Fragged Seas: Skull & Shackles
Perpetually conspicuous pyromancer
He stands a little under average height, little more than rags for clothes, a cheap looking sword in his belt. As he regales the tavern with yet another tale of his strength and his daring (though the absence of lines in his face would suggest his talespinning predates any actual heroics), he pauses occasionally to address a largem gray cat sitting in a chair a few feet away. The response is always a little different when the cat talks back for the first time. The regulars love it of course. The others usually tense up a little but get on with their business. I think there was some dullard from the Empire that drew a blade at it once. Called it an abomination to the gods. We spent a week trying to scrub the smell of melted Imperial off the floorboards. That man may be a deceitful sack of shit, but he sure loves that cat.
Now that being said I would guess the cat (along with the tattered clothes) is a facade, another way to keep the world guessing. He talks about himself more than any monster hunter I’ve ever met, but I never thought I knew him. His dark skin and muscular (though probably a bit malnourished) body would suggest a tribal lineage, but I doubt there’s much more that could be known. I think he likes it that way; he keeps his past obscured and his present cloudy.
He’s been getting restless lately though. At the end of it all, he knows the stories are just stories. I would imagine he hungers for real action, to revel in true glory. It’s just like the regulars really. They always eventually find the ale doesn’t get the job done like the rum does.
I guess he’s finally tired of the ale.
When he does leave though, I hope he takes that damn cat with him. It pees on the floor every time I call in his tab. Like goddamn clockwork. Yeah I know he’s probably doing it, but I can’t prove it.