Sebastion Hope, The Drowned Man
Jan 21, 2019 21:37:31 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2019 21:37:31 GMT -7
Name: Sebastian "Bastion" Hope
Bloodlimit: none
Height: 5'11
Weight: 190
Age: 44
Gender: Male
Alignment: LE
Birth Country: Land of Wind
Village: Non-Ninja
Character Depth
Personality:
Mercy has always been a luxury afforded by those with power. Power is something only seized by the ambitious. So it has been and so it will be. This painful cycle has existed since the start and we are all just a flash in the pan. In this short and painful life, we live there is only one person who can take care of you and that's yourself. My whole life has been one long game of trying to get ahead of people and getting my unfair share of this bleak world before I found myself with throat slit, or worse my coin purse.
We lesser men find our comfort between the legs of our part-time lovers, playing cards or shooting dice. We pour alcohol, filling ourselves within the comforts of our hedonism. We know our life is temporary and for the right price we would snub out anyone and anything. We were a crew of many names. Sailors, merchants, pioneers, privateers, pirates. The truth was simply that we were the last group of truly free men. I was the captain of these degenerates. United only by our lust for gold and the morals to do whatever it took to get it.
For 25 years I found my home on various floating death traps allured by my shallow passions into the ocean over and over again. Each time, finding my fill of blood and gold still finding myself wanting. Sharks in the water would feed off the dead left behind us sharks above. A shark was always moving, attracted to the scent of blood with rows of endless teeth. I long considered myself closer to a shark than a man. The wooden rafts that got me to my prey never mattered at first.
Ships were sunken often and were little more than floating chests to contain my possessions and my men. That was until my last captain died. Many hands reached for the vacant title and I cut down every one of them. For a captain's share, I anointed the deck of my ship with the blood of all who would stand against me. The blood I spilled upon the deck was the signature I was most famous for. This contract, however, was the one that sealed my life away. I was always unwanted. My whore mother told me that often and my missing father didn't even bother to tell me that in person.
There were two moments in my life people ever pushed me. Once during my birth when my mother was in labor, the second when my crew threw me overboard during the next mutiny. As a man who peddled death for a living, I never expected death to leave me so angry. The rage that filled me as I was tossed overboard. The sting of betrayal as I felt their blades bite into my flesh, the hatred that engulfed me as the salt water enveloped me pouring into my stinging wounds. My thirst for gold women and booze was forgotten. As the sharks approached I only wanted one thing... revenge.
Appearance
My skin was always a copper like brown from the sun I stayed under most days. I can only assume I got my height and my frame from my father. He was a sailor like myself so I can only imagine his time aboard kept him fit. Even as a young boy I would pride myself in how much faster I could swim and run than the rest of the sickly kids at the docks. I'd earn money stealing wallets and picking pockets of those tourists who'd come into port eventually working up to stealing luggage and selling trinkets to their fellow tourists.
I've often been described by many a wanted poster as "cunning and dangerous" to which I can attest to. I used to be a young handsome lad. But eventually, you hit a point in your life where the scars become more scary than sexy. My face is unremarkable, instead, I preferred to wear a single red bandana across it to keep my identity relatively hidden. Across the bandana in big chalky paint was a crude depiction of sharks teeth. My hair I had long since given up on trying to maintain. I shaved it all off and keep it that way.
This was all before I sunk. As the sharks came after my body so too did the shark people. Some clan found my body and took me for the victims of my ship and not the captain of it. They healed all my wounds but in order to heal me, they turned me into one of them. My skin now a dark grey, rough and covered in thick sharkskin covered every inch of my body. My scars changing pigment and ever more noticeable across my hide. Even my voice has changed to that of a deep baritone.
Beyond that. I became stronger. My muscles seemed stronger. Denser. I learned this as I crushed the first shark woman's throat when I awoke. My teeth now jagged knives, I learned that when her husband tried to fend me off as I ripped him apart. My heart now pumped with the Icy water of the deep. I guess that part never changed. But I reflected on that when it was time to get to the kids. What do you mean that's not technically appearance? So you're telling me that this paragraph only counts if I name it about what I'm wearing? Well, I'm not starting over don't worry I'll think of something. Oh, the shark-man had a large wardrobe and I took a fancy to one of his dusters. Apparently taken off a dead sailor who had a fancy for authentic leather and a keen eye for craftsmanship.
Background
I've often wondered if there was a reason for my existence. Early signs pointed to no. I grew up the bastard child to a whore and an absent sailor who had as much claim to me like the port he anchored in. The only constant in my life has been survival and the ocean. Life chewed on me, swallowed me whole and spat me back up as what you see before you. The depths were the only thing that claimed me. People often talk of a sunken city. They never imagined what else lies below. They'd never believe theirs was just floating.
My childhood in blood harbor was a rough one. But that wasn't unique in the ramshackle pit stop in the sands. Locals made living restocking passing vessels. Whether it was growing simple plant food or making nets and rope, repairing sails and in some extreme cases reconstructing ships. The brothel that housed me was an ever-crowded stopover for almost every sailing vessel who taxied into port. Sailors boasting about their voyages to impress the courtesans also filled my young mind as I listened above from the floorboards.
When my mother was strangled to death by a pirate it was the first time I ever wanted to kill a man. He was the first man who made the list. A name he scrawled down for his tab and a run with my mother. It was that next morning as they took her corpse away that I turned towards the sea. I signed on as a deckhand for every trading vessel I knew that knew would depart from where he was operating. It took four long years of hopping from port to port listening to the rumors for pirates. Where most experienced sailors knew what ships to avoid for I sought them with vigor. The day finally came where he attacked us. The crew on our ship was obliterated instantly. I fought hard waiting for the chance to parley where I could join his crew. The ones who showed the most spunk were chosen and I stood out from the rest.
It wasn't until several weeks later when I was a part of the crew did I wait to make my play. We stopped over on our voyage to yet another brothel. I followed the captain stalking him as one of the obedient members of the crew. I watched him choose a woman who looked totally different from my mother. One who he let live. As he walked out I was waiting for him, I impaled him into the wall with a whaler's harpoon. I slammed his throat against the wall with my elbow. I savored the moment of Justice as he could gasp for breath while looking into my mother's eyes in my skull. The world doesn't believe in justice but I do. When I let go of his throat so I could hear him die he gasped his final words. "Who are you? Why me?" He died not knowing our intimacy. At his heart, to a total stranger.
The world doesn't care what you believe in. We are all sinking. We all drowning. As I take what I want I learned the most valuable lesson. Never turn your back to the sea.
Bloodlimit: none
Height: 5'11
Weight: 190
Age: 44
Gender: Male
Alignment: LE
Birth Country: Land of Wind
Village: Non-Ninja
Character Depth
Personality:
Mercy has always been a luxury afforded by those with power. Power is something only seized by the ambitious. So it has been and so it will be. This painful cycle has existed since the start and we are all just a flash in the pan. In this short and painful life, we live there is only one person who can take care of you and that's yourself. My whole life has been one long game of trying to get ahead of people and getting my unfair share of this bleak world before I found myself with throat slit, or worse my coin purse.
We lesser men find our comfort between the legs of our part-time lovers, playing cards or shooting dice. We pour alcohol, filling ourselves within the comforts of our hedonism. We know our life is temporary and for the right price we would snub out anyone and anything. We were a crew of many names. Sailors, merchants, pioneers, privateers, pirates. The truth was simply that we were the last group of truly free men. I was the captain of these degenerates. United only by our lust for gold and the morals to do whatever it took to get it.
For 25 years I found my home on various floating death traps allured by my shallow passions into the ocean over and over again. Each time, finding my fill of blood and gold still finding myself wanting. Sharks in the water would feed off the dead left behind us sharks above. A shark was always moving, attracted to the scent of blood with rows of endless teeth. I long considered myself closer to a shark than a man. The wooden rafts that got me to my prey never mattered at first.
Ships were sunken often and were little more than floating chests to contain my possessions and my men. That was until my last captain died. Many hands reached for the vacant title and I cut down every one of them. For a captain's share, I anointed the deck of my ship with the blood of all who would stand against me. The blood I spilled upon the deck was the signature I was most famous for. This contract, however, was the one that sealed my life away. I was always unwanted. My whore mother told me that often and my missing father didn't even bother to tell me that in person.
There were two moments in my life people ever pushed me. Once during my birth when my mother was in labor, the second when my crew threw me overboard during the next mutiny. As a man who peddled death for a living, I never expected death to leave me so angry. The rage that filled me as I was tossed overboard. The sting of betrayal as I felt their blades bite into my flesh, the hatred that engulfed me as the salt water enveloped me pouring into my stinging wounds. My thirst for gold women and booze was forgotten. As the sharks approached I only wanted one thing... revenge.
Appearance
My skin was always a copper like brown from the sun I stayed under most days. I can only assume I got my height and my frame from my father. He was a sailor like myself so I can only imagine his time aboard kept him fit. Even as a young boy I would pride myself in how much faster I could swim and run than the rest of the sickly kids at the docks. I'd earn money stealing wallets and picking pockets of those tourists who'd come into port eventually working up to stealing luggage and selling trinkets to their fellow tourists.
I've often been described by many a wanted poster as "cunning and dangerous" to which I can attest to. I used to be a young handsome lad. But eventually, you hit a point in your life where the scars become more scary than sexy. My face is unremarkable, instead, I preferred to wear a single red bandana across it to keep my identity relatively hidden. Across the bandana in big chalky paint was a crude depiction of sharks teeth. My hair I had long since given up on trying to maintain. I shaved it all off and keep it that way.
This was all before I sunk. As the sharks came after my body so too did the shark people. Some clan found my body and took me for the victims of my ship and not the captain of it. They healed all my wounds but in order to heal me, they turned me into one of them. My skin now a dark grey, rough and covered in thick sharkskin covered every inch of my body. My scars changing pigment and ever more noticeable across my hide. Even my voice has changed to that of a deep baritone.
Beyond that. I became stronger. My muscles seemed stronger. Denser. I learned this as I crushed the first shark woman's throat when I awoke. My teeth now jagged knives, I learned that when her husband tried to fend me off as I ripped him apart. My heart now pumped with the Icy water of the deep. I guess that part never changed. But I reflected on that when it was time to get to the kids. What do you mean that's not technically appearance? So you're telling me that this paragraph only counts if I name it about what I'm wearing? Well, I'm not starting over don't worry I'll think of something. Oh, the shark-man had a large wardrobe and I took a fancy to one of his dusters. Apparently taken off a dead sailor who had a fancy for authentic leather and a keen eye for craftsmanship.
Background
I've often wondered if there was a reason for my existence. Early signs pointed to no. I grew up the bastard child to a whore and an absent sailor who had as much claim to me like the port he anchored in. The only constant in my life has been survival and the ocean. Life chewed on me, swallowed me whole and spat me back up as what you see before you. The depths were the only thing that claimed me. People often talk of a sunken city. They never imagined what else lies below. They'd never believe theirs was just floating.
My childhood in blood harbor was a rough one. But that wasn't unique in the ramshackle pit stop in the sands. Locals made living restocking passing vessels. Whether it was growing simple plant food or making nets and rope, repairing sails and in some extreme cases reconstructing ships. The brothel that housed me was an ever-crowded stopover for almost every sailing vessel who taxied into port. Sailors boasting about their voyages to impress the courtesans also filled my young mind as I listened above from the floorboards.
When my mother was strangled to death by a pirate it was the first time I ever wanted to kill a man. He was the first man who made the list. A name he scrawled down for his tab and a run with my mother. It was that next morning as they took her corpse away that I turned towards the sea. I signed on as a deckhand for every trading vessel I knew that knew would depart from where he was operating. It took four long years of hopping from port to port listening to the rumors for pirates. Where most experienced sailors knew what ships to avoid for I sought them with vigor. The day finally came where he attacked us. The crew on our ship was obliterated instantly. I fought hard waiting for the chance to parley where I could join his crew. The ones who showed the most spunk were chosen and I stood out from the rest.
It wasn't until several weeks later when I was a part of the crew did I wait to make my play. We stopped over on our voyage to yet another brothel. I followed the captain stalking him as one of the obedient members of the crew. I watched him choose a woman who looked totally different from my mother. One who he let live. As he walked out I was waiting for him, I impaled him into the wall with a whaler's harpoon. I slammed his throat against the wall with my elbow. I savored the moment of Justice as he could gasp for breath while looking into my mother's eyes in my skull. The world doesn't believe in justice but I do. When I let go of his throat so I could hear him die he gasped his final words. "Who are you? Why me?" He died not knowing our intimacy. At his heart, to a total stranger.
The world doesn't care what you believe in. We are all sinking. We all drowning. As I take what I want I learned the most valuable lesson. Never turn your back to the sea.
