<strong>From Road to Swamp</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/Lady%201.jpg)<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Abigail Meghan<br/>O'Hourihane<br/>aka Meg Haney</strong></span></div></div><div class="floatleft">(http://)</div>The carriage clattered over the rough road, and there were moments when Abigail felt the conveyance tilt upon its wheels, sending her toward the side with her mother's scant weight pressing upon her in grim reminder of how little the frail, ill woman could withstand the rigors of such a journey.  Her fingers in Abigail's hand were cold, hardly more than winter twigs.  She could feel the fear inside with them, an invisible fog that sapped heat and set her teeth to chattering, despite the warmth of the air.<br/><br/>"They are coming."<br/><br/>Her mother's words were hardly more than a whisper, but there was no doubt and no panic, only a grim kind of resignation that was mirrored in her steel gray eyes, gone slowly pale over the year that illness had eaten away at her from the inside out.<br/><br/>Abigail's throat swelled, and her eyes stung with unshed tears.  Her mother believed she would die this night, and worse, Abigail believed it as well.   She could feel the tightness in her chest, and the sorrow for leaving those she loved behind.  She could also feel relief, relief that the pain would soon end and the strength of her mother's belief that this last journey would see her someplace better.<br/><br/>"Stop the coach!"<br/><br/>Her mother's fingers tightened on hers, and Abigail turned to look at her, her face a mixture of disbelief and fear ... and pride as well.  Her mother would not, even as weak as she was, would not give in to the men who had killed her father.  The two of them shared a long, steady look unbroken by the carriage's jostling.<br/><strong><br/>"Stop!   Stop the coach!" </strong>This command was stronger, and accompanied by a few thumps of a weathered fist, big and hard as a brick, demanding the coachman's attention.  Brigs, her father's aide-de-camp, was a large man, strong and imposing even though he had reached his fifty-eighth year.   There was no fear in his visage, and none in his voice, and he nodded at her as if to say 'You can do this, girl.  You know that you can.'  He had said those words to her in many ways, many different fashions, over her life, from when she had climbed too far up her first tree and had to be coaxed down, to when she had ridden her first horse, to when the man she had hoped to wed had been lost at sea, to when the doctors had been able to offer no hope that her mother would recover.<br/><br/>She nodded back, both to Brigs and to her mother, and clutched her mother's frail hand in one of hers and her sewing basket in the other as the horses were slowed and the carriage rocked to a stop.  Brigs opened the door and hung out, surveying the landscape.<br/><strong><br/>"There.  Georges, pull ahead to where the water comes right to the road, and stop." </strong><br/><br/>Georges, the coachman, had been with them almost as long as Brigs, and he did not fear the big man like some of the younger members of their household.  He had a wife, daughters and a son, grandchildren.  He wanted to live, and he chafed at the delay, question it, until Brigs' voice rang out like the clap of hammer to anvil, and he did as he was told.<br/><br/>"You must go, Abigail.  Get away from the road and hide.  You must not be seen, you must not be heard.  Keep safe, and keep what you hold safe until it can be used to punish those who ... to punish our enemies.   We will lead them on as long as we can."  Her mother nodded to her, a hint of a fierce smile upon her face.   "The fog will come.  Use it and the water, and your senses, to take you as far from here as you can.  Trust wisely ... more wisely than did your father.  Go now, and remember that you, and Collen, and Therese as well ... always have my love."<br/><br/>Her mother painfully leaned forward as the carriage rolled to a stop again, and pressed her lips to Abigail's forehead, and pulled her into a brief hug that was stronger than her mother's arms had been for a month or more.  Abigail clutched her, refusing to cry, refusing to make her mother''s last memory of her one of weakness.<em> "I will.  I love you ... Mother."  </em>Then she was drawn away by Brigs' hand.<br/><br/><strong>"Set your case down.  I will open the door, and you must jump, down into the water, as lightly as you can.  It will hide your footprints and your scent.  Wade down to the bend in the river, as carefully as you can, then exit the water upon rock if you can.  Give them as hard a trail as you can to follow, just as you did your brother when you used to play at tracking.  You are smart, you are strong.  Do what you must, and when you can, bring those papers to your brother or to one he would bid you trust.   Until then, until the truth is no longer hidden, you must hide yourself."</strong><br/><br/>Abigail wrestled against his hands as he tried to take the case, but then steeled herself and nodded.  If Brigs was false, she was dead already.  He could take what he wanted, and her heart knew that there was no treachery in the man.  She nodded again, the three of them nodded together, and she did as she was told, perhaps the first time in ... ever ... without questioning it further, taking time only for one soft whisper, as steady as she could hold it.<em>"Thank you.  Godspeed."</em><br/><br/>A moment later and she was in the water, mud and rock beneath her shoes and the cool flow tugging at her skirts.  Brigs carefully tossed her sewing kit, packed with what few items she had grabbed as they made their escape in the wee hours of dawn, and she caught it, clutched it, attempting to burn the memory into her mind of her mother's face, of Brigs' concern, of Jake, the coachman's regret and worry that shone through his fear, and then she turned, hiked up her skirt as much as she could with one free hand, and started slogging.<br/><br/>Tears rolled down her face as she heard the 'Hyuh" of Jake's voice, and the sound of the carriage pulling away, leaving her with the sound of her movements as she waded, her skirts heavy and getting heavier with every movement.<br/><br/>They were coming, and if she were in sight when they did, it would all be for naught.  She would be dead, or worse before ..<br/><br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Meg Haney</div><div class="spoiler_body"><hr/><br/><hr/><div align="center"><strong>Brief Synopsis</strong></div><hr/><div align="center">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/Lady%201.jpg)</div><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 16pt;"><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Abigail Meghan O'Hourihane, aka Meg Haney</strong></span></span></span></div><hr/><br/><strong></strong><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Brief Overview</span></strong><br/><ul class="bbc_list"><li><strong>Name: </strong>Meg</li><li><strong>Gender: </strong>Female</li><li><strong>Age: </strong>22</li><li><strong>Species: </strong>Human</li><li><strong>Orientation: </strong>Heterosexual</li><li><strong>Height: </strong>1 meter 62 (5'4")</li><li><strong>Weight: </strong>54 kg (119 lbs)</li><li><strong>Relatives: </strong>Albert O'Hourihane (father/deceased), Regina (mother/deceased), Therese Mariset (sister/estranged), Collen O'Hourihane (older brother/missing)</li><li><strong>Settings: </strong>Fantasy</li><li><strong>Notable Interests: </strong>Books, History, Music, Riding, Botany, Needlework</li><li><strong>Related RPG Systems: </strong>None specific</li></ul><br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Background Information</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div style="text-align: justify;">Abigail Meghan O'Hourihane is the third child of Albert and Regina O'Hourihane, born late to her parents, after her other siblings had left childhood behind.  Her mother and father were once heavily involved in court life, and her father had the ear of the monarch and had been recognized and advanced for his counsel and his efforts in matters both foreign and domestic.  However, as the king grew older, and power in other lands shifted, her father's opinion fell from favor.  He, his wife, and Regina, retreated to a country life, as removed from court as could be managed, while Abigail grew. <br/><br/>She was educated in many different disciplines, from history to politics to economics by her father, and a different kind of history by her mother, the history that passes from mother to daughter and is rarely written in scholarly books.  From her mother, she also learned to watch people, to see the motivations behind their actions, and to develop her empathic gift, though she had just a touch of it, a gift of the bloodlines from her mother's father's line that bred strongest in the daughters.<br/><br/>It was a quiet and peaceful life, though as Abigail set her feet upon the path that would take her from girl to woman, her father began making attempts to reclaim his old position.  He wished for his youngest daughter to make a match better than her elder sister had, and for once, he ignored his daughter's wishes in favor of his own.  Abigail had already given her heart, as well as other things, to the son of the town's healer -- though his love had proven insufficient to quell the lure of his dreams and ambitions.<br/><br/>It was her father's return to the murky world of court that planted the seeds of disaster, that, and jealousy and resentment.  He had, by chance, stumbled upon a conspiracy rooted in treason to the crown, and had attempted to work his way into it, both to secure his return and for old friendships, old loyalties, to the king who had brushed him aside.  He was discovered, but he managed to send documents to his son, Abigail's older brother, that would exposed the conspirators' deeds, but it was brought -- in error -- to his country home instead. <br/><br/>He paid for his daring with his life, and those seeking his papers came seeking them.  His wife, his daughter, and his trusted retainer managed to get away, departing in a carriage.  Abigail took her father's papers, and hid them in the false bottom of her needlework basket, which she had constructed to hide letters and keepsakes of her illicit love.<br/><br/>They did not travel far before their pursuers, armed men on horseback, caught up to them.   It did not end well, and, thanks to her mother's wisdom, her family retainer's sacrifice, and her gift of empathy, Abigail escaped and fled on foot through the forest, her needlework basket clutched to her chest, with the hunters on her heels -- having gained just a tiny headstart due to her gift of empathy  that she had managed to turn outward, spooking their horses.<br/><br/> </div></div></div></div><br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Personality</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div style="text-align: justify;">Meg, the name that she decided to adopt in the hope that her father's enemies would not learn of her fate, is a serious-minded young woman, given to quiet pursuits and a love of learning.  She is, however, somewhat headstrong, and does not liked to be pushed, pulled, or tugged to another's whims.  Her empathy and curiosity regarding people is something that has not been totally well received, as in her younger years she was apt to blurt out questions that she did not fully understand why she should not ask.  She still prefers to be blunt and straightforward, but she understands that this is not always welcome, so rather than change herself, she is prone to simply retreating into her own thoughts, her own company.</div></div></div></div><br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Appearance</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><span class="bbc_u">Body</span></strong><br/>Meg is more or less average height, average weight, though in circles her mother had once occupied, she would have been thought undertall and decidedly 'not-willowy'.  Her hair is chestnut brown and long, with curls. She is used to wearing her hair coaxed into a braid and pinned atop her head, a style that usually required help to attain.  Her eyes are a mixture of blue and green, and tends to one of the other depending on what she wears, and the colors around her.<br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Clothing and Gear</span></strong><br/>Clothing &amp; Gear</div></div></div></div><br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Skills and Abilities</div><div class="spoiler_body"><ul class="bbc_list"><li><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Empathy </strong>Meg is adept at picking up on strong emotions and mood.  She also usually has a good idea of people, animals, and even occasionally certain plants in the vicinity ... and can, under the right circumstances, tell whether the animals/people are possessed of strong emotions or calm</div></li><li><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Botany</strong> Meg is possessed of a green thumb, finding it easy to cultivate and successfully grow almost any flower, any garden plant, any herb that she has set her mind to.  She also knows much of their properties -- what is good to eat, what is poisonous, what is medicinal, etc.  Part of this is derived from her empathic gift, but much is simply learning from books and conversations</div></li><li><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Needlework </strong>Meg can sew, from practical stitchery to fanciful, decorative stitching.  It is the one thing that always serves to calm her and comfort her.</div></li><li><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Archery </strong>She has some mild recreational skill with the recurve shortbow, but has only ever practiced at still targets.  Because of her empathy, hunting is something that she has always preferred to avoid, and she has never yet been in the position of having to feed herself.</div></li></ul></div></div></div><br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Major Flaws</div><div class="spoiler_body"><ul class="bbc_list"><li><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Naive</strong>  She has been sheltered and spoiled, and this limited upbringing does not truly give her any insight into just how cruel the world can be.  She thinks she knows now, but she has only scratched the surface.</div></li><li><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Stubborn </strong>She has been indulged in getting her own way, and she is disinclined to see herself as wrong.  She wants what she wants, whether it be to go swimming in the lake at midnight, to have a tryst with a boy her father deems unsuitable, or to climb a tree to 'rescue' a stuck kitten.</div></li></ul></div></div></div><br/><div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Sexual Information</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div style="text-align: justify;">Meg is heterosexual, though her natural empathy and curiosity might expand on this given opportunity.  Her sexual experience is limited mostly to a summer of innocent exploration that grew less innocent as the fall approached, culminating in the loss of the thing so many set such store upon.  She found she rather liked what men and women do together, but some of her curiosity has been blunted by a heart that is more bruised than broken at the young man's flight.   Her experience is not broad at all, but she is more likely to be intrigued by possibilities than repelled.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div>