Although he may have been attractive in a former life, his skin now holds no color other than the barest tinge of blue. A sickly sheen seems to cover him and his eyepatch is more ominous than rakish.
Revenant, Tempest fighter.
Story of a dead man
My life began the same day another man’s life ended. I know almost nothing of his past. I believe he may have been a pirate, and at the very least he was a sailor. He was a master swordsman as well, if one was to judge by his pair of dueling blades. I like to imaging he was a man of charm and bravado, as quick with his wit as he was with his blade. Unfortunately, in the end none of these things helped save him. What I know of this man for sure is that his ship was attacked by cultist of the goddess Melora, the whore of the sea. He was surrounded, defeated, but they didn’t just kill him, oh no. With an arrow still sunk into his eye, they tied him to the deck and spilled is entrails to use for some foul ritual. Then, with their use of his body complete, they threw him overboard. As much as he tried to fight, the pain of the ocean water in his gut and eye overwhelmed him. In the end he lost. In the end he was left in the black of his own mind…..
Sometime after that I remember waking on the deck of a ship known as the Cotadormar, surrounded by people I didn’t recognize. They were all staring at me aghast. They kept looking at my stomach. When I looked down, I let out a cry. My innards were all lying in my lap. My hands were blue, yet I didn’t feel cold. One of the sailors shouted that I wasn’t breathing. They cried out Undead and Monster! I didn’t know what was going on. The man I assumed to be the Captain stepped towards me with his saber raised and demanded my name. I searched my thoughts and realized I didn’t know my name. What was worse, I couldn’t remember anything about myself. It was all a sea of gray mist. All except one thing; The cultists. Suddenly I remembered the attack, the torture, and finally the drowning. I began spewing forth the scant things I knew and begged them not to throw me out to the clutches of Melora again. His face took on a somber look of pity and simply asked what the crew should call me. I told him to call me the only thing I knew of myself. To call me Drown.