Name: Alexander Ruaidhrí Morrow

Nickname/Title: Alex

Age: 37, b. 1823

Birthplace: Cobh, Cork, Ireland

Sexuality: Bisexual

Play-By: I'll have to have a look. Terrible with celebrity names.

Occupation: Sailor/Soldier

Physical Description: Alex is a monolith of a man, standing a good 6'5", with an imposingly broad, solid frame even for a man of such stature. His limbs are long and straight, stout as oak boughs and every bit as solid. A lifetime of hardships has honed his physique, with thick slabs and dense cords of muscle.

For all his size, the man moves like a big cat, his motions graceful and fluid, his poise sublime. He moves with frightening speed and ease, perfectly coordinated so that even the thought of him stumbling or fumbling is impossible.

He is a well-groomed man but he's no dandy. He keeps his hair and beard close-cropped, though the jet black shows more and more grey with the passing of the years. He chooses his clothes for comfort and utility, and will happily ignore fashon in pursuit of garments that don't leave him feel as though his manhood is being garroted.

The man has a voice befitting his stature, deep and resonant, a touch of his lyrical Cork accent remaining despite years abroad, giving his words a musical undercurrent.

Distinguishing Features: A collection of scars acquired over a long military career.

Personality Description: Alex is an intelligent man, bright enough to realise just how much he doesn't know and that there are others far smarter. A lifetime of travel has helped to broaden his horizons, enabling him to at least understand other perspectives even if he isn't swayed by them. He's the sort of man who keeps a lot of his thoughts to himself and takes in more than he lets on.

He's far from a scholar but highly knowledgeable on matters pertaining to his professions. While he does read he does so slowly and steadily, it may take him a while to plod through a book but he'll get there in the end. While he's no artist himself he has a love of beauty, he'd rather spend his time wandering stately gardens and museums than joining his comrades in barrooms and brothels.

Not that he's never found himself in trouble because of alcohol and women, though. He's got a weakness for redheads in particular, which he attributes to an inborn desire to cause himself hardship.

Alex has always been a lonely man. Though he's known the camaraderie of serving with other men, he is incapable of opening up to others. He's not just slow to trust, he's practically glacial, and few folk even get to see him start to come around. Life has made him rather cynical at times, he's seen too much to believe in the inherent goodness of man but at the same time he thinks that most people are essentially decent and that most wickedness is born of desperation. He has no great opinion of himself and his own morality for that matter, he's got a fair few sins under his belt.

Goals: The pursuit of knowledge, adventure and a worthy life

Likes: Interesting stories, puzzles, gardening, finely made tools

Dislikes: Hypocrisy, pretension, bigotry, castes, celery

Background: Alex was born into a large Irish Catholic family from Cork. The fourth boy in a family of fourteen, with no prospect of inheritence or advancement, he was one of many poor young Irish lads that went to serve in the King's Navy. He was ten when he took a position as a cabin boy aboard a frigate. He was still in the Navy when it became the Queen's, but left for the Army when he turned seventeen, having grown into a solid young man with a deft touch for fencing and shooting.

He found Army life to be more agreeable than the Navy, there were certainly more comforts to be found, even if he was less likely to find advancement and wealth as an enlisted man. He did become a Sergeant in the Rifles, considered a fair-minded and sensible man by those above and below him, though he was never one to become close to others, to make friends or even many enemies.

Most of his family perished in the Famine of the 40s, the few that survived were those who followed his example and fled home, making for America for the most part. While he is no lover of the aristocracy and politicians, he doesn't hold any particular prejudice against English people, or any peoples for that matter, having been one of the poor bastards sent off to fight and die at the behest of wealthy, pampered men.