Gelatinous Cube

The Black Delta

Aldrich listened as the other spoke, offering up their suggestions. Their options were limited to the burning hot beach, or the sweaty humid jungle. Neither prospect held much appeal, but Aldrich was no stranger to harsh conditions. From the moment of waking to now, his sense of awareness had sharpened into focus. The deeply ingrained habits formed from a life of servitude and subjugation were thankfully not lost on him now. It was a bitter kind of gratitude, but one he was in position to balk at. Seeing now that the Captain was alive and - relative to the numerous dead - well, Aldrich began to scan the beach for anything at all he might use. His eyes settled on a snapped and splintered boarding pike. It was roughly about a foot shorter than himself, but upon picking the thing up he felt satisfied enough with its weight, and reassured by the solidity of it in his hands.
As he had stooped down to retrieve it, he noticed a fluttering in the breeze. Walking over to inspect, he found a rough piece of torn parchment, miraculously pinned beneath some detritus from the boat. He gently pried it out and looked it over. It appeared to be a map, though Aldrich could make neither heads or tails of it, a sad holdover of his stunted education. He scowled at the enigmatic document, but kept it all the same. Someone else was bound to be able to decipher it's secrets.

Turning back to the group, now all similarly armed, he offered his own findings.
"Not much to be had here, but I found this. Seems to be a map," he added somewhat sheepishly, "I don't know how to read it." He held it out for someone to take, as he gratefully accepted the water flask from Kjetil. Aldrich was well accustomed to rationing, and would not succumb to the temptation of slaking his thirst, despite how dry his mouth currently was.
"It seems as though the jungle is the popular option," Aldrich reasoned to them, "At the very least we should find some welcome shade, but perhaps we should try not to go too deep. If we can keep the coast in sight, or at least in earshot we may stand a better chance of finding our way."
Though, as he spoke his eyes landed on the peculiar carving at the mouth of the jungle. It's likeness' teeth bared in a ghastly snarl, as if to ward away any would-be interlopers.
Despite the stifling heat of the sun, Aldrich felt a chill descend his spine.

The Black Delta

Aldrich

"Filthy, worthless slave-thing!"
CRACK!
"How come you don't fight?"
CRACK!
"I will beat you until you obey!"
CRACK!

With each punctuating lash of the whip, Aldrich felt himself slipping further and further away from consciousness. His defiance fading with not so much as a sneer, but a whimper. The gutteral language of his Dwemerlock master remained impenetrably foreign to him, though he could scarcely hear it through his pain. However, the most peculiar thing was that the closer he came to passing out entirely, the pain faded and he felt instead a cool, sloshing sensation suffuse his body. His vision blurred, and he began to splutter, confused as the world began to grow increasingly distant and intangible...

...his eyes opened slowly, things coming into focus one sense at a time. First the stark luminescence of sunlight, then the intermingled sensations of warm air, cold water and gritty sand, then the sounds of waves breaking upon the shore and the breeze rustling leaves, followed by the smell of salt and lastly the acrid taste of salt and sandy grit. Each sensation coalesced at once in a nauseating shock that made him cough and heave as he sat up.
He scrambled for memory, to piece together where he was and just what the hell was going on.
Was on the ship...resting above decks...hate the below...too small, stifling...ship...crashed? Must have...

He laboriously got to his feet, feeling the stiffness of his joints and a sharp sting across his chest. Pressing his fingers to the spot they came away red. Peering down he saw that something had torn a ragged hole in his waterlogged jerkin. He unceremoniously tore the useless thing away, leaving him in only his tunic, breeches and boots. Glancing around he saw the telltale sights of a terrible ship-wreck. Bodies had washed up on the shore, bloated and cold and others stumbled around aimlessly on the shore. His sword and shield he now realised would have likely wound up somewhere on the bottom of the sea. He sighed, feeling the rising panic of being unarmed and unprotected. He fought down the anxiety and looked around to take better stock of the situation.

Immediately he noticed a few of the figures who had been part of the voyage, other travelers and vagabonds like himself. Jacqueline, a woman who reminded him in many ways of Erissia, his erstwhile mentor. Kjetil, the quiet Norgardian and Lachlan, who Aldrich struggled to get a read on during his time on the ship. He hadn't spoken much to any of them, opting to observe from a distance any strangers he met. Not to mention, the bitter look on his face at all times usually kept people at bay.
Aldrich raised his voice, addressing any who may respond.
"The Captain...has anyone seen the Captain?" If anyone among them could restore some semblance of order, it would be that salty sea dog.

The Black Delta

Aldrich

Aldrich

Andredian | 30 | Male

Appearance

The first thing an outside observer may notice about Aldrich is his almost perpetual frown. His features severe and eyes always focused and scanning his surroundings in an almost paranoid manner. Beneath his weathered armour lies a body marred by the scars of hardship and abuse, his back a criss-cross of shining white scar tissue left by a vicious lash, as well as a collection of scars on his extremities caused by all manner of martial weapons. Nevertheless he stands tall, with pride hefted on his shoulders and carried with earned dignity.

Personality
When Aldrich speaks, he makes sure not to mince his words. He's blunt to a fault, and never raises his voice, save to bellow a roar of fury towards any opponent unfortunate enough to find itself on the wrong end of his sword. However, were one patient enough, and gentle in their prying they may uncover a rather dry sense of humour, and his own ironclad sense of justice. Justice dispensed at sword point more often than not. Though it must be stressed, that although Aldrich is no stranger to violence, he abhors the battle, and loves only the victory. If he ever appears to be brutal or barbaric in his manner of combat it is only due to his desire to end a conflict quickly and decisively.

Background

• Profession - Man-at-Arms (presently adrift)
• Class - Warrior
• Heritage - Lowborn

History
Aldrich was the son of a farmer who sent his boy off to become a Knight. It was the only way out of the drudgery of peasant life the family had any hope for and Aldrich's parents were all too eager to ship him off. He was placed under the care and tutelage of Lady Erissia, a famed and renowned Knight of The Crimson Guard who trained him in the manners of martial arms and courtly duties. He proved to be a clumsy swordsman, and struggled with reading and writing, yet ever-stubborn Erissia refused to give up on the boy. He eventually became a squire and was able to ride with Erissia and her Knights in battle. It was during a fateful skirmish in the land of the Dwemorlocks that Erissia and her Knights were slain. They were there on a crusade of righteousness, the Dwemerlocks standing against everything they held sacred, and longed to spill their foes blood upon their own shores. Their eagerness would lead to their deaths.
Aldrich, trembling at the sight of his mentor slain before him, anticipated his own death with terrible certainty.
Yet it did not come. Instead, he was captured, enslaved and forced to fight as a prisoner. At first he refused, throwing down the weapons and crying to any gods who may listen to offer him deliverance from his foul captors. His pleas fell of deaf ears, and with each lash of the whip his will was broken down until he learned to spill blood for the sadistic pleasure of the crowds.

It was this way for several years. The clumsy boy who used to fumble and drop his sword was now a hardened warrior who had killed too many men to bother counting. His body had grown accustomed to surviving on whatever rodents or insects he was able to snatch from his cage.
Life changed upon the addition of a new prisoner, one also native to Andred. They found a kinship with one another based on their mutual lineage and similar circumstances. They did their best to keep their friendship a secret, as they each knew it would result in severe punishment. Yet it was enough to return some light and life to Aldrich. The pivotal moment came when he was forced into combat with the man, pitted against him in a battle to the death. Aldrich threw down his sword and shield and loudly refused to fight. The friend he had made, with tears in his eyes, plead for him to strike him down. His willingness to sacrifice his own life for Aldrich only enforced his refusal. How could he kill this man who displayed such noble grace, in this land where nobility seemed strange and foreign? Aldrich was lashed to unconciousness right there, but not before he was made to watch his only friend run through.

Unbeknownst to Aldrich, a visiting Basilean noble on a mission of diplomacy had been in attendance. Lady Viera DeFeis was moved by the the man who refused to fight, even after he was shredded to pieces by the cruel whip. She negotiated his sale, and they were all too happy to be rid of the troublesome slave.
Now liberated from the Dwemorlocks he returned with her to her homeland where he served as her bodyguard until her death from illness where he was released from service. With nowhere left to call home, he took to the roads, taking advantage of his freedom to see the world. Lady DeFeis had often told him of the exotic locales her travels had taken her to and he longed to experience the same. Too many years shackled in a small cage left him with a deep yearning for freedom.

Reason for Travel
With no place left to call home, Aldrich felt the call of the uncharted southern lands. He felt compelled him to make his way there, and he managed to scrounge enough money to book passage aboard the Skirmisher.

Motivation/Goal
Aldrich longs to find a home to settle down, yet also has to quell the disparity in his heart and overcome the traumas of his past.

Capabilities

Despite his initial incompetence, Aldrich became a fearsome swordsman, favouring a sword and shield combination. He can also make deadly use of a shield in a pinch. His fighting style lacks finesse, yet makes up for it in pure ferocity.
Due to years of staving off starvation by eating whatever he could get his hands on, he developed tremendous constitution, able to weather the effects of disease and poison beyond what a regular man might.

Equipment

Money

Languages
Northern

---

What Are You Listening To?

Taking the Manowar pill.

The Black Delta

Aldrich

Andredian | 30 | Male

Appearance

The first thing an outside observer may notice about Aldrich is his almost perpetual frown. His features severe and eyes always focused and scanning his surroundings in an almost paranoid manner. Beneath his weathered armour lies a body marred by the scars of hardship and abuse, his back a criss-cross of shining white scar tissue left by a vicious lash, as well as a collection of scars on his extremities caused by all manner of martial weapons. Nevertheless he stands tall, with pride hefted on his shoulders and carried with earned dignity.

Personality
When Aldrich speaks, he makes sure not to mince his words. He's blunt to a fault, and never raises his voice, save to bellow a roar of fury towards any opponent unfortunate enough to find itself on the wrong end of his sword. However, were one patient enough, and gentle in their prying they may uncover a rather dry sense of humour, and his own ironclad sense of justice. Justice dispensed at sword point more often than not. Though it must be stressed, that although Aldrich is no stranger to violence, he abhors the battle, and loves only the victory. If he ever appears to be brutal or barbaric in his manner of combat it is only due to his desire to end a conflict quickly and decisively.

Background

• Profession - Man-at-Arms (presently adrift)
• Class - Warrior
• Heritage - Lowborn

History
Aldrich was the son of a farmer who sent his boy off to become a Knight. It was the only way out of the drudgery of peasant life the family had any hope for and Aldrich's parents were all too eager to ship him off. He was placed under the care and tutelage of Lady Erissia, a famed and renowned Knight of The Crimson Guard who trained him in the manners of martial arms and courtly duties. He proved to be a clumsy swordsman, and struggled with reading and writing, yet ever-stubborn Erissia refused to give up on the boy. He eventually became a squire and was able to ride with Erissia and her Knights in battle. It was during a fateful skirmish in the land of the Dwemorlocks that Erissia and her Knights were slain. They were there on a crusade of righteousness, the Dwemerlocks standing against everything they held sacred, and longed to spill their foes blood upon their own shores. Their eagerness would lead to their deaths.
Aldrich, trembling at the sight of his mentor slain before him, anticipated his own death with terrible certainty.
Yet it did not come. Instead, he was captured, enslaved and forced to fight as a prisoner. At first he refused, throwing down the weapons and crying to any gods who may listen to offer him deliverance from his foul captors. His pleas fell of deaf ears, and with each lash of the whip his will was broken down until he learned to spill blood for the sadistic pleasure of the crowds.

It was this way for several years. The clumsy boy who used to fumble and drop his sword was now a hardened warrior who had killed too many men to bother counting. His body had grown accustomed to surviving on whatever rodents or insects he was able to snatch from his cage.
Life changed upon the addition of a new prisoner, one also native to Andred. They found a kinship with one another based on their mutual lineage and similar circumstances. They did their best to keep their friendship a secret, as they each knew it would result in severe punishment. Yet it was enough to return some light and life to Aldrich. The pivotal moment came when he was forced into combat with the man, pitted against him in a battle to the death. Aldrich threw down his sword and shield and loudly refused to fight. The friend he had made, with tears in his eyes, plead for him to strike him down. His willingness to sacrifice his own life for Aldrich only enforced his refusal. How could he kill this man who displayed such noble grace, in this land where nobility seemed strange and foreign? Aldrich was lashed to unconciousness right there, but not before he was made to watch his only friend run through.

Unbeknownst to Aldrich, a visiting Basilean noble on a mission of diplomacy had been in attendance. Lady Viera DeFeis was moved by the the man who refused to fight, even after he was shredded to pieces by the cruel whip. She negotiated his sale, and they were all too happy to be rid of the troublesome slave.
Now liberated from the Dwemorlocks he returned with her to her homeland where he served as her bodyguard until her death from illness where he was released from service. With nowhere left to call home, he took to the roads, taking advantage of his freedom to see the world. Lady DeFeis had often told him of the exotic locales her travels had taken her to and he longed to experience the same. Too many years shackled in a small cage left him with a deep yearning for freedom.

Reason for Travel
With no place left to call home, Aldrich felt the call of the uncharted southern lands. He felt compelled him to make his way there, and he managed to scrounge enough money to book passage aboard the Skirmisher.

Motivation/Goal
Aldrich longs to find a home to settle down, yet also has to quell the disparity in his heart and overcome the traumas of his past.

Capabilities

Despite his initial incompetence, Aldrich became a fearsome swordsman, favouring a sword and shield combination. He can also make deadly use of a shield in a pinch. His fighting style lacks finesse, yet makes up for it in pure ferocity.
Due to years of staving off starvation by eating whatever he could get his hands on, he developed tremendous constitution, able to weather the effects of disease and poison beyond what a regular man might.

Equipment

Money

Languages
Northern

---

The Black Delta

I will get to work on my character. I've got a few in the pipeline, I'm just deciding which one is most suitable.

What Are You Listening To?

Really love this band. Such a breath of fresh air in the Power Metal world.

What is the current Manga , you are reading?

I've been collecting the new prints of Fist of the North Star and I'm keen to give it another read soon.

Darkwater: The Black Opal City

Yeah, go on then. I'll have a crack. I've been reading lots of Moorcock lately so I'm in the right space for this.