.

But demons can only be repressed for so long. By the time little Murtagh entered the picture, the fires had certainly dimmed to pitiful embers. The day of the incident… he would not speak of it, but I could feel the ache in what remained of his soul. I could only remember the man he had once been, the man who cursed his cowardly wretch of a father and swore on every star in the heavens that he would be a better man…. A better parent. He never looked at the boy squarely after that day. Nor, do I believe, could he ever again face himself in a mirror.

It strikes me that his transformation was, without equivocation, my fault. He gave me his everything, and I repaid him with ruin and pain. His ghost is a powerful one in my thoughts, especially with Murtagh trailing defeatedly at my side. His spitting image that I personally put in chains. Were his father alive, he wouldn't hesitate to rip me apart, regardless of their no doubt nonexistent relationship. That was just the sort of man he was; determined to stick to his own standard regardless of what barriers were in his way.

His death was the worst blow of the past decades, bar none. Brom cut down a wretched shadow of the man and certainly took great satisfaction in overcoming his rival. I, however, lost the last man in the world I could trust. We buried him in his wife's garden at her side. The funeral was a dismal affair, his son draped all in black and shaking as he sobbed over his parents' graves.

My friend…. Above all, Morzan was my companion, as much my soulmate as Jarnunvosk, and one that I knew far longer. I most admired his strength, resolve, wit, and endless energy… and I will never blame him for his fall. History wants to paint him at his worst. His moments of brutality, though worth their legendary status, were acts of a man at war with all the world. In those brief times of peace, he was a truly magnificent man. And one I miss dearly every single day.

Stydja unin mor'ranr.

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Of course, had to do the first, last and most infamous of the thirteen first~ It just wouldn't have felt right to do it any other way. After this point they shall be in join order (so just the list in Ch.1 but in reverse, if that makes sense. Formora is next.

I intend to post these as they are completed. Work schedule allowing, this should be fairly regular? Perhaps. We shall see.

Review if you feel like it, just send an F if you don't.