Saruman The Wise

[Saruman The White]

SARUMAN THE WHITE

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THE BASICS:

Name: Saruman
Age: Since beginning of time and before the creation of Arda as Curunir. Saruman has been in Middle Earth for 1941 years.
Gender: Male
Race: Maiar
Birthplace: Valinor
Current Location: Isengard, Rohan
Weapon(s): Saruman doesn’t carry any outright weapons. His only “weapon” per se, is a staff which resembles the pinnacle of the tower of Orthanc somewhat. Saruman is capable of using this staff to channel his tremendous power as a maiar should necessity overrule his solemn vow not to put forth his own power to dominate the beings of Middle Earth.


APPEARANCES:

Facial Appearance: Those who’ve laid eyes upon the White Wizard remember (apart from his ineffable, indelible voice) his long face, graceful forehead and deep, dark eyes, like two yawning wells of knowledge that stretch endlessly inwards and stupefy the beholder. Saruman’s white locks of hair are smooth and fine as gossamer, and his beard is straight and sharp as his keen eyes, with faded strands of black about the lips and tips; dying bristles of colour that remember the days of yore when Saruman first came upon the shores of Middle Earth, when he bore sable tresses.
Build: Despite being restricted to a wizened vessel of mortal flesh, Saruman has retained his elegant demeanour and aura of command, which is communicated through his tall stature and proud posture. Indeed, Saruman’s almost fey build has led to some of the Rohirrim to mistake him for one of the pulchritudinous elves, though that’s likely only due to his own fame in that land, as even the White Wizard isn’t as lovely to behold as one of the resplendent elven folk.
Distinguishing Marks: Saruman is majestic in appearance, and other than stray strands of black about his hair he has no distinguishing marks.
Face Claim: Sir Christopher Lee


A LITTLE MORE IN-DEPTH:

Personality: Saruman’s greatest transgression would be pride, for he revels in power and fame (in the end lusting after it for himself) and believes that only power can properly rule the world. Those who’ve discoursed with Saruman without being effortlessly enthralled by his alluring voice would note his great intellect and distant nature, which could be interpreted as haughty. This was perceived by the fair Lady Galadriel, who wanted the more temperate Gandalf The Grey to chair the White Council. Indeed, Saruman could be described as being just like Gandalf: wise and self-governing, though where he differs from Mithrandir is that where Gandalf is modest, Saruman is proud and self-righteous, which may seem harmless in one so assured and wise, but they do say that pride comes before the fall…..

History: *Just a disambiguation, I was going to use the names of the Maia in Quenya and Sindarin, but I decided that it would be too cumbersome to recurrently explain myself in paranthesis, so I just referred to the wizards (mostly) in their names in the Westron tongue.*

Saruman came into being prior to the creation of Arda, and would’ve assisted in its formation. During the dark days of the prurient Melkor and his insatiable lust for power and the possession of the Silmarils, Saruman, or Curunir as he is really named, would’ve spent his days in the empyrean lands of Valinor, assiduously applying himself to the teachings of Aulë, the great smith of the Valar. After a great many days in that ethereal land where the days all meld together into an olio of sheer gratification and bliss, Manwë summoned the Maiar to a council, where he would elucidate on a motion to deploy five emissaries, shrouded in the flesh of the corporeal denizens of Middle Earth to oppose Sauron in his putative conquest of the lands of the free peoples. However, their mission was to be wholly unique, for they weren’t permitted to openly oppose Sauron by pitting their power against him, for Manwë was aware of the corruptive capacity that the use of power has upon its wielder, so instead he put it to whomever would volunteer to rally the free peoples in all of their residual might to ruin Sauron and thus secure their own freedom from the Dark Lord. Two volunteered, Saruman and Alatar, one of the blue wizards. But Manwë didn’t feel the two of them were enough, and favoured five, so he enjoined Gandalf (Olórin) his own Maia to accompany them, and Alatar brought Pallando, a fellow Maia of Oromë. Finally, it was requested that Saruman bring Radagast to appease Yavanna, much to the chagrin of Saruman, whose choosey and superior character was even foreshadowed then in Valinor. And so it was decided, five envoys from heavenly Valinor would fly yonder over the ocean to Middle Earth, veiled in the guise of aged flesh.

This council is considered to have occurred during the Second Age, and by the time the five appointed envoys of Valinor crossed the straits of the ocean it was the year 1000 of the Third Age. Initially, the raven haired Saruman, filled with rigour and zeal for his appointed task accompanied the blue wizards in their expeditions out east, but when he found their research of the cruel men out east to be tiresome, he forsook them, marooning Alatar and Pallando, encircled by the strange cultures of the east. Once he returned to Middle Earth, senescence had begun to lay its hands of decay upon Saruman, and his smooth dark locks had already begun to thin and turn hoary in his time out east, though when he returned his course was still true, and his heart still retained the same fervency for his proscribed purpose.

Once he came back to Middle Earth, Saruman became much like Gandalf, roaming the lands and spreading his name and his powerful voice. But those were days when Saruman only sowed seeds of good in the minds of the free peoples, and when his wise words came to sweet fruition he was heralded as shrewd and righteous, and his voice was revered across Middle Earth. Indeed even in those days when the darkness of Sauron was nought but a fleeting shadow, and the realization if his purpose was far out of sight, Saruman’s mettle wasn’t tested, for he hadn’t yet versed himself in the dark arts of Sauron and there was a plethora of lore to learn and lands to discover. Saruman walked far and wide, coming as close as wellbeing would allow him to the diresome depths of Moria and Mirkwood, though he never came upon any of these wicked places, and if he had his fall may have come even sooner. Saruman continued like this for some time, his hair thinning and fading more and more until it was as white as new snow, and his face was marked by multitudinous spidery lines like a great many ambling rivulets on his face; though his hoary, aged physiognomy only enhanced his image of wisdom, and while his body was subjected to the aging process of men, the immortal maia endured, and the potency of his salient voice never diminished.

But eventually, when the proud Saruman sought knowledge of the rings of power, he was exposed to the adroit treachery of Sauron, and in order to comprehend Sauron’s treasured weapon, the One Ring, he had to subject himself to Sauron’s dark arts. But soon, his virtuous intentions were twisted, and he went from knight to knave, first admiring the power of Sauron and the terrible artistry to his evil, and then without realising it, Saruman found himself yearning for the same power which Sauron had realised in smithing the One Ring. Saruman saw nothing wrong in his esteem of Sauron and the awe he harboured in the power and capabilities of his One Ring, yet for a reason unknown to him, he felt compelled to bury his love for the art of ring making and bide his time. And there was nothing sinister to it, for Saruman’s principles were still unscathed, though they were shrouded in impending darkness and betrayal.

In T.A 2463, the White Council of Middle Earth was formed with the most eminent and sagacious figures in Middle Earth, and Saruman was appointed its leader, despite the efforts of Lady Galadriel, who gainsaid the majority and showed foresight and insight in requesting that Gandalf head the council. This was the first of many occasions when Saruman secretly cursed the name of Gandalf. When they’d first arrived, Saruman in his naivety had considered himself unparalleled by any of his compatriots, but as the years wore on, and his unhealthy obsession with rings of power and the works of Sauron grew, so did his paranoia of Gandalf. The blue wizards were lost, and he had always regarded Radagast as a rusticated fool, but Gandalf had slowly attained a reputation of wisdom, diligence and affability – even if he could be crotchety, and he was heralded as a friend of all the folk of Middle Earth. And so, Saruman grew jealous and bitterly gnawed on his own self-esteem as he shut himself away with books and artefacts in the dark while Gandalf ventured across the planes of Middle Earth, and it was during this time that he fell amongst into the darkness. Saruman had strayed from his purpose, and now he yearned for the One Ring only for his own devices. He still wished to oust Sauron, but he no longer wished to do so to free the peoples of Middle Earth, instead he wanted to supplant Sauron, and win fame and power across Middle Earth for himself. Secretly underneath the twilight sky, Saruman sought out the One Ring in his lust for power, and came upon the remains of Isildur in the Gladden Fields, and he pillaged the cadaver, taking the Elendilmir and the shimmering gold chain which once bore the glorious One Ring. But Saruman didn’t share these tremendous findings. Instead he coveted them, and sought out the Steward Beren in T.A 2759 and garnered the keys to Orthanc by purporting that he would act as a representative of Gondor and Rohan, but his words were as black and false as his heart had become.

Saruman stowed his treasures away in Orthanc and searched its corridors and gleaned its secrets. As time passed, Saruman spent less and less time journeying abroad and began to reside in Isengard more permanently. Once upon a time his presence in the musty heart of Fangorn Forest and the whispy, ochre grasslands of Rohan were a quotidian affair, but the discovery of a particularly special device confined him to solitude in Orthanc: a palantír, one of the famous seeing stones of Númenor, which he had first read about so long ago when his hair flowed sable and he was unperturbed by Gandalf. There Saruman has lingered in the dark ever since, his evil thoughts festering and blooming into dark conspiracies and treachery every time he touched the palantír and felt the growing might of Sauron. Deceit subdued his goodness, and every bridge became something which he would gladly burn for his own benefit. Saruman falsely promised to be faithful to Sauron, yet secretly planned to betray him, and he swore honesty to the White Council, but he hid his dark devices from them, for he knew that they were too blind and foolish to appreciate his pithy wisdom. Sauron could only be defeated by power, and he was the one who would wield it.

In recent years, Saruman’s jealousy and paranoia surrounding Gandalf have grown, as he’s deigned himself to smoking pipeweed in cheap imitation of the Grey Pilgrim, and he’s begun to spy out lands of interest to him with the intention of developing his insidious plans. In secret, Saruman has garnered evil, swart orc-men and Dunlendings into his service, and his mind has become consumed by his pursuit of the One Ring. In 2851, Gandalf proposed an assault on Dol Guldur, for he had discovered that Sauron was housed in its evil walls, slowly growing in power, but Saruman rebuffed the Grey Wizard, both out of spite for his finding and because he sought to locate the One Ring, and he presumed that in his all-encompassing desire to attain the ring Sauron would reveal its location to him. But Saruman failed to realise the growing power of the enemy, who has always been just as intent on betraying Saruman as Saruman has been of betraying him.

Now, in the midst of Thorin Oakenshield’s expedition to Erebor and Sauron’s great shadow which has begun to unfurl its terrible black wings, Saruman sits in Orthanc, waiting for someone, whether it’s Gandalf or Sauron, to make the first move so he can take counter measures to ensure his capture of the One Ring, which has become his sole want and endlessly decays his crooked mind.

Roleplay Sample:

Sitting up and erect upon his dark throne of polished black stone sat Saruman, his white robes gleaming like the sole star of a lonely firmament in the dim room. The throne room, which was the centrepiece of Orthanc was lit only by a solitary stream of light from the lofty heights of the tower, and its beam swelled and shrivelled with the winnowing radiance of the sun, which separated darkness from black stone as it poured in from the pinnacle of the tower. It was noon, and the sun shone right overhead, shimmering in the brow of Saruman’s high forehead, stripping back the wizened mantle of flesh and laying bare his veiled majesty. The wizard’s deep eyes glinted in memory as he sat, pondering a great many things. It seemed that was all he could do of late, sit inside the dark recesses of Orthanc and extort its hidden secrets as he waited for the enemy to reveal to him the location of a lost trinket of considerable power, the One Ring. The fast-fading dark strands of Saruman’s beard quivered with a latent smile that didn’t blossom; it was he, Saruman the wise, Saruman the great, who would beguiled the Great Deceiver himself in his terrible abode of Dol Guldur. Saruman knew of his lust for it, his gnawing, biting yearning for his prized ring which once sat upon his finger like the crown of silmarils on the head of his erstwhile master. Sauron would pursue any signs of his ring, and once he uncovered its location, Saruman would seize it amid the contretemps of orcs and elves, and in the palaver of the White Council he would wear it on his finger, and silence them all. For who would be more apt to wear an instrument of such incredible power than he? He would rally the banners of the free peoples unto him and throw down the great Black Gates, and all would be as it should be. Men, elves and dwarves would journey to seek the wisdom of Saruman, and he would rule the world as it was meant to be ruled, the new world; the world of men, and he would be its king. All he had to do was subdue that meddlesome Gandalf and his prying eyes.

Saruman’s brow furrowed and swathed a dread shadow across his visage as he thought of Gandalf, and as his expression changed, so did the room seem to; the sunlight retreating to the safety of nature and the darkness emanating out of the solid stone wrought by the Númenoreans. And what did Gandalf know of rings of power? Nothing! Hid head was clouded too much by time spent in his lurking place in the Shire, concerning himself with the paltry affairs of hobbits and his infernal pipeweed. Saruman rued ever taking up the pipe as Gandalf did, one puff of the stuff and his mortal flesh was inflicted with a vile addiction to it. But all he had to do was obtain the ring, then he could convince Gandalf that his means were right, that by harnessing the ring they could cast down Sauron and decree laws for the new world. If only the grey fool could comprehend that the only way to overcome power was to conquer and control it with equal or greater power. Power serried the weak together in their darkness and set them on the right course. Why purvey a blind man with a stick when you can tell him whence and where walks?

Saruman’s fleeting consciousness returned to him, and he found himself alone once again upon his solitary throne, bathed in the mellow glimmer of multitudinous candles which were always alight in dark Orthanc. Night had come, and the crepuscular heavens had drawn out their refulgent stars against the black vault of a slumbering sky. Slowly, Saruman ascended from his mighty black throne and made his way towards the singular balcony of Orthanc, which protruded from the invincible slab of rock and overlooked the gardens of Isengard, a cornucopia at the foot of the tall, bare Misty Mountains. He’d been visiting Isengard more frequently of late as he sought the forgotten knowledge of the Númenoreans and lingered ere Sauron played his hand, and inside Orthanc he’d unveiled a great treasure, a palantír, one of Númenorean seeing stones, and with it he kept other spoils which he’d taken from the resting place of the fallen Isildur. As he passed through the cleanly cut aperture of the tower, the cool night air hit him, and refreshed his weary mind with the invigorating scents of fruitful trees and fragrant grasses below. The sibilant whispers of an ambling stream suffused the air with calm and stillness. With a contented sniff of the air, Saruman shut his keen eyes and envisaged the precincts of Isengard in the daytime, and he saw the boughs of the mighty green trees which the torpid Treebeard so often praised and the contented grass swaying in the gentle breeze. But then everything changed, and Saruman saw his lovely grass ablaze, and the great trees hewn and stacked in bundles of stiff, mournful dead trunks. He was alarmed at first, but then he looked behind the ruined vegetation and beheld a great furnace, and in it sparks glittered and the clash of steel was heard, and beside it a great wooden wheel trundled, stifling his singing stream, and he was besotted with it. The power of industry, delighted him, and Saruman found himself imaging the scented soils pulled out of the ground to make way for pits to build and hollow pockets in the earth to house his dominant industry. And then Saruman found that he perceived himself, ascended above all else upon his balcony, a paradigm of wisdom and leadership, and upon the long finger of his left hand was a shining golden ring, which wedded him to power and industry, and his robes were not of white but were altogether mystifying, shimmering and glinting a myriad of colours so that the eye was bewildered. And this vision stirred Saruman’s heart, and he found himself wanting after this world, and his desire for the ring grew. He could be so great, leading Middle Earth into a supreme age of industry and order, and he would be hailed as its master.

Slowly, Saruman’s eyes flicked open, and the clamour of metal and workmen’s cries melted away into the soft whispers of the gurgling stream below. Now Saruman cocked his head left, and looked as far north as the south facing tower would permit him to, and considered what the Dark Lord was musing over in his hilltop stronghold of Dol Guldur, and as he mulled over the growing strength of the enemy, he knew that he had to act soon. He could claim Isengard as his own, for the Gondorians hadn’t communed with him in many a year, and the horse lords across the Gap of Rohan were ignorant and their minds were malleable like the molten steel he would build his empire with. But Saruman silenced his roving ambition and returned into his tower. That was the future, and first he had to bide his time and outwit the White Council before he could ply the lands of Isengard and lay bare his rightful possession of the One Ring.

Once inside, Saruman came upon the palantír he had discovered many years ago upon entering Orthanc. It was one of the revered seeing stones of old, and he had coveted it upon obtaining it. The stone seemed altogether precious and enchanting as he beheld now, its smooth sides caressed by the flickering candlelight, and he felt an unceasing compulsion to touch it and speak to it, like the stone harboured a magnificent prize or hallowed knowledge for him should he communicate with it. But at the same time Saruman was concerned by the stone, it seemed too aware of him, and he often felt as he circled the room, that the stone itself was a great lidless eye, composed of the fibres of the earth and that it watched him tirelessly with the piercing keenness of a vulture. He’d guessed long ago that Sauron had possession of a palantír, and Gandalf’s claims that a power was flourishing in the once vacant halls of Dol Guldur only verified his suspicion. But at present, Saruman restrained himself, for he wasn’t prepared to extensively communicate with Sauron until he felt prepared to sow the seeds of deceit in the Dark Lord’s mind. He had already felt the will of the Dark Lord through the palantír, and it was vast and great, even in his diminished state. It was a truly daunting task which he had undertaken in tricking Sauron, and Saruman was glad that the palantír afforded him the luxury of not having to look Sauron in his terrible eyes as he equivocated. Saruman feared that not even his dulcet voice could diminish the daunting glare of Sauron. And as Saruman considered the immense task he’d set himself, he felt rather afraid and alone, and wished that Gandalf could perceive the sense in what he was doing. Radagast was a fool, and he’d long ago forsaken the blue wizards in the east, and that left him only Gandalf for companionship, and for a moment Saruman considered trying to win Gandalf to his side by rooting out the scrupulous weeds of his mind with the power of his voice.

In the presence of the palantír, Saruman always felt obliged to speak aloud, even when wholly alone as he was now, and as he circled the palantír in tempestuous thought, he spoke his mind: “And what could Gandalf answer – other than yes- in the face of reason? Surely he would see that the only way we can suppress the shadow in the east is by dominating it….or by joining it, and directing its courses by crawling inside its mind like the insidious roots of a tree.” As his low, mellifluous voice faded into faint resonance in the hollow chamber, the zeal in Saruman faltered. There was so much that Gandalf was unknown to: the art of Celebrimbor and Sauron’s dominion over the rings; the very thing which Saruman would use to overthrow him. Saruman slumped his tall frame back into the dark throne of Orthanc, allowing his gaze to slip from the enthralling palantír and to the shaggy ends of his white robe, which were tinged green from walking in the meadows of Orthanc and the ochre fields of Rohan. With a bitter smirk he spoke at length once more: “White. What is white but a useless beginning? A frail blankness which is stained and enthralled by all other shades of colour? White is always there at the start, but it’s invariably sullied and forgotten. Each day begins with light but it forever fades and each day’s light does die with night. White is “pure” and “unblemished”, it represents nature and everything that is fragile in this world, but I will imbue nature with industry, and tender my white robes with the colours that dwarf it. I won’t be white, but many colours and I’ll have my own ring of power, and all will see the wisdom of Saruman, and they’ll learn that good can only be done when greater power keeps evil in check. They’ll see that I must of power to order all things for only the wise can discern the best course of action, and I’ll have all things I’ve strived to accomplish: knowledge, rule and order. And all will revel in my sempiternal paradise of perfect order, born of the acumen of Saruman.”

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As Saruman finished, he thought he descried an ephemeral plume of flame, or a flicker of light deep within the palantír, like a glint of satisfaction, as though the watcher on the other side derived satisfaction from his innermost sentiments. With a lengthy sigh he sunk deeper into his seat, and stroked his chin as he mused deep into the twilight hours, wondering of the whereabouts and affairs of Gandalf, and the lost great ring of power.[/size][/color][/quote]


BEHIND THE SCREEN:

Alias: Saruman (since I’ll use that as my cbox name! )
Codeword:
Experience: None, although I have read Tolkien’s magnificent works of course.
How did you find us?: Google search
Other Characters: None right now, although I understand I've reserved Aragorn, and I think I'll switch to him at the appropriate time, as I don't have the admirable quality of being able to play two characters!
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