Plymouth Weir

"The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea." Plymouth generally appears a fun loving soul, but the darkness of the sea haunts his Faerie essence. It calls and he denies, ever fearing drowning in his inevitable fate of losing his Humanity and becoming a creature of the sea.

Merfolk / Formorian
Plymouth is Faerie, a Formorian, a timeless being born of the sea their roots seeping all the way back to the old Irish legends of the Elvish wars.

He is able to breath under water, and magically survive at any depth, an ability which also makes him more resilient to concussion damage; a great benefit to the fact that he is also a champion bare knuckle boxer. He is also, able to see perfectly underwater, as well as in total darkness, allowing him to visually navigate through underwater caverns of which his 'kin' were/are known to inhabit. Naturally, he is an amazing swimmer, able to move as quick as seal in the water, but the longer he remains submerged (beyond two to three hours) the more likely he is to change, thus revealing his true nature. His skin will begin to slowly transform (takes days for the metamorphosis to complete) to fish-like silver and grey scales and a membrane will form between his digits. In time his hair will turn pale, and his eyes will take on a more aquatic look, deep blue and sinister, although remain distinctly human in shape. This transformation, reverses once he leaves the water for some time.

The call of the sea is strong, and though he refuses it, is unable to bring himself to stray further inland, away from the coast. He and the sea, and all bodies of water are connected; his strength is swayed by the moon and the tides, as are most aspects of his life, and so he is incredibly in tune with its phases. As it waxes, he becomes stronger, more energetic, reaching it's height when full, and consequently, falling to a low during the new moon. His physical attributes, are however, not much beyond the realm of Human possibility while outside of the water. When he is submerged for a time, he strength increases and he can heal wounds and internal injuries at an amazing rate.

As a Faerie, (an Element bearing the semblance of a man) Plymouth is naturally susceptible to charms and talisman, and of course iron. He is attuned to the emotions of others, a sensitivity based on the fact that the raw feelings of Humans are almost tangible to his kind.

Enhanced Agility
Prior to his change, Plymouth was extremely coordinated and able to perform basic acrobatic maneuvers with ease due to his athleticism but after, his Faerie nature enhanced these skills. He is now able to perform tumbling routines with ease, and moves with the grace of classically trained dancer. These new skills, while they might increase his boxing prowess are used for entertainment purposes only, allowing him to enthrall crowds with a routine of dazzling acrobatics or dance tricks.

Legerdemain
Plymouth was always good at sleight of hand, performing the old coin trick or entertaining a few drunken patrons with a card act. Since his change, however, his skills have improved, and there might even be some actual magic in his trickery.

Bard
Plymouth is also able to read music and plays many instruments but excels at the guitar and piano. This ability has also greatly increased since his 'change' and extends to an ability to regale people with poetic quotes which he seems to be able to pull out of the air at will.

Connoisseur
When he was a younger man, and broke, Plymouth used to con his way into beer tastings for the free samples, and it turned out he was one of those rare individuals gifted with the ability to distinguish and separate the various flavours of beers and ales. His sensitive pallette is only attuned to these beverages though, he'd be hard pressed to tell a Merlot from a Shiraz.

Other Skills
He's a great cook, and as a bartender he is renown for his Caesars. Naturally, he has a great head for business, from running both a club and promoting fights.

Appearance
Plymouth is of Germanic descent and is a British National from London, with a thick south west accent. He has some height to him, standing 6'3" and weighs approximately 225 lbs, with the typical athletic build and cut form of a boxer in training. His sharp angular features are both rugged and comely, and despite his career as a bare-knuckle boxer has no scars and deformities from the beatings. This could be partially due to the fact that he never gotten beaten to a pulp, but more so due to the fact that after he passed into the realm of Faerie, the imperfections caused by violence and time were repaired and rejuvenated.

His sharp, narrow eyes are a vivid green blue, and his hair is an ashen blond, commonly worn short with enough length for some style, of which he still possesses a little. Once upon time, he wore the best suits, high priced shoes, silk shirts, the works, but now he's hardly inspired to change up his clothes over the course of the week, let alone spend over a grand on a pair shoes. Most days, he wears a beaten pair of designer blue jeans, pairing them up with his extensive collection of designer shirts which he retained after his quick departure from Europe. His favorite coat, is a black double breasted canvas field jacket, stylish and well suited for travel. He prefers the Fly brand for foot wear.

As his skin is now flawless, he possesses no distinguishing marks except for a few tattoos: A colourful 'chimaera', the body running along his shoulder and the tail up the side of his neck, ending in a blue rose, two black chinese dragons, both on his ankles, and an ornate illustration of brass knuckles on the back on his right hand.

Personal Belongings
Smart Phone, Wallet, Pocket knife, Gold Ring (second finger) ornate Keltic dragon wrapped about the finger, Necklace with a small crucifix (gold)

Personality
Most of the time, Plymouth's in a fairly good mood because he has some alcohol in his system. He can function just fine without it, but who in the hell would want to? He's carefree and has little conviction, living mainly to drink and smoke and have a good 'ol merry time, while he still can... before he is taken by the sea.

He is very flamboyant and hates showing his serious side, preferring to play the roll of the foppish bard most of the time. He does two things well and that's entertain and tend bar.

Plymouth has always been good at reading people, he can predict their moves just like he can detect a sucker punch, but now with his heightened sensitivity to emotions he is able to read an entire room. It reveals its intents to him like a symphony, and he need only decipher the tone to know when to call out specials, or when to offer free drinks. That's all he really cares to use his abilities for, caring little for the world beyond the walls of his pub, or any other for that matter.

He is, however, a good listener; another stereotypical skill of his trade, but one that he truly excels at. Despite his gregarious antics and at time obnoxious or boorish behavior he is deep down a caring individual and would at the drop of a hat put someone down for threatening another.

Likes
Everything about Beer & Ale • Old Rhythm & Blues style music • Pubs • Watching Boxing Matches • Getting lost in a crowd • Having a good time

Dislikes
Popcorn • Pancakes • People who stay after the party's done • The letter 'P' • Jazz • Soft Drinks • American Football & Baseball

Strengths
Keeps his word • Honest • Understanding

Weaknesses
Alcohol • Listless • Lives in the past.

Spiritual Convictions
Plymouth was never religious growing up, he put his faith in his fists from a young age, but he found conviction in a higher being when he killed a man in the ring, the event that ended his career. It was no accident, he killed him out of malice; a good man. After that life went on, but he never forgave himself, and began attending church and revisiting his Catholic faith, although his attendance is sporadic at the best of times.

History
Plymouth grew up in a tough neighborhood. Hackney Wick, was avoided after dark, and he grew up just a stone's throw away from Clapton Road, also known as murder mile. His father, a used up fighter, ended up driving cab after his glory days which ended fast; as they did for most in the trade. He didn't know much else other than boxing, so that's what he taught he son so that the scrawny kid would at least be able to survive the beatings he knew he'd have to endure, but the little runt surprised him. Seemed the kid had the heart of a lion, never backing down and in time, his body grew to fill that heart and then some, far beyond that which is father would have ever imagined. At 6'3" and 225 llbs, Plymouth developed a hacking jab, a devastating right, and chin or iron, under the coaching of his father, who would become his manager in the world of illegal bare knuckle fighting.

Plymouth Weir's name quickly became synonymous with victory, but his father, learning from the mistakes of those who managed him, made sure the kid took his fall's at the appropriate times and soon they were living the life. They called him the 'Blues Man' in the beginning because he positively loved the style of music, but during his rise to fame in the bare knuckle boxing world, the 'black and blue' of those he defeated became a more prominent memory. The name was eventually shortened to Blue and people tagged on Bruiser, not exactly the name he envisioned but it carried weight behind it nonetheless and it stuck. Long after, he put the ring behind him and became a trainer and a fight promoter, people in the fight world still referred to him as either Bruiser or Blue, but himself had evolved far beyond that vicious fighter who pounded out a name for himself. He amassed a collection of some of the best, mixed martial art fighters and boxers on the circuit and the money rolled in, enough, to allow him to purchase an after hours night club he called 'The Chaser' and in time it became one of the most popular spots in London.

He had it all. Money, cars, women at his beckon call, everything he ever wanted or dreamed of having, but come the day of the 'Shift' it all slipped away, as he like so many was changed or in his case, 'cursed'. He had passed out for two or three days, he really can't recall how long, and when he awoke he just knew he was different; he could feel it, and there were others who could sense it to. In England, they called them the 'Inquisition', a derogatory term, but one just as true in describing them. Incantors, beings touched by magic and they used it sniff out 'Shifters', betraying their own kind for coin and it wasn't long before this 'witch hunt' ended up on, Plymouth's door step.

How people delighted in seeing the rich and powerful fall. Plymouth could still vividly recall the gauntlet of haters, pelting him with rotten vegetables and rocks, whatever they could get their hands on as he was driven out into the street. In short time, it seemed, London had reverted back to it's medieval roots, and angry mobs were actually crucifying meta-humans in the street to quell their fears and satisfy their own barbaric blood lust. He could have been killed as well, if he didn't know how to fight, and three broken jaws and nine cracked ribs later, he emerged from the mob, bloody, frantic, but alive. Things would get better of course, but the hell if Plymouth was going to stick about and wait, he hopped the next flight out, and ran all the way to East coast of America, the grand city of New York, where he believed he could start again, but life just kept on spiraling downward for the man.

He heard it every night, the call of the sea. Blood rushed through his ears like waves crashing against a rocky shore and the vivid smell of brackish water permeated his very being. They called to him, a people he would not acknowledge. Their lonely calls sang through the water... all water. It was their essence, and his, there was no denying it, but he was a man first and he'd be damned if he would ever let those black waters embrace him and drown the last of his humanity away. Never would he allow himself to be drawn to the waters, he would spurn their calls but yet he embraced his new Faerie heart, casting aside mortal worries and plans. Now, on a distant shore he lives to day to day, each one a party as repels that urge to descend into the darkest depths of the ocean.

When Plymouth came to New York he became part owner of the Oak & Henge, an old style English tavern, amidst a sea of Irish pubs in the upper west side of Manhattan. His partner is the original owner, Angus Leary (who is in fact a Leprechaun).



Fomorian History

 * The race are known as the Fomoire or Fomoiri, names that are often Anglicised as Fomorians, Fomors or Fomori. Later in Middle Irish they are also known as the Fomóraig. The etymology of the name Fomoire (plural) has been cause for some debate. Medieval Irish scholars thought the name contained the element muire "sea", owing to their reputation as sea pirates


 * The medieval myth of Partholon says that his followers were the first to invade Ireland after the flood, but the Fomorians were already there: Seathrún Céitinn reports a tradition that the Fomorians, led by Cíocal, had arrived two hundred years earlier.


 * the Tuatha Dé Danann, who are usually supposed to have been the gods of the Goidelic Irish, defeated the Fir Bolg in the first Battle of Magh Tuiredh and took possession of Ireland. Because their king, Nuada, had lost an arm in the battle and was no longer physically whole, their first king in Ireland was the half-Fomorian Bres. He was the result of a union between Ériu of the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorian prince Elatha, who had come to her one night by sea on a silver boat. Both Elatha and Bres are described as very beautiful. However Bres turned out to be a bad king who forced the Tuatha Dé to work as slaves and pay tribute to the Fomorians. He lost authority when he was satirized for neglecting his kingly duties of hospitality. Nuada was restored to the kingship after his arm was replaced with a working one of silver, but the Tuatha Dé's oppression by the Fomorians continued.


 * Bres fled to his father, Elatha, and asked for his help to restore him to the kingship. Elatha refused, on the grounds that he should not seek to gain by foul means what he couldn't keep by fair. Bres instead turned to Balor, a more warlike Fomorian chief living on Tory Island, and raised an army.


 * The Tuatha Dé also prepared for war, under another half-Fomorian leader, Lug. His father was Cian of the Tuatha Dé, and his mother was Balor's daughter Ethniu. This is presented as a dynastic marriage in early texts, but folklore preserves a more elaborate story, reminiscent the story of Zeus and Cronus from Greek mythology. Balor, who had been given a prophecy that he would be killed by his own grandson, locked Ethniu in a glass tower to keep her away from men. But when he stole Cian's magical cow, Cian got his revenge by gaining entry to the tower, with the help of a druidess called Biróg, and seducing her. She gave birth to triplets, which Balor ordered drowned. Two of the babies either died or turned into the first seals, but Biróg saved one, Lug, and gave him to Manannan and Tailtiu to foster. As an adult Lug gained entry to Nuada's court through his mastery of every art, and was given command over the army.


 * The Second Battle of Mag Tuireadh was fought between the Fomorians under Balor and the Tuatha Dé under Lug. Balor killed Nuada with his terrible, poisonous eye that killed all it looked upon. Lug faced his grandfather, but as he was opening his eye Lug shot a sling-stone that drove his eye out the back of his head, wreaking havoc on the Fomorian army behind. After Balor's death the Fomorians were defeated and driven into the sea.


 * The Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians are closely related. Neit, a war god, is an ancestor of both.

Residence
He lives in the basement of the building which houses the Oak & Henge Tavern.

Time Line
MARCH 12th 2014 — 'Wednesday' — The OAK & HENGE: A crossroads of events leading up to the planning of a quest. Fiona Danu, Atticus Gale, Xelin and Sienna

MAY 11th 2014 — 'Seeking a Shoulder' — The OAK & HENGE: Bartender's therapy. Cat Rochester

July 16th, 2014 — Festival of Omenwich Square: Plymouth partakes in the festival by setting up a booth and playing games of chance and serving beer.

October 31st, 2014 — Omenwich All Hallows: Halloween / Samhain festival in Trinity Square.