Otho - Human

[Mokobo]

Gender - Male
Age - Mid-twenties to early thirties
Race - Human
Height - 5'8"
Weight - Approximately 150 lbs
Magic - None
Skills - Otho is an adept swimmer and diver, able to hold his breath for extended periods. As such he is nimble on land as well and has a high endurance.

Appearance - Otho is far from an intimidating sight. Wiry muscles cover his small frame, hidden beneath freckled skin made a soft brown from the salt and sun of the sea. Atop his head is a fiery orange crop of hair which he keeps neatly trimmed and short. Green eyes gaze at the world, rusted daggers in his anger and glittering emeralds in his merriment. His build is indicative of the nautical nature of his craft, as is the smell of sea-salt and ale that carries with him. Always does he wear a worn leather vest with several loops set into it at seemingly random places. A small silver chain hangs around his neck, leading to a brass locket hidden beneath the vest. His name is etched into the surface of the metal, but the latch is green with corrosion and inseperable. Often does he sport a single knife from a loop set into the leather near his shoulder, a tool that he wields with deadly precision. Beneath this vest, near his solar plexus, is a splash of odd color which he keeps hidden religiously. Deep orange scales creep out several inches from the center of his torso, polished from the leather they are constantly concealed behind. His sinewy arms and shoulders are covered in a disorderly collection of tattoos, ranging from between sinister and bawdy, small and large. Occasionally jagged scars cut through the inked flesh, hints of the altercations he is prone to. His entire left forearm bears several golden bands which hide another patch of orange plating, although to inquiring minds he states they help him to reach depths of the oceans and the maids. Typically he wears baggy shorts of spun cloth or silk, tied off below the knee to keep them in place whilst diving. Never does he wear shoes or boots, but instead he wraps his feet and calves in long strips of the same leather his vest is crafted from. These curious wrappings conceal webbed toes and more orange scales that cover each foot entirely.

Personality - Otho is often the first to laugh at jokes. His booming laugh can fill an entire tavern, seemingly out of place from one of his stature. Often will he launch into some shanty of the sea, sometimes in the most inappropriate situations. He walks with the sway of the sailor, and. like many sea-dogs. he is just as quick to anger as he is to merriment when rum and wine flows in his veins. His confidence and bawdy nature give him a somewhat abrasive demeanor. Evenings games of drink and dice have made him a shrewd bargainer, but he is never deceitful to clients who pay for his services. However he is not all rough edges, and he is particularly kind to the orphans and beggars who flock to the docks in search of food and coin. He has no memories of his past or where his reptilian growths come from, but he chooses to avoid the subject rather than dwell on it. Despite his sociable, if not approachable nature, Otho becomes lofty and mysterious when questioned about his past. With the exception of his many tattoos, he prefers to tell no tales and instead chooses to dwell in the present.

Biography - Otho's first memory is from the day he was reborn. At least, this is how he views it. He awoke in the hold of a trade galley, a lattern swaying on a hook set into the wall. The smells of salt and sweat and rum were heavy in the air. He wore nothing but a pair of tattered breaches, and all about his body were orange rashes that brought him to a panic. Franticly he scratched at the hard crust on his chest, unable to rid the growths from his flesh. After a moment he grasped at the edge of one scale, tugging sharply to prise it loose. A sharp pain spread from the root of the scale, causing him to cease his attempt and let loose a cry of pain. His exclamation did not go unnoticed and soon the sounds of heavy footsteps approached.
Fear flooded into the man at finding himself in a strange place with no recollection of how he had arrived there or even who he was. It was as if somehow who he had been was wiped clean from his mind, leaving nothing but hazy bits of memory behind. Quickly he sat up before frantically scanning the room for some sort of weapon to defend himself. The space was small, with one wall curving outward which marked it as the outer shell of the ship. A single, circular window was set into this wall, opening up onto bright skies and endless waves. Cots were hung between support beams set in the middle of the room and the hull. All were empty except for his own nestled in a corner and the one closest to the open doorway. A dark-skinned man laid on the opposite side of the room, his back turned to the bewildered other. Leaning against the pole his cot was tied to was a crude crutch. With uneasy steps Otho rose from his cot and began to walk across the floor which heaved with each wave.
Before he could reach his goal, the light coming through the open doorway darkened. A huge man stood in the entrance, covered from head to toe in fierce tattoos that stood out starkly from his dark, wind-worn skin. The snarl of anger on his face was accented by the sharp curved lines etched upon his brow and cheeks. Quite suddenly the man rushed toward Otho with large steps, his voice booming out in some foreign language as he jabbed his finger into the orange scales upon the other's chest. Otho backed against the nearest wooden beam, all thoughts of fighting lost in the ferocity of the large man's tirade. After several more pokes and many yelled words the dark sailor leaned back, crossing his inked arms upon his chest whilst casting the smaller man an expectant look.
"Captain say you are lazy." The other sleeper had awoken, no doubt due to the verbal assault Otho had just suffered. With a wince the sailor hoisted himself from his cot, grabbing the crutch to support himself. Using the stick to hold his weight, the smaller foreigner hobbled over to the two other men. It was then that Otho noticed the other's left leg was missing below the knee, the stub bound in linen. "Captain say even half-breed must work. Captain ask if you are demon." For a moment Otho did not know what to say, his loss of memory and these events leaving him dazed. After telling the other he did not think he was a demon, and his message being translated, the apparent captain of the ship gave a satisfied exclamation. The anger had not left the giant of the man, and he made a final statement before spitting upon the floor and striding from the room. "Captain say you work tomorrow or die."
The rest of that day was spent in conversation with the crippled man. Questions buzzed around his head, but the first one he asked was the simplest. The sailor told him in halting words that he did not know, but he pointed to a silver chain hanging from the cot Otho had awoken in, a corroded brass locket strung upon the links. The foreigner explained the object had been clutched tightly in his hand when they found him, the word OTHO carved into the face of the metal disk. Assuming that this had to be his name, Otho introduced himself to the other as such. The sailor warmly greeted him before naming himself Xjiako, the first mate upon this trading vessel named a foreign title which roughly translated to Salted Duck. Xjiako explained they had been blown far off their course by a seasonal storm. It was the morning after this squall that they had found Otho draped across the ruined remains of a raft with no land on the horizon. After more questions with less definitive answers, Xjiako noted how the sun had set and that Otho had best get some rest before the trials to come. The cabin had filled with more sailors during their talks, each covered in inky tattoos and dark skin. They talked among themselves in their language merrily, most apparently drunk, and they paid no attention to their new bunk-mate. Somberly Otho accepted the truth of Xjiako's wisdom and returned to his cot to sleep.
The next few days were hell for Otho. While he could not remember much of who he had been, it quickly became known that he had not been a sailor. Xjiako followed him around, explaining how the rigging for the galley's single large sail worked. Despite the broken, yet descriptive, instructions Otho constantly fumbled with the ropes. Once he fell several feet to the wooden deck, receiving a chorus of laughter from the crew and angry yells from the captain. When order was restored Xjiako suggested that perhaps he would be better suited in the galley as the cook's aid. The added jibe put salt in the wound of his embarrassment, and quickly Otho refused before returning to the task at hand. Over the days he continued to learn, constantly barraged with laughter and yells at his every failing. Despite their harsh treatment on deck, the evenings were full of strange songs and even stranger drink among the crew. The sailors drank a harsh rum, bitter to the taste yet oddly endearing after the first harsh swigs. Otho understood little of the jokes and ballads the sailors shared in their cabin, yet still he enjoyed in the company and the challenge of deciphering their rough tongue.
The captain was rarely seen after sunset. During these times Xjiako would be summoned to solitary quarters at the aft end of the ship. For a time the first mate refused to answer the questions of what business was done during those evening hours, simply responding he was tired and needed rest. Weeks dragged on with this same routine, until one day Xjiago hobbled angrily from the captain's cabin shortly after entering. Otho followed the other to the ship's hold, stuffed full of spices and spirits for trade. Xjiago was angrily checking off items on a list whilst he was asked repeatedly what angered him so. Finally the disfigured sailor gave in, turning around to hop quickly over to Otho. For the first time there was anger in the otherwise impassive man, and he spoke one simple remark. "We are rakdu, doomed!"
Otho was not the only one to notice this change in the politics of the ship. Xjiako and the captain no longer held council every evening, and the latter's mood became more foul. He began to look for opportunities to assault Otho with insults and kicks, never missing a chance to loose his spleen on the outsider. By now Otho no longer fumbled with the ropes, and he had mastered the knots that were taught to him. Despite the lack of failings, the captain always had the scales to use in his insults. Some of the crew began to shun Otho in the evenings, their group choosing to rest on the deck of the ship rather than sleep with the half-breed, as they called him. One day a meeting was held near the prow of the vessel. Even though he did not understand the language, Otho could see the fear and anger that swept through the crew. Several sailors pointed to their strange ship-mate, crying the word rakdu over and over. Xjiako and his supporters shouted their own retorts, angrily pointing to the captain instead. That night Xjiako came to Otho and offered him a small dagger, telling him that some of the crew thought him a demon meant him to keep them from home, and that the blade might save his life.
It almost seemed that perhaps the captain and his supporters were correct in their superstitions. The next day all wind left the sails, and the Salted Duck found itself motionless upon a sea of glass. This impending doom only furthered to stir the unease upon the ship, their provisions being long over-extended. The captain ordered guards placed at the cargo hold which held spirits that would be all to tempting to the crew once their dwindling supply of rum was spent. Otho no longer rested in the cabin with Xjiako and his supporters, who once had treated him so warmly but not shot him dark stares in the evening. Instead he choose to sleep in a small chamber tucked away in the dark corners of the hold, used to service the galley's rudder. Small rowboats were tied to the prow of the Salted Duck to tow her in the search for winds. Otho took every available chance to join in on the back-breaking work, viewing such a chore as a chance to escape the fury of the captain and the cold glares from the crew. He knew they blamed him for their turn of luck.
For days the Salted Duck searched for even the smallest gust of wind, but to no avail. As the stores of food dwindled and the rum disappeared, the captain ordered the boats pulled in and no more crews were sent to tow the ship. The days were spent either under the blistering sun on the deck or the sweltering moisture of the hold below. Otho rested mostly near the prow of the galley, away from the growing unrest with which he was treated. He watched as schools of fish danced around their ship, teasing the sailors but never biting the meager bait their cast to them on hook and line. Some of the fish were particular large, feasting on their smaller brethren. Otho mused that maybe soon the crew of the Salted Duck might give him the same treatment, noticing the scales and webbing of his feet almost made him fish-like. A sort of mad idea took hold in Otho's mind then. With a tired sigh he rose to his feet and went about collecting items. The crew paid him no mind as he grabbed a rope and tied it around his waist, hunger having long drained them of energy. When he suddenly broke a spar of wood from the railing, a few of the sailors yelled jibes at him which he understood to be he could not eat the ship. Ignoring their jibes Otho tied the end of the rope to the railing before suddenly throwing himself overboard.
This turn of events brought the crew to their weary feet, crowding at the edge where he had jumped. Xjiako shrunk back as sailors began to make bets of whether the stranger had finally gone mad and decided to drown himself. Others noted this could not be the case, as the coil of rope he had tied himself to the ship with was rapidly pooling into the sea. Silence began to grow as did the minutes, and still Otho did not surface. The captain began to grow angry, drawing his cutlass as he approached the railing to cut the rope. Most of the crew cried out encouragement, eager to be rid of the demon who had brought doom upon them. Just as the captain raised his blade to deliver the stroke, Otho emerged burst through the surface of the still waters with a large grin upon his face. Moments after the carcass of a large fish floated up behind him, the rope tied about its tail. Cheers erupted from the crew, who took no notice as the captain slumped to his knees with blood flowing from his neck. Xjiako whistled loudly, a bloody dagger in his hand. He proclaimed himself captain and quickly ordered the crew to haul in Otho and his catch.
That evening the crew dined on steaks of fish heavily spiced and sipped at the fine spirits from their holds. While a few of the crew grumbled at the death of their previous captain, most accepted the change in hierarchy. Xjiako named Otho as his first mate, and quickly took residence in the captain's quarters. That first night though all slept on the deck of the ship, their bellies full of nourishing meat and rich wines and liquors. Otho received his first tattoo, wincing as the cook jabbed ink into the flesh of his left shoulder. Wine watered down the pain and after a mere hour he had a colorful marlin leaping across the curve of his muscles. When he noted that the fish he had caught was a tuna, the cook simply laughed before jabbering in his foreign language. Otho got the basic message, the fish was him spear in hand and not the one he caught. Late that night Otho joined Xjiako in the captain's cabin, and they discussed their dire situation over a table sprawled with several maps, useless as their current position was not on the charts. Xjiako stated they needed wind if they ever were to hope to see land again, and he ordered Otho to fish with spear every day until they were moving once more. 
For weeks the crew of the Salted Duck dined on fresh fish and rich spirits meant for the wealthy while they towed their galley through the calm seas. The cook was delighted to be back to his craft, and quickly became fast friends with Otho. The foreign sailor insisted on marking Otho for each meal he brought, and the latter did not decline out of courtesy. The cook was a fine artist however, and was willing to portray any requests the other might make in broken words. Soon Otho began to resemble his ship-mates more, adapting to their rough speech and joining in with every shanty. Even the crew that had supported the previous captain began to accept Otho as one of their own, fully aware they owed their lives to his daily dives. After nearly a month in still waters the winds finally stirred, filling the sail  and blowing away all talks of demons and rakdu.
Compared to the short time in which these events transpired, the next few months for Otho were rather uneventful. He quickly became a proficient sailor and diver which endeared him further to the crew of the Salted Duck. He learned their games of dice and cards and soon could out-drink and boast the best. No longer fearful for his life he grew more sure of himself. One of his fishing dives ended in a battle with a great shark, and when he dragged the large carnivore to the ship the crew cheered louder than ever, slapping him on the back after they hauled him up with his catch. Several of the crew, awed by his new found prowess, gave him gifts of gold bands and a leather vest he quickly grew fond of. Time seemed to flow together into a peaceful calm as they sailed in search of land. The day a coast was spotted on the horizon seemed to come unexpectedly and all too soon.
So it was that the Salted Duck landed at the docks of Escavas. The crew were strangers to these lands and the citizens viewed them warily due to their dark skins and many tattoos. The spices sold well at market however. This was due to Otho suddenly finding himself speaking his native language to wield the bartering skills he gained from games of dice. Pleased that they had made such a turn of luck when they thought themselves doomed, the crew celebrated loudly upon their galley that evening. Otho did not join in the celebrations however. A feeling of unease had crept into his heart while they had sold their goods at market. This city, despite the discrimination toward all things odd, seemed familiar to him, almost as if he was finally home after a long journey. That evening he went to Xjiako and told his friend he would not be joining them when they set sail. Oddly his friend accepted without question, and gave unto him a large purse of coin for all he had done in aid to the crew. The day the Salted Duck set sail Otho was at the furthest end of a dock, waving as the vessel disappeared into the distance.
Quickly Otho found a field of work at the docks of Escavas. His skills at diving, and the many treacherous rocks within the bay offered the perfect opportunity. It did not take long for him to gain a reputation for salvaging goods from sloops and fishing vessels which sank to the depths of the harbor. With the coin he had received from Xjiako, he purchased a small sloop of his own and paid board for a room at one of the many inns along the wharves. He plies his trade by day and frequents taverns in the evening. Constantly he conceals those strange scales from the hateful eyes of the city.