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Castor Bain

Started by Lion, November 26, 2012, 01:30:42 AM

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Lion

Prologue
+ NAME + Castor Bain
+ ALIAS + None
+ AGE + Approx. 30-32
+ GENDER + Male
+ STAR SIGN + The Flaming Forge
+ BORN + Early Autumn
+ ORIGIN + Somewhere in the Wester Highlands
+ SPECIES + Human
+ RESIDENCE + Nomadic
+ OCCUPATION + Wanderer
+ COUNTENANCE + Ice-blue eyes / Dark Auburn hair
+ STATURE + 5’10” / 186 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Unknown


CH. I – Painting a Portrait
Castor is not a tall man, but he is undeniably well-built, with powerful muscles, compact and tight rather than slim and stringy.  He’s swarthy of complexion, from being outside but would otherwise be quite pale.  While he does not have a soft face, Castor’s features are not overwhelmingly harsh, with an aquiline nose and medium-wide nostrils.  He has full lips and a rounded chin with a slim jawline.  Hair is short and cut close to his head, but still has plenty of length to it, cropped over his ears and with short sideburns just above his cheekbones.

+ NOTABLE MARKS +
He has minor scars on his face, a small cut across his lower lip that drifts down to his lower chin and a small cut across his left cheek, thin as if made by a fine tip, either from a dagger or rapier.  Along his body however is another story, however.  He has a large white X-shaped scar on his back, ridged from fleshing healing together, and minor scars surrounding that one that seem to be from whip lashes.

+ PREFERRED CLOTHING +
Castor has never been a man of much taste or style and honestly wears whatever he can find.  He wears a leather sleeveless tunic with a cotton shirt underneath, that’s torn and ragged at the edges.  Dark brown trousers are belted at his waist with banded leather strips around his thighs and tough leather boots, strapped and belted around his shins.

CH II – Mental Make-up
Castor has always been a firey individual since he was a boy.  He is quick to anger and can be prone to outbursts of tempestuous emotion.  He almost always says what he thinks, unless he can find a good reason not too, which is not often.  While he’s firey in emotion, he is not always eager to fight.  In fact he desperately works to avoid them.  It’s bad enough when one can crack someone’s skull open with a punch, or knock them across the block, but that doesn’t mean he goes around trying to prove something.  He cannot respect others who feel they must do so as well.  He’s a bit of a lone wolf and though he doesn’t mind the company of others, he can be hard-pressed to find something to talk about as he’s not the best conversator in the world.  He certainly would not be in the mood to talk about himself.  Castor dislikes vanity and pride, seeing it as veneer to hide the reality of the person underneath.

But inside, Castor has become a desperate man.  His fusion with Cynwulfen has left him no choice but to obey the will of their master if he wishes to gain his freedom.  He will do whatever he has to, acting out measures from kindness to cruelty of any degree.  In the early years of his servitude, Castor was disgusted with amount of decimation he was capable of, it was too much to be borne.  At times it still is, but it was this that forced Castor to build a wall of apathy to the consequences of his actions, that the ends indeed would justify the means.  He forces himself to not think about the terrible things he has done or is capable of doing, in order to live with them.

+ FAITH +
While not wholly a religious man, Castor keeps a small necklace around his neck given to him by his mother of an emblem representing Kia, made of wood and held by a string.  However, he keeps it more out of sentimental value, than because he has any distinct belief himself.  He is aware of the presence of supernatural beings and things in this world that go beyond explanation, mostly learned from first-hand experience.


CH III – Social

+ RELATIONSHIPS +
Eva Bain, Mother, location unknown
Greghor Bain, Father, deceased

Mahnum-Mal'katheir, the Master of Cynwulfen.

  • It is unknown whether Mal'katheir, is the creator of Cynwulfen, though it is the one that possesses them.  Whosoever should wear the gauntlets becomes Mal'katheir’s servant and must do whatever they are tasked if they wish to be free.  Though he acquired them in a heated moment and having spent ten years in servitude, he did not know he was simply trading one master for another.  The Demon can speak into his thoughts, and sometimes can find its way into his dreams.

CH IV – Abilities / Skills
+ HAND-TO-HAND +
Castor is a fantastic fist fighter, having had to fight for his survival since he was very young, a skill he took many years to develop out of necessity rather than recreation.  He’s fast, even with the added weight of Cynwulfen on his fists and strikes with precision as well as power.  But when he fights, he fights with savagery, almost as if every fight will be his last.  Because he’s never had any formal training, his arsenal is improvised but effective.

+ SUPREME STRENGTH +
Though years of backbreaking work in mines have given Castor a powerful body that continued to develop into his adulthood, Cynwulfen drastically enhance his physical strength to inhuman levels.  They fluctuate with the intensity of Castor’s emotions, increasing in power when he’s fighting.  While they do not make him invincible, they give Castor an increased capacity for pain.  He has the strength to break through nearly any material his fist comes into contact with, whether it’s a shield or a stone wall, flesh or bone, capable of destroying with little to no effort...and with no discretion.

CH V – Gear / Equipment
+ FISTS OF CYNWULF +
Sometimes called Cynwulfen, as a pair, these metal gauntlets are manacled to his arms, fused with his hands and forearms, to flesh and bone, given to him by Mahnum-Mal'katheir.  These gauntlets are large and broad, gloving his entire hand and reaching almost to his elbow, with bronze-colored studs along the knuckles with three rows coming down the backside of his hand, and wrapping around his wrist, studs that are sharpened to a roughened point.  The joints are sharp and angular, sometimes even painful for him to move his fingers.  The metal itself appears as if it is iron, rough and brittle to the touch, but with immense strength behind it.  They are heavy and unbreakable, will never grow brittle or rust.  Cynwulfen grants their bearer immense physical power, to crush anything the fists come into contact with, be it steel or stone or anything in between.  However, the power given to the bearer forces the gauntlets to be fused to them.  The gauntlets cannot truly be categorized as ‘enchanted,’ as that would imply an ordinary object imbued with magical properties.  Cynwulfen was crafted from a demon’s forge and is almost alive, responding to the emotions of its bearer, and their intensity.

CH VI – Reflections of the Past
Born to Greghor Bain, a miner, and Eva Bain, a seamstress, in a lodgehouse in the Wester Highlands.  Castor’s father was a drunkard and what he didn’t piss away on drink, he gambled away in nightly bets.  Worse still, he was a terrible gambler, so when he lost, he drank some more in his frustration.  Eva did her best to keep their finances afloat, fixing and mending the clothes of fellow miners for a fair price and trying to keep up with the cost of living in company owned lodgings and offered recreation.  Castor was young when he first heard his parents fighting, but soon it became a regular thing.  He remembered a fight that made Greghor some to his senses.  But if only he knew what the price would have truly been.

Dominic Stravan was his name, and Castor would never forget the day when he heard it.  Greghor’s debts had finally come back to lash out at him after almost a decade of IOU’s and empty promises followed by prompt thrashings.  They said he fell, they said he was too drunk and wandered into the mine, others said still that he was pushed.  Got what he deserved for being unable to back what he staked.  His body was found down an abandoned mine shaft, legs broken, back shattered, head split.  People concluded that he had waited to die down there, with nobody there to hear him.

Eva was devastated, frustrated at the loss of her husband despite his nature, crushed by the uncertainty of a perilous future.  Then came the day that Dominic Stravan, the owner of the mine, entered into their lives.  He was a human tower, intimidating.  He said that Greghor gave them as collateral should his debts be unpaid.  Dominic held true to his side of the bargain and took Eva and Castor as his property.  He forced Castor to take Greghor’s place in the mines and took Eva as a servant, to work until the debt was paid in full.  The mines changed, no longer did a man pull his day’s worth of ore, but was to meet a quota worth twice his weight and was not able to rest until it was met.

Life in the mines was harsh, violent.  Castor was beaten severely on his first day, to make him understand his place, but that was not all.  Desperate men did what they had to to meet their quotas, which increased steadily as time went on.  Some spent days in the mines, trying to meet the demand, some were assaulted and beaten, only to be robbed of what they earned, some killed for it.  Castor was small and thin and didn’t even know how to wield a pickaxe properly.  He toiled endlessly, few miners showing kindness to him despite his age.  He was lucky in some instance that he did not weigh much and was able to meet his quotas much easier than others, but his small size made him a vulnerable target to those who did not earn what they made.  He cried himself to sleep many a night, lying in his borrowed cot, longing for his mother, hating his father, but knowing woe would not help him no matter how he cried.  Stravan would only let him visit his mother once a month, but every time, she looked even more worse for wear. And every time, he would remind Castor of his father’s debt.

But he’d always been a fast learner, and it wasn’t long before Castor knew he had to stand his ground and fight back.  As time passed he learned to fight, though he never killed, only to prove that he would be a doormat no longer.  As he grew older, so did his body, and he worked with ever pressing diligence, knowing the time would soon come when the debt would be paid, and he and his mother would be free.  Ten years he spent in the mines, back breaking, shoulder’s aching, keeping track of every ounce of ore he mined, fought for, until he knew the debt had been paid.

The day came, those ten years later, when Castor had finished with his quota, and asked for a meeting with Stravan.  But he could not wait another week.  So he went to the townhouse that Stravan lived in and owned nearby, freshly cleaned and shaved, ready to take his mother away from this dreadful place.  The mercenaries he’d hired let him through when he explained his purpose.  He searched for Stravan, wandering the house, but as he does so, he hears a scuffle coming from the foyer and a muffled scream echoing in the halls.  A slamming ensues, making him jump.  Castor was shocked at the sight of Stravan pressing Eva into a corner of the wall, trying to force his mouth on hers and hike her skirt up.  In a cry of anger, Castor charged him, launching himself onto his back and pulling him back with an arm around his neck.  Though he was an adult now, he was nothing compared to the human tower, who knocked him back easily, making him crash into objects by the wall.

“Boy, back off if you know what’s good for you,” Stravan warned.

Castor had the wind knocked out of him, his head spinning.  He grit his teeth, watching Eva try and run only to be yanked back and slapped hard across the face.  Something glinting from the corner of his eye caught his attention, a pair metal gauntlets had fallen from a suit of armor, studded and heavy.  Groggily he reached for them, shoving his hands into them.  At first the fit seemed too big, but he didn’t care.  Something in him snapped and he felt reinvigorated, as if every part of him was surging with electricity.  He rose and charged at Stravan again, yanking him back by the collar of his shirt and throwing him to the ground.  His heart was pounding in his ears as he smashed his fists into his face, beating him to death.  When it was over, his heart was an empty echo, and there was blood on the gauntlets, coming into realization at what he’d just done.

But he held himself together long enough to turn toward his mother.  He picked her up and escaped the townhouse, avoiding the patrolling mercenaries and running into the night.  When the dawn came, having gone as far as they could run, Castor stopped, exhausted.  He was filled with joy, and tears came to his eyes upon being reunited with the only good thing to have entered his life.  But he knew the moment would come when someone would come looking for him, for them, for someone would have to take responsibility for Stravan’s death.  His heart sank, and if only he’d known that his reunion would be so short-lived, perhaps he wished it might have gone differently.  Wishing only for his mother’s freedom and happiness, he begged her to leave him, to find a new life, to a place of her own.  He would find her if he could, but it was no longer safe for them to stay together.

After much debate, Eva resigned to her sentence, for the love her son, and for herself, leaving him to kneel by a tree alone.  After she was gone, Castor peered down at the gauntlets still upon his forearms and hands and proceeded to take them off.  He became frustrated when they didn’t, grunting and trying to pry each one off with the tips of his fingers but to no avail.  Unlike before, the gauntlets somehow felt snugger, conforming to the shape of his hands.  His heart beat in desperation as he tried ever harder to pull them off, only to collapse in frustration.

Suddenly it seemed as if the sun had vanished, and a shadow arose from the ground.  There was no sound, no rustle, no gust of the wind.  But Castor felt a chill run through him and he raised his head to see a massive shape suddenly envelope him, taking him into its clutches.  “You are mine!” it said in a sinister voice, devoid of gender, devoid of emotion.  “You wear the Fists of Cynwulf.  You will serve me, carry out my will.  You belong to me now.”

Something in Castor twisted, squirming in his gut, making him disgusted.  “What do you want from me?!  Take these things off me!”

“You will be my servant.  Do whatever I task you, and perhaps you might earn that freedom.  You are to be a tool for destruction upon this world.  You will wreak havoc and destroy anything in your path.  You will find my Relics.  You will bring me to fruition.  Do this, and you shall be free.”

Castor had no power to contest the will of the beast that entrapped him, torturing him into submission, flaying flesh from his back to remind him of his servitude, tearing skin in the shape of an X.  Castor felt the gauntlets burn into his forearms and hands, searing into his flesh, man and metal becoming one.  He cried to the heavens only to receive no answer.  When it was over, when he could resist no more, he promised his debt to the creature that calls itself "Mahnum-Mal'katheir".  Yet, he knew even then that the task couldn't have been more impossible.

In his dreams, he would see visions, flashes of a man getting beheaded, helmed head rolling onto a forest floor.  Voices poisoned his sleep, trying to make sense of what it was he was supposed to search for.  Gradually in each dream, Mal'katheir him of the ten Relics he was to find.  But even with the dreams, Castor toiled in his search, each dream seeming nothing more than nonsensical lures in an attempt to toy with him.  For ten years he searched, ten years of nothing.

Until now.  Castor has finally found the first of ten Relics.  And he will stop at nothing to get it.




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