"You ain't a man unless you got a job, Morgar, lad. It don't matter if you're killin' rats with a slingshot or hobnobbin' with the rich. How can you respect yerself if you can't support yerself?"Left to their own devices, people tend to drift, unconsciously sometimes, back to familiar things. So, seven years after he'd last seen the Covian province, Morgar Dyn stumbled through the nighttime woods, bleeding, with a candle for light and a troll lumbering after it, into the open expanse by the Covian coast, and made for the well-lit building that turned out to be the tavern. A rather ignominous entrance, but then it was his own fault for trying to cut wood in the dark anyway.
But all good tales have a beginning...
"A man ain't a man unless he stand on his own two feet, my dear. We'll be safe here, with me lookin' after us. An' the lad'll grow up tough as an oak."Settling near to the desert might not have been a wise move, but the lure of lower costs and less competition for lumber and ore was enough for the elder Dyn. And as a man who took from nature to serve and provide for himself, he was used to nature fighting back. And for over a decade, they were, if not secure or wealthy, happy and provided for, and by the end of it young Morgar had all the makings of a man. An idyllic existance, one might think, setting a boy up with a trade, a home and a future.
But it is not just nature which one must contend with, in the wilds of Compassion desert...
"A man ain't a man unless he can protect what he loves and plan for the future. An'...an', boy, while I may have failed to be a man in protectin'...her as I loved...I can...still plan for the future. An' you are that future."His mother's body was icy cold in the settling night by the time Morgar found the bitter truth, his indomitable father weeping uncontrollably beside her. But by the waning moon father and son raised pick and shovel and buried the beloved woman. And the change in his father was uncanny. From then on, Morgar was pressed to become a man. Taught the lumberjack's trade, and more, shown the use of an axe in combat, the balance and tactics such a weapon required, by age fourteen he had many of the skills it was felt he needed.
But the world requires more of a simple lad...
"You ain't a man unless you've got a head on yer shoulders, boy. I ain't askin' you to become a damn poet, lad. But you need to be able to do more than jus' swing yer axe, or the world'll eat you alive."For two years Morgar wouldn't see his father, sent away to become a carpenter's apprentice. Not prodigal, he found the work and the learning taxing. The carpenter was happy enough to have Morgar get him the wood he needed, dragged from the woods and ferried to Skara Brae, and to have a second pair of hands sanding and planing, but fiddly work, numbers and words did not come easy. Morgar persevered, however. By the end of the two long years, Morgar could make a container or a chair, and count simple numbers, occasionally speak with a modicum of formality, read some words with difficulty, and struggle through writing letters.
But there are greater struggles than letters...
"You ain't a man unless you know when you are and ain't welcome, lad. Better to leave a place with yer head held high than scurry around in the dirt, as unwanted as the rat you become."After his apprenticeship was complete, Morgar saw his father one last time. With barely a word exchanged, the old man shook his son's hand, happy that he was now a man, and gave him an old, reliable axe and enough coin for a night's rest. Five years passed, with Morgar going from place to place, selling lumber, doing wood repairs, enlisting in ad hoc militias, surviving but never belonging. At twenty-one he was aware of the need for stability and steady work.
And, left to their own devices, people tend to drift, unconsciously sometimes, back to familiar things...
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Name: Morgar Dyn
Race: Human
Age: Twenty-one...ish.
Place of Birth: West Altmere...ish.
Profession: Lumberjack, Covian Guardsman
Morgar has lived by the axe, on his own, for half a decade. But returning to his home province, he has found that life can be both welcoming and full of excitement and danger without sleeping in a different place each day. Eager to help and fair in deed, he is a man who speaks his mind, young and skilled enough to have potential, but who has not decided his place yet. But, in many ways, the place in which one grew up has a powerful sense of belonging, and having signed (or initialed) his name in the citizenship ledger, he now looks to find needs, and fill them.
If he stands up straight, he reaches 5'10", but tends to slouch. When out working, off-duty, he usually has his dusty-brown hair tied in a do-rag and no shirt, but is not wholly uncouth, wearing a simple shirt indoors. He is still not entirely used to wearing armour, slow to change into or out of it, and often having to adjust the weight distribution. His eyes are a dull grey-blue, but they take in details well, darting about in times of urgency. His beard and moustache are unkempt and thick, but soft, and his hair is kept short. Because of the nature of his life and work, he often has a thin sheen of sweat on his face.
After having arrived at Cove, the tolls of life in the dangerous town have begun to show on him. He has a thin, healing scar along his forehead, usually hidden by his headwear. More serious is the mass of scar tissue in the centre of both his hands, much more visible on the |  |
palms. On occasion, especially in cold weather or when confronted by certain scenes, he tends to rub the scars, complaining mildly of itching.
His speech patterns become almost articulate at times, as though if he concentrated and tried he could hold forth clearly with motes of eloquence at length, but this is usually supplanted by the friendly burr he lapses into. His writing, likewise, shows determination and care, but a lack of art and an uneven grasp of grammar, spelling and penmanship. Hard-working and driven, he nevertheless seems reluctant to be ambitious - "As my dad used to say, you ain't a man if you try for more than you deserve. Have self respect, and if you ain't given what you think you've earned, it was probably rotten to begin with."
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