Name: Gwion “Morfran” ab Arnallt
Ethnicity: Welsh
Allegiance: Sorhaute
Profession: Bard/Assassin
Age: 29
Height: 5'10”
Weight: 146 lbs
Appearance: Gwion has a lanky and thoroughly calloused body, worn to survival beyond normal for his years. His build is akin to a mishmash of junk – strongly built arms surrounding a twig of a chest, followed down by thicker thighs…and tapering out at miniscule feet. Though the body appears ungainly, he is incredibly quick and fluid. His face is likely the only charming part about him – somewhat chiseled with a dark blond stubble. His emerald eyes are bright and captivating, and a frill of flicked blond hair hangs over his head unceremoniously. He holds a constant, if subtle, smirk, like some lord looking forward to the next hunt. Though seemingly odd at first, somewhat like a deformed beggar, closer examination would show the buildup of muscles built for evasion and indicating the strength of an accomplished archer. Even closer, metal ornaments only known to nobles shine under his hair and clothing. Gwion in battle covers his common clothes with a Jack-of-Plate vest and a bevor of articulated lames coming up around his neck, covering his smirk. Mail arms are attached to the vest, and hardened oiled leather cuisses are strapped to his legs.
Skill-at-Arms: 4 – He is a superb marksman, able to hit a running fox upon horseback at a distance of 100 yards and knows a form of sword fighting similar to that of the Italians, parrying to the benefit of his swordbreaker. However, in a war or battle, his skills are misplaced and would serve as clumsy. He is a grand horserider, perhaps due to his ability to shift into similar four-legged beasts.
Wisdom: 5 – As a child, Gwion poured over endless books about the mystical lands around. He learned the trade of minstrels playing for the court of Ceredigion, becoming skilled with the flute and lute, and listened to tacticians calculate the trajectory of ballistae. As an assassin and a bard, his bread relies on him furthering such knowledge.
Magic: 3 – Due to a pact with the Danann lady-fae, Cyrridven, sealed in blood over a cauldron, Gwion can shift into any beast less than or equal to his mass, limited by his health and anatomical knowledge, retaining his intelligence. He can communicate with ones he animals has been, however, he is cursed with perpetual illness. He has some lingering fear of the fey-lass who’d love to devour him as a delicious wren or succulent Gwion salmon. Actual Mechanic: Max Animal Size/Weight = (Gwion Weight-Gear Weight)/Sickness (Sickness on a scale of 1-4, 4 being current puking state)
Contract of the Cauldron Awenydd:
I am Awenyyd,
The magic of inspiration,
To be gifted to those in need,
----
Bid those who lost sight,
Give up their might,
And those with face horrid,
Sacrifice their hoard,
I will grant upon either thee,
An infinite voice of Beauty.
----
Bid thee fae-enmeshed,
Give to me a gift of flesh,
A hand, an eye, a leg, a head,
Or perhaps serve my fae her bread,
Seven years a servile steed,
With that, you may be freed.
----
Bid thee who flees,
And hides under bees,
To in open stir my belly,
And with three drops of jelly,
Will lose health yet hide the best,
In the shape of smaller beasts,
----
Thrice the blood spill in my chur,
Thrice a night sit and stir,
To sing in voice of pretty birds,
To live free from Sith herds,
To daily take two smaller shapes,
And escape this Cauldron’s mouth agape,
----
Beware ye take of me,
Only droplets three,
Or fast the hare ye widely run,
Over hill and under sun,
Stronger strength your magic will have,
If three nights you outrun the fey-lass.
Vitality: 2 – Though well-trained, Gwion is supernaturally weaker than most around him. Between poor conditions that beset a contracted landless Noble, his sacrificed health, and the unsavory works he has dealt with, there is many a night where the bard purges his last meal.
Wealth: 2 – Most of Gwion’s contracted money goes to pay off his gear, or ends up paying for his meager supplies. He ignores several needs for his gear. Most of the time, he steals or hunts and gathers for food, unable to afford much there. Perhaps if he sold the few trinkets…but they are all that is left of his family.
Other Notable Attributes: Lorekeeper, knows apothecary poisons and antidotes, knows the basic anatomy of wrens, cats, mice and dogs, decent entertainer/minstrel, knows how to mend and repair his armor (how to sew), what food is edible, how to make a fire, and is a good animal trainer. He knows French, Gaelic, Latin, and Welsh. He can read Greek, and speak a pidgin form of Cornish.
Possessions: Customized Jack-of-plates armor, with mail arms and a bevor face-guard. Hardened leather Cuisses, Vambraces, an Ear Dagger, a hatchet, flasks of oil and apothecary poisons, flint, two arrow bags of 24 arrows, a sword breaker (longsword style), a recurve yew longbow with a notched stabilizer, several meters of chord (rope), a bag of sand (for filtering), a lute, a reed wooden flute, a blank book, and a fishing knife, and a restiched rucksack.
Relationships: Arnallt (foster-father, lord, deceased), Malgo (former Captor, deceased), Rhianna (foster-mother, MIA), Servant’s Children (deceased or lost) Cyrridven (Enchantress of the Tuatha De Danann, Fey), Drudwen(Prostitute,Assassin,First Lover) Prince Morcant (Benefactor in Sorhaute)
Social Rank: Noble, Landless
Honor: Gwion holds a philosophy of “the ends justify the means,” but restrains that on certain accounts. Firstly, he will not kill children, and will go to greater lengths to minimize the trauma of death in the event of his target having children. Secondly, Gwion believes strongly in telling accounts as truthfully as possible, despite most favoring stories that paint prettier pictures. That does not make Gwion trustworthy – he’ll outright lie anytime the occasion calls for it…but when he tells the truth, it is the full, uncensored truth as he knows it.
Biography:
Gwion never knew either of his true parents, and was discovered abandoned by a Lord and his wife, who had lost their first child died years before. It filled an emptiness for them, even though, as a foster child, Gwion would not be a viable for lordship.
The lad was strong, and never did illness touch him. Even so, he spent much time indoors. Assisted by a tutor who taught him to read, Gwion spent much time in the library, pouring over the tomes. Cartography, alchemy, animal anatomy, business, and strategy were all overshadowed by the tales of the gods and the adventures of heroes. In the forests nearby, he may read of a frightful Bean Si. Or perhaps there was a mystery under the bridge waiting to be found. Oftentimes, he would sneak around the buildings, pretending that the cooks were some intelligent monster he would have to sneak by. Despite being caught, he was not allowed to be punished, and so was for the most part free to be roguish.
Many a time, Gwion saw foreigners enter, and using a quick charm, would befriend and learn from them. Basic fighting and archery from the knights, basic craftsmanship from the traders, and most importantly, he learned to play music from the bards. Though some instruments, like the harp and drum, fascinated him, he stuck to the flute and the lute. Oftentimes afterwards one could hear amateur music float around the halls.
Upon reaching his early teens, Gwion’s studies were more focused. A noble needed to know certain things, among them how to defend himself and his underlings. As he was not built for direct battle, training focused on strategy, archery, and parrying skills. During this time, Gwion spent time with his foster-father. He was a strong warrior and always jolly around children. His mother, on the other hand, was a relief from the stricture, and a mind that challenged Gwion. From her, he learned keen speech and horsemanship. Over the years, his mind became sharp as well as a creative. As for the servant’s children, Gwion learned to love showing them things, and would defend his little party when anyone tried to punish them. In turn, when he was ill, the children would help with pans for vomit or cloth for the nose.
During his mid-teens, a decent age to be looking forward to marriage and other things, relationships went foul with a neighboring lord. While hosting a celebration, a sadistic bigot of a knight maimed the horses and broke the swords of Lord Malgo, who in turn left with words of war. Gwion was sent to be an ambassador, accompanied by a small group of knights. Upon being received, Malgo had the guards slain, and Gwion tortured. Gwion saved his own life by fabricating stories in favor of Malgo, and was thus kept prisoner for a time. He hated the lies, but feared the pain more. Hatred grew for the lord, Gwion needed to live and escape.
He developed a relationship with a nearby prisoner, a female prostitute, though they were poorly matched. Perhaps that was why they were attracted to one another, perhaps it was because of their close quarters, or perhaps they were using one another. She taught him how to seduce others in exchange for his stories. She spoke of Redguard, and an illicit affair with a prince, Morcant. The guard would constantly heckle her, to which she responded hostilely. After a few bashed in faces and broken noses, she was moved to a cell, rather than behind bars.
A year in his imprisonment, the guard was low one night, and the jailor was deep in his cups. Gwion fashioned his clothing into a rough dress, styled his grown hair as the prostitute, and proceeded to call the drunk guard over. Through a lengthy number of words, seductive poses, and a knockout blow, Gwion was able to free himself, leaving the man passed out on the floor. Rapidly, the young noble slipped through the buildings, and flew into the woods. Running further, he encountered visions of a beautiful elven maiden, robed in red, purple, and black. They faded as smoke rose in the distance. Dying fires rose over the buildings that outlined his home. Ruin after ruin laid upon the besieged land. As Gwion sneaked towards his home, he saw stakes with the head of his foster father. To the side, he then spotted one of the younger servants, a child and friend, was on the ground, gasping as blood spurted out from a shaft in her chest. With fevered eyes, she held out two jewels, those of his foster-grandfather’s, and his foster-mother’s bronze necklace. He tried to save her, but little could be done for such a deep wound. Shouts rang outside, alerting men to his presence. Crying a silent oath over the girl, he took the jewels, and ran.
Deep into the forest he ran, dogged by men all around, until Gwion tripped over a pair of roots, and fell, knocking himself out. In a sort of dreamlike haze, the elfin appeared before him. Cyrridven, keeper of the Cauldron Awenydd, truly did reside in the forests, and had come across the young, weak man. The men would be chopping the forest soon to replenish their tools of war, and she required someone to watch her cauldron whilst she found a new forest. So, she promised Gwion three drops of her cauldron’s power, granting the ability to escape his imminent danger, in return for him guarding it three nights. Groggily, the young man agreed, and so for 3 nights he stirred, hid, and guarded the cauldron.
Eventually, the fae returned, and as promised, offered the power of the cauldron. Gwion had to first spill three drops of his blood into the magic basin, signing the contract. When it came time to imbibe the three droplets, however, a tired Gwion miscounted and took in more. Enraged, the fae enchantress took on a fell appearance and charged at the youth. Frightened, the new magic within Gwion triggered, and he became a wren, fleeing both fae and man from the lands of Rhegend. On that journey, she dogged him – aa a Cat-Sith his flight, Cu-Sith in his run, and only stopped when he was human again. Frightened by this chased, Gwion fled further as a human to the lands of Rhegend, losing the fey. There, he saw the prostitute again, in truth a spy for her prince and master saboteur. Through her recommendation, and his former noble status, Prince Morcant took “pity” on the now landless noble, and offered to be Gwion’s benefactor…for a price.
Gwion was ill many months, and gave away some of his family jewels in the hope of help. However, the clergy saw “a shadow” making him ill, and the medicinal men remained perplexed. So, Gwion just worked to get use to this stomach-churning, bowel-stabbing pain. He regained his youthful strength somewhat, and served Morcant’s missions. Gwion waited years before using his ability again, terrified of the fey he tricked, however he was forced to use his magic to escape during a mission.
Over years, Gwion learned more of stealth and methods to disable and kill other targets. He turned old books of alchemy into tools for poisons. With his temporary forms, he could sneak to areas no human could, to spy and kill. Archery went from well-trained to masterful skill, with some earlier trajectory assisting in killing targets behind walls or in hidden archways. Gradually, Gwion built a nickname, “Morfran,” or Black Crow, and acquired unique tools for his new trade. He has quietly killed over two dozen targets, from rallying rebels to high nobles, and with each his scorn has grown. What was a “saving” from the prince became more of a form of slavery to him, though he was provided unrestricted access to the princes library. Gwion leapt at the chance to go, undersupplied, in the name of the kingdom of Sorhaute to meet with a varied group of others on a quest.
Curiously also, in Gwion's travels, he has come across these strange runes. He keeps them recorded in the hopes of one day finding out what they mean.
Gwion is a young cynic, and holds most people in contempt at best. On the road, he will often sing of old battles and sorcerous places. Around others, he is silent and attentive, listening for useful rumors. He is a witty banterer, if crushing in his indecent knowledge of an opponent, and leaves most at a loss for words. He puts forth a mask of sensuality and control, However, this mask falls when he is given the opportunity to relay the tales of old, to share his knowledge. Then, eyes shine and he permits himself to laugh. He warms up to such people, like an instructor to their favored pupil. To them, even if he winds up killing them later, he shows patience and an almost forgotten kindness.
Last edited by Lawtan; 03-05-2014 at 01:14 AM.
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