Brianna Niall - Daughter of Tyr [Completed]

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Brianna Niall - Daughter of Tyr [Completed]

Post by ExtremelyCasual on 5/22/2015, 3:55 am

So, what was your Name again? :  “...I am Brianna Niall.”
Could you give me your Gender?: “You told me we were getting food during these interviews.” ...Female.
Great. Tell me about your Mortal Parent? : “Her name was Lauren Niall of Phebbes, Ireland.”
And who is your God Parent? : “Tyr, Norse God of Law and War”
Interesting. Please tell us your Date of Birth: 04/06/1993
Where's your Place of Birth: “Whitebridge, Scottland”
And your Hometown/Last Residence: “P 48 McColloy Road, Whitebridge, Scottland”
Just go ahead and fill out your Race/ethnicity here : “Caucasian. I mean, look at me. I'm half Irish, for f*#&'s sake.”
My, that's an interesting...Accent you've got there : “Accent? What accent? YOU have an accent...” (Darts between Gaelic, and light Scottish)

Let me just write a few things down; give me a moment...

Skin Tone: Pale
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Blonde
Hair Length: Waist (braided)
Tell me your Height really quick? : "I am 5' 10” ...if we're using your bloody imperial scale."
And your Weight? :  “…” 135 (lbs)
Describe to me your Body Type: “Average in height and weight, and I never skip arm day. Ever.”
Appearance: A stoic, hard-looking woman, Brianna seems intimidating from a distance. Her face is square, with prominent edges and definitions to her features. She keeps her hair in two strict braids, one to each side, and keeps it long. Niall doesn't seem to be too particular for her physical appearance, preferring to be practical over pretty—despite this, she does seem to look well, even without the effort—however, she has a resting scowl that never seems to really leave her visage, mostly masking whatever good looks she might have.
Niall also seems to be missing part of her ring finger on the left side...she made no comment about it.

So this what you wear all the time? I mean...where's your casual clothes? I know we said this was an interview...

“There is no such thing as casual clothes. I don't believe in them. Life's a battle, always, constantly. There's no breaks out in the world, lad. Dwarf Steel helm. See this? -loud tapping on her chest- Steel platebody. Dwarf. Best damn stuff there is, like as not. Fur-lined for comfort and the bloody cold. Stuff chafes, you know? Leather shoulderpads and steel gauntlets. Sheepskin chaps. Leather boots. Wrap it tightly, r'else you'll be fighting damn monsters all about with your bottom hanging out and all that. Real practical stuff, aye? None of that teeny-bopper, middrift showin' crap. Flaunting fancies'll just get you straight murdered, hm?”

Alright, can I just see your Weapon—holy Hera— : “This Gesetz. She is a very broad, bloody heavy, two-handed claymore. Beautiful, aye? See these runes? That symbol there, belongs to m'dad; the tiwaz rune.”
This weapon looks ridiculously heavy, even for a seasoned warrior. It has several tiwaz runes etched into the metal, with intricate Asatru markings on the hilt and crossguard.

And...I see you wear your Armor a lot: “A lot? Always. It's heavy as Hel, but well worth not getting carved up like a chicken.”
So, do you have any Pet(s): “I don't befriend animals, I eat the bloody things.”

Okay, can you tell me a little about your Skills or Talents? : “Aye, I suppose.”

  • Martial Arts: “I learned a few. Mantis. Black Tiger. Mind Boxing...damn good stuff, all that. Useful as Hel. Weren't enough time devoted to get higher than blue belts on the bulk of 'em though. ”
  • Ventriloquism: “...I have hobbies, too. I once chopped a troll's hand off, and used it like a bloody puppet. You should try it some day...the shite's a riot.”
  • Incredibly Strong: “Do you even lift? I do.”

    So then, let's talk about your Flaws: “WHAT flaws?!”
  • As subtle as a train wreck...on a space.
  • Often very emotionally cold and distant
  • Pushes both herself and others very hard, and has high expectations
  • Slightly bloodthirsty
  • Constant “resting b*tch face”; makes her look ape-ish from time to time.

  • Incredibly brave
  • Long, long lengths of time spent in combat have made her very efficient in terms of battle
  • Willing to sacrifice herself for the good of the overall mission
  • Very potent physical strength
  • Well-seasoned in the workings of the magical world (though only a supposed expert in her own pantheon.)

  • Little to no understanding in people's emotions or situations
  • Though by no means stupid, often rushes into combat head first
  • Socially numb
  • Measures people more by their physical abilities, rather than other means of strength
  • Pure, unadulterated alpha-female
  • Personality is as hard and tough as Minotaur jerky

    Alright, tell me some of the things you Like:
  • Combat: “There's nothing better on this, or any other world, than real, good ol' fashioned fighting it out, aye? I can't get enough. Say what you want, but I'll fight to my f*$&n' grave. It's how real folks settle things.”
  • Honor: “It says a lot o'bout someone when they're willing to do something for someone else. Little things can count, aye, but it's keepin' a sense of morals...that's the real measure of a warrior.”
  • Well-behaved campers: “Go ahead and break a f*$&in' rule. See what I do to you.”
  • BBQ: “M'dad's a fan of the drink and best o'all, meat. I can eat m'self a whole party's worth of the stuff. Chicken, turkey, hams, duck, pheasant, quail, deer, elk, beef...if it's got a face on it, I've like as not eaten something of the sort.”
  • Partying: “You know what's better than getting to smash open a giant's head with the butt of your sword?” “The gods-damned celebration afterwards. Say what you want about your flimmy-flammy damn Roman and Greek and Egyptian little fests or what have you...nobody throws a fest like the Nords. F*$&in' nobody.”

    Now we move onto your Dislikes: “'re going to need more paper mate.”
  • Troublemakers: “Let me see you break the law. Any law, really. Can't stand the shite. No point in me being m'dad's girl if I can't take up his way o' life, right?”
  • Stupidity in Combat: “You c*$k up in a fight, and you could lose an arm. You could lose a team mate. You could lose the whole damn pot. Get your shite straight before you go out, or stay inside and cry to yer mum.”
  • Romans: “F*$&in' hate 'em.” Why? “Why?! They hide off from their enemies, off doing their own thing, pretending they're some sort of new-fangled pantheon. Hel knows they just bloody copied the Greeks; they're as original as a forgery. At least the Grecos now how to throw a party and a spear a decent way, aye? But those Romans...bloody Romans. They think they're so safe in their wee little paradise, calling themselves warriors. Bah. A real warrior...they don't f*$&in' run, or hide...there's no life worth living in full if it's not without Justice.”
  • Injustice: “...I'm the daughter of Tyr...the Justice guy. The Lawbringer. Yeah, seeing shite that makes folks unequal chaps my arse.”
  • The Snarky, Snide, and downright Rude: “Give me a gods-damned reason to break a face. Talk some shite, and watch what I do to you. It doesn't matter who, what, or where. Let me get my bloody hands on you.”

  • Failure: “I hate it. Can't stand it. If I'm not doing my bloody job, not making m'dad and mum proud to have me, what's the point?”
  • Showing weakness: “If my friends become my enemies, if my enemies know my points, who's to say I won't be going to Valhalla, or worse off, Helheim, myself? Best option's to not have any to exploit at all.”
  • Living a life alone: “...aye, say what you want about me...I admit I'm hard. I push people, push them to get better, too true, but also push 'em away. That's not a life worth living. It's not a life I want, by the by.”
  • The Forces of Ragnarok: “ that one needs explaining. You'd be damn well worried, too, if the same damn monster that bit off your da's hand tried to eat the bloody sun.”

Okay, how about you describe your Personality to me? : "Do I look like a therapist to you?"
Tough. That is a word that resonates in the very core of what Brianna is. Mentally, Physically, and Morally, Niall embodies strength. Her persona is devoid of nonsense, keeping things to a strict sense of seriousness for the most part. She doesn't tolerate sloppiness of any sort, pushing those she works with and trains to levels some would consider extreme, and chastising failure in any form. With a tongue as sharp as Gesetz, Niall is quick to tell people precisely what she's thinking, when she's thinking it. Stubborn and tenacious to a fault, the woman will do whatever it takes in order to accomplish the things that she wants, and will stoop to whatever means in order to do it. So long as she keeps her honor and upholds the law, in her eyes, everything is fair game.
Her exterior is not too unlike a frozen flame: cold at a distance, and passionately burning closer up. Brianna is quick to cover her emotions, goals, and weaknessses...but give her a means to spark her instant anger, and she becomes a boiling pot of cursing, cutting, and crazed rage.

Easily infuriated by the stupidly brash, morally unjust, and careless, many people see Brianna as a hard-ass, incapable of showing emotion beyond scowling and being generally cross. However, she is actually rather sensual, warm, and friendly behind her layers and layers of thick skin. She puts people at their limits to test their abilities, in an attempt to improve themselves. She cares for the safety and well-being of people she meets, but would rather see them fight for their survival, rather than running and hiding.
In the matters of the three "protected pantheons", Brianna sees them as spineless, compared to her...particularly the Romans. She very openly expresses her disdain for them, but despite her prejudice, would never leave them behind when danger came to pass. Although she appears to be reluctant to do so, if asked for advice in the matters of combat, Niall is always pleased to test their mettle, reforge it, and improve it. Arrogant to a fault, prideful of her strength, heritage, and courage, she finds it difficult to admit when she's wrong, if she ever does at all. To her, weakness is something she'd rather hide.

Despite the crap-free attitude, cold exterior, and less-than-polite means of communication, Brianna is good at heart. Although her methods are definitely unorthodox, she means well in what she does, and does legitimately feel for people when they're in some form of trouble. She has a soft spot for kids, though she'd never admit it, and takes silent joy in teaching them...even if she does have to ram information into their skulls from time to time. Niall would do just about anything to defend the unprotected, unwary, and innocent, to include putting her own life on the line. Fearless to death as her father was fearless to the loss of his hand, Brianna takes life by the horns, and refuses to let go. A fighter until the very end, it could very well come to pass that she does go down swinging...


  • Call to Arms: While Brianna is adept with a great number of weapons, she prefers her own custom blade. (Proficient in axes, swords, bows, maces, and spears...but doesn't use them unless absolutely needed.)

  • Power of Bravery: Incredibly strong, Niall can lift (and hold) a limit of 187kg (412 lbs) for about two or so minutes. However, this is the absolute limit of her physical strength, and a feat of that amount would certainly wear her out for an extended duration.

  • Self-Extension: Brianna's durability is more extended due to her lengthy combat clock-in time, and her armor. However, the armor and sword weigh her down considerably, making her rather slow to move.

  • ! Drawback ! Lawbreaker: Brianna cannot break rules, no matter how silly or arbitrary they are. When she enters a country, city, province, state, or even another realm belonging to another god, the laws made and enforced there must be adhered to by Brianna. Breaking this term puts her in an extreme state of pain that, even with her durability, renders her practically unable to move.

  • Noble Sacrifice: Every five (5) posts, Brianna may pick an ally, granting them a shield that reflects damage back to the enemy. This effect lasts a single post. This effect cannot be cast on Brianna. [Cooldown: 10 posts]

  • Soul of Retaliation: Brianna gathers her strength, fortifying herself to one spot and increasing her defenses by 30%. During this time, she cannot move. After three (3) posts of taking damage, Brianna retaliates, dealing damage she has taken over that time to all enemies that attacked her. Once she has moved, her defenses return to normal. [Cooldown: 8 posts]

    What would you say your Social Status is? : “...who cares?”  Loner
    Are you staying for the Summer or are you a Year Rounder? : “I come and go when I bloody want! Aye, I'm old enough to take care of m'self.” Year Rounder

    How many Years at Camp have you put in? : “Oh you're a shiteful of laughter aren't you?” (10 years on the road.)

Okay, tell me about Life Before Camp:
“What, you expect me to give you a autobiography or some shite? Am I getting fed after this?
Right then. M'mum was a police officer, off and before she had me. What, you're really surprised? Me da's got taste in the law-abiding sort, wouldn't you know? I ain't about to tell you all the lovey stuff, I'm sure even you've gone and figured out the birds and the bees and all that.
Aye. That's when mum had me. She quit the force, on account of having to take care of me. Mum was a hard lady; hard but fair, she were. Always on my case about doin' good and right and all. Taught me right, she did... Da was kind enough to tell her all the good shite I was going to get into, being his girl and all. M'whole life was nothin' but preparing to leave so she wouldn't get up and murdered by some shite monster. A good thing, everything considered...if she hadn't pushed me so damn hard, who's to say where I'd ought and end up?

By the by, I had to off and leave. Couldn't keep to home, for all the things trying to eat me. Wouldn't want mum fretting about putting out bloodstains on the linoleum, aye? I up and left, when I was a lass...eleven, I think it were. I wandered. What else could I do? There weren't none such a thing like this Half-Blood gig, and I weren't about to go and join the f*$&in' Romans. There aren't too many of us Norse demis running about, you know?
So I lived off the land. I went and did my own life. I built my own bloody home, out in the woods where them shite monsters weren't so keen on lookin' around. Back off I went, to the closest place to the land of m'da could in the far north and all. A damn good country, all said. It got a tad lonely, if I'm honest. I weren't much for a talking sort...still ain't.

Then it comes about time for me to make a friend. Wouldn't you know it, one of those bloody Romans comes barreling through my woods like some f*$&in' ace pilot, flying chariot and all that shite, chased down by who knows what kind of great, flying beastie. ...Pretty sure it was a harpy, or maybe more, who knows?
And the git goes off and gets himself into a mess, crashing his little hot rod, making a mess everywhere, and all cornered and shite. I've got no weapon m'self, so I can't do a damn thing. What's this little b*$&ard do? He faints. P*$&y. So I up and do what he wouldn't, gather my bullocks, and slice myself some b*tch chickens. Shame they don't keep around to more than dusty farts, or I'd be curious to know if they tasted like chickens, come to think of it...

I'm not the daughter of a medicine god, f*$&. It took me a while to get that bloody idiot back to consciousness. Git. The lad was so spineless, that the second he woke up, he spilled his damn guts. Hel knows I didn't care too much for all the information I got from him...The Camp shite, the other pantheons, the monsters...Bloody useless shite, really. I didn't need it. I had my own problems.
But that got me to thinking though...if they had their own little summer camps, where were all my cousins and shite? Did we have a place too? If so, I could have...f*$&in' brothers and sisters and not even know it. Here I was, thinking I'd been unique. Damn. The idea of it was pretty damn cool, to I did what any sensible person would do.

I waited until Piss-his-pants-at-the-sight-of-danger-icus got to feeling like he could walk on his own damn legs, kicked him the Hel out of my cottage, and got set on looking for the Norse Camp.

Turns out...there is no bloody Norse Camp. I haven't found a single, f*$&in' child of anybody since I got started. Our gods ain't like Zeus and all that, boning everything in sight...Can't say there's a large populace of us demigods like the ones you've all got. No need for a camp, or protectors, or any of that shite, with so few of us. Hel, I might be the only one. I don't know.

So here's where I showed up. Your bloody camp's as good as the next, as I figure. I ain't about to go over to the gods-damned Romans, and I've buggered myself out to tears looking for the bloody Egyptians, wherever the Hel they've up and gone to. So go ahead. Keep me here, see if I care. Interrogate me all you want. I've got nothin' to hide, all things aside. Cut me loose, if that's what you're feeling. I don't give a damn. Either way, I've got shite to do...I ain't got time for f*$&ing around.

Role-playing Example:
"Will you get the f*$& up?! Baldr's balls, I've never seen anybody so spineless before in my bloody life!"
One of the campers scowled as their prisoner kept shouting from the Big House. There really wasn't anywhere else to put her. Three weeks ago, this woman had been wandering their neck of the woods, shouting at the top of her lungs for someone to come and find her. As it had turned out...she was some manner of demigod. There hadn't been a case like this where someone, a stranger no less, had come looking for the camp. She wasn't one of the Jupiter demigods, either, and yet she'd known where the camp was.
Nobody was supposed to know where the camp was. Even the Jupiter kids weren't supposed to know.

Stranger still, she was a half-blood who was definitely over the standard life-expectancy of their kind. Most of them, sad as it was to say, didn't make it very far in life without getting maimed by something...and yet during questioning, so the rumor had spread, this woman was twenty-two and had been roaming around on her own. It didn't seem very likely, but the barrier protecting the Camp hadn't effected her. Whatever kind of demigod she was...she certainly was one. He wasn't one for hearsay, but strangers didn't just appear out of thin air...and with everything that had happened with Camp Jupiter, who knew what other kinds of demigods were running around...
Apparently, she was the daughter of a god named Tear, whatever or whoever that was. Some of the campers thought she might be lying, or may have even lost her memories (or her marbles,) and other people insisted that she was from a whole different pantheon. In any case, the world had been made a lot bigger with the appearance of one stranger.

And a loud one at that, Christian thought to himself, as he got off the ground again. A few of the campers were testing out the obstacle grounds, making sure nothing was malfunctioning, and she was sitting there on the porch. They hadn't bothered chaining her up, or even really restraining her; with the patrols everywhere, where could she go? They had her weapon in storage, too; a massive sword-looking thing that looked impossible to carry with just one hand. If Mister D said she couldn't be a threat to them, Christian believed him...but man, she was agitating.

"Come on then!" She shouted, rolling her eyes. "Get your arse off the ground and get on with it! You can't expect a damn thing to happen with your face in the bloody dirt."
"She might be a loudmouth," Eric told him, mumbling so the woman couldn't hear, "but she's got a point. Chris, dude, you've got to watch for that spinning arm. We're never going to get through this thing if you can't even make it past the second point."
"Shut up," Christian bellowed back at the woman, glaring hard as he glanced back at Eric. "Let's show her what the sons of Ares can do. Maybe that'll keep her quiet for a while."

Chris bolted forward, jumping over a pit of spikes that served as the first danger point on the course. He was a little faster than Eric, but that didn't exclude his blood brother from the competition. Only moments later, the sandy-haired tween was beside him. Suddenly, he ducked down abruptly, and slid below the reach of a quickly moving pole that came hurdling towards the place where his torso had been only a few moments ago. Chris had been paying so much attention to what was going on beside him, that his mind had blanked out again, and he felt the wind get knocked out of him by the spinning arm as it made a rotation back in his direction. Flying backwards, he landed hard on his back, the pain jolting though him as he lay in the dirt.

He could already hear the prisoner clicking her tongue. Chris didn't even want to look at her right now. Moments later, he heard Eric grunt in a painful defeat, followed by a 'SPLASH', signaling that he'd probably been thrown off the moving platforms on the third danger point. He heard the woman snort audibly, and he craned his neck to see what she was doing. She was shaking her head, golden locks moving in her face, blocking parts of a permanent frown.
"You lads got a problem, I'd say." She grumbled, standing and dusting herself off. "The one of you's got issues paying attention too much to everybody else, and the other can't seem to keep his damn balance worth two shites. Who trains you boyos?"

Eric trudged out of the moat, soaking wet and visibly bristling.
"Chiron does," he said, sourly. "I'd like to see you get through here."
"I've got nothin' to prove," the female said smugly. "I've been through m'own training. There weren't no teachers or protectors for my sort."
"Then you won't mind showing us how it's done, right?" Christian added, knowing full well what Eric was trying to do. He crossed his arms, looking disappointed. "Since you're clearly already trained."
The other grinned, though it could've just as easily been a sneer. "Alright lads, if that's your game...I'll play along."

With a swagger to her step, the blond walked up to the starting point, glanced at it a moment, and before Christian could even ask if she was ready, barreled forward. She was slow, no doubt about it; her armor made every step look like she was carrying someone else on her back, but there was a force of power to it. Not even pausing to judge the distance of the pit, she soared over it and kept on going, thudding forward without a moment of hesitation. Chris knew, however, that it wasn't likely with her lackluster speed that she'd be able to miss the rotating arm.
He wasn't wrong, either; the wooden pole came spinning at her, just as predicted...And instead of ducking beneath it, or even jumping over it, the woman came to  complete stop. Muscles tensed, and just as the arm was in the position to knock her flat, she caught it in her arms, giving it a bear hug. The obstacle halted for a moment, the force pushing against her, nudging her back a few centimeters. Christian could see the sweat starting to form on her brow as she held the twitching thing in her grip, but for all of the weight it had, she was hardly budging. A few seconds later, he could tell the female was pushing back. The mechanisms making the arm move groaned in protest as she put her strength against it. Step by step, the device yielded to her, until finally, it snapped from the pressure.

Eric's jaw was slack with the feat. Christian found himself pretty stunned, too. There were plenty of demigods with plenty of weird powers, but he'd never seen anybody break a training machine like that before. Looking at her--actually looking at her and absorbing the details--he second guessed that it was godly powers that had given her that amount of strength...She looked as though she'd been born never skipping arm day, and although her face shown with a sheen of hard work, he was pretty sure that hadn't even winded her.
Gently, the woman set down the broken piece of the spinning arm, shrugging apologetically.
"Like a ruddy toothpick, that thing..." She wiped the sweat from her brow with her arm, and put her hands on her hips. "Now where do you laddies go and fetch some grub? I could go for some mead, if you Greeks serve that sort 'o thing."

Of the two of them, Chris was the first to recover. "There's the Mess Hall right outside the cabins."
The woman grinned, looking a little more menacing than friendly. "Then it'll be gentlemanly of the lot of you to show me where, aye? Can't have a prisoner wanderin' around, snooping about, can we now?"
Eric and Christian exchanged glances. The former shrugged.
"Right. I mean, I guess..."
She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. "Aye, look. If I wanted to do damage to your camp, or your kiddies here, I've got ample ways to go about it. Frankly speaking in plain talk, it'd take a bulk of your lot to take me on. I weren't fooling when I said I were roaming abouts my own for the last ten years. No guardians, no magic bloody walls, and certainly no bloody help from the likes of m'da, though I know he sends his daughter love. The Greeks are alright in my book, if it gives you comforts. There's no need to go worryin' that I'm here to do any sort of trouble."
"Then why'd you surrender to us?" Eric asked. His expression seemed friendly enough, but Christian could tell he wasn't buying it. "Normally different pantheons tend to keep away from one another. How'd you even know where this place was to begin with?"
"Shitebag Roman lad told me where you were," the female replied. "The boyo was such a fragile lamb...pissed his pants at the sight of whatever were chasing him. Outside's no place for wee little fellows such as the likes of him. I up and saved his arse, and he told me what he knew. That much said," she continued, trekking through a group of campers without so much as noticing, "I weren't about to go off and say hello to their lot...they suck and all. It's like I told your horse-man and the man with the bloody awful shirts...I came along on account you were the only ones I could find. Far as I know, there ain't a camp for my sort."
"You got a name then?" Christian questioned. "There's been people talking, but..."
Blondie grinned. "Well of course I've got a bloody name...Brianna Niall; Daughter of Tyr, Norse God of Law, War, Courage, and Justice, if it's all the same to you. Think of me as the equivalent to your Dike, more or less. ...where's the damn Mess Hall, holy Hel..."

"Are you really that hungry?" Eric inquired, as they passed the cabins. "We just had breakfast an hour ago."
"Yes, so you have," Brianna responded. "But what about second breakfast?
"Second breakfast," Chris echoed, hardly believing the ridiculousness of the phrase. "You're really hungry enough for a second breakfast?"
"Aye! Second breakfast!" The woman insisted. "There's breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, after lunch, dinner, supper, desert, and mead! D'you skip meals around here or something? That's right unhealthy you know."
"We don't have mead around here, just so you know," Eric told her. "Our consular's a few thousand years sober. He's trying to break clean."
"Bollocks," Brianna grumbled. "I take it, still better than the bloody Romans though. I'll survive."

Dwarven Steel, (being the Celestial Bronze equivalent of Norse enchanted metals,) is used for the breastplate and helm Brianna uses, as well as Gesetz itself.
Other than its surprising size and weight, Gesetz is just a double-edged sword like any other.
Gesetz is remarkably similar to her father's weapon, "Oikeus". However she managed to obtain her items, it seems Brianna went out of her way to embody his likeness.
Brianna is missing part of the ring finger on her left hand. While she claims it was an accident, it is instead a tribute to her father, who cast his hand into Fenrir's maw in order to protect Asgard and the other realms, ensuring the monster's safe captivity.
It's not entirely known where or how Brianna managed to get her gear, though she boasts they were given to her by a Valkyrie.

Brianna's parents, Tyr, and Lauren.

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Age : 24
Registration date : 2015-05-22

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