About MuraisaMuraisa:
Muraisa Female Nagaji Drunken Brute Invulneable Rager Barbarian 2 Neutral Good Medium Humanoid (Reptilian) Initiative; +3 Perception +6 --------------------
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Feats
Traits
Racial Traits
Skills
Combat Gear Greatsword, Scale Mail
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Rage - Gain +4 to strength and con, a +2 to will saves, +2 temp hp per level and a -2 to AC. Enter a state of fatigue after that lasts twice as long as the rage. Lasts 4+con +2 per level.
Favoured Class Bonus - +2 Skill Points. Appearance:
Tall and well built, Muraisa is an impressively coloured Nagaji. Her scales are primarily a deep sapphire blue with royal blue highlights across her body, each one shining and healthy unless something has gone very wrong. She is taller than the average human, and thicker in the shoulders, with a strong back. Her head lacks hair, does the rest of her body, and she often wears a wide brimmed hat.
Muraisa’s eyes are a deep amber, slitted as her people’s usually are, and unblinking as Nagaji eyes usually are. Her finger and toe nails are naturally almost black, but she often paints them, as it amuses her. When given a choice of what to wear she prefers dark greens and purples, as they compliment her scales better than lighter and brighter colours. Muraisa is rarely seen out of her armour as well, and usually has an assortment of belt bounces containing vials of booze. Her skin is armored enough that she doesn’t typically bother with shoes unless custom demands it. Typically, Muraisa doesn’t smell of much except alcohol, and even then only if she spills it as, given she’s a reptile, she doesn’t sweat. She does have a forked tongue that occasionally flickers when she talks, but this may be an affection too annoy some more traditional elements of her community. Personality:
Proud and independent, Muraisa is helpful as an ally and dangerous an enemy, although the first is more due to her own desire to be the best at what she does and the second is petty vindictiveness. Proud of her blood and her lineage Muraisa’s primary goal is to add to it, although she’s distinctly foggy on exactly how she’ll do that. Children don’t seem to be her idea of a legacy, or at least not yet, and her actions can be somewhat self defeating. Yet, she still seeks a way to bring glory, or infamy, or perhaps just something new to her blood.
Violence is a skill that was looked down on by her family, and yet many tales of the ancestors had them as great warriors, skilled and deadly. Muraisa decided that, given her strength and size, this would be her gift to the family, and violence is often her favourite response to a situation. Especially if she’s been drinking, and Muraisa has often been drinking. And yet, she is aware that there are other options. Unless insulted, she’ll probably allow more diplomatic options to be taken. But an insult is usually met with an insult at best and a sword at worst. Although on the outs with her family Muraisa is firmly convinced if she can find something to prove herself all will be forgiven, and she takes insults to her blood and her ancestors harshest of all - it’ll take a minor miracle or a good friend to stop violence at that point. Background:
Born to a family that claim to be one of the founders of Hive, that helped build the great city before the world became something else, something other, Muraisa’s kin are a known and powerful clan sprawling across the top level of the city. Politicians, magisters and philosophers. Muraisa…wasn’t. It wasn’t that she was stupid, as such. Just…not as smart as the others. It wasn’t that she wasn’t charismatic, as such. Just…not as good at talking as the others.
As young teenager, Muraisa realized that she wasn’t the same as the others. She was a round peg in a square hole, and no amount of hammering was going to force her through without damage. And yet,she loved her family. She loved the tales of older, of warriors fighting off the forces of ruination, buying time for Hive to be built. Of the the great mages and warriors who protected the house in the early chaos, when the city was still new and everything fluid and in flux, even the fortunes of the great and noble. This, she thought, as she read the stories for the hundredth time. This is what I can do. Of course, others argued. Her parents forbid it, naturally. It would not do to have a family member do something as unseemly as wield a weapon. That was what they paid people to do. And yet, Muraisa proved to be good at it. Strong, thanks to her upbringing, and tough. And angry at being treated like the odd one out, the other, the one who would marry 2nd cousin Yarrask and be happy that someone would take her. That anger gave her strength. Her association with strange, rough sorts had a second side, other than martial training. She discovered strong drink. Mulled wine or fine spirits were something her family might partake in, but roughly brewed beer and wine that had more in common with floor cleaner were what her new friends, her teachers, drank, and Muraisa found that it helped her as she fought. She could maintain her anger better with the fire of booze in her gut. Still, alcohol and violence are not the best combination - or perhaps not the best combination for good choices. Muraisa had made a breakthrough, one day. She had tapped into the might of the ancestors themselves, the ancients whose worship and veneration was held as equal to the gods that remained. As she raged and drank they swirled to her, offering aid and defeating her enemies with their own mighty blows. This, surely, must be proof of the rightness of her path, with the ancients own blessings visible upon her. As she drank to celebrate a puffed up son of some minor house interrupted. He said…something. Something insult, Muraisa was sure at the time, although now the booze makes the memory hazy. Muraisa responded as was right and proper - a furious blow. What she had not considered was the added harm her new ability might add. The strike of the ancestors was lethal, tearing the life from insulting idiot. This was where Muraisa’s world began to collapse. Minor though his house was, they were on the rise, and had friends. Friends in her own family, even. Muraisa was clearly in the wrong. His friends claimed her had said nothing insulting, that Muriasa had attacked in a drunken stupor, and she couldn’t remember what had been said well enough to rebut the argument. …had he said anything insulting? Alone, and without anyone to turn to who would help her, not the family name, Muraisa fled the to layer in fear. She had heard the words being murmured. Cast out. Exile. Disinherited. These things, she could not allow. She had to find something to fix this. Something to make everyone proud, something they needed to survive. Anything.
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