(Copied directly from the wiki at this point. Will fill in and edit as is possible)
From his youngest years, Owain Morris had a knack for poking around for lost things. Whether it was actually lost was a matter of debate. Whether it was digging in his mothers garden or poking through the neighborhood trash heap for hidden treasures, he was a born excavator, a curator of things that no one else cared for or wanted. His mother Eileen would further this interest with old stories from Wales, of the legends of her grandparents and her ancestors. The other part of his cultural upbringing came from the Ngati Kahungunu, the local iwi or nation of the Maori people. According to his mother, his father had been a Maori fisherman who had been lost at sea. Regardless of the truth of this, the local Maori considered the boy one of their own, and grounded him in their own traditions. Thus, Owain grew up straddled between the myths and legends of two different cultures, comfortably situated within the cosmology of his mothers people half a world away and yet always seeking information about the father that no one seemed to know, or would never speak of…
After high school, Owain was accepted to the University of Auckland with the intention of studying anthropology, with an emphasis in archeology and social anthropology. He developed a passion for cave diving, and his friends joked that he spent just as much time above the waves as under it. Through it all, the half-Mauri half-Welsh young man was a cipher: pleasant to be around, but hard to read and always privy to more than he let on. In his second year, things began to move at a far more monumental pace. His dreams became things of darkness, he would wake with the sensation of salt water in his lungs, or the lash of a squids tentacles upon his back. He should have felt terror, but the diver, the explorer within him sought to find what kept bringing these memories. Returning home for the summer, he confronted an old man who was said to know such things. He looked hard at Owain, and said there was little he could to help him. The only answers he could find would be at midnight, beneath the surface of the waves. Ordinarily he would have dismissed the ramblings, but these were his fathers people, and something about the old man seemed to just….know. So he packed his diving gear and snuck out to a place ringed with underwater caves, guided by an instinct he could not yet name, replaying the old mans words in his head. For seven nights he dived, trying to find the source of the dreams, and each time he confronted the old man, he would simply tell Owain to dive again. He was about to give up, until the last dive, when he tried to come up for air. Then, he came face to face with something altogether unexpected.
As he swam up to the surface, he felt something grab his leg. He fought it, struggled, tried to get free, only to waste precious air in the conflict. With panic and adrenaline seizing him, he realized he was about to die beneath the waves, his body would never be found, and his mother would never know his fate. As he took his last breath, a shape finally manifested in the darkness, yet for him it felt as bright as day. A giant octopus, the likes of which was only told of in stories, or perhaps in fossils. The octopus looked at him for a long time, its giant eyes filled with a kind of intellect that seemed alien…and then it became a man. Considering he could already see the octopus in the dark, and that his lungs were not filling up with water, Owain was plenty willing to dismiss this as the least strange thing that had happened that night.
The Octopus that was a man said that he was Tangaroa, the Mauri, nay, the Polynesian god of water. He who had introduced darkness and death into the world to counter his brother Tane's light. He had told his mother to say nothing of his true nature, and that it had been up to Owain to either figure out who his father was, or die in the attempt. The dreams had been a nudge in the right directions, the series of night dives a test. He had no use for a son that did not know his way around his fathers domain, and could not find his way through darkness and treacherous paths. The other Gods of the Atua might have been disappointed at how Owain had turned out, but Tangaroa would make use of his Scion, even if what he had been granted was a most unusual tool. As a lord of dark and cool waters, Tangaroa had an appreciation for unusual creatures, and Owain, not quite a scholar, not quite warrior, was an oddity that Tangaroa was willing to invest a modicum of power and attention to to see if the experiment panned out.
From the rostrum of a sawfish, Tangaroa fashioned a spear, the teeth of which pulsed and sawed seemingly of their own volition. From the seafloor, he scooped up a ball of ink long since fossilized, the last dark act of defiance of a giant Octopous. From the shore he gathered a set of shells upon whose etchings could be read the webs of Fate. Finally, in an odd sort of testament to Owain's own part European history, Tangaroa unearthed a great old sailing vessel that contained a compass whom the God claimed belonged to James Cook himself. These were things with great latent power in them, great stories, but had no divine legend of their own…it would be Owain's task to give them such a tale, to prove both these tools from the heart of Tangaroa's domain as he proved himself. As Tangaroa explained he was a busy god, he also gave him the means to communicate with the Turehu, the people who lived in the Realm of the Dead. From them he would learn what was expected of him, and to best carry out the will of his father. It was only after all of this that Tangaroa explained what Owain would do: he would be going to New York, to act as Tangaroa's eyes and ears in that city that seemed so deeply ensnared in the web of fate. If he located lost treasures of the Atua or could clandestinely advance their agenda, so much the better. Doing battle against the Titans and their Spawn was a distant second priority…he was to be a spy and an intelligencer first.
As Owain turned to leave, perhaps as an incentive, or perhaps as some form of backward approval, Tangaroa said that he rarely created Scions, having never really liked humanity in general. His son was to have no illusions: he was a pawn, but a valuable one. Tangaroa would not take unnecessary risks as anything but an insult. Both left the exchange cordially, if with a certain measure of icy professionalism between them. The Titanspawn threatened his people, threatened his mother, the oceans that his Father loved so greatly. No matter how often he dived, no matter how many secrets he found beneath the waves, he was a creature of the land, his Father bound, was, the ocean. Perhaps there would never be a warm and loving bond between father and son, but there was at least a kind of respect, an acknowledgement. For Owain, that was enough. He kissed his mother goodbye, and through Tangaroa's machinations was able to transfer to New York to finish his schooling. All the while, he watches, observes, and reports back to Tangaroa as often as he is summoned. Sometimes, it seems like one will attempt to make the first move towards something more resembling a normal family relationship, but that is a matter of conjecture, and a matter for the future…
Owain really means well, but he doesn't get the whole people thing. If it is one thing that he and his sire share in common, it is that in most cases they just don't know what to do with humans. Cool, collected, and confident when dealing with a puzzle or a challenge (whether researching ancient texts, diving into uncertain waters, or fighting Titanspawn), he comes across as wooden and reserved when dealing with others. He is constantly studying, always appraising, and does not hesitate to prioritize the people in his life by their value to the mission his father has given him, whatever that mission really is. A scholar, a devoted agent, and a loyal Scion, he understands these perfectly, but the world that doesn't deal with the great war in which he finds himself a soldier? That he hasn't quite figured out how to deal with. So he plays his cards close to the vest, looks for clues, and mostly tries not to get himself or anyone else killed.
Yeah, who do you know? Who is important?
Events Thus Far
Links to logs with event summary. Woosh!
|Strength: 2||Charisma: 2||Perception: 4|
|Epic Strength: 1||Epic Charisma: 0||Epic Perception: 1|
|Dexterity: 4||Manipulation: 3||Intelligence: 3|
|Epic Dexterity: 1||Epic Manipulation: 1||Epic Intelligence: 1|
|Stamina: 3||Appearance: 2||Wits: 4|
|Epic Stamina: 1||Epic Appearance: 0||Epic Wits: 1|