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| Morgan Ua Briain | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: July 21, 2014, 12:42 am (239 Views) | |
| Dreaming Sun | July 21, 2014, 12:42 am Post #1 |
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Name: Morgan Ua Briain, The Princess of Alba Age: 17 Gender: Female Appearance: Morgan stands slightly below average in height for a woman, leaving her dwarfed by many of the other men among the nobility. However, her sharp nose and face, in addition to her straight posture while she walks gives her a slight aura of command among those around her. Her hair is a dark brown, cut short above her shoulders, while her eyes are the same deep shade. Her skin is clear, but a fading tan from years spent fighting in the sun. Morgan generally wears thick brown leather armour to provide good protection, without significantly restricting her mobility and agility while she fights. One her feet are black leather boots, while a heavy belt around her waist holds all the weapons that she would need. Thick gauntlets also protect her hands from the cold. However, covering her face is a thin hooded cloak, as if to disguise herself from those who might recognise her. Background: As the firstborn of the King Fedelmid of Alba and Duchess Aignes of Karlingford in their old age, it was apparent that Morgan Ua Briain would mature to rule the growing, militant country. Almost before she could walk, she was taught to hold the sword. Almost before she could talk, she was taught the ways of diplomacy. After all, she would have to be Queen, someday, her father had always said. Someone would have to lead the armies once he was gone, and there was nothing like a monarch on the front lines to steel the hearts of the countrymen. If the Ua Briain family were to continue to expand through the realm, they would need Morgan to be a mighty warrior to lead them. And at first it seemed Morgan was well suited to the role. She could feel the power of the sword flow within her. Perhaps physically it was just metal, or wood, but to her it was so much more. A symbol of individuality, a way of life and an instrument of will. Her own blade flew through the air like the wind, while her body weaved and ducked underneath the crude strikes of her opponents. But, although her talent grew with age, the sons of King Fedelmid's vassals grew even more so, until their overpowering strength left her almost useless in a fight. Her life became an endless circle of days spent learning and sparring and training, while her nights rested her weary bones. And although she loved to duel and her life satisfied her, the difference between her and the other children only grew. Perhaps to add insult to her incompetence, the sons seemed to spend more and more time away from her, while she found nothing in common with the noble daughters who knew nothing more than gossip and how to treat their future husbands. So it would be no surprise she found herself alone in the castle's library, researching desert warfare in the past century. A name kept appearing through the books... "Darren el Annahej, the Earthen Bulwark". After a time, for better or for worse, Morgn's curiosity hold and she found a biography of the legendary general. And legendary, he really seemed - a leader of men, a mighty fighter, and, surprisingly to her, a powerful sage. From his humble beginnings as a farmer who helped his crops grow, he joined the army and became a Colonel when he protected his helped disguise his army's advance with a sandstorm. With the ability to summon rainstorms to stop opposing cavalry charges and keep his troops happy and equally skilled with the lance as he was with the earth and the flame, the Earthen Bulwark had become a hero for their desert country. And to Morgan, he brought her to wonder... perhaps there were more ways to lead than just skill in a duel. And so, her schedule shifted. No longer were her nights spent resting her muscles and bones. Instead, by the candlelight, she found herself pouring over books in the library gaining a knowledge of the arcane arts. Even then however, she only really found failure. Her attempts to cast fire served only to burn the very book she was learning from. The water she attempted to freeze only evaporated in a puff of smoke. The sapling she tried to grow withered the very next day. And amidst all this, her martial training continued - only her sleepless nights left her tired, and sloppy, and even less of a match for the others. As if to add to her pains, the Duchess of Karlingford soon passed away under suspicious circumstances. But as her father said, they would have to grow, and live, and move on. And move on her father did. King Fedelmid married the daughter of one of his Counts, and the news was soon released that Queen Abbeliene of Alba was pregnant with a child. A slight fear fell into Morgan's heart that day, but she continued to train regardless. If it happened, it happened, and there was nothing she could really do about it. And it did. Nine months later, Morgan had a half brother to share the castle with, and this child, as adorable as he was, now stood between her and the crown. And there was nothing she could really do about it, she thought, in frustration, while she began her daily spar - this time, against one of the younger brothers of Queen Abbeliene. Her opponent was always strong, and in her frustration, the match was shifted even further away from her. Her movements were crude and predictable, each slice easily deflected with her opponent's flick of the wrist. You fight like a girl, he said, before finally making his counterattack in a mighty cleave. Morgan knew from experience she couldn't block the blow, and only narrowly managed to step aside from it. But before she could regain her balance, the count landed an clean strike on her side. Easy, he had muttered, stepping away. But that only served to intensify Morgan's anger, and her anger flowed into her sword. She knew about wood and its formation, the mechanisms and energy that existed between the grooves in her blade. The energy that she... could use, couldn't she? Energy enough to show this nobleman not to mock the Princess of Alba. She was not just a fighter, she was a sword, she realised, while she stepped up. More than skin and bones. She was a symbol of individuality, a way of life and an instrument of will. And her enemy would see it. News came the day later that the future count was paralysed from the waist down, with three shattered ribs, a bruised and battered face and a broken right arm. Reaction amongst the realm was mixed - some, like her father, congratulated her strength and skill with the sword, while others found her dishonorable for fighting after she had clearly lost. None seemed more torn than her parents - King Fedelmid seemed so happy that his daughter was finally able to hold in a fight, while Queen Abbeliene was angry that it left her brother almost dead. And so, it was with sadness that her father recommended she leave Alba, at least for a time. Disguise herself and make a name in a foreign land, with the growing skill that she had. In fact, he had just the place in mind... a labyrinth in Yggdrasil, near the town of Damir in Batavia. Happy to escape the court intrigue, and train on her own, at least for a while, Morgan left her home with a smile, ready to face whatever challenges await. Equipment:
Role/Specialty: Swordmage: The subtle blend magecraft and swordsmanship creates a broadly defined fighting style that remains unique to any one individual. From the fluid Wingblade style of Master Ventus as he glided through the battlefield, to the Archer King Giruga, Gatekeeper of Babel who launched swords at his foes, to the Guardian Amiye, who forged a thousand blades, swordmages, like the sword, define their own style. By understanding the inherent energies lying within her weapons, Morgan uses her magic to bolster the strength she lacks compared to other fighters, while also changing its nature and adding extra effects. In addition, her excessive martial training allows her to stand toe to toe with many other fighters, even without the use of her spells. This unique mix allows Morgan to take advantage of the individual weaknesses of her opponents, but as a result she sports her own issues. Simultaneously exhausting both her physical and mental strength in battle causes Morgan to tire herself quickly, and lacks the sheer strength of a knight or sheer magical prowess of a mage. Level: 5 / 70 Abilities:
Edited by Dreaming Sun, August 24, 2014, 12:09 am.
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5:30 PM Jul 10