Rethan Mòr
Forged by cruelty, cunning, and necessity.
Basic StatsRace: Irish
Age: 21
Height: 6'1"
Build: Lean, Muscular
Profession: Drifter
Alignment: Neutral / Chaotic Neutral
Residence: UnknownPersonalityRethan Mor, known in certain ports as Slye Calder, was shaped by hard lessons early on. Indentured young and raised among merchant crews, he learned early that authority is rarely just and survival is seldom fair. He was never the captain and never wanted to be, but he was liked for his charm. He could smooth tempers, talk his way through trouble, and disappear when things turned ugly. His charisma is practical more than theatrical. He can steer a conversation, soften suspicion, and find welcome where there should be none. He carries himself with assurance, observant and composed, rarely surprised. Violence is something he avoids when he can and endures when he cannot. He might have preferred an honest life, but that option was never truly available. Outwardly, he’s capable, occasionally smug. Inwardly, he is slow to trust, accustomed to transactions over tenderness. Loyalty is not given lightly, but once earned, it is not easily broken.Strengths:Open Road: Rethan knows the arteries of trade; coastal routes, back channels, smuggling paths, and the kinds of ports that ask no questions. Land or sea, he rarely feels lost for long.Silver Tongue: He reads people quickly and adjusts just as fast. He can change the temperature of the room and negotiate himself into opportunities others never see.Common Sense: Rethan possesses grounded, practical judgment. He understands consequences, reads situations clearly, and rarely mistakes pride for wisdom.Weaknesses:Marked by Suspicion: His associations and reputation draw attention. Authorities and officials tend to look twice at him, and not favorably.Impatient: He prefers action to deliberation. When tension rises, he moves quickly, sometimes before thinking through the longer cost.Overconfident: Rethan trusts his ability to talk or maneuver his way out of trouble. Sometimes he’s right. Sometimes he overestimates how far charm alone can carry him. Hence the scars.
BackgroundRethan Mor was born in Port Láirge (Waterford), Ireland. A coastal town where ships came and went so often no one ever truly stayed. His mother died giving birth to him, a fact he learned later but felt long before he understood it. His father, a carpenter, kept him fed and housed, but little more. Rethan grew up knowing himself as an obligation. He was maintained, not cherished. He idolized his father anyway, too young to recognize neglect for what it was.At eight, his father indentured him to a merchant shipping company. His father portrayed it as opportunity. The boy would learn about the world. And the father would not have to endure the constant reminder of his late wife. There was no cruelty in the act itself. Just a transaction. Rethan was confused but trusted his father.The ship became his home, and the men aboard it his educators. They taught him work through shouted orders and punishment, and faith through forced prayer. Catholic rites were observed daily. Superstition and fear enforced compliance and alertness. Rethan learned quickly that belief was less important than obedience.The first beating came without explanation. He hadn’t broken anything, hadn’t disobeyed, hadn’t even spoken. Pain arrived anyway. What confused him most was not the violence, but its meaninglessness.Afterward, an older boy named Ciaran O’Faolain found him. What drew Ciaran’s attention was the boy’s sincere confusion at the beating. Ciaran offered no comfort, however. He explained the rules as they truly were. Beatings would happen, but they could be mitigated. Don’t drop cargo. Don’t tear sails. Don’t fray ropes. Don’t be noticed. Be useful, be quiet, stay out of the way. If you can be productive and invisible at the same time, do that. Survival was not about innocence or guilt, only proximity to blame.The two boys worked and daydreamed together. Their dreams were modest. No wealth or illusions of power. One day it was a farm. Another a workshop. A life where pain was not routine. Those dreams were enough to get through the years.They ended on a loading dock. Tensions were already high. It was the company’s first voyage to the New World. The First Mate called it a “make-or-break opportunity” for the company. They estimated two months at sea. The ship berthed at the wharf under the treadwheel crane. It was an amazing sight for its time, one of the few locations to boast such a machine. A rope snapped. Cargo shifted. Some crates plunged into the water, while others slammed against the bulwark, tumbling onto the deck. It was an accident, the kind that happens when men are exhausted, but someone had to be held responsible. Ciaran was chosen. When the crash directed attention to the area, Ciaran was prominently visible while others had ducked and hidden.The punishment was public and brutal. The loss of that cargo would mean delays in being able to embark on what would already be a very long voyage. Several senior crewmen took turns making an example of the older boy. Where there were sometimes cheers and mocking at such beatings, most of the crew fell silent. Adult sailors who mumbled half-assed interventions were struck aside. Rethan watched, frozen in a terrified mass, as the boy who had taught him how to survive was reduced to something broken and unrecognizable. The tormentors then unceremoniously took Ciaran from the deck. Presumably to an infirmary. He would never know. He never saw Ciaran again.From that moment, Rethan understood. No amount of competence guaranteed safety. No kindness earned protection. Survival often meant living with the knowledge that someone else might pay the price instead. Be useful, but be invisible.Opportunity came under a shroud of chaos. The ship docked in the Virginia colonies to unload. They would be there for two weeks at the least. Crews flooded the taverns of Yorktown. Old rivalries flared. Drink turned to insults, insults to fists. Town constables broke up the brawl, dragging the worst offenders to gaol while others scattered. By morning, officers struggled to muster the crew amid hangovers, arrests, and confusion. Rethan was in plain sight and not a soul paid him any mind. As he watched a disabled crew struggle through their work and the senior officers and mates argued about who was still in gaol, Rethan simply walked away.He kept himself concealed until certain no one was looking, then ran. He had no papers, no skills, no home to return to. At only twelve now, theft came first, then fencing stolen goods. Smuggling followed naturally. He learned quickly which questions not to ask and which people to remember. During this time, he took on another name, Slye Calder, a tool to keep the past from catching up to him and to avoid the merchant company that might still claim him.On the ship, his words had often softened blows or redirected anger. He had never thought of it as a talent. Only after his escape did he realize how far his charm could carry him. He talked his way out of trouble. Talked people into favors. Talked himself meals, shelter, and work in places that should have turned him away. He never thought of it as skill. Just necessity.Violence still shamed him. He avoided it when he could, endured it when he could not, and told himself it was simply the cost of the life he had been given. Deep down, he believed he might have chosen differently if the world had allowed it.Instead, he drifted. And learned. And survived. Somewhere along the way, Rethan Mor became a man the world would recognize more readily by the name he chose than the one he was born with.
RP HooksShared Smuggling Route: You’ve seen his name on a ledger. Or heard it muttered in a tavern. Rethan knows the quieter routes: coastal inlets, river passages, and roads that avoid inspection. Maybe you’ve worked the same path. Maybe he cost you coin. Or maybe you need someone who knows how to move something unseen.Testing Authority: Maybe you're the one hunting him. You serve the law, or something like it. Rethan doesn’t break rules loudly. He bends them. Evades them. Slips past them. You've noticed. You're watching. Rethan has a way of attracting scrutiny.Left Before Dawn: You knew him once. Crew, companion, a shared job. And then he was gone. Now he’s back in port like he never left. Strike up a conversation. Talk about common experiences.
OOCI currently only RP in FFXIV and Discord. Please use third- person and paragraph form is preferred. Don't feel the need to match writing. I'd prefer to have fun rather than fret over grammar and style.I am US based, Central Time zone, with a very unpredictable schedule. One week I may be active a few hours each night, another week I may only login for a short time. If we find ourselves in a long-term story, I will communicate any changes in schedule. I will communicate if I'm not comfortable, running out of time, or do not feel we're going in the same direction. Please do the same and I will understand it isn't personal.- Metagaming or Godmodding will be ignored.
- Be respectful. Like many of us, I'm introverted and filled with anxiety. I really enjoy meeting new people but it can be exhausting. I choose not to couple the exhaustion with negativity.
- 18+, 21+ preferred for any M/D RP. I'm not opposed to E/RP if it makes sense to character development. Do not expect it in a one-shot.
- I'm 21+ with many responsibilities and a job that requires a lot of travel. Please respect my time as much as I respect yours.
- Maintain OOC and IC boundaries please. I have an IRL partner and am not interested in OOC romance.I do not like to use ignore/blacklists liberally, but continued violations of the above, perfectly reasonable, requests will relegate your character to the beautiful scenery of Rethan's story.
WIP
