Difference between revisions of "Ressalssithalifthel'Keear"

Revision as of 02:07, 16 November 2014

For the character sheet, see Russ's Character Sheet

Description

Russ towers over most of the people around him, standing 6'8" (not counting the dorsal spines that run from the top of his head to the tip of his tail). His scales are largely greenish in color, lightening on his ventral side, and darkening at the ridge of his back. His bright blue spines stand in contrast to his skin's hue, and stand in parallel to two dark stripes running down either side of his back. Like most lizardfolk, this patterning is unique to his family group and can be used to instantly indentify him at range to those who are familiar with such details. His eyes are large, and bright yellow, with slitted pupils. Combined with the teeth coming from his muzzle and his clawed hands, his appearance is shockingly bestial to most Mainlanders, even Servitors.

When disguised, he takes the form of a very large Half-Orc, with rough features that seem almost hewn from raw jade. He complements this with loose-fitting Petaran garb that covers as much of his body as he can manage. His tail he cannot hide, so he merely makes its skin tone and texture match the rest of his body, and when he doesn't outright ignore questions about it (his usual tactic), he explains it away as an alchemical experiment gone awry. He takes great pains to hide his voice, effort that manifests itself in halting speech patterns with a gravelly tone, avoiding sibilants whenever possible--this is easy to dismiss through his foreign appearance, which suits Russ just fine. When he is not taking this effort, his speech is low-toned, hissing and very grammatically fluent, although the physiological challenges make some words difficult to understand.

He arrived some years ago to the Prycedown area seeking work, and though the nature of his occupation keeps him from being established in any particular place, Prycedown's unique relationship with Mainland trade has kept him more tied to that city than elsewhere. He generally contracts as a bodyguard, sailor, or hunter, and specializes in wilderness knowledge and the healing arts. He keeps to himself, and rarely speaks, but the few words he does say are heavily accented, and seem almost absurdly provincial. Where he came from, nobody seems to know. He has jobbed with many groups over the years, on voyages to both extremes of the mundane and hair-raising, and generally carried himself admirably within his expertise. Nonetheless, he rarely accepts repeat work, even when offered, and there is no person who could really consider him as anything more than a vague professional acquaintance. Even among the many taverns on the coast of the Heretic Sea, where Russ's seedy ilk establish themselves and create their longer-lasting relationships, Russ is practically a stranger--he sleeps outdoors, in gutters and alleys, whenever he can, shunning a roof over his head and conviviality for his own counsel. Even when he needs to establish a laboratory for a longer-running experiment, or to create some of the tools of his trade, he will typically do it in a way that skirts relationships with landowners--combined with a largely itinerant lifestyle, the resources he has to expend in constantly reestablishing such a facility have largely outstripped any long-running gains he might get from performing his work. If he is frustrated with this never-ending cycle of gain and loss, he does not express it, and outwardly he is very comfortable with his limited means.

As a swimmer, he has no equal, making him a particularly useful asset in aquatic environments. In his leisure time, he is usually seen either in the water, or sitting in the sun, enjoying the feel of it on his skin--in work, he finds himself attracted to crewing ships, even when the close quarters would otherwise put him ill at ease.

His default reaction in social interactions is guarded hostility. He tends to strike quickly when he feels danger might be imminent to try to catch his foes off-guard, and leave the hard questions for after the dust clears. When he reacts negatively to a social confrontation, he almost inevitably becomes violent, and the following melee is usually punctuated with loud assertions of his deadly ferocity. These actions give him a reputation in the areas he stays in (a reputation pithily described by Edi as "intense"), and in the world he's found himself, they are what pass for "common sense"--despite appearing impulsive and barbaric, the outbursts are largely calculated for maximum efficacy in intimidation, and Russ has found that with prudent exertions of bombast and violence, he can save effort that would otherwise be spent fighting to maintain a position in a violently ever-shifting hierarchy of the dregs of society. In this way, he has developed an understanding with Mad Gokar, who seems to have largely arrived the same strategy in his own affairs, helping to explain the otherwise perplexing rapport maintained by two who would seem the most likely to be at each others' throats.

History

Young Life, and Early Adulthood

Ressalssithalifthel'Keear was spawned deep in the saltwater marshes in the Western part of Celestia. He grew there with his family group, learning to defend it vigorously from intruders and spending little thought on the outside world. With his brothers and sisters he played and hunted and fought. He lived for the feel of the sun and water on his scales, and he was always free.

At his coming of age ceremony, he was chosen to apprentice to Yressitulifthel'Keear, the clan's healer. The oldest of the group, very large, yet infirm from some long-contracted disease and with pale withered scales and dull eyes, Yressitulifthel'Keear's decrepit appearance belied a keen intellect and a vigorous talent for delving the mysteries of the natural ingredients found in the swamp. Ressalssithalifthel'Keear studied at the matron's claw, and learned to knit the wounds suffered in the group's outings. While he never mastered the hunting talent so prized within his community, he gained other valuable skills, and was always included on the days-long trips into the depths of the swamp.

His whole life was this way. Sometimes he would be hungry, but he never starved. Sometimes he was hurt, but he was never neglected. In all ways, it was an ideal existence for a young lizardfolk, and he took to it with relish.

As the years passed, other groups asserted themselves within the swamps. More and more, the clan's hunting expeditions would bring them to land "reclaimed" by technology into farmland. The lizardfolk were originally unperturbed, and even found a small boon in the easy pickings of farm animals and the occasional careless human or gnome, but the encroachment grew by the year, and clashes with the farmers became numerous as the lizardfolk found themselves defending more and more of their traditional territory. Ressalssithalifthel'Keear watched as, little by little, the members of his clan fell. Skirmishes were rare enough, but lizardfolk replace themselves slowly, and attrition favored the faster-breeding warmbloods.

It came to a head one day, as he returned from a long hunt with three of his spawn group. Pickings had been slim, but they had managed a sizable alligator, and spirits were high. Singing their sibilant songs, they made it almost home before the smell of burning peat assailed them. Fearing the worst, the four dropped their prize and ran directly home, just in time to witness the last of their clan die to human crossbows and blades.

Wasting no time, Ressalssithalifthel'Keear's group charged the invaders, but little could be done. One was cut down within moments, and Ressalssithalifthel'Keear and the last fled separately into the swamps. The others made chase, but lost interest quickly as Ressalssithalifthel'Keear made his way deep into the swamp.

Days passed before Ressalssithalifthel'Keear came back to inspect the damage. The invaders, in their barbarity, had not even eaten his family members, leaving the corpses to rot in the sun. As he picked through, identifying clan member after clan member, he mourned their loss and cursed the gods. The only two bodies missing were his own, and that of his other huntmate, who had not yet returned. Even the carefully guarded clutches of eggs had been sought out and smashed, leaving tiny spawn laying in pools of their own yolk and blood.

Some time passed, and Ressalssithalifthel'Keear's mind turned to the future. With his family group gone, he would not survive in the swamp--even if he could hunt for himself and avoid its dangers, he would almost certainly have to deal with the constant threat of the invaders and whoever followed to drain the swamp and claim the land. He resolved, then, to leave his home and head into the world, to find a place where Lizardfolk were unknown, and eke out an existence for himself.

He attempted to sell his services to any who would take him. He talked rarely, and answered to Russ, the most that the unsophisticated tongues of the creatures around him could manage of his full name. Even then, though, his outlandish appearance was a liability, and despite great pains with bulky clothing to hide himself, he found himself just as likely to be driven away as offered any work.

The Witch

After one particularly close shave, Russ found himself in a small hut at the edge of a swamp, chased by hunters. It had a sole inhabitant--a blind witch, covered in warts. Surprisingly, she welcomed his intrusion, and greeted him in an approximation of his own tongue.

Without prompting, she went on to say that she had long ago come to an accord with the lizardfolk. "Living here, I've run into my share of your type", she cackled. "Less and less, these days. The Crown would call it progress." Another cackle, but with something behind it other than mirth.

Russ found the woman strange, but not dangerous. She offered to let him hide out for a while. "Nobody much to talk to these days, anyway", she'd say.

"You can call me Vaya".

A day or so passed, while Russ let the hunters blow out their steam. He never opened to the witch, but he would say a few words to respond to her questions, and even ventured a question or two of his own about her work. Her complete lack of fear disarmed him totally, and while he was as much puzzled as anything, he was grateful for the respite.

When he thought it finally safe, he gathered his things to go. "Leaving so soon?", Vaya asked, cackling. She didn't wait for a response, but said a few words and gestured onto a piece of cloth and leather she had been working on since Russ arrived. A glow left her hands and incorporated itself into the leather, then disappeared, leaving a faint design.

"A muzzle band, but not a mundane one. With this, you can occupy human lands. I'm sure you can figure out how to use it."

Russ stared at the lady, her kindness completely incomprehensible. Without a word, he turned, and left.

Recent

Armed with the muzzle band of disguise, Russ wanders human lands. Taking the shape of a large, green-skinned Celestian Half-Orc, he lends his expertise to bounty hunters, mercenaries, and caravans. When he can, he prefers to take jobs on ships, where the relative seclusion and the presence of water make him feel most at home. He's good in the water, and has proven to be an able sailor. Best of all, among the dregs of society, few dare to question his strange appearance, and he has regained a small measure of respite, as long as he is careful to maintain his secret.

He continues his alchemical research, and to his small comfort, his travels have given him access to a wide range of new substances to test, even though he has to expend enormous amounts of capital to continually recreate his laboratory setting in new venues. Of his kind, he has seen few, typically as corpses strung up after being pushed out of now-Alexandrian lands. Of his sole surviving kinslizard, he has not seen a single scale--as far as Russ knows, she is long dead.

Though he disdains the trappings of civilization, and considers it to be a rotten plague on the surface of the Mainland, he has learned to read the languages of the Alexandrians. While he rarely gets the opportunity, he has found a strange pleasure in perusing the tomes that come his way, amusing himself at trying to piece together the authors' strange motives. He keeps his own notes and formulae on small vellum pages bound in Yressitulifthel'Keear's skin--the constant presence of his mentor is a comfort, and reminds Russ of the home he lost.