Post by Murph on Feb 3, 2011 0:43:48 GMT -5
(((My Reflection)))
Nation: Ireland
Name: Patrick Ever Murphy, but he goes by Murph.
Gender: Male
Appearance Age: 24
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Bright green
Height: 5’7
Weight: 148 lbs
Appearance: Murph is a slim, spry fellow thanks to hundreds of years of rough living. Only recently has he started to retain some of his muscle, but his physique remains on the scrawny side. He doesn’t have much fat on him, which is problematic in the colder months, but there’s plenty of wool in his home to make up for his slender body type. His hands are likewise thin and, although they’re rough with years of hard work, they are quite nimble. He is quite skilled with his hands as well, working with anything from livestock to tiny pocket watches.
Light brown freckles adorn his shoulders, nose, and cheeks nose and cheeks; they are his body’s feeble attempt at preventing him from burning under a hot summer sun. The freckles are barely noticeable, though, and really only are apparent when he’s sunburned. The rest of his skin is quite pale and never holds a tan for more than a few days.
Murph, like his ‘brothers’, has green eyes. His are incredibly bright, though, and seem to sparkle a bit while in direct sunlight like twin emeralds. No one questions ‘the Emerald Isle’ nickname that humans gave to his land once they look him in the eye. His hair is a medium brown that turns just a bit red if he’s been out working in the sun for terribly long. In fact, it’s pretty safe to say just about everything turns red on him if he is outdoors for a good period of time. This is why he prefers to spend hot days in a cool pub.
He prefers clothing that is a bit loose and loves a good dose of green in his wardrobe. Usually he’s in muted and dull colors, liking earthy tones and shades that remind him of his beautiful scenery. He can be seen from time to time with a ‘newspaper boy’ hat, but it’s not something he wears all the time. He does consistently wear a necklace with a silver clover on it, but it’s usually tucked between his chest and his shirt. He’s been bopped in the face by it enough times due to his rather bouncy nature to warrant some sort of restraint on the charm.
(((Know Thyself )))
Personality: Murph is, in a word, happy. He is constantly smiling, teasing, cracking jokes, flirting, and being his happy-go-lucky self. He is quite friendly and open to old friends and strangers alike, and can make even the loneliest traveler feel like they’ve made it home with his hospitality and generosity. If you need to borrow a cup of sugar, he’s the guy to go to. He’ll give you two cups and a pint of Guinness for the walk back home.
Despite this generally gleeful nature, Murph has a temper a mile wide. If you cross him, prepare to be punched, smacked, kicked, and quite possibly pissed on when all is said and done. He can hold a grudge for quite a while and isn’t easy to forget, which is why his people still hold England in contempt for the years of unfair treatment and hardships. Talking doesn’t work once he’s angry, and you’d better hope you can either run faster than he can or land a punch first, because he won’t stop his assault until he’s exhausted or someone is knocked out.
Murph has a few talents he likes to show off from time to time, his favorite of which is his musical ability. He is quite skilled with his native instruments, like the bagpipes and the bodhran, and has a pleasant voice. His favorite tunes are fast, simple, lively beats that invite dance, like jigs and reels. Drinking songs are also in his ready repertoire especially when there’s a crowd of people to sing along with. He is also skilled at boxing and stick fighting, which come in handy for both impromptu bar fights, and defending his home. He may be small, but he is very strong and can hold his own against some of the bigger countries.
On top of all this violent yet playful nature, Murph is a trickster at heart. He loves playing practical jokes and pranks on people, as well as speaking in riddles or puzzles. Most people end up getting annoyed with him for this, but he drinks it up and enjoys every second of his opponents’ irritation. It’s always a good idea to have a firm hold on your chair if you’re out drinking with him as he’s apt to pull it just far enough away so his drinking buddies tumble to the floor. He enjoys laughing at other people’s expense, as long as it’s not hurting anyone seriously, and other people are getting a chuckle out of it as well.
Likes:
★ Drinking. He isn’t picky about his alcohol, but if he has a choice, he’ll always grab a Guinness.
★ Music, as well as dancing and singing along.
★ Potatoes
★ Boxing. He also enjoys stick fighting, whether it’s the trained discipline or grabbing the nearest broken chair leg and whacking someone with it.
★ Betting. He won’t call it gambling, since that’s not something a good Catholic would do.
Dislikes:
✖ People thinking he is part of the United Kingdom.
✖ Being underestimated because of his size. Don’t call him short.
✖ Very hot weather/intense sunlight. He burns very easily thanks to his fair skin.
✖ Spicy food
✖ Arrogant people who think farmers and people who work with their hands are ‘second class citizens’.
Fears:
☣ Another famine.
☣ Fire. Any flame larger than a candle will make him extremely nervous.
Secrets:
♦ Murph can see magical creatures – leprechauns, among other things, populate his land – but he denies this ability. He’s perfectly fine with Arthur being the ‘crazy one’.
♦ It’s not much of a secret, but Murph is incredibly lucky. Things usually seem to go his way, especially since he gained his independence.
Strengths: Murph’s happy-go-lucky attitude makes it easy for him to get along with just about anyone. He is quick to charm the ladies and the gents alike with his smooth words and charismatic nature. His constant smile and silver tongue can also get him out of most sticky situations, but when they can’t save him, his fists are there for backup. Despite his rather short height, Murph is an excellent fighter and is quite strong. He is proficient in both boxing and stick fighting, and the combination makes him a very formidable opponent.
Weaknesses: Like his ‘siblings’, Murph has a temper. It takes a bit to get him worked up, but once he’s angry, there’s no going back until he or whomever he’s angry at is unconscious. He is prone to bouts of loneliness, since the United Kingdom is usually busy arguing amongst themselves, and is somewhat of a hermit at times. In the past, he’s felt as though he’s let down his people, since millions of Irish immigrated to the United States more than once through his long history. These self pity-parties are not terribly frequent, but when they do happen he drinks himself sick and needs a good slap in the face to come around again.
(((The Pages of History )))
History: Ireland started out as wild and untamed as any nation, and when the Celts finally settled there, they were met with no opposition, even from the Romans who didn’t bother trying to conquer them. They lived cut off from the rest of the world until the 5th century, when St. Patrick made the voyage from England to convert the pagans to Christianity. To this day St. Patrick is the patron saint of the country, and he even has his own holiday celebrated by Irish (and people who wear green for the day) everywhere by getting drunk and having a good time.
The conversion to Christianity took hold of Ireland in the 6th century, and a whole of saints left their mark by creating monasteries and being great leaders of the times. During the following centuries, illuminated manuscripts were the hot topic, and are still considered to be some of the most beautiful Celtic and Christian art ever created. Of course, that didn’t stop the Irish monks who had to make them day in and day out from writing complaints about working conditions in the margins of the beautiful pages.
In the 9th and 10th centuries the Vikings dropped by for a few ‘visits’, conquering what is now Dublin and established a Norse kingdom there. The Irish weren’t too thrilled about their unexpected guests and fought them constantly, but weren’t terribly successful in driving the invaders out. A man by the name of Brian Boru ended up being accepted as the high king of Ireland in 1002 after he and his family managed to hold back the Viking threat. In 1014, Boru led the final battle of that time against the Vikings. The Irish won, but a fleeing Viking chieftain killed Boru in his tent. The threat of the invaders was gone for the time being, but in 1169 some invaders of Norman decent decided they wanted to try their luck with the plucky little island.
Henry II – the king of the Normans – ended up joining the party in 1171. The Pope asked him to reform the churches of Ireland, and while filling the request, Henry set up a feudal system of government. Ireland was then officially made subject to the British Crown. Skirmishes still broke out between the Normans and the native Celts, but they were hardly anything to write home about.
In 1210 Prince John (yes, that Prince John, the one from Robin Hood) paid Ireland a visit and by the end of the century the island had its first Parliament. Despite the ever-tightening hold England had on Ireland, the Celts weren’t enjoying the reforms being passed and, after an uprising in Scotland, decided to give revolution a try.
Edward Bruce, a Scot, was offered the Irish crown by Chieftains in the northern part of the country, provided he could get the British out. He accepted, and, along with six thousand Scottish troops, headed over to Ireland. All of the Irish rallied around him and his men, and he succeeded in capturing most of the island. In the end, however, Bruce was unsuccessful in reclaiming Dublin. He ended up being slain, and the uprising ended after three years of battle.
Skip a few hundred years to 1494 and you would find Henry IIV of England passing the Statutes of Drogheda, which effectively made any chance of Irish independence impossible for three more centuries. Then in 1541, Henry VIII passed a few more laws making himself the king of Ireland. This was a significant political move, since the previous kings of England had only been known as a lord on the Emerald Isle. A few rebellions sprung up, but none succeeded.
In 1607, a few earls ended up fleeing Ireland to France, which angered the English. The earls had been chatting with Spain – a pretty consistent threat to England - before they left. The English declare the six counties the earls left behind forfeit, and take the northern land for their own.
After that, more rebellions were had and squashed, Scottish and English farmers got lots of Irish land at half the price of rent, and general unfairness was pressed upon the Irish. Parliament even went so far as to pass a bill saying that, because of the rebellions, 2.5 million acres of Irish land would be forfeited to the English. An army of one million was sent to Ireland to assist in the process of seizing the land, and they end up conquering the whole of the island. For that point in time, at least.
It wasn’t until the American Revolution that things in Ireland really began to change. With England so caught up overseas, the unrest in Ireland was riddled with major changes. Laws were lifted, citizens were slowly being given equal status as the British, and the Irish loved the taste of this new life they were experiencing. By the time the French Revolution rolled around, they were starting to get the idea of the whole usurping the government thing and wanted to give it a try. A man named Wolfe Tone led the charge in the late 1700s, but was ultimately captured by the British and sentenced to hang. He slit his own throat before his sentence was carried out, making himself one of the first of many revolutionary heroes.
Things continued in this violent vein until 1845, when the Potato Famine gripped the country. There are no official records, but it is suggested that a million people died in the famine. At the same time, a million people emigrated, finding solace in other countries, including the United States. Little help came from England, which only increased the discontent among the six million Irish remaining.
In 1893 a push was made to bring Gaelic, the native Irish tongue, back into common usage. The Irish welcomed the push, as well as other advances made in preserving their history. The sudden interest in the ‘old ways’, along with the raised displeasure for England, planted the seed of independence. Then along came World War I. Some of the Irish rallied behind England, surprisingly enough, and joined the fight, while others sat off to the side and plotted their path to independence.
Finally, in 1919, the Irish give the final push against the English. It took a few years, but they finally succeed and claimed independence. It took England until 1949 – in which time World War II and a civil war passed – to let go of all control, leaving the Irish to fend for themselves. They manage to do just fine, entering the European Union in 1955, and the European Economic Community in 1972.
Pre 1700s
Allies: None.
Enemies: Mostly England, but Scotland and Denmark make the list for the very early years.
1700s to WWI
Allies: England, Scotland, Wales, as well as whichever countries England was friendly with.
Enemies: Those countries who were fighting with England (which were a lot, from looking at England's app, so I'll just say to check that one out. I'll be looking at it a lot.) Some Irish would argue England should also be on the list, since ant-British feels have always been strong.
WWI
Allies: Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Newfoundland, Belgium, France, Russia, Italy, Japan, America, Serbia
Enemies: Austria-Hungary, Germany, Ottoman Empire, Bulgaria
Post WWI to 1921
Allies: None
Enemies: England
1921 to Present:
Neutral
Sample Post:
(As a quick note, in scanning some random facts about Ireland, quite a high percentage of children have their first drink around nine years of age, and since drinking is such a part of the 'average' Irish lifestyle, alcohol is pretty easy to come by even when underage. Thus the kiddies poking around the bar. ON WITH THE SAMPLE POST!)
Happy hour at The Drunken Barmaid was always busy, no matter the day. Farmers and businessmen alike would come in for a pint and stay a few hours to unwind from work, whether that work be behind a desk or behind a plow. Friends would chat and catch up, bar tenders would bring a few glasses of Guinness to the kids who loitered around out the back, and someone always brought a flute or violin along to play a bit of music. It was, they all agreed, a nice way to relax and socialize.
But at seven each evening, just when most patrons were getting ready to head out, the door would open and a loud voice would call out a greeting, which was always returned with cheers. The stranger never failed to show up and never failed to order a round for everyone in the pub. No one knew his name, but they all felt like they knew him as if he were their own brother. He seemed to know them as well – or at least remembered them – and would go around and sit at every table with his pint, asking about work, family, money troubles, and how cattle were fairing.
It was on one of these nights when, a few minutes past eight, the stranger stood up, a fiddle in his hands and a grin on his face. He lowered the bow and ran it lightly over the strings, playing a few simple notes that quieted the room down. Once he had their attention, the green eyed man increased the tempo of the song and, almost in unison, with one motion everyone in the pub started to clap in time to the rhythm. The stranger cleared his throat before singing. The audience responded with a few bursts of laughter as the first few solitary notes bled into a well-loved, if not completely traditional, song. “Gather round, ye lads and lasses, set ye for a while and harken to me mournful tale about the Emerald Isle. Let’s all raise our glasses high to friends and family gone, and lift our voices in another Irish drinking song. Consumption took me mother and me father got the pox, me brother drank the whiskey ‘til he wound up in a box. Me other brother in the troubles met with his demise, me sister has forever closed her smilin’ Irish eyes.”
The music increased in volume as the first verse ended, indicating the whole pub should join in the chorus. And join they did.
“Now everybody’s died, so ‘til our tears are dried, we’ll drink and drink and drink and drink and then we’ll drink some more! We’ll dance and sing and fight until the early morning light, then we’ll throw up, pass out, wake up and then go drinkin’ once again!”
The stranger laughed as the children began to dance, urged by their mothers and fathers to go have fun at the base of the chair upon which he was perched. The stranger continued into the second verse, the clapping continuing as his pleasant voice weaved its way through the eaves and around every chair, table, and person in the room.
“Ken was killed in Kilkenny and Claire, she died in Clare. Tip from Tipperary died out in the Derry air. Shannon jumped into the river Shannon back in June, Ernie fell into the Erne and Tom is in the Toome. ‘Cleanliness is godliness’ me Uncle Pat would sing. He broke his neck a’slippin’ on a bar of Irish Spring. O’Grady he was eighty though his bride was just a pup, died upon the honeymoon when she got his Irish up.”
The stranger played along as they sang the chorus, smiling and looking at them all as a proud father might do to a room full of children and grandchildren. They were making a horrible mess, sloshing beer and whiskey and ale every which way, and they were loud and the kids were getting a bit rough at his feet, but the commotion just seemed to spur him on. As the chorus came to an end, he hopped up onto the table he was next to and began jumping from tabletop to tabletop between the lines of the verses, much to the crowds’ delight.
“Joe Murphy fought with Reily near the banks of Old Doneen. He took out his shillelagh and he stabbed him in the spleen. Crazy Uncle Mike though he was a leprechaun, in fact he’s just a leper and his arms and legs are gone. When Timmy Jonson broke his neck it was a cryin’ shame, he wasn’t really Irish, but he went to Notre Dame. McNamara crossed the street and by a bus was hit, but he was just a Scotsman so nobody gave a shiAAAACCCCH!”
The imitation of the harsh Scottish accent had the audience laughing hard enough to make a few tipsy patrons topple over. Another boisterous chorus filled the room as the stranger leapt up onto the bar top for the final two versus. One of the younger children tried to climb up with him, and he paused in his playing to hoist him up by the waistband of his trousers. His singing didn’t stop, and once the young boy was safely on top of the bar, he picked up playing as if he had never paused.
“Me drunken Uncle Brendan tried to drive home from the bar. The road rose up to meet him when he fell out of his car. Irony was what befell me great-grand uncle Sam: he choked upon the very last potato in the land. Conor lived in Ulster town, he used to smuggle arms until the British killed him and cut off his lucky charms, and dear old Father Flanagan, who left the Lord’s employ, drunk on sacramental wine beneath the alter boy.”
Too many people were laughing for the chorus to be sung properly, but the stranger played on anyway, grinning as a hush fell over the drunken crew before him as his playing slowed. He adopted a serious expression as he pulled the bow over the strings, the heartfelt tune reaching every corner in the room.
“Someday soon I’ll leave this world of pain and toil and sin. The Lord will take me by the hand to join all of me kin. Me only wish for when the Savior comes for me and you…”
He paused here, building the suspense of his ‘wish’ for the crowd. Those who had never heard the song leaned in, while others knowingly nudged each other, snickering quietly. The stranger was quiet for a moment more before leaping off the bar and landing on the floor, giving the violin back to the old man who had brought it as he finished the verse.
“He kills the cast of Riverdance and Michael Flatley, too!” The room roared with laughter as the stranger danced through the crowd, joining in the final line of the chorus. “Then we’ll throw up, pass out, wake up, and then go drinking once again!”
Cheers rose up from the crowded bar, more rounds were ordered, and when things settled down enough…the stranger was nowhere to be found. After a bit of searching the patrons passed the disappearance off as The Stranger being The Stranger, since he always seemed to disappear without a trace.
Outside, Murph glanced at the busy pub with a smile. He loved interacting with his people, especially when they were drinking and singing. He wished he could do it more often, but stopping by for a chat once a day was hard enough to manage. He tousled his hair to shake himself out of the daydream-like state he had slipped into, forcing himself to turn down the road and head back to his house. He had a meeting with his boss in the morning that he couldn’t be late to, or hung-over for. “The life ova country, aye?” he said quietly to himself, looking up at the dark sky and the countless stars that decorated it. The smile remained on his face, though, as he continued to walk, humming a jig under his breath as he walked back home.
Did you read the rules and Dark Reflections Canon? Italian pasta. Which means yes in Swahili.
Random fun fact about yourself: I myself am mostly Irish, although I’m quite the Euro-mutt, as many Americans are. I’ve grown to appreciate my heritage a bit more after creating Murph, as I’ve needed to look up facts and history of Ireland. I can’t call myself an expert, and would love to learn anything about the Emerald Isle if anyone knows any little tidbits. And I shall attempt to PM you with the final requirement ASAP. Not sure if you can PM people when you don't have an account...but I'll be trying to make one right after I post this.
-crosses fingers-