Post by Morys Martell on Jun 14, 2014 2:49:28 GMT -5
Name: Morys Nymeros Martell
Status: Lord of Whitesand
Age: 16
Dragon: Typhon
Weapon:
Double-Curved Bow
Spear
Character Skills:
-Expert: Marksmanship: Bows
-Noteworthy: Athletics
-Noteworthy: Melee: Spears
-Apprentice: Dragon Handling
-Apprentice: Melee: Unarmed
-Novice: Stewardship
-Novice: Persuasion
-Beginner: Land Battle
-Beginner: Survival
Appearance: Morys is a young man still in his teens, with naturally wavy hair of black and eyes of grey, said to shine like freshly polished steel. His skin is light, more so then his fellow dornishmen but darker then that of the northerners, akin to an olive or a creamy brown. He has a broad face with a strong squarish jaw and lightly pronounced cheekbones, and a nose many would describe as average, not broad or narrow, but a little flat up the bridge. His skin is smooth and surprisingly free of blemishes, say for his hands which are rough and sport small healed cuts and blisters around the fingers and palms from his constant practice sessions, as well as slight frown lines starting to show. Morys does not smile often, though when he does it is a warm and honest smile, and usually keeps his head held up and his back straight, as a proper man should. He stands at 5'9, with broad shoulders and an athletic build, not thin but not bulging like that of a westrosi swordsman, and having wide feet and hands and well toned muscles. Morys enjoys colors of the sea, light blue and greens, dark blues, light tan and yellow, and orange, the color of the sun as it sets upon the waves, though he also enjoys dressing in more earthly colors like browns, greys, or blacks. Morys fashion sense is much more practical however, and he wears a sleeveless vest of supple leather that ends below the knees, often of a light color with pointed shoulder tips and a small collar, and silk robes beneath it, light tan with coppery colored designs on the collar, sleeves, and front, that come down to his thigh level, with a pair of similar colored pants and leather boots both sporting a similar copper design. He keeps his robes and vest buckled with a lightly jeweled belt of red gems on coppery gold, which catches light and gleams in the sun. His fashion sense is considered plain by most other dornishmen, but for morys, his outfit keeps him warm in the cold skies high above, and keeps him cool in the hotter sun below. For combat however, Morys wears a heavier version of the standard dornish armor, wearing blood red robes with a red leather sleeveless vest that ends at his knees and chainmail. He wears a breastplate, grieves, spaulder, tassets, and vambrace, with space designed for him to move easily in and to maneuver his spear well, made from black iron, with a burnished copper inlay on the front of a dragon holding a spear in front of a sun, the symbol of his mixed heritage which he shows proudly to the world.
Personality: Morys is a bit of an oddity and contradiction, being that he is a dornishman who doesn't look like other dornish, and a targaryen on his mothers side who doesn't look much like a targaryen. He has a reserved and somewhat shy nature to him, another oddity, and a large amount of self restraint. Morys does still have a temper though, which he usually tries to vent through combat practice or sparring sessions, and can sometimes end up exploding if he pent himself up too long, or if someone goads it out of him. Morys doesn't like to lose his temper, or control of himself for that matter, and enjoys being something of the quiet and calm person in the background, as he finds talking to others a bit intimidating. He doesn't enjoy eating spicy food, though he doesn't mind it either, and has a preference for sweeter tastes due to having a bit of a sensitive tongue. Morys enjoys the quiet, and isn't much one for talking or for being the center of attention, preferring to follow rather then lead. Morys also prefers fighting to talking because for him it's an escape and a means of focusing his mind and forgetting about all the things that normally weigh heavy on him. Honor is important to Morys, as is living up to ones responsibilities, which is why he has begun to focus more of his attention on law and running a castle, for when he becomes lord of whitestone someday, perhaps even a prince. Morys's definition of honor is a strange one however, as it revolves around the concept of honor being honesty, and that as long as one acts true to themselves and their word, that they are honorable, which he knows he cannot live up to should he need to deal with the realities of the world. Morys however is not without wants and desires, for example wanting to make his family proud of him, especially his mother, and to do so with honor and integrity. He however is not naive, and has something of a cynical streak about him, knowing that he cannot make everyone in his family happy, and that the path that lay ahead of him will be one of hardship, espeically if he is to some day rule Whitestone as its lord, or rule beyond whitestone someday. Morys however tries to not let these heavy thoughts and matters weight him down too much, trying an optimistic view of the future and to focus on doing right by his family as being a more important goal at the present.
Background: Morys was born in 82 AL in dorne, the son of Visenya Targaryen and Quentyn Martell and the first heir of Whitestone. Growing up in Whitestone was difficult for Morys, he had everything a young man could ask for from his parents, and a brilliant castle near the coast to explore and enjoy. Often times he'd spent hours of his life playing imaginary dragon battles and commanding small toy armies to decimate the northerners, much to his fathers amusement. However, things were very lonely for Morys as well, as there was little other people around for him to actually play with, and his sister maekarion wasn't allowed to play with him much by their mother, often calling his stunts too dangerous and often being right, as Morys would often come back with scratches or scrapes from his escapades, smiling like a fool and more concerned with what was for dinner. Often the only real friend and companion Morys had was his little brother Aenar, who his father encouraged to have Morys bring along with his adventures while his mother would want to spend some alone time with his sister. Morys always did what he was told by his father and mother, though learned young that he could sometimes get away with things he wasn't suppose to by telling one of his parents that the other had told him not to. Still, life with just Aenar and Makerion was fun, if a bit empty, and it often made Morys feel better for how much different he looked to the other children he'd occasionally be allowed to play with while their parents visited the castle.
When the plague struck however, everything changed, first with his father Quentyn getting struck with the plague, and next Aenar, as 7 years old Morys had to watch as both grew sicker and weaker from the pox, unable to even go near either without supervision. As Aenar got sicker and sicker, Morys tried to cheer him up, promising he'd get better soon, and that after they could go down to the coast and play knights of the realm like they used to, hoping beyond hope what he said would turn out to be true. When Aenar finally died, Morys was devastated, unsure of how something like this could have happened, and found no comfort from the gods old or new. It was unfair, and Morys blamed himself for his brothers passing, thinking that if he'd somehow been more careful or been a better brother, this wouldn't have happened. At this time Morys began to spend more and more time with his father Quentyn, who was left weak and broken by the loss of his son and the plague that had racked his body. Quentyn began to have Morys trained in how to use weapons, first a spear and then a bow, letting morys's instructors treat him however was needed to make him stronger. The training was harsh, and Morys was often bruised badly from the pole strikes, and sported cuts on his fingers from the arrow feathers cutting him on occasion, but he never complained or cried until his father was away, and especially tried not to when his mother was around. Quentyn would often tell Morys that it'd be his job to look after the family, and his duty to carry on the line of Martell, observing from his usual chair in the courtyard as morys would try and fail to hold his own against the more experienced trainers. He would tell him the history of dorne and its people, and how the world could be cruel and ruthless, and so he would need to be cruel and ruthless in kind, as he worked to make sure his son would memorize both his lessons and his martial training.
Morys began to enjoy his training sessions, no matter how harsh they were, though didn't much enjoy having to take them with his father constantly watching and judging. Quentyn never smiled when he was having morys trained, and never gave more praise then a simple "Good" in response to him doing well. There was a detachment between Quentyn and Morys, and as time went on in the year, and Quentyn got weaker, and spent less time watching Morys in the courtyard and more time watching from his room in one of the towers, Morys felt more and more like his father had distanced himself from Morys. After the last training session, Quentyn summoned Morys up to his quarters, with Morys assuming it was going to be another admonishment about how sloppy his form had been or how he had not done enough during the session. Quentyn was in his bed, looking weaker then normal as he beckoned Morys to approach him, and then did something he'd not done in a long time, having his son lean in close and hugging him, telling him he was proud of the man he was becoming and loved him as a true son and heir, and that he was sorry for what he'd put Morys through after losing Aenar. Morys was baffled by this, unsure of why his father had suddenly seemed to break his melancholy now, hopeful that maybe his dad was coming back to normal. Days later however Quentyn was dead, and Morys was left feeling more empty and lost then he'd ever felt before. After the funeral was held Morys entered the courtyard with a training spear in hand, unleashing a flurry of angry movements and sorrowful wails as he felt the full pain and lost he'd suffered that year come crashing onto him, breaking his spear on a training dummy and using the two ends to impale it out of blind fury and with an anguish filled scream. He let everything pour out of him that day, his pent up rage, anger, fear, regret, and most of all, his pain. And for the first time in a long while, Morys cried openly, letting the tears flow as he lay kneeling in front of the dummy, knuckles white as he clutched the broken spear ends in his hands.
Morys became much more distant after that, seemingly emotionally colder as he worked to keep them under control, as he began to focus on becoming a good lord of whitestone. Morys tried to help his mother more in whatever it was she wanted, looking up to her for guidance in how to be a ruler. Morys however had made a bit of a discovery, that being that he'd actually rather liked fighting, even with the injuries and how hard or emotionally exposing it had been, and that he liked it a lot more then he did other things like learning the law, finding it helped to keep his mind clear and his thoughts fresh. When he was 8 years old, his mother gave him a gift that would change Morys's life, a brilliant red egg, hot to the touch. A dragon egg, that he would care for and work to hatch. The dragon egg helped to take Morys's mind off of things, giving him something to do, and though he never really smiled, Morys was very happy to help try and take care of something with his mothers help and guidance. When his dragon hatched, letting out a terrifying mewl as it furrowed its great red wings in a show of strength, Morys felt truly awed then and there. He named the dragon Typhon, and swore he would keep it safe and healthy, and use it to help defend his family as the man and martell of the castle. As the years pressed on and both Typhon and Morys grew larger, broader, and stronger, Morys began to enjoy life a bit more, actually allowing himself to have fun once a while by taking Typhon out for a flying trip with his bow and quiver of arrows handy, eager to practice his marksmanship while flying as fast as he could. This practice was partially to train Typhon to listen to his verbal orders without him using his reigns, but mostly because soaring through the air, high above the land, diving down and flying close to the ground and occasionally circling about to fire off some arrows and breath some crimson fire was a lot of fun, and a nice way to relax for the two.
While Morys still takes the prospect of ruling and becoming a good martell someday, he has also managed to cheer up a bit with Typhon, viewing the dragon as another family member and a worthy comrade in arms. Morys also became both protective of his sister, as well as a bit jealous of her, and how mother always seemed to like her just a bit more. Morys however tries to not dwell on this too much, and feels too much love for his sister, and for his mother, to consider harming either of them. Morys has other and bigger problems to worry with however, as while his time with both Typhon and in sparing sessions and archery skills have earned him notice by his fellow dornishmen, Morys still feels detached from them and from others not in his family. He gets nervous and quiet when he is together with other people, especially without Typhon around, and outside of the occasional comment or two, just finds it too hard to talk to other people and relate to them. It has earned him a reputation as a quiet and well mannered lad, even getting the joking nickname of the Silent Spear for how quiet and focused he gets in matches. Morys doesn't mind however, and focuses instead on keeping himself on the path to be a good ruler, as well as working hard to keep his mother and sister happy.
Status: Lord of Whitesand
Age: 16
Dragon: Typhon
Weapon:
Double-Curved Bow
Spear
Character Skills:
-Expert: Marksmanship: Bows
-Noteworthy: Athletics
-Noteworthy: Melee: Spears
-Apprentice: Dragon Handling
-Apprentice: Melee: Unarmed
-Novice: Stewardship
-Novice: Persuasion
-Beginner: Land Battle
-Beginner: Survival
Appearance: Morys is a young man still in his teens, with naturally wavy hair of black and eyes of grey, said to shine like freshly polished steel. His skin is light, more so then his fellow dornishmen but darker then that of the northerners, akin to an olive or a creamy brown. He has a broad face with a strong squarish jaw and lightly pronounced cheekbones, and a nose many would describe as average, not broad or narrow, but a little flat up the bridge. His skin is smooth and surprisingly free of blemishes, say for his hands which are rough and sport small healed cuts and blisters around the fingers and palms from his constant practice sessions, as well as slight frown lines starting to show. Morys does not smile often, though when he does it is a warm and honest smile, and usually keeps his head held up and his back straight, as a proper man should. He stands at 5'9, with broad shoulders and an athletic build, not thin but not bulging like that of a westrosi swordsman, and having wide feet and hands and well toned muscles. Morys enjoys colors of the sea, light blue and greens, dark blues, light tan and yellow, and orange, the color of the sun as it sets upon the waves, though he also enjoys dressing in more earthly colors like browns, greys, or blacks. Morys fashion sense is much more practical however, and he wears a sleeveless vest of supple leather that ends below the knees, often of a light color with pointed shoulder tips and a small collar, and silk robes beneath it, light tan with coppery colored designs on the collar, sleeves, and front, that come down to his thigh level, with a pair of similar colored pants and leather boots both sporting a similar copper design. He keeps his robes and vest buckled with a lightly jeweled belt of red gems on coppery gold, which catches light and gleams in the sun. His fashion sense is considered plain by most other dornishmen, but for morys, his outfit keeps him warm in the cold skies high above, and keeps him cool in the hotter sun below. For combat however, Morys wears a heavier version of the standard dornish armor, wearing blood red robes with a red leather sleeveless vest that ends at his knees and chainmail. He wears a breastplate, grieves, spaulder, tassets, and vambrace, with space designed for him to move easily in and to maneuver his spear well, made from black iron, with a burnished copper inlay on the front of a dragon holding a spear in front of a sun, the symbol of his mixed heritage which he shows proudly to the world.
Personality: Morys is a bit of an oddity and contradiction, being that he is a dornishman who doesn't look like other dornish, and a targaryen on his mothers side who doesn't look much like a targaryen. He has a reserved and somewhat shy nature to him, another oddity, and a large amount of self restraint. Morys does still have a temper though, which he usually tries to vent through combat practice or sparring sessions, and can sometimes end up exploding if he pent himself up too long, or if someone goads it out of him. Morys doesn't like to lose his temper, or control of himself for that matter, and enjoys being something of the quiet and calm person in the background, as he finds talking to others a bit intimidating. He doesn't enjoy eating spicy food, though he doesn't mind it either, and has a preference for sweeter tastes due to having a bit of a sensitive tongue. Morys enjoys the quiet, and isn't much one for talking or for being the center of attention, preferring to follow rather then lead. Morys also prefers fighting to talking because for him it's an escape and a means of focusing his mind and forgetting about all the things that normally weigh heavy on him. Honor is important to Morys, as is living up to ones responsibilities, which is why he has begun to focus more of his attention on law and running a castle, for when he becomes lord of whitestone someday, perhaps even a prince. Morys's definition of honor is a strange one however, as it revolves around the concept of honor being honesty, and that as long as one acts true to themselves and their word, that they are honorable, which he knows he cannot live up to should he need to deal with the realities of the world. Morys however is not without wants and desires, for example wanting to make his family proud of him, especially his mother, and to do so with honor and integrity. He however is not naive, and has something of a cynical streak about him, knowing that he cannot make everyone in his family happy, and that the path that lay ahead of him will be one of hardship, espeically if he is to some day rule Whitestone as its lord, or rule beyond whitestone someday. Morys however tries to not let these heavy thoughts and matters weight him down too much, trying an optimistic view of the future and to focus on doing right by his family as being a more important goal at the present.
Background: Morys was born in 82 AL in dorne, the son of Visenya Targaryen and Quentyn Martell and the first heir of Whitestone. Growing up in Whitestone was difficult for Morys, he had everything a young man could ask for from his parents, and a brilliant castle near the coast to explore and enjoy. Often times he'd spent hours of his life playing imaginary dragon battles and commanding small toy armies to decimate the northerners, much to his fathers amusement. However, things were very lonely for Morys as well, as there was little other people around for him to actually play with, and his sister maekarion wasn't allowed to play with him much by their mother, often calling his stunts too dangerous and often being right, as Morys would often come back with scratches or scrapes from his escapades, smiling like a fool and more concerned with what was for dinner. Often the only real friend and companion Morys had was his little brother Aenar, who his father encouraged to have Morys bring along with his adventures while his mother would want to spend some alone time with his sister. Morys always did what he was told by his father and mother, though learned young that he could sometimes get away with things he wasn't suppose to by telling one of his parents that the other had told him not to. Still, life with just Aenar and Makerion was fun, if a bit empty, and it often made Morys feel better for how much different he looked to the other children he'd occasionally be allowed to play with while their parents visited the castle.
When the plague struck however, everything changed, first with his father Quentyn getting struck with the plague, and next Aenar, as 7 years old Morys had to watch as both grew sicker and weaker from the pox, unable to even go near either without supervision. As Aenar got sicker and sicker, Morys tried to cheer him up, promising he'd get better soon, and that after they could go down to the coast and play knights of the realm like they used to, hoping beyond hope what he said would turn out to be true. When Aenar finally died, Morys was devastated, unsure of how something like this could have happened, and found no comfort from the gods old or new. It was unfair, and Morys blamed himself for his brothers passing, thinking that if he'd somehow been more careful or been a better brother, this wouldn't have happened. At this time Morys began to spend more and more time with his father Quentyn, who was left weak and broken by the loss of his son and the plague that had racked his body. Quentyn began to have Morys trained in how to use weapons, first a spear and then a bow, letting morys's instructors treat him however was needed to make him stronger. The training was harsh, and Morys was often bruised badly from the pole strikes, and sported cuts on his fingers from the arrow feathers cutting him on occasion, but he never complained or cried until his father was away, and especially tried not to when his mother was around. Quentyn would often tell Morys that it'd be his job to look after the family, and his duty to carry on the line of Martell, observing from his usual chair in the courtyard as morys would try and fail to hold his own against the more experienced trainers. He would tell him the history of dorne and its people, and how the world could be cruel and ruthless, and so he would need to be cruel and ruthless in kind, as he worked to make sure his son would memorize both his lessons and his martial training.
Morys began to enjoy his training sessions, no matter how harsh they were, though didn't much enjoy having to take them with his father constantly watching and judging. Quentyn never smiled when he was having morys trained, and never gave more praise then a simple "Good" in response to him doing well. There was a detachment between Quentyn and Morys, and as time went on in the year, and Quentyn got weaker, and spent less time watching Morys in the courtyard and more time watching from his room in one of the towers, Morys felt more and more like his father had distanced himself from Morys. After the last training session, Quentyn summoned Morys up to his quarters, with Morys assuming it was going to be another admonishment about how sloppy his form had been or how he had not done enough during the session. Quentyn was in his bed, looking weaker then normal as he beckoned Morys to approach him, and then did something he'd not done in a long time, having his son lean in close and hugging him, telling him he was proud of the man he was becoming and loved him as a true son and heir, and that he was sorry for what he'd put Morys through after losing Aenar. Morys was baffled by this, unsure of why his father had suddenly seemed to break his melancholy now, hopeful that maybe his dad was coming back to normal. Days later however Quentyn was dead, and Morys was left feeling more empty and lost then he'd ever felt before. After the funeral was held Morys entered the courtyard with a training spear in hand, unleashing a flurry of angry movements and sorrowful wails as he felt the full pain and lost he'd suffered that year come crashing onto him, breaking his spear on a training dummy and using the two ends to impale it out of blind fury and with an anguish filled scream. He let everything pour out of him that day, his pent up rage, anger, fear, regret, and most of all, his pain. And for the first time in a long while, Morys cried openly, letting the tears flow as he lay kneeling in front of the dummy, knuckles white as he clutched the broken spear ends in his hands.
Morys became much more distant after that, seemingly emotionally colder as he worked to keep them under control, as he began to focus on becoming a good lord of whitestone. Morys tried to help his mother more in whatever it was she wanted, looking up to her for guidance in how to be a ruler. Morys however had made a bit of a discovery, that being that he'd actually rather liked fighting, even with the injuries and how hard or emotionally exposing it had been, and that he liked it a lot more then he did other things like learning the law, finding it helped to keep his mind clear and his thoughts fresh. When he was 8 years old, his mother gave him a gift that would change Morys's life, a brilliant red egg, hot to the touch. A dragon egg, that he would care for and work to hatch. The dragon egg helped to take Morys's mind off of things, giving him something to do, and though he never really smiled, Morys was very happy to help try and take care of something with his mothers help and guidance. When his dragon hatched, letting out a terrifying mewl as it furrowed its great red wings in a show of strength, Morys felt truly awed then and there. He named the dragon Typhon, and swore he would keep it safe and healthy, and use it to help defend his family as the man and martell of the castle. As the years pressed on and both Typhon and Morys grew larger, broader, and stronger, Morys began to enjoy life a bit more, actually allowing himself to have fun once a while by taking Typhon out for a flying trip with his bow and quiver of arrows handy, eager to practice his marksmanship while flying as fast as he could. This practice was partially to train Typhon to listen to his verbal orders without him using his reigns, but mostly because soaring through the air, high above the land, diving down and flying close to the ground and occasionally circling about to fire off some arrows and breath some crimson fire was a lot of fun, and a nice way to relax for the two.
While Morys still takes the prospect of ruling and becoming a good martell someday, he has also managed to cheer up a bit with Typhon, viewing the dragon as another family member and a worthy comrade in arms. Morys also became both protective of his sister, as well as a bit jealous of her, and how mother always seemed to like her just a bit more. Morys however tries to not dwell on this too much, and feels too much love for his sister, and for his mother, to consider harming either of them. Morys has other and bigger problems to worry with however, as while his time with both Typhon and in sparing sessions and archery skills have earned him notice by his fellow dornishmen, Morys still feels detached from them and from others not in his family. He gets nervous and quiet when he is together with other people, especially without Typhon around, and outside of the occasional comment or two, just finds it too hard to talk to other people and relate to them. It has earned him a reputation as a quiet and well mannered lad, even getting the joking nickname of the Silent Spear for how quiet and focused he gets in matches. Morys doesn't mind however, and focuses instead on keeping himself on the path to be a good ruler, as well as working hard to keep his mother and sister happy.
all alone and also really bored 
Hopefully going to kickstart the festival too