Thread:Biklay Fierlan/@comment-5156759-20130419002922

Just tell me if there's anything needing changing.

Name: Captain Regibald

Gender: Male

Species: Hare

Place of Origin: Salamandastron

Appearance: Old, thin, and worn, the captain is covered in scars from his many years out to sea. One of his eyes whirs wildly in his socket, his left ring finger hangs limp from his hand, his right ear is bent almost in half; with the loss of his physical prowess came the loss of his mental aptitude, and a pool of drool typically collects in the corner of his mouth. He normally limps around his ship, clutching onto the thin, Badger-made rapier at his side, the only part of him or his vessel that still looks respectable. Finely crafted, with a scabbard covered in gold and silver, the blade is still as sharp as it was the day it was made. The rest of him, and his ship, are awful. Regibald’s navy blue uniform is in tatters, its golden buttons dull and without a shine, its luster and splendor gone, its color almost grey now. His ship is no better; though it doesn’t leak, it should have been repaired long ago, as the third mast has collapsed, the main mast looks about to, and the entire ship is covered in barnacles and dirt. The deck is bare save for a few skeletons chewed to the bone and boxes and boxes of crackers, which is all he has to feed himself. A giant bronze trough routinely collects rainwater on the other side of the ship, though it has rusted through long ago, and is now covered with the substance, making the water taste disgusting; someone's who parched cares little though.

Mannerisms: Taken to talking with himself, the Captain has the classic, well-known hare accent, his stream of words often times too fast to follow. He frequently makes allusions to places or creatures that don’t and never have existed, or describes events that have never taken place. Most of the time, he walks endlessly around the boat, sometimes manning the sails or tying ropes, maybe turning the wheel now and then. If any beast happens to stray aboard, he will attack them instantly and without mercy, fighting with a ferocity that cares not for personal injuries. Then, he will through the dead body down below, to the rats inside the ship.

Background: Born son of a naval officer and a random girl in a port side city, he never got to know his mother, as she die of a plague only a few months after giving birth to him. His father raised him in the navy, teaching him how to fight on a ship, how to pilot a ship, how to overcome seasickness at a very young age. Regibald took to the art, becoming a master of the blade and one of the keenest young minds in the Navy. As soon as he could, he joined and has never stepped off a ship for more than a week since. Rising from strength to strength, he made his father insanely proud as he traversed the world in the name of Salamandastron, seeing new sights, surviving terrible storms and hideous creatures, fending off corsair galleys. For a few seasons, all was well. Then, in one tragic winter, his father died of an infected wound, a disease that came along with it; some say it was a plague, as a score of others in the mountain were also felled by it. Though he continued onward, Regibald slowly regressed, becoming unsociable and teetering closer and closer toward the inevitable fall to madness. It was off the southern coast, maybe three or four days from Salamandastron where it finally happened. They came upon a seemingly empty ship, old, without any sign who it belonged to, floating along near the coast. The only thing on it was a recently dead corpse of an otter clutching an axe. That is, until they went below-deck. Plague rats, scores of them, vicious beasts who had no cognitive ability, who buzzed with flies and stank of death and sickness and who’s only thought was to kill. Everyone in the crew died, everyone but Regibald, who held his own, though at the cost of his own sanity, and his ship. The rats claimed the decks below; they could not defeat him in battle, or perhaps chose not to, and the infection would not work on him. Both of his parents dead of the plague yet he, the only son was immune to it. Ever since then he has floated along the seas, without a memory of anything or any goal or aim; the rats content to eat an occasional dead body thrown to them or each other’s corpses; they leave Regibald well enough alone, waiting for nature to take its course. And where is this course? Why, the currents and winds take them southward, toward a place that actually has living beings…  