The Collector
07-22-08, 08:11 PM
The Collector
Name: Jager Theron
Gender: Male
Race: 3/4 Human 1/4 Giant
Age: 36
Height: 6'7"
Weight: 251 lbs
Appearance: Long blonde hair, black eyes. Exceptionally tall and muscled. Large, thick scar down left side of face. Wears a button down uncollared white long sleeve shirt, dark denim trousers, rope sandals and shark leather belt. Generally frowns.
Personality: Quiet, brooding and observant. Still manages to have a presence that smacks the senses like a hammer.
Weapon: Large rusting iron meat hook (a hook for hanging large fish on after capture)
Armor: None
Items: Charcoal portrait that's slightly smudged. It shows a middle-aged woman.
Skills
Aeromancy
Divination: Can read signs in cloud formations to find answers and guidance.
Son of Storms
Loner's Touch: Movement builds up kinetic energy in Jager's body, converting it to static electricity. He delivers a minor shock in skin to skin contact. Not enough to be considered painful, much less dangerous. Cannot pass the charge on to metals or liquids.
History
The Skarver was one of the few ships that sailed the waters of Althanas that had more history than it's crew. It was old, which was just fine to it's captain. To Renata Astra's mind, a ship that old was nothing but good. It had proven itself through more than most her crew had, after all. It had weathered storms that would have scared away the cabin boys she'd picked up from the last dock, had been in more sea battles than the scarred old salt that was her current first mate. In this world, a ship that outlasted captain after captain was an honor to helm; a ship like that called adventure to it.
Captain Astra had seen a lot in her life, but a pregnant woman floating out in the open sea was quite a new experience. There were no doctors on the ship, and considering that, Renata had been surprised that the poor woman had lasted as long as she did. She'd held on through a full fortnight of fever and deep days long sleep. Through it all, struggling through unkind seas, Renata raced to the nearest port. They arrived just in time for a midwife to force the birth, and the woman to die. No one knew her; she died without name nor family. In the end, the babe stayed with the midwife on shore, but Renata had always felt that it wasn't the end. Those kind of stories rarely ended like that.
The midwife had named the boy, taking him in as her own. Jager had a normal Coronian childhood. He grew hearty and strong, far larger and stronger than any man in the port. There were whispers about his origin, but all in all, no one paid much mind when as a teenager, he towered over the tallest men. When he was fourteen, he got a job at the ports, helping to load ships and bring in crates. When he was nineteen, Renata Astra ported the Skarver in Watercrest port once again. If, when she put out an advert asking for crewsmen to join her, she recognized the babe from the hulk of a man before her, she never said. With blessings from his mother, and a sly smile, he boarded the Skarver, and resumed his journey from the place where it had started.
All was well for over a full decade. Renata and Jager fell in love on the lonely sea, and while they tried many years, they never had a child. It never quite bothered them, as the crew itself was a tight family upon the waves. Nights spent in the galley, drinking and joking, were plentiful. It only made sense that one night, the subject of Jager's origins came up after too much ale. Jager had always seemed like such a grounded man that no one would have thought that the lie of his parents would weigh as heavily as it did. He pulled into himself, refusing all company. Worried, Renata set sail for Watercrest to let Jager find the old midwife and set things right.
When three nights had passed and he'd yet to return to the ship, Renata went looking for him, only to find the midwife and her husband murdered. There was no trace of Jager, only bloody carcasses. Out of guilt, the captain stayed in town to see the couple buried, so many questions going through her mind. Why? There was no blame! She was sure that Jager had been the murderer, and it made no sense! His mother was dead, and nothing could have been done. Surely he understood that they had nothing but love for him, that everything possible had been done for his mother?
When she returned to the ship and set sail, the crew was on edge. They knew something wasn't right. A week into the voyage, unsettling things began to happen. Footsteps in the night and objects being moved. A man unfortunate enough to be superstitious ended up hanging himself off the crow's nest. Renata made plans to port until the ship could be blessed and the source of the anxiety could be pinned down.
One night, working in the kitchen, she opened the cupboard to pull a fish for the night's stew and found Jager standing in there, a mangled fish in one hand and the meat hook it had been hanging from in the other. She didn't have time to scream. Two years later, the ship crashed into the rocks just outside of Scara Brae's western shore. There wasn't a living soul on it, except for the gulls that had managed to get in and strip the rotting flesh from bodies long dead. The patrol that had rowed out to investigate when a fisherman spotted the wreckage found bloody footsteps leading away from the ship, though the trail disappeared into the water. Someone might have swam to shore, but if they had, their identity was never even guessed upon. All the ship's equipment was accounted for; all but one meat hook.
Jager walked the world, free as a ghost.
Name: Jager Theron
Gender: Male
Race: 3/4 Human 1/4 Giant
Age: 36
Height: 6'7"
Weight: 251 lbs
Appearance: Long blonde hair, black eyes. Exceptionally tall and muscled. Large, thick scar down left side of face. Wears a button down uncollared white long sleeve shirt, dark denim trousers, rope sandals and shark leather belt. Generally frowns.
Personality: Quiet, brooding and observant. Still manages to have a presence that smacks the senses like a hammer.
Weapon: Large rusting iron meat hook (a hook for hanging large fish on after capture)
Armor: None
Items: Charcoal portrait that's slightly smudged. It shows a middle-aged woman.
Skills
Aeromancy
Divination: Can read signs in cloud formations to find answers and guidance.
Son of Storms
Loner's Touch: Movement builds up kinetic energy in Jager's body, converting it to static electricity. He delivers a minor shock in skin to skin contact. Not enough to be considered painful, much less dangerous. Cannot pass the charge on to metals or liquids.
History
The Skarver was one of the few ships that sailed the waters of Althanas that had more history than it's crew. It was old, which was just fine to it's captain. To Renata Astra's mind, a ship that old was nothing but good. It had proven itself through more than most her crew had, after all. It had weathered storms that would have scared away the cabin boys she'd picked up from the last dock, had been in more sea battles than the scarred old salt that was her current first mate. In this world, a ship that outlasted captain after captain was an honor to helm; a ship like that called adventure to it.
Captain Astra had seen a lot in her life, but a pregnant woman floating out in the open sea was quite a new experience. There were no doctors on the ship, and considering that, Renata had been surprised that the poor woman had lasted as long as she did. She'd held on through a full fortnight of fever and deep days long sleep. Through it all, struggling through unkind seas, Renata raced to the nearest port. They arrived just in time for a midwife to force the birth, and the woman to die. No one knew her; she died without name nor family. In the end, the babe stayed with the midwife on shore, but Renata had always felt that it wasn't the end. Those kind of stories rarely ended like that.
The midwife had named the boy, taking him in as her own. Jager had a normal Coronian childhood. He grew hearty and strong, far larger and stronger than any man in the port. There were whispers about his origin, but all in all, no one paid much mind when as a teenager, he towered over the tallest men. When he was fourteen, he got a job at the ports, helping to load ships and bring in crates. When he was nineteen, Renata Astra ported the Skarver in Watercrest port once again. If, when she put out an advert asking for crewsmen to join her, she recognized the babe from the hulk of a man before her, she never said. With blessings from his mother, and a sly smile, he boarded the Skarver, and resumed his journey from the place where it had started.
All was well for over a full decade. Renata and Jager fell in love on the lonely sea, and while they tried many years, they never had a child. It never quite bothered them, as the crew itself was a tight family upon the waves. Nights spent in the galley, drinking and joking, were plentiful. It only made sense that one night, the subject of Jager's origins came up after too much ale. Jager had always seemed like such a grounded man that no one would have thought that the lie of his parents would weigh as heavily as it did. He pulled into himself, refusing all company. Worried, Renata set sail for Watercrest to let Jager find the old midwife and set things right.
When three nights had passed and he'd yet to return to the ship, Renata went looking for him, only to find the midwife and her husband murdered. There was no trace of Jager, only bloody carcasses. Out of guilt, the captain stayed in town to see the couple buried, so many questions going through her mind. Why? There was no blame! She was sure that Jager had been the murderer, and it made no sense! His mother was dead, and nothing could have been done. Surely he understood that they had nothing but love for him, that everything possible had been done for his mother?
When she returned to the ship and set sail, the crew was on edge. They knew something wasn't right. A week into the voyage, unsettling things began to happen. Footsteps in the night and objects being moved. A man unfortunate enough to be superstitious ended up hanging himself off the crow's nest. Renata made plans to port until the ship could be blessed and the source of the anxiety could be pinned down.
One night, working in the kitchen, she opened the cupboard to pull a fish for the night's stew and found Jager standing in there, a mangled fish in one hand and the meat hook it had been hanging from in the other. She didn't have time to scream. Two years later, the ship crashed into the rocks just outside of Scara Brae's western shore. There wasn't a living soul on it, except for the gulls that had managed to get in and strip the rotting flesh from bodies long dead. The patrol that had rowed out to investigate when a fisherman spotted the wreckage found bloody footsteps leading away from the ship, though the trail disappeared into the water. Someone might have swam to shore, but if they had, their identity was never even guessed upon. All the ship's equipment was accounted for; all but one meat hook.
Jager walked the world, free as a ghost.