Bridget Ross

A daughter of a dead ex-mercenary and a drowned sailor woman, and the niece of Adler Ross who took her in as his own, Bridget is an independent creature who still retains loyal and secure ties with the clan from which she comes. At the urging of her aunt, Bridget is a part of the Rowntree's militia as led by Duncan, finding herself well positioned within it (for political reasons) but just out of reach of true power and knowledge as to Rowntree intention (for political reasons). Despite this, she will often tell her family what she has to tell, while keeping up a solid work ethic and loyalty towards the band of mercenaries in the name of keeping Dornie safe and fed.


Full Name: Bridget Ross
Age: 25
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown

Status: Alive
Occupation: Mercenary
Origin: Dornie, Scotland
Allegiance: Clan Ross

First Seen: Making It Right
Last Seen: None

Description: Bridget is a little… rugged. Her brown hair is cut short and choppy to keep it out of her face, her clothes are usually worn and dirty, there's constantly a sword at her hip or against her back (or at least close by) and her skin rough from years and years of an outdoor life. Her hands bare calluses that she wears with pride rather than shame. Her voice is low for a woman and carries a gravel and a bit of husk. Her brown eyes are watchful and wary, keeping a clear eye on her surroundings. She has a taste for bracers and chokers, although it's not so much a fashion statement as it is a favor for leather's protection.

She's also spent a lot of time (and done a lot of trading) adding tattoos to her skin. Colorful creations slither up her arms, leak over her shoulders and drip down her back. Anyone chancing a look up close will see a mural of magical creatures, ocean motifs and otherworldly symbols (many to do with death and warding against it); the black ink winds around scars here and there, but is mostly unblemished. In the center of her back is a large and rather frightening image of a kelpie. She doesn't show them to people often.


Portrayed by: Natalia Tena


"You know there are some children who aren't really children at all, they're just pillars of flame that burn everything they touch. And there are some children who are just pillars of ash, that fall apart when you touch them…" - Thomas Builds-the-Fire

I never knew my mother much. She’d just a fleeting image and the faint memory of a voice. My father’s stories about her were always bombastic and exaggerated. They didn’t tell me much beyond how much he loved her.

She was a sailor, part of a daring crew willing to push past the boundaries and see what’s out there. Which is what got her killed, in the end, but bravery does that. My father wouldn’t let me near the water without a long lecture after that. Be safe. Stay close. Beware of what’s out there. The kelpies killed your mother. But, it wasn’t the only lecture he gave. In fact, he set out to teach me his own trade and my days became about the sword and shield, about how to read an opponent, about how to stay perfectly still and blend in with the forest. He taught me to be merciful with the sword, aim to kill. It’s kinder. And it was his idea of justice.

I grew up among the militia and with no mother around, I suppose I developed a harsh manner. Gentility is in short supply there. No one ever mentioned things like… marriage. Or dresses. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I’d know how to get into one. A dress OR a marriage. When I was a child, it bothered me. I didn’t fit in with the other girls. But now… I live or die by the lessons my father taught me.

I was twelve when the sailors came to our door with news. Delivered in hushed whispers while I was sent out of the room, but I stayed close enough to overhear. Or overhear enough, in any case. They’d spotted the kelpies with a missing ear and a scar down its back from a spear. My father left with them, intent on hunting it down. It was the first time I stayed with my uncle and aunt; I think they might have worried he wasn’t coming back.

He might as well not have.

He came home with the hide, cleaned and dried, and hung it on a wall. He would stare at that thing. Anytime he had a free moment, there he’d be. And after a while, even when he had more important things to do, there he’d be. I think revenge is what finally broke him after my mother’s death. It had been there, fueling him and driving him day to day. And without it? He was just an empty shell, pining for a woman long dead.

It was hard to watch him fade away. It’s no way for a warrior to die. I tried my best to care for him, but in the end, it wasn’t enough to keep him here. And when he died, I’m ashamed to admit it, but it was a bit of a relief. He hadn’t really been there for months, and I hope that somehow he finally got some peace. Peace that left him filled up instead of empty.
Adler took me in then, and I grew up in his house from then on. He and his wife got me a little too late to turn me into a lady, but they encouraged me to continue learning the sword and made sure I got an education. I’ve been very grateful to them.

But I could never forget my mother and the ocean that stole her and my father. I used to sneak away to go stare at it, like maybe there are some answers out there. I’m not entirely sure what it is about the sea that draws me so, but even today, I sometimes have to go and be near it. And I like to think that Dina noticed and that was the reason she suggested I join the militia. Something about it is very grounding. I have land to pace and a job to do, and it helps to keep focused.

I know there’s obvious political reasons that I am where I am, but I like the idea that there was a more personal reason for it, too. I’m not all that interested in politics, myself. It all seems convoluted to me. Better to face an armed man trying his best to kill me than one politically ambitious. I juggle a loyalty to family and to my men and try not to see it as walking a tightrope between Alder and Duncan. It works most times.


Bridget is an honorable person. She likes honesty, she believes in repaying her debts and paying forward any kindnesses she experiences. She’s the type who will give a beggar a loaf of bread and make sure the children make it home safe and generally tries to be a good person. However, she can be quite… forceful in the face of villainy and is known to lose her temper from time to time. Especially if she happens to have been drinking.

Loyalty is important to her, and while her own sometimes tug her in odd directions, she doesn’t begrudge them. Betraying those she’s loyal to is something she tries to avoid at any personal cost. It’d have to be something really big to get her to turn on that loyalty. She likes things that are clear. Black or white, good or bad. She struggles with things that fall into a grey area. Manipulators and con artists leave her a bit flustered. She’d really rather a villain she can just stab.

There’s a little darkness in her, the kind anyone picks up when they watch someone they love die. The deaths of her father and mother were tied to the ocean and she’s got a sort of… unhealthy fascination with it. To her, there’s an undeniable pull to the water, but it’s hardly a comforting one. Somewhere in the most superstitious parts of her, she believes the sea is trying to kill her, too. She tells herself she’s just paranoid, but in a world with mages and faeries and the like, one can never be sure.

Her tattoos stem from a very superstitious place, although she’ll never admit it. It’s a little like doing penance, or giving a part of herself to the ocean she both fears and loves, as if by doing so, she could keep it’s murderous desires at bay. She doesn’t totally believe it’ll help, but she doesn’t totally… not believe it, either.

Character Notes For Bridget
Logs for Bridget