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  • Morthaine Card Jun 4, 2018

    † Morthaine "Morgan" Ever †


    " My loyalty lies not with who, but why they would need my loyalty."


    "A bird sitting on a branch is never afraid of the branch breaking; its trust is not on the branch, but in its wings."-Unknown
    × Age is estimated to late 20's; she couldn't care less about time and the limit it has one one's schedule.
    × Reserved/Aromantic. She has never been able to define love, nor has had any real interest in it (this could change over the course of role-play). The concept of romance is a confusing one to her.
    × Discreet assassin. She is purely solo, and - in fact - despises the known guilds.
    × Travel is routine. She is a wanderer rarely seen-easily dismissed- one may note her lack of a traveler's bag. She visits inns, and occasionally soldier camps. The most sleep she ever gets or cares for is around 3 hours at most.
    × Family is her mother alone. Her mother was the one that taught her a lot of defence (though Morgan took some of that skill to fighting). Her father, however, was never a part of her life, except the cause of her existence. Doubtless if he were one of the two that tried dragging her mother into submission, him being the only one that actually succeeded.
    × The view on the war is not entirely specified when asked. She is annoyed by all parties, especially the Thalmor.
    × Gods are merely an existence; she will never worship any, nor speak of them in good manner. She claims to create her own luck, her own fate, her own time. It is not uncommon for her to face the wrath of the deities for being unappreciative of them.
    × Though her immune system is very secure, she is still mortal. She has a habit of picking at open wounds, said for the various scars she bears. Rest is scarce. She has no real concern for her physical condition.
    × She is purely nord (and resistant to cold temperatures- or she simply refuses to acknowledge when she has frostnip).
    × Her voice is rather low to be feminine, but high for a male- part of the reason she can be mis-gendered. Her tone is clear, and she has no true accent.
    × She goes by Morgan to those she labels a stranger/acquaintance.


    "A fine coat is not always an indication of an attractive mind."-Aesop's Fables

    × Her eyes are probably the most notable attribute. The iris is unnaturally bright, and almost makes her sclera appear rather dim. It does not help with the addition of darkness about from unhealthy sleep.
    × The most distinguishable scars are on her face and ring fingers. The duo of fingers was sloppily amputated by a man that she refused to go home with, which resulted in a violent act- she was "not going to be married any time soon". The scar on her face is the average battle scar, running from the center of her lips to the outermost left brow.
    × Her body is molded by years of battle and experience in agility. Lean, broad- her skin almost a deathly pale.
    × Her hair is messy, rarely tended to, and fit to her hood that most never comes off. It is not entirely lustrous, almost a rather dull brown.
    × Prone to causing discomfort, she shamelessly observes people with a bold but blank stare- when she's not eyeing her hands.
    × She wears ragged attire, dotted by a variety of tears and a few ends scorched. There is platinum protection in the shape of a feather on her left arm, as well as the small detail on her right shoulder. Tassels hang from a pristine metal bird skull on her waist's belt, the skull being the holster for her sword. Lastly, her hood and mouth-mask are never removed in the eyes of others. Her attire allows for "blending", often taking up silent reputation of a Vigilant of Stendarr on the roads or travelling mages.
    × Her weapons include a platinum bastard sword and up to 10 ebony kunais hidden under her white sash. The sword has a subtle engraving that can be assumed to be a bird's claw print. With the weapons, she also has a pouch worn on a thigh, containing poisons and linen bandages.
    × She favors her left hand, but her right hand proves just as useful.
    × She stands at 5"11




    "I did not fail, I found a way to do it wrong." -Benjamin Franklin

    × A nord, yet considered to be her own breed. Her "battle cry" is not a roar, but rather a shrill scream. It can temporarily stun an opponent, if not deafen them. The skill is rather hard on her throat, sometimes even leaking blood out of her mouth from its use.
    × She is focused mainly on one-handed swords and smaller, axes and maces are an exception when the first-mentioned are unavailable. As for two-handed, she is only able with halberds. She has no skill in the bow. However, arrows are her friend when she misplaces her throwing blades.
    × Maintaining her own poisons, it is figured that she has experience in alchemy. However, she only has experience with making poisons. She has no knowledge on healing or "boost" potions, claiming that bandages come by cheaper. With her poisons, she also packs a limited supply of bottles, filled with what seems to be thick fog (similar to smoke bombs).
    × She cares not for magic. In fact, she becomes oddly hawkish when she is being preached at about the wonders of Winterhold.
    × She stays in no single place. She is not repetitive in her movements, though she does stick to the swift, clean route. She can be generally identified from the clean, precise strikes on her opponents.
    × Her weak area is magic. Relatively, she is unable to use scrolls or tomes. She has a lot more potential in dodging fired spells than learning them. Blessed she might as well be when her opponent has no form of life-detection in their abilities.
    × No doubt that thieving would be a stat. Uses her superior sneak to her advantage, though she sees coin as a joke. At most, she steals uncooked venison and sometimes a temporary horse. "Coin is merely a lazy way to obtain", she would claim.
    × Her coordination is found everywhere on her body. It would be expected from someone that scales cliffs and bounds from surface to surface with ease.


    "Her actions are predicted to not be predictable."
    Morthaine is not very giving, and she never seems to take. Dismissive, she has no intentions of polite mannerism, holding the door for none. With stubbornness, she often keeps her matters in her own hands, taking little to no heed of offers to heal her recent battle wounds or to sustain her hunger. Overall, she is insensitive and stoic, but curiosity lies underneath the mask. Her snarky side would show more often if it weren't for her quiet watchful nature. The disturbing lust for blood has always been there since she was a kid, throwing stones at the fish in the nearby waters. However, it could be a miracle she prefers simple free-running over bloodshed, though bloodshed remains a second-favorite.
    Arrogance is a negative. She can be flashy in combat, and she has to be reminded that she is not invincible, said for the patterns of sores about her body. Reckless to the extreme, she will leap off maddening heights with aim towards the smallest body of support; she can be considered "really brave or very foolish." Often probable, her actions can be shocking (and without a single regret), affirming that everything is allowed, as long as she is willing to take the consequences. She is seen unnaturally calm in all scenarios, but the true emotion lies within her eyes, and perhaps the occasional twitch in her nimble fingers.

    She assassinates for she believes is beneficial, whether it be to her or for the common. Due to her wish to stay discreet, she rarely takes contracts.



    Nestling, oh tyke

    How Mommy wishes your presence so. She knows you are officially beyond tears, beyond any sorrowful emotion, beyond any feel for misery.
    Mommy is full of apologies yet spoken for how you stand, but she only knows air will be in your wings' favor.

    Mommy made quite the mess today. She did not bother cleaning it. It stained the floor. But Mommy did it for the best. Mommy was attacked by a thirsty man. He pinned her to the floor. Don't fret, darling, she ended his thirst and more. All liquids he could have ever needed are merely red stains on the floor. He was served well by Mommy's ebony throwing knife. Messy was the engraved tattoo on his throat that led down his chest.

    Your name is engraved as well, fledgling. She hopes this new light will serve your path. She hopes that light will give you good friends. She hopes that light will serve and be served with your admirable mind of the shadows.

    My darling, you always were skilled in playing hide and seek in the dark. More than ever

    The journal was almost obliterated by the flames, but with second thoughts, Morthaine hurriedly scrambled for it with the fire poker, the same fire poker that left the home messier than the story within the journal scrap. Furniture was skewed out of the burst of a pulsing mental vein, a burst of fury alone. Her hands at this very moment and the eventful moments before were so spastic.

    Father was none known to her world. A father figure was probably a man of her mother's forgotten inn that was one of two that tried dragging the woman to submission, and the only one that succeeded. After that, her mother was overwhelmed with a desire to fight back. She passed her personal training to her daughter, with the exception that Morthaine was able to be much more developed as the skill began at an early age of nearly eight.

    Her mother's inn is abandoned, and will forever remain. Her mother was still breathing when it was left, and she became a smithy, and a rather good one as well, designing weapons with a hilt that enabled throwing them. Her mother's death caused by an intruder unknown, but could be assumed to be in relation to those her mother slayed in self-defense.

    Her mother's written thoughts are within her tactics. Many of the ink that is scribbled in the secure jurnal is relived by Morthaine to finish tasks that her mother couldn't/wouldn't do, whether it be thieving for her own survival or completing the abandoned designs of armor.

    × She can be figuratively depicted as one of Skyrim's eagles. She can go unnoticed, but when trouble arrives- she is a very hard target to hit, and sticks to where most find difficult to reach, whether it be the narrowest platform on a mountain or a hold's towering walls.×

    × Chaotic Neutral/Good ×

    × Inspired from Assassin's Creed ×